#it’s up to you on who’s squeezing him

[reignpage]

In which you ask roommate!Nanami to massage your sore breasts

“A-are you,” he begins, clearing his throat when his voice comes out shaky, “Are you sure you want me to, um, touch them?”

Without bothering to answer, you plop yourself down on his lap, grabbing those big, veiny hands you’ve been eyeing for years now and placing them on your clothed tits. Choked sounds splutter behind you. “Ken, didn’t you once say you’d do anything for me?”

His voice vibrates against your back. “Well, yes, I did, but I was hardly thinking about this when I made that promise.”

Head leaning back on his broad shoulder, you nuzzle against his jaw, the scruff of a beard yet to be shaved tickling your skin. Lips glossy, you skim them against the shell of his ear. Nanami shudders.

“Liar.

There's no room for rebutting your accusation when you’re grinding down on the evidence of his untruth. It's hard, hot, and throbbing. And all yours now.

“Ah, fuck.” Emboldened, and probably trying to hide his embarrassment, your roommate growls. His long fingers dig into your flesh, groping and squeezing with expert pressure. You moan. Gone is his shyness, the awkwardness, the not knowing where to look or how to be in your presence. In their place, sits a man bearing your weight, and not only is he unburdened by it, but he's sinfully urged.

“Is this what you wanted? You -mmm move those hips, sweetheart, that's it- you got bored in your room and came into mine to what? Hump me, like some desperate, dumb dog? This isn’t the girl I know. The girl I know is well-behaved. She's polite and sweet. She knows better than to be sitting on my lap without panties.”

Uh oh. 

“What? You thought I wouldn’t -ngh- n-notice how you’re soaking my pants? How your bare pussy lips are hugging my cock through the cotton?" He scoffs. "And here, I thought you were smarter than that. What a disappointment.”

He’s breathy, raspy, and grinding up into you. 

Who could blame you for striking when he had been walking around your shared apartment with a loose shirt and joggers?

Sure, nothing about that sounds particularly seductive, but he had just gotten back from the gym. He was all sweaty, flushed, and asking if you could wait for him to shower before dinner like a married man. Like your married man. And those joggers?

They’re. Fucking. Grey. 

And hide nothing.

Mewling, you arch your back into his punishing grip. His thumbs are grazing your hardened nipples, flicking like how you once told him, in a drunken stupor, you liked it. Fuck, if you get up now, there’d be a humiliating puddle on his pants. He’d probably rip it off when you leave and press the soaked material to his nose, drowning in your scent. Just like how you found him inhaling the scent of your dried juices from the ruined bedsheets you left for him to wash. 

A sexy, glasses-wearing mouse in your trap. 

“I’m sorry, Ken,” you whimper. “I just couldn’t -ah! f-fuck- help myself.”

Darkly, he chuckles, lips shifting against your forehead, as if he was mouthing kisses – it contrasts the dirty, rough circling of his hips and the sudden pinching of your nipples – and says, “No, I bet you couldn’t. Well, then, if my precious roommate needs help easing her…aches…what am I to do but help?”

You’re close. So so so close. 

And when your high, that peak, that euphoric wave neared, a hair's breadth away, you’re stunned to find it snatched away. “W-what—”

Creeping down, a hand cups your sobbing cunt, pressing in so you can hear the obscene squelching of your juices. Once, twice, he lays a hard smack to your covered clit. You gasp. 

“What do you say?” You have no response and he tuts. “When someone helps you, what are you supposed to say? Use your big girl words. Come on, sweetheart. You can do it.”

Oh, shit. 

A trap was indeed laid out, but the one caught? 

It wasn’t him. 

“T-thank you, Kento.”

He kisses your temple. “You’re welcome. Now, why don't you turn around and let me see your pretty face.”

Dinner will have to wait it seems. 

[bluukive]

mdni, true-form Sukuna wants to be marked up by his wife

The air in the bedroom was humid, sticking to every possible surface available. The sheets were twisted and damp under your sodden skin. Above you was your husband, his looming frame caging you in between four flexing arms.

You were underneath him, soft chest pressed to his as his body moulded against your smaller one. Shaking hands held onto his thick wrists, squeezing with every roll of his unforgiving hips. A merciless rhythm had been set— one that dragged the filthiest mewls from your lips with every squelching thrust.

But something was different this time.

Sukuna was trembling this time, but not from effort nor restraint. As the ever so perceptive wife, you could tell he needed something else. You just couldn't pinpoint what it was.

Not until he let out a choked plea. One that had your pussy clenching around the throbbing girth of his lower cock.

"Scratch me," Sukuna gritted out, his voice coming out ragged as he lowered his mouth to your ear. "Leave your mark all over your husband."

You blinked away hot tears, mind trying to catch up to your husbands indulgent request. A harsh thrust brings you back down to reality, causing your nails to dig in. You dragged down the broad expanse of his broad tattooed back, deliberately deep.

“Thaaat’s it,” he almost snarled, bulky hips stuttering against the curve of your ass.

“Again.”

Choosing to ignore the way his movements faltered, you raked your nails down his back again, harder. A guttural sound left Sukuna, one filled to the brim with satisfaction.

Ignoring your gawking, your husband shifted mid-thrust, propping himself up on an elbow so that you were eye-to-eye with his neck.

“Use it, use your mouth on me now,” he huffed out, resuming the increasingly sloppy rhythm of his lower half.

Without hesitation this time, you sank your teeth into the crook of his neck, swiftly licking the bite with a heavy tongue.

Sukuna stilled inside you for a long second, choked groans spilling from his lips. Your mouth opened, wanting to tease him for the prospect that he might cum from the feeling of your mouth alone. You could see the beginnings of several hickeys blooming, contrasting against the tanned complexion of his scarred skin.

“I didn't know you were a masochist,” you cooed teasingly against his throat, dragging your lips over the deep imprint of the bites you gave him.

His laugh was breathless, face melting to one of absolute ecstasy. “For you, my dear wife.”

Down your nails went again, over the swell of his shoulders and his defined pecs. To his waist your fingernails danced, digging in before Sukuna stiffened for a final time that round.

With furrowed brows and laboured breaths, you both came. His thumb massaged your clit. You threw your legs over his hips and locked him in place, refusing to accept his load anywhere else except deep in your cunt.

Sukuna's head fell forward until his skin met yours, still twitching inside you from the aftershocks of your joint orgasm. A content sigh left you, one hand coming up to brush away the hair plastered to your husbands forehead.

. . .

"Everyone will see all these marks, you know."

"Good. Let them see who I belong to."

I still dk how to write penetrative sex 🥲

[sunskisser]

boyfriend?

clark kent x fem!reader, wc 900

cw: reader is concussed, clark worries, idiots in love, lots of fluff

summary: post-concussion, you fall in love with your boyfriend (again)

Clark didn’t consider himself a worrywart. He knew he was often exceedingly, overbearingly kind, and it wasn’t something he was ashamed of. You’d told him once it was your third favourite thing about him, after ‘his love for you’ and ‘his kisses’. He couldn’t deny that those were two areas he did put a lot of effort into.

But the sight of you like this, bruised, battered, and passed out on a hospital bed — it made him want to worry his brains out.

It wasn’t a major injury, Clark knew that. Just a concussion. No blood, no internal damage, no severe pain.

Yet the tiny voice at the back of his head kept blaming him, cursing him for flying around saving the rest of the world while his world took a hit. He didn’t think he could stop feeling guilty till you fully recovered, maybe a while longer.

The feeling of your hand twitching in his snaps Clark back to the present.

He glances over at you, downturned lips and tightly squeezed eyes, peeling them open. Your gaze darts around for a moment before landing on him.

“Hi, honey.”

Your eyes widen slightly. “Hi.”

Clark hums in response, brushing his thumb over your palm. He’s trying not to let his worry show. “How’re you feeling, sweetheart? Your head, does it still hurt?”

You don’t respond, eyes glued on him. Your brows pinch together, and your nose scrunches up, like you’re awfully confused but can’t figure out why. Suddenly, you try to sit up.

“Hey, woah,” Clark chuckles nervously, hand immediately jumping up to fold around your shoulder, gently pushing you back down. His other palm slips under the back of your head, a safety cushion as you deflate back onto the bed. “Easy there. You’re not supposed to sit up for a few more hours, remember?”

Blood rushes to your head. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” Clark nods, hand moving up to cup your jaw. He presses his thumb into your skin.

Like a ripple, redness spreads throughout your face from the spot, bright and shy. He frowns. “Are you okay?” The back of his palm comes to rest on your temple, concern etching itself into his features. “Is it a fever?”

“No,” you say immediately, a little too loud for your liking, grabbing Clark’s wrist as he moves to pull away from your face. You cringe. “I mean, no, sir, I’m fine.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Sir?”

Your shoulders creep towards your ears, shyness written all over you as you let go of his hand. “I don’t… I dunno. Sorry, um, what do I call you?”

Clark realises. He softens, brushing his thumb under your eye. “You don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember what?” you ask stupidly, a pathetic mess from the way he’s touching you. You feel like the sheer amount of prettiness in front of you was going to make you throw up, or maybe pass out again.

“What you call me,” he murmurs, smiling. “Or who I am.”

“Who are you?”

You looked so innocent, so sweetly anxious, that Clark has to stop himself from kissing you dizzy. He loves you, and he’ll have you any way, but the hit to your head made you horribly soft and lovely. Affection felt like an ache in his fingertips.

He presses both palms to your cheeks. “You like to call me darling, or babe, sometimes. Clark when you’re mad at me, though.”

“Who’s Clark?”

He grins. “Me, silly.”

“Oh.” You pull your bottom lip between your teeth. “Why babe?”

“‘Cos I’m your boyfriend,” he chuckles, love in the crinkle of his eyes. At the horrified look on your face, he can’t help but laugh again. “What, is that so bad?”

“No, no, not bad, it’s just —“ you splutter, dazed and increasingly abashed. You shake your head. “You’re my boyfriend? Mine?”

“Yeah, honey.”

You’re stumped.

“But you’re so pretty,” you murmur immediately, embarrassed turning to three parts awe, gazing at him like a child would at a lollipop. Starstruck, you reach out to trace the slope of his nose with your pinky. “Really? Are you sure you’re mine?”

It’s Clark’s turn to blush. He bends forward, trying not to grin too wide, and a honeyed kiss to the side of your head. “Yeah, all yours.”

You pull your hands to your face to cover it, curling away from him. Maybe he’s seeing what he wants to see, but Clark swears you’re smiling. “Don’t call me that.”

“What, lovely?” He laughs, fingers wrapping around your wrists to tug them off. “That’s not fair. Let me see your pretty face.”

“Stop!” you giggle, letting your hands drop in favour of letting his come to rest on your cheeks instead. You’re unbelievably bashful, teeth showing in your dopey smile as you gaze up at Clark with the love of a thousand suns. Clark wants you forever.

“I love you, silly girl.” He presses a kiss to your nose, one, two, three to your eyes and lips. “I love you.”

Stunned, you look like he’s just given you the world. He would, if he could.

You happily gather his palms from your cheeks towards your lips, your voice into them like a kiss in itself. “I love you, too.”

[mishappeningss]

can we get more y/n and lewis? 😭 like after lewis leaves mercedes he sees her get very comfortable w her new teammates and low-key gets upset/jealous so she makes him feel better (and confirms that he is still her number one)

AURRRGHHH stoppp. there's no universe where yn and lewis aren't soulmates. never separate them.

more about driver!yn

The paddock felt colder this year. Or maybe it was just Lewis.

He wasn’t sad, per se. He was at Ferrari now, draped in blinding red, a new chapter unfolding in front of him.

But every time he passed the Mercedes garage, he still half-expected to hear her laugh echoing through it.

Until now, he never realized how much of his Mercedes life was her.

And today—God, today he wished he hadn’t looked.

Across the paddock, under the banner of a rival team, she stood laughing, arms slung over two of her new mechanics like she’d known them forever.

Luca, her race engineer, bumped her shoulder playfully. Kimi called her “trouble” and handed her a Red Bull can like it was some inside joke.

Lewis watched from a quiet corner. Helmet in hand. Swallowed the sudden ache in his throat.

“You alright, mate?” Charles asked beside him.

“Yeah,” Lewis said, a bit too fast. “Just… watching something I used to know.”

She didn’t even see him.

It wasn’t until much later, hours after the race, that she did.

He was sitting on the pit wall, half-dressed in Ferrari gear and scrolling through his phone like it might distract him from the pit in his stomach. He didn’t even hear her footsteps.

“Hey,” her voice cut through the silence.

Lewis glanced up. Her hair was damp from the post-race shower, face flushed with residual adrenaline.

She had her arms folded across her hoodie—his hoodie, actually. One she’d stolen years ago and still wore like a second skin.

“Hi,” he said, softer than he meant.

She tilted her head. “You looked like you were thinking sad poetry thoughts. Did Charles accidentally say ‘mate’ again?”

He chuckled under his breath. But he didn’t answer.

She stepped closer, eyes scanning his face. “You’ve been weird all weekend.”

“Have I?”

“Don’t do that. I know you. You taught me that tone.”

There was a pause. Then a long exhale.

“I saw you with your team,” Lewis admitted finally. “You looked… happy.”

“I am happy.”

“I know,” he nodded. “That’s what makes it worse.”

The silence that followed was tender, bruised. She sat beside him, pulling her knees up like she used to on the debrief couch back in Brackley.

“You know I still talk about you like you’re my teammate, right?” she murmured.

Lewis raised an eyebrow. “Even now?”

“Especially now. They’ll say something about strategy and I’ll go, ‘Lewis used to do this thing…’ or I’ll crash and think, ‘Lewis is gonna kill me.’ You literally live in me, Lew.”

“You’re not mine anymore,” he whispered, not accusing—just stating what it felt like.

Her hand reached for his.

“I’ll always be yours. Not because of contracts or team kits or who I’m racing next to.” She squeezed his fingers.

“But because you were the first person to believe I could do this. You were the voice in my ear when I still doubted my own. You’re the reason I ever thought I belonged.”

He looked down at their intertwined hands. His thumb brushed the edge of her knuckle where her old Mercedes ring still sat on a chain.

“You’ve got new people now.”

“I’ve got new people,” she said gently. “But I only ever had one home. And that was you.”

That’s what broke him.

Not in the messy way. Not with tears. Just a breath—sharp, shaky—and the quiet tilt of his head into her shoulder.

“Don’t leave me behind,” he said into the fabric of her hoodie.

“Never,” she promised. “You’re not behind, Lewis. You’re above. You’re the bar. Everyone else is just chasing it.”

And in the quiet warmth of the post-race night, with engines off and media gone, she sat there and reminded him:

That no matter how far they drifted or what colors they wore…

She would always be his.

user: “you were the voice in my ear when i still doubted my own” WHO GAVE HER THE RIGHT

user: not me crying in the club over lewis whispering “you’re not mine anymore” and yn literally rewriting the definition of soulmate

user: if you’ve ever been the friend who stayed behind while they moved on… you get this scene in your bones

user: and yet she still wears his old merc hoodie. still keeps the ring on her chain. she never left. not really.

user: her calling lewis her home while sitting in ferrari colors should be illegal tbh

user: lewis watching yn laugh with her new team like a sad victorian ghost and then her literally holding his hand and telling him he’s still her home. KILL ME????

[my-castles-crumbling]

bamboozled - jegulus and drarry - server microprompt challenge - word count: 338

Draco had been raised to be proper. To wow a crowd, to navigate social situations with all the grace and politeness of a proper gentleman. To handle things smoothly.

Which is why, now, he was internally screaming at himself.

Because he’d never felt so bloody bamboozled.

Because...weren't old people supposed to be ugly?

Pinching his own leg as he missed his mouth with his fork for the ninth time, he cursed under his breath, earning a confused look from Harry, who was sitting next to him, immersed in conversation with James and Regulus.

Miserably, Draco just shook his head slightly. No. He could get himself together.

It was just…

He looked up again, trying to be subtle. 

He now understood why people talked about it all the time. Harry Potter looked so like his father. Gods, they were both unfairly handsome. Their smiles were bright, their eyes warm and welcoming. And James…

Well, age had been very kind to James Potter.

He was graying, sure. But the slight wrinkles and lighter hair only made him more handsome. More rugged. More…

Draco gulped. Certainly, he should not be thinking this way about his potential father-in-law, and he wasn’t, not really. He was very, very happy with what he had. But his very unhelpful brain reminded him: If Harry and James look so much alike…Harry will look like this when he gets older. Harry will look exactly like this when he gets older.

He squirmed in his seat. Fuck. 

“...going to grab the next course!” James Potter announced, throwing Draco a smile and sweeping into the kitchen.

“I’ll help,” Harry offered, standing and squeezing Draco’s knee. 

But as soon as both men disappeared into the other room, Regulus turned to him with a look like an x-ray. Draco’s stomach churned. Was he in trouble? Did Regulus know? Fuck, he’d heard things about Regulus Black from his mother and he didn’t want to get on his bad side. Shit, shit, sh–

“Just wait until you see Fleamont Potter,” Regulus murmured, his face breaking into a smirk.

Draco gaped. 

[confessionsandcreampies]

you didn’t expect him to be so gentle with you. not tsukishima kei, whose sharp tongue and cold glares had intimidated half the league. not tsukki, who made sarcastic comments under his breath and rarely looked impressed by anything.

but here he was kneeling behind you on your bed, lifting your shirt with both hands like it was something delicate, like you were. his warm breath hit the slope of your spine as he leaned down and pressed a kiss between your shoulder blades. your soft curves peeked out from under your shirt and instead of mocking you like you’d secretly feared he groaned deeply.

“fuck.” his fingers traced over the swell of your hips, squeezing you gently, thumbs brushing just under your breasts. “you’re so soft. i didn’t think i’d get to touch you like this.”

you let out a shy laugh, your heart hammering in your chest. “we’re dating, tsukki.”

“i know.” his voice dipped. “still doesn’t feel real.”

the quiet affection between long glances and post-match hangouts had started weeks ago. you weren’t the usual girl volleyball groupies whispered about. you weren’t in it for the fame. you were just you. sweet, but sharp sometimes. beautiful in a way kei couldn’t stop thinking about. and now you were naked under him, soft thighs parted, your body plush and warm and everything he ever fucking wanted.

the first thrust made your breath catch. he was big, you’d known that. long legs, huge hands, the way he barely fit in airplane seats. but his cock was another level.

“kei—” you gasped, hands grabbing at the sheets. “you’re…”

he slid in slowly, inch by inch, mouth parted in concentration. “i know, baby. i know. i’ll go slow.”

but it didn’t feel slow. it felt like he was splitting you open. his hands stayed on your hips, thumbs brushing the stretch of your waist as he bottomed out with a hiss through his teeth.

“god,” he muttered, looking down at where your bodies met. “you’re so fucking tight around me. feels like your pussy’s never gonna let me go.”

you whimpered. “you’re too big, kei—”

his head dropped to your shoulder as he kissed your neck, his breath warm and trembling. “you’re taking it so good though,” he whispered, starting to move slow and deep. “i know it’s a lot. but look at you.”

your breasts bounced with every thrust, soft and beautiful and his, and his hands reached up just to feel them. rough thumbs brushing over your nipples until you gasped again.

“you were made for this,” he said, panting now. “all these curves. this body. you were made for me.”

that’s when it shifted. the moment he realized you could take it. that your body could stretch and tremble and open for him. he lost the gentleness. the praise didn’t stop, but the rhythm got filthy. he slammed into you now, hand fisting in your hair, pulling you up against his chest as he fucked you harder than you’d ever been taken before.

“so fucking tight,” he growled into your ear. “so warm. you hear that? hear how wet you are for me?”

the lewd sound of skin slapping echoed through the room, mixed with your breathy sobs. your thighs shook. your stomach jiggled under his grip. your tits bounced as he pounded into you from behind, hips snapping like he had something to prove. and maybe he did. maybe tsukishima, who’s so quiet, so cold on the court, just needed one person to fall apart under him. to let him own them like this. to give him the control he never reached for, but desperately craved.

“mine,” he whispered, kissing the side of your face. “you hear me?”

you nodded wildly, hands clutching the sheets.

“say it,” he growled.

“i’m yours, kei—yours—”

his pace stuttered. his hips pressed deeper, harder until you were moaning like you couldn’t breathe. “good fucking girl. taking this cock so perfectly. letting me stretch this sweet pussy till you can’t walk.”

your orgasm hit like lightning. you came with a cry, clenching around him so tight he snapped. he slammed in once, twice, before groaning loud against your shoulder.

“i’m gonna cum inside you. fuck, you want that? want me to fill you up, baby?”

you nodded, desperate, already too far gone. when he came, his hips stilled deep inside you, cock twitching with each pulse, he didn’t move right away. he held you there, buried to the hilt, one hand still gripping your hip and the other pressed against your belly like he needed to feel how deep he was inside.

“you did so good,” he murmured into your skin, still breathless. “god, baby. you were perfect.”

he carried you to the bathroom after even though your legs wouldn’t work, muttering quiet praises like it was habit now. “so beautiful… all mine… i don’t think i’ll ever get over you.”

you let him take care of you, kissed his flushed cheeks and wondered how someone could ruin you that thoroughly and still hold you like something precious afterward. but that was tsukishima kei, dangerous when he loved you and, god help you, he did.

[honey-on-your-tongue]

HEAR. ME. OUT.

Okay, Simon is your roommate. Okay? He's in his bed jerking off, and he can't come yet. He's overwhelmed because of that. And then you enter the room and BOOM. Y'know?

-😶‍🌫️

I hear something purring. Oh wait—

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You could hear him, grunting and groaning, his panting breaths audible through the thin walls. He'd been at it for so long; you'd been listening all this time, and you were a little worried for him.

Extremely horny about it, yeah, but also worried.

Over in his room, Simon is suffering. His wrist aches from leading his hand up and down so much, and his cock is jerked raw. It’s so hard, it aches. It’s been going on for too long. He’s tried everything, but nothing is enough to push him to his orgasm.

“C’mon, come on!” he groans, pissed and frustrated, his skin sticky with sweat. He’s desperate for release, achy and needy. He’s whining and grunting, hips bucking into his hand every time his orgasm is close, but it slips away, over and over.

He’s so caught up in the need, the pain of not being able to come, the desperation, that he doesn’t hear the door open.

He almost jumps out of his skin when your soft voice asks, “Simon?”

And he can’t help it. Seeing you standing there, your gorgeous eyes on his cock—his body just loses it.

He grunts, hand squeezing himself hard as he comes, spilling thick ropes of cum onto his hand, sticky and warm.

You gasp, watching him with wide eyes, as you feel a hot sensation pool low in your belly, followed by the familiar ache of need between your thighs.

Simon lays back on the bed, breathing heavy as he recovers. Eventually, he opens his eyes but avoids your gaze, whispering your name as he weakly tugs at his bed sheets to cover himself. “What’re you doing here?” he asks, mortified.

“I heard you,” you admit quietly. You close the door and find yourself walking closer to the bed.

He looks at you, clearly embarrassed. “So you decided to just barge in here?” he scoffs, but there’s no strength nor bite to his words.

“You’re lucky I did. Who knows how much longer you would’ve spent jerking off if I hadn’t?” you tease quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Simon’s eyes, darkened with desire, study you. “C’mere,” he says after a while, pulling you closer, and lays you down on the bed.

“What’re you doing?” you ask, giggling nervously. “Simon?”

“Gonna repay the favor,” he murmurs, lying down on his side next to you as his hand slips into your pants. He groans when he feels how wet you are. “Fuck, you got this wet just hearing me jerkin’ off?”

You blush so nicely. “I…yeah,” you say breathlessly.

“Yeah,” he echoes, grinning. “Lemme take these off.” He pulls your pants off, along with your panties. “Gotta pay you back for the favor you did me, huh? Can’t have you all worked up and wet because of me and not get you off. That would just be selfish.”

---

Taglist

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*if you wanna be added to my Ghost taglist, lmk 💛

---

Simon Riley masterlist

[kiwiatoll]

pussy drunk munch sub!loserjake who cums in his pants like 5 times when he eats you out.

anon.. this might actually be the best request i’ve had in my life. this is so hot I cannot function properly after writing it, bc ITS SO JAKE.. UGH GUYS PLS ENJOY THIS IM SO OWUTHEKWKZ

cw: smut, pussy eating, oral fixation, heavy sub!Jake, overstimulation, degradation + praise mix, messy sex, dom!reader

Jake is drooling between your thighs.

Literally.

You can feel it, hot spit dripping down his chin, onto your folds as he moans into your pussy like he’s been starved for it. And maybe he has. He’s been teasing himself about it for weeks, making dumb little comments, giggling when you caught him staring at your shorts like they’d personally offended him. Until finally, you spread your legs and told him:

“Show me what that big mouth is for, loser.”

You’ve never seen him fall to his knees faster.

Now he’s got his head buried between your legs like he wants to live there, licking you open with messy, full-tongue drags, nuzzling your clit, kissing it, sucking with so much wet sloppiness your thighs are shaking and your head’s thrown back against the couch cushions.

“Mmm—f-fuck, taste so good,” he whines, voice muffled into your pussy. He shakes his head like a dog in heat, nose grinding against your clit as his tongue pushes into you again. “I could die down here. I wanna die down here. Please let me—please—”

You’re not even touching him.

But Jake jerks beneath you with a guttural gasp, and you hear the wet squelch of his cum shooting into his boxers.

“Did you just—?”

“Mhmf!” he whimpers, not stopping for a second. His hips twitch as more drips out, soaking the front of his sweats. He doesn’t even care.

“That’s the first time?” you ask breathlessly.

He nods, face red, mouth shining. “Y-Yeah.”

“Pathetic.”

He moans like you praised him.

He cums again five minutes later.

All you did was tug on his hair and grind your hips into his mouth like you were using him, because you are. And that was enough. His thighs clenched under you, and he whimpered something that sounded like I’m sorry, but he didn’t stop.

He never does.

Jake eats pussy like a man possessed. Like your cunt holds the secret to the universe and he has to decipher it with his tongue. He slurps and sucks and worships, repeating everything he loves about it with sweet, filthy, completely brainless desperation.

“You’re so warm… so wet… y’r pussy’s like heaven. I can’t—fuck, can’t stop licking, I wanna live inside you—!”

You lose count after the third time he cums. His pants are ruined. His thighs are shaking. There’s a wet patch under him that spreads every time his hips rut into the couch cushion. But his tongue just keeps moving—up, down, inside, around—while his arms squeeze your thighs like he’s scared you’ll run.

He’s sobbing into your pussy by the time you cum, and when your thighs close around his head, trembling with overstimulation, he growls.

“More,” he begs, breathless and needy. “I need more. Please sit on my face, again, I’ll be good—wanna make you cum til you cry. Please. Wanna drown.”

You grab his hair and yank.

“Jake. You came in your pants five times.”

His eyes are glossy, pupils blown, lips slick with your arousal. He smiles like a drunk boy, fucked out and blissful.

“…So?”

You laugh. He looks up at you like you hung the stars. Like the only thing he believes in is your pussy.

And the worst part?

That might be true.

[froothytoothy]

Your Idol

Saja Boys x Idol! Reader │ part 4 │ previous │

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summary - the saja boys do a terrible job at taking care of you when you're sick

warning - fem reader, possessive behaviour, swearing, sexual tension, spicy content

w/c - 4,5K

a/n - sorry for the delayed chapter I was on holiday, pls correct me if there are any mistakes, comments, reblogs and likes are much appreciated, hope you enjoy!

────────────────────────────

“Please Jinu, you really don't have to do this”, you pleaded, grabbing his hands in an attempt to stop him from lifting up your trousers. Unfortunately, his grip was much stronger than yours, so he easily held your hands together to stop you.

“If I don't do this, your wound will get infected”, he explains whilst holding out the cotton bud laced with antiseptic, and you shudder in fear. Dance practice often led to a lot of injuries, but you still found the stinging pain that came with disinfecting a wound unbearable.

Once the soft material hit your skin, you shifted back against the sofa and bit down on your lips to suppress the pained whimper that planned to breach through.

Jinu looked up at you with pity before rubbing your exposed leg in comfort, “I know, darling. I know it hurts, but please bear with it just a little longer. Can you do that for me?”

The way he said it, almost as though he was begging, made you unable to resist, and you gave him a weary nod and sucked up your breath, preparing for the agonizing pain you were about to experience.

The hands surrounding you provided a distraction from the sharp pain coursing through your knees. After Baby had finished drying your hair, he'd taken a spot on the sofa right next to you, and was replaced with Mystery, who was now brushing your hair.

Mystery never failed to surprise you, from being a fan of yours to being good at styling hair. You saw a side to him that his fans would never even dream about.

Romance sat next to you, holding your hand for comfort, allowing you to squeeze it when you were in pain. Abby was busy making ramyeon in the kitchen, and of course, Jinu was attending to your knees. For the next couple of minutes you suffered through the pain, using the boys as a way to distract yourself. Seeing them distressed by your suffering comforted you, which motivated you to bear with the pain a little longer.

Jinu started to pull down the hem of your trousers, and you let out a sigh of relief, realizing he was finally done. You felt a tap on your shoulder and turned around to see Mystery holding up a mirror. Looking at it, you saw how your hair was filled with all kinds of flowers, woven through the strands in an almost harmonious way.

“Mystery, this is so cute. I didn't know you knew how to do hair”, you gush, watching the way his ears became red from the compliment.

“Ramyeon’s here!”

Everyone turned around to see Abby walking in holding a tray full of cup noodles. He came to you first and held out the tray in front of you. You gave him a warm smile before taking the noodles and waited till everyone was sat down with their noodles before digging in, slurping down the noodles with excitement.

Ever since the phone call with Baby, you've been eating a lot more than usual, and dance practice had left you famished, so you definitely needed the meal. Each of the boys started talking to each other, leaving you alone in your thoughts. Your mind couldn't help but drift back to the encounter from moments ago.

That kiss.

You kept trying to avoid thinking about it, not wanting to make things awkward between you and your new friend, but it was almost impossible.

Subtly, you turned to Romance, watching him rake his hand through his perfectly styled hair. You watched in awe at the way he would speak to Abby. His voice, level. His face, perfect. Not a single imperfection anywhere.

So why would someone like him kiss someone like you?

Whilst talking his eyes swiftly moved to you and you quickly looked back down, praying he hadn’t noticed you staring.

Something about the way Romance looked at you, the way it made you feel. All of it was so foreign to you.

It was a warm, but suffocating feeling. The way, not just Romance, but all of them, made you feel was similar to the feeling of floating through warm water. You just felt free. But to you, it wasn't enough.

Despite being surrounded by people who have treated you better than you ever have in your life, you just couldn't help but want more. You felt selfish, knowing you couldn't just accept the love that they'd already given you.

But when you were kissed, it felt as though that selfish desire trapping your heart had been set free, and your desires had finally been met. You wanted more from these boys, but you didn't exactly know what.

Looking back at Romance, you could still see him, staring at you with those blazing eyes. Soon, your eyes trailed down to his lips, and you couldn't help the feeling of wanting them back on you. The memory of his lips consuming yours brought shivers down your spine.

A wave of insecurity washed over you suddenly once you realized how creepy you were being. You quickly slammed your noodle cup down and stood up, turning everyone's attention to you.

“I really should be going now”, you hurried out, “thank you for your hospitality”. You rushed to the door before being stopped by Baby, who was holding out his phone in front of you.

The first thing you noticed was the phone charm hanging off the side of his case, and you could feel your heart warm at the gesture. When you looked at the contents on the screen, you could see the weather app showing that it was going to rain for the entire week.

“Don't go”.

You looked back up to see his usual nonchalant face, but behind those eyes, you could see the pleading look buried beneath the layers. Turning around, you saw the others with the same look, each standing up, ready to stop you from leaving them.

Five very strong, eager men praying you'll stay with them.

Now that's definitely a unique experience.

You let out a tired sigh before accepting your fate. There was no use arguing with them.

Plus, it's not like you didn't want to stay.

“Fine, fine, I'll stay the night”.

Cheers erupt from the boys, and you’re immediately dragged back to the sofa.

─────────────

You woke up, feeling the ground below you significantly softer than what you were used to. Typically, you'd wake up to a sharp pain coming from your legs as a result of one of the mattress’s springs digging into your thigh throughout the night. But the mattress you were on felt as light as a cloud. Once you opened your eyes, you knew you weren't in your room, judging from how large it was, and fear shot through you.

Where were you?

You got out of the bed to inspect the room, only to be met with a wave of dizziness. Your body felt hot, and your vision was slightly blurred. Some of the memories from last night surfaced back into your mind, remembering how you'd fallen asleep on the sofa after watching an incredibly boring movie with the boys.

Considering the unfamiliar location, you must still be in their house. Despite the pain coursing through your head, you went to look for them, feeling lost without them in the maze of a mansion.

When you managed to find the staircase, you could hear the sounds of chatter coming from downstairs, and you knew it was them. Tightly, you gripped onto the staircase railing, still feeling dizzy, and advanced down the staircase.

Once you finally reached the kitchen, you could see the boys, still dressed in their nightwear. You let out a sigh of relief, glad you didn't wake up too late. Although upon further inspection, you noticed the lack of shirts coming from both Abby and Jinu. Quickly, you looked away from them, not wanting to become distracted by the layers of muscles trailing down their torsos. When you were about to say something, you were interrupted by a sharp pain pressing against your throat, making you release a fit of coughs, turning everyone's attention to you.

“Hey guys”, you muster out weakly, before letting out another strangled cough.

The cough, the dizziness, the burning up. You were surprised it took you so long to realise that you had caught a fever, probably from being drenched in the rain.

The Saja Boys were quick to surround you, each plastered with massive grins spread across their cheeks; they were a little too excited to see you.

“Are you feeling better now?” Jinu asked, holding onto your shoulder once he noticed you swaying slightly, “You ended up fainting. Not sure if it was because of the movie, or because of something else”.

Before responding, you looked outside to check on the weather, and to your dismay, it was still raining.

Curse that weatherman.

“I think I'm fine now, but my head feels kind of warm. I probably have a fever”, you admit, taking in the panicked expression coming from the boys. When you were about to reassure them that it wasn't anything serious, you felt yourself being picked up.

It was obvious who was picking you up, evident from the tight grip coming from the large hands that filled around the curves of your skin. Abby had carried you in a way where staring at his bare chest was unavoidable. It was clear just how much he worked out from just how large his torso was compared to yours, and the way his abs would glisten in the light.

You still didn't understand what made Abby love carrying you so much, but if it pleased him, then you'd let him. Plus, you were starting to get used to it just as much as he was.

He carried you all the way upstairs, the others following behind. You didn't bother asking where you were going, already knowing the answer. Despite how resistant you were before, you were slowly getting used to the way the boys would care for you. Although it was strange considering the short time that you had interacted with each other, you couldn't deny that you also felt the same wave of protectiveness with them.

He laid you down gently on the bed and tucked you in, leaving you staring up at him and the others. “We'll be back soon, just rest”, he whispers, brushing a stray hair off your face and leaving you alone.

Since they're definitely not letting you go, you figured you'd get comfortable and sleep a little more.

─────────────

“Come on, Baby, hurry up. What if she's dying?” Jinu panicked, shaking him violently whilst Baby growled in frustration. “I don't understand this human stuff, don't blame me”, he grumbled out, eyes locked on the screen in front of him.

‘What is a fever?’

“It sounds like she's dying. Should we take her to a hospital?” Mystery chirps, his voice on the edge of tears.

The boys turned to him, his worries starting to spread to them. When you passed out last night, they assumed it was either you needing rest or the boring film that was on, so they just carried you to a spare bedroom, thinking nothing of it.

Although they did argue over the idea that you should sleep in a much larger, more fancier room with one of the boys. But in the end, they decided that that would be your decision to make, once you were conscious. They didn't want you waking up thinking something else happened.

In the morning, they’d noticed how quietly you were speaking and even the way you were standing seemed off, but they’d brushed it off as being because you’d just woken up, not because of this ‘fever’. The demon boys still had a lot to learn about humans.

“Her symptoms all match up, it just says she needs lots of rest. She's not going to die since it's not that bad”.

The others let out a sigh of relief, comforted by Baby’s words. They figured this had to be the result of yesterday's events, and concluded that something like this would never happen again.

“I'm going to do more research, just make sure she's in bed”, he says and goes back to his phone. As soon as the boys heard that, they all rushed towards the staircase, pushing and shoving each other, hoping to be the first one to your room.

After a struggle, Abby had finally made it to the guest room and was about to unlock the door before being tackled by a breathless Romance – fighting was definitely not his strong suit. Mystery soon followed, even attempting to bite Abby's hands to prevent him from unlocking the door. They each wanted to be the first one to see you.

Because they had been so distracted, they hadn't noticed Jinu coming up from behind and unlocking the door for himself, sending each of them flying into your room. They all laid on the floor, groaning in pain at the impact of tumbling over each other. Once they noticed they were in your room, they were quick to get back up.

“(Y/N), where ar-”, Romance was interrupted by a hand covering his mouth. He looked to where Jinu was pointing at and saw your sleeping form, tucked into bed. Seeing this, each of the boys quickly quieted down and slowly approached you.

They took in your peaceful form, the sounds of your calm breathing going in and out felt like a soothing melody. It was their way of knowing that you were safe.

Jinu noticed how your blanket wasn't covering you fully and carefully pulled it forward so it reached your shoulders. Seeing as he was so close to your face, he felt compelled to kiss your cheek before leaving with the others.

─────────────

In the background, you could hear muffled chatter coming from behind the door, and you opened your eyes to take a look at your surroundings. The first thing you noticed was that the number of pillows and teddy bears surrounding you had greatly increased from when you were first here.

Did you accidentally steal these in your sleep?

The door started to open, and in came Jinu, cautiously holding a tray with a bowl on top of it. His attention was so focused on it that he hadn't noticed you awake and staring right at him.

“Hi Jinu”, you greet and almost burst out laughing once you see him jump up, almost dropping the tray in his hands. “Sorry for startling you, is that for me?”

If you had any more energy, you probably would've gotten up to help, but you knew he wouldn't have liked that, considering he brought it all the way up here for you.

He gave a warm smile and a nod before setting the tray down on the nightstand and moving towards you to feel your forehead. Even though you knew how touchy the Saja Boys were, you still couldn't get used to it, and you felt your face start to slowly heat up at the close contact.

“Hmm, you feel warmer than before”, he pondered curiously, before seeing how your ears were a slight shade of pink. Once he realized what was going on, he held in a laugh and replaced it with a wide grin.

“Here, this might help”, he says as he sits on the bed with you and brings the tray over to your lap. Looking down, you could see a bowl of what looked to be porridge and a small plate on the side filled with some berries. The berries looked fresh, as though they’d been freshly picked, the porridge on the other hand…

Not only was it burnt in some areas, but it somehow had a light shade of purple to it, making you almost afraid to eat it. You looked up at the innocent smile coming from Jinu and gave him a tight grin before looking back down at the concoction.

It's the thought that counts (Y/N), you chanted over and over as you took a small spoonful and directed it towards your lips. The scent of the burnt oats tackled your nose, and you almost gagged at the smell.

Once again, you gave Jinu a hesitant smile before ultimately taking a bite and swallowing as quickly as possible, attempting to minimize as much damage to your taste buds. However, it was in vain once you could feel the taste of the charcoal bits along your throat, and you let out a strangled cough.

Jinu quickly panicked and reached for the water off the nightstand and handed it to you. You grabbed it from him, needing to wash down the bitter taste before it left a permanent mark on you.

“I'm guessing that was because of the fever”, Jinu said confidently, and you quickly nodded, not wanting to leave any doubt in his mind.

You didn't want him feeling bad after he made a meal just for you. Although you prayed he would never try to cook again, the next person might not be as nice.

From outside the door you could hear some chatter and watched in surprise as Baby burst through the door with Mystery behind him. Baby took in the scene before turning to look at Jinu with an angry expression, “Jinu, why did you give her that?!”

Jinu stood up from the bed, just as angry, “What do you mean? I gave her exactly what the website told me to give her”.

“No, it was soup, you idiot. Now she's probably going to get more sick because of you”.

Jinu looked at you, checking to see if you looked any sicker before turning his attention back to Baby, “Soup? Not a single website talked about soup. Plus, she seems fine to me”.

“I heard meat was good”, Mystery perks up from behind Baby, leaving the two demons to look at him in disgust. Where did he get that information from? they thought.

You started laughing at their childish behaviour, drawing their attention back to you. Watching them, especially Baby, getting so worked up over something so silly was adorable. "You guys really don't know anything about taking care of someone, do you?"

They all looked down in embarrassment. Demons didn't get sick the way humans did, and when they did, it usually ended with death, which is why the boys had been so paranoid about your fever. The fear of them losing you and the promise they made to protect you was something that had been haunting them ever since they came to know you.

You turned to Jinu apologetically, “The fever must've made me lose my appetite", you lied and moved the bowl away from you. Once Jinu realized what you meant, he rushed over to you to remove the tray from your lap.

“I'll make you some tea, that'll help”, he says before making his way towards the door.

“No, she’s supposed to drink milk!” Baby argued as he followed Jinu out the door, leaving you and Mystery alone together.

The air became slightly awkward after a couple of seconds of silence with him just staring at you from across the room. “So, did you like your gift?” you ask, hoping to break the uncomfortable tension between the two of you.

You were confused when he started making his way towards you until you noticed the familiar items hanging from his ears. The earrings you had bought for him replaced his usual ones, and upon further inspection you noticed he even wore the rings and bracelet you gave to him. Every piece he wore was a silent confession, a way to show just how much he cared for you.

“(Y/N), are you feeling better now?” he asks, his voice low, whilst prowling closer and closer to you. Oblivious to his sharp gaze, you answered cheerfully, “A lot better thanks to that nap! My head is still a little warm, but it should be fine”.

“Fine?”

Had he not heard you? you thought.

“Yup, I'll be fine”, you repeat, still unaware of the dangerous look in Mystery’s eyes behind the veil of his hair.

You hadn't even noticed how close he was to you until you suddenly felt a weight atop of you. Mystery had pulled you down on the bed, making you fall into the soft comfort of the pillows. When you looked up to confront Mystery you were taken aback at the sight in front of you. Because of the position you were in, his face directly above yours, you now had a clear vision of his face.

His eyes glowed a gorgeous, almost unnatural shade of violet, which beamed under the darkness of his hair. Above his left eye, you could see a silver piercing along his brow, matching the other ones in his ears.

The way Mystery was looking at you, it was as though he wanted to devour every inch of you. “(Y/N), I'm jealous, so fucking jealous”, he breathed out, his face inches from yours. “I've not been able to sleep, eat, or breathe without thinking of you”.

Your body was frozen in place, your mind in a frenzy of confusion and fear. What did he mean? What was he jealous of?

Noticing your curious gaze, Mystery answered for you, “It should've been me. I should've been the one to take your first kiss”.

At Mystery’s words, your mind drifted back to what Romance had said.

“You're just jealous I did it first”

Hearing Mystery's words, seeing the look in his eyes, you knew it was true. As much as you wanted to deny it, he was jealous. His eyes burned with desire, a mix of hunger and lust, for you. Just for you.

Although you still couldn't understand why. A lot of things the Saja Boys did confused you, from being overly friendly, to taking care of you, and especially to Romance kissing you.

You could see Mystery's breath become ragged as the memories were brought back to him, “I knew you first, I was there for you first”, he pants, bringing his face closer to you. “But it’s fine”, he pauses, “even if I can't be your first, at least I can still have you”.

He swiftly brought his lips to yours, digging hungrily into the skin of your lips. You could hear the deep moans coming from him with each movement of your mouth. The sensation of being so close to you felt like heaven to him. There was a time when he could only fantasise about this moment, dreaming of it, longing for it, begging to be near you. And now it was real, and it was so much better than he’d ever imagined.

When you finally came to your senses, you tugged at his shoulder to get him to stop, only to be met with sharp teeth biting your lips, forcing a gasp to escape you. That gave him the opening he needed to seal your mouth with his tongue, covering each crevice of it, leaving it completely under his control. You could only shut your eyes and embrace the pleasure you were given.

Soon you felt his lips leave yours, and a wave of disappointment hit you before being thrust back into pleasure when he started kissing down your neck. He started from the top before going further down, almost reaching your collarbone. Once he got tired of kissing, he moved on to biting random spots along your neck, marking and claiming you as his own.

You gripped his hair for support, attempting to control yourself from making any noise that would provoke him any further. Being an idol meant avoiding the opposite gender as much as possible, so you’ve never experienced anything like this before, and Mystery’s eagerness left you too scared to want to take it any further. He was like a starving animal, finally finding its prey.

It felt like hours before he was finally finished, each second unlocking a new feeling within you. Mystery moved your chin, forcing you to look at him, “You've not done that with anyone else, right?”

Your voice was rendered useless, so you could only respond with a shaky nod. He gave you a wide grin before lying down next to you and spooning you from behind. “I'm so happy”, he begins, as he wraps his arms around your waist and brings you closer to him, “sharing with the others is a pain, but I'll bear it for you”.

After a while, you heard the soft rhythm of Mystery’s breathing and knew he’d fallen asleep.

You were certain your fever had only gotten worse.

─────────────

“So, this is your way of destroying the honmoon?”

The members of the Saja Boys stood below the demon king in shame as he mocked them.

Gwi-Ma had known all about the activities that were going on with you and the Saja Boys, and he found it both pitiful and amusing. How could demons like them hope to love a human like you?

Once the honmoon was destroyed, leaving the demons to take over the earth, there would be no place for you, or your “love”. You would grow to hate the Saja Boys for taking away everything you care so much about.

“I just don't understand how some random girl is going to help you defeat the hunters. Go on, Jinu, explain it to me”, he commands, focusing his attention on Jinu.

Each of the members turned to Jinu, all awaiting his response. He looked up at Gwi-Ma, his eyes filled with certainty. “Her soul”, he says, walking towards the king with confidence, the others looking at him, confused. “It’s the purest soul we've ever seen”. Jinu turned back to look at the shocked expressions coming from his members, before looking back at Gwi-Ma. “And once we consume it, we'll gain enough power to defeat the HUNTR/X easily”.

Jinu could hear a gasp coming from behind him, but he continued to look up at the demon king, needing to show just how serious he was about this plan.

Gwi-Ma howled in laughter, enjoying the idea, knowing just how much suffering it would cause the Saja Boys. He couldn't wait for the Idol Awards.

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[l4ndoflove]

birthday pastry

@ oscar piastri

caption can oscar live up to his infamous nickname?

tw tooth rotting (literally and figuratively) fluff

wc 1,220

l4ndoflove this is my (very belated) birthday gift for @vettelsvee 🫶🫶🫶 love you girl, feliz cumple <333

p.s. i hope this helps after the race :)

OSCAR PIASTRI HAD NEVER BEEN A GREAT COOK. Everybody was painfully aware of that: you, his family… even Lando knew it by now. Still, the McLaren content team, who’d witnessed countless of his culinary disasters, didn’t seem to care one bit.

That was the reason why your boyfriend currently found himself seated at a table scattered with toppings, a whole crew filming him.

“So,” he cleared his throat, eyeing the ingredients as if they were little bombs about to go off. “We are here at Spa for the Belgian Grand Prix, and as you can see, we’re going to decorate some waffles.”

“Uh huh,” his teammate confirmed, already stacking three of them on his plate.

Meanwhile, just off camera, you were bracing yourself for the inevitable chaos that was about to unfold judging by Lando’s grin and Oscar’s lost look — the one he usually gave you whenever you asked him for a hand in the kitchen.

“I think I’m going to start with…” His eyes roamed over the colorful garnishes, landing on a small bottle that he immediately picked up. Then, without missing a beat, he held it up and showed it to you. “You like chocolate sauce, right?”

Saying that he caught you off guard would’ve been an understatement.

You blinked at him, confused, not sure if you’d imagined it or he’d actually asked you something before the soft ‘hm?’ which left the back of his throat confirmed the latter. He was waiting for an answer. The one you gave him was barely audible, a whisper you hoped the microphone wouldn’t catch, but it was enough to bring a faint smile to his lips.

“Coming right up,” he muttered to himself as he squeezed a generous amount of said syrup on the plate in front of him. Well, tried to. When nothing came out, he frowned, eyebrows drawn together — partially in concentration, mainly in confusion — and used both hands to apply more pressure. Still nothing. “What the…”

Despite his visible distress, you couldn’t help but snort. Because the way Oscar always struggled with literally anything that didn’t involve racing cars had something comically endearing to it, even though you would’ve never admitted it. Not that he hadn’t figured it out on his own, anyway.

“Baby,” you called out, stifling a laugh, “you’re supposed to–”

“Remove the foil! Thank you,” he finished your sentence right as he popped open the bottle and revealed the thin material sealing it, which he then proceeded to peel off. After that, he managed to pour a drizzle of chocolate on his dish with a dramatic flick of the wrist, just like an artist painting on white canvas.

Once he was done, he cocked his head to the side and gave his… whatever it was a better look.

“Does this look like a heart to you?”

Lando, who had been sneakily stuffing his pockets full of Kinder Schoko-Bons for the last five minutes, glanced down at his teammate’s failed attempt at drawing and scrunched up his nose at the sight.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

He paused.

“It does look like an ‘O’, though. ‘O’ for Oscar.” He nodded at the crew, clearly pleased with himself for coming up with such a brilliant last-minute save.

So brilliant that it earned him a deadpan stare from you and a very judgy side eye from the Brit next to him.

“Whatever you say, mate. Whatever you say.”

The Aussie ignored him, already scouting for his next victim in the crowd of bowls laid out on the counter. It took him a surprisingly short amount of time to find one because, as soon as he recognized the mini chocolate candies that Lando kept avoiding, his eyes lit up. Bingo.

“These are my girlfriend’s favorite,” he beamed, taking a handful of the Crispy M&M’s he was referring to. “I always carry some with me for when she gets hungry.”

Somewhere beside him, Lando sighed. “Ah, love. Couldn’t relate.”

Oscar’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink at his comment. He fumbled with the waffles that he was clumsily attempting to pile up in the middle of his chocolate decoration, and, of course, he dropped them right away. Swearing under his breath, he rushed to fix the mess, ears as red as some of the sweets still clutched in his fist.

“Uh, this is not good,” he chuckled awkwardly. “But I’ll make it work. Hopefully.”

‘Hopefully’ was definitely the right word because hope was the only thing holding together your boyfriend’s creation when he finally sat back, gave it a proud once over, and considered himself happy with the result.

He sounded almost relieved when he spoke again.

“Hard part’s done. My teammate here might disagree, but I think I did a pretty good job.” He shrugged. “And, umm... yeah, that’s it for today.”

Apparently, it wasn’t.

The camera was still rolling when he stood up, lifted his precarious construction from the table, and walked out of frame — straight toward you.

In two strides, he was there.

“Hi,” he murmured with a sheepish smile.

“Hi,” you echoed him, tilting your head back to see his face. “What are you doing?”

“I made you something.”

Your heart did a stupid, little somersault in your chest. “Really?”

“Mhm. Do you like it?”

You followed his gaze as it settled on the plate squished between the two of you, where a leaning tower of waffles was miraculously defying gravity. A bunch of colorful M&M’s were tucked into its square holes, and the white porcelain beneath it was dotted with crooked hearts. The bright orange writing running along the edge, however, was the first thing that caught your attention:

Happy birthday, I love you

You didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. Just stared at what was quite literally the sweetest gift anyone had ever given you.

Unfortunately, Oscar couldn’t read your mind.

“I know we ate a real cake with the team this morning, and it probably tasted way better than this, but I wanted to do something for you, and I can’t exactly bake, so–”

He never finished the sentence — not everyone is able to when they have another person’s mouth pressed against theirs.

Your lips captured his in a kiss that was meant to shut him up yet spoke louder than words ever could, tongues deep in a conversation of their own.

It wasn’t rushed. You took your time with it, breathing in the delicate cocoa scent that clung to him, a mix of his deodorant and the sauce streaking his skin as your fingers trailed up his arm, slow and deliberate, and wiped away a remnant of syrup from his jaw. He melted under your touch.

“You guys are disgusting.” The sound of Lando’s voice momentarily drowned out that of your breaths intertwining, reaching you from his place in the background. “Get a room.”

Oscar smirked. “Might as well,” he muttered lazily into your mouth, eyes half-lidded with affection. You rolled yours, amused.

“Later,” you cooed, pulling away only to give him another quick peck on the lips. Then another one. “Ask me again.”

“What?”

“If I like it.”

He exhaled, already preparing for the worst. “Be honest. Do you like it?”

Your fingertips grazed the light stubble on his chin, as gentle as your next words.

“I love it.”

[fawnindawn]

here comes the sun.

clark kent x fem reader. (3k)

clark faces his first failure as superman, and he runs right back home to you.

content: childhood bsfs to lovers, fluff, comfort, he screws up and his automatic reaction is to fly all the way back to Smallvile to see his best friend?, idiots in love, you’re metaphorically his sun, to those who read eyes like pretty lights wink wink this is for you too

Clark finds you waiting in the fields.

He doesn’t recall much of the last twenty-four hours. It was all a blur when he had taken off, flying back to Smallvile after the incident. He's sure the news has already invented creative ways to scrutinise his impulsivity. He wishes he could drown out the yelling- the utter disappointment in the faces of strangers who looked down on him from the crater he made for himself in the cement. He did his best to scrub off the dirt from under his fingernails, and yet, he still smells the scent of soot and brick.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. There is no better critic than the one inside his head, chastising the naive dream he wanted to accomplish as Superman. To use his strength for something he believed would do good. He pulls at the edge of the shirt his Ma had left on the edge of his bed absentmindedly, heading off in the direction his parents had told him to go. To find the one person he needed to see.

He would be lying if he said he didn’t remember the first time he saw you. Wild eyes, and crazy, uncombed hair staring at him, mouth gaped open the first time he crashed into your barn, at the ripe age of five, a wild flying incident gone wrong. Despite the soreness of his limbs, it doesn’t deter the speed that he drags himself across the open fields. Distance makes the heart fonder, some would say, but he's gone too long without you. His best friend. God, he missed you so much.

The limp in his gait subsides as he makes his way towards you. He knows it's not because of the sun that soaks the grass blades he wades through, healing the cuts in his skin. No, it's the sight of your unruly hair, coated by the sun- painting you as a perfect vision.

You turn to him, and for the first time since he woke, he allowed himself to breathe.

"Hey, Big Blue." You barely manage it out before he's tackling you in his arms, lifting you up above the ground. Your feet dangle, but you don't complain- not like you usually do in a teasing way, kicking him at his knees. Maybe you've already seen the news, he hopes you didn't.

"Just Clark today." He murmurs.

"Yeah?" Your hand rests on the nape of his neck, brushing the waves that gather at the ends. "Didn't know there was a difference. Was always just you to me."

He holds you tighter, eyes squinting shut to focus on your breathing and the sway of the wind against your hair. "You’re here."

"Where else would I be?" You answer so easily, and he likes the idea of you being a constant. When everything has gone so wrong, he thinks that holding you like this, hearing your voice- it's one of the few things left keeping him sane, from flying off to the sun and far away from Earth. He has never felt so unwelcome in the planet he calls home, but here- he's starting to rework on what that word means to him.

Settling at the bench, he stares out at the fields as you shift in your position to look at him, head leaning against your knuckles, arm rested on the wooden back. Maybe he's oddly sentimental in your presence, but he swears he can hear your light-hearted shrieks- running through the fields as he flies to catch you, tumbling both of you into the grass. The past and present intertwine with the familiar position of the sun raised right across the acres lined with trees in the distance.

"You'll find yourself, Clark." You find his fears through the jumble of his thoughts, you always did. With all the warmth of a summer's morning, your hand drops from the bench to take his into a comforting squeeze. "Don't let the world tell you who you are." Pressing your other hand to his heart, it beats steadily against your palm. "You don't owe them this."

"But I'm supposed to protect them." His voice cracks. "Who will trust me to protect them now?"

"I do." For a moment, it's as if only your figure exists in his preliminary vision. Could the world feel so small compared to the very existence of you? As if your very presence, reminding him that he has someone who sees all of him, and is okay with that- soothes him to forget about the disdain that has been cast onto him. "In time, the world will see it too, that there's no one they should trust more than Clark Kent, to keep the goodness in this world."

"How good can I possibly be to make up for it?" He mutters. "They don’t want me."

"You don't need to make up for anything.” There’s a grip in your voice, trying to convince him. “The effort you pour into this world, it’s more than enough, Clark. It's human, to put in all you can give every day- even if it isn't perfect."

“Human?” He huffs in amusement, bitter to himself. “If only you knew the names they wrote about me.”

There’s a sharp inhale from you, and he turns in time to see the way the sun reflects in your irises, the press of your brows. "You are human, Clark. One who I'll always have the pleasure of calling my best friend. You don't need to save everyone to prove that you are one of us."

"Thank-" His voice catches. He can't look away from you, but his vision blurs. You pull him in for a tight hug, and he can only hold on as he tries to swallow past the tight lump in his throat.

"I owe you this much." You reassured him. "You are so kind and so good, Clark. You don't deserve this." He feels the heavy-weighted sigh in your chest, and your genuine want to take away his pain.

"Can you stay with me?" He asks, even if he knows your answer. When the world has thrown him off his feet, his heart claws for one selfish act- just one greed to keep.

"Always."

"This has been a very unlucky week." He sighs.

"Very." You chuckle softly, pulling away and resting your forehead against his.

"It's worth it if I have you." He whispers. A quiet, soft admission- but honest and sweet, just like him. "I'll take one you over the world liking me any day."

"Careful." You warn playfully. "You’re cutting close on our unspoken limit of three cheesies per month."

"Cut me some slack." He huffs, though it breaks off into a laugh of his own.

"Fine." You whisper, shuttering on eye shut. "I'll close one eye this time."

"Want to make breakfast together?" He asks. His hand itches to have you in his kitchen again, to hear your footsteps across the creaky wooden boards as you parade around with his Ma's apron tied around your back. To forget anything of who he is except the boy he was growing up beside you.

"Think your Ma's got some of that strawberry jam from the farmer's market." You assume. "Want to make pancakes, and some strawberry toast?"

"Yes." To all of that. He wants to tell you how much he wants to, how grateful he is that you'll let him have this- but like you said, he's hitting his three sentence limit, and the month isn't close to over yet.

"Alright." You grin, breaking away from the close proximity to leap off the bench. "First person to reach the kitchen gets the remaining lemonade."

He barely registers what you've said before you're off, a smoke of dust left in your trail. He can't help the laugh that shakes out of his chest. The sun is bright, it's fullest potential in the clear skies of Smallvile, but it wasn't the brightest thing here.

He runs after you, through the open backdoor into his kitchen where he sees you, whispering to his Ma who has a concerned expression. He watches as his Ma's wrinkles melt into a relieved smile, and she pulls you into a hug, whispering words of gratitude.

His heart stutters at the scene, and he doesn't think he'll ever find a girl his Ma loves as much as you. He's never thought of bringing anyone who wasn’t you into his home, to his parents- and at that thought, he realises he doesn't want to. It feels right for you to be here.

He towers over you as you turn around, craning your neck to meet his gaze. His hand reaches out behind you, opening the fridge door by the clasp and grabbing the pitcher of lemonade. “Guess I won." He hums.

"I let you win."

"I know." He smiles, his dimple tracing the edge of his cheek. "I'm still taking it as a win."

"Course you do, you loser." You tease. "I know you'll share it anyways."

"You lovebirds take your debate out of my kitchen." His Ma cuts in, though her teasing, warm smile tells him she only said it to call them so, not out of actual annoyance. "I need my stove for lunch's soup special."

"Sorry, Mama Kent!" A good, sweet-natured smile stays on your lips as you move aside and out of his reach. Taking two plates with toast and the remaining strawberry jam into the crook of your elbow, you tilt your head towards him, gesturing to the living room. He watches as you plop down at the sofa, legs up and comfortable. He follows after you, course he does- with two cups of lemonade.

Handing one to you, he ignores your knowing smirk and takes a sip.

"So, what does Mr. Metropolis want to do today for his special visit?” You ask. "I think my Ma could use some help tidying up the farm if you want? I was planning on feeding the chicks too."

"Sure." He answers. "I'm up for anything."

"Yeah, guess you're kinda temporarily unemployed."

He tosses a pillow at you and you raise your hands just in time so it doesn't hit your toast or lemonade. "Too soon?"

He rolls his eyes, but he can’t stop the quirk of his lips. "I'm doing it for your Ma, not for you."

"Right, right." You swirl your glass, using your legs to shift the pillow that landed into your lap. "Why don't we switch the telly on? Maybe we can find some old cartoon networks still wired in."

He obliges, taking the remote and turning on the television. He skips through a weather forecast, an old black and white film (you claim to have watched it before and according to your words, it's awfully bad), but his hand freezes when he toggles to the news report station.

'Metropolis Under Fire - Where Is Superman?' scrolls through the headliner, and his eyes can't believe the destruction he's seeing while he had been away. That anxiety seizes in his chest, and his grip tightens on his glass- almost enough for it to crack.

Helpless, that’s the feeling that consumes him as he stares, frozen to his indecisions. He has to help them, but his thoughts seem to scream — they don’t want you.

Yellow polka dots block his vision before he can see anymore. He forces himself to look up from the fabric of your dress, and sees his suit in your arms, cape in hand. "Come on, Big Blue." You usher. "You've got a city to save."

"But-"

"The farm can wait. Smallvile can wait." Your eyes are sparkling, and you raise a brow in challenge. "The world needs you, whether they like it or not. Go show them who you are, Clark."

Something snaps in him, and he rises up, taking the suit from your hands. "I'll be back." He promises.

"I know." There are a few things that have become certain to him since he became Superman. The world can be cruel and impossibly hard to please, but it’s still his home. It doesn’t change the fact that when the world needs help, he’ll do anything to give it.

Taking in your smile, steady and reassuring, it tells him all he needs to know. Distance hasn’t made the heart grown fonder, he’s just been an idiot. He could never put together the words for why you matter to him the same way he needs the sun, but coming back home to you, it all pieces together. You’re right, the city needs saving, but there’s something else he has to tell you when he’s back. With a promise to keep and a city to protect, he takes on the suit and leaves for Metropolis.

It's nearly midnight.

You wait anxiously on the phone, pacing back and forth as you wait for something- anything from the news or his cellphone. It’s been more than fourteen hours since you last saw Clark- and it’s killing you.

The man heals from the freaking sun, he’s practically invisible. Yet, the crickets are chirping with no sun rays in sight, and no Clark either.

Maybe he's resting at his place in Metropolis, you try to console yourself. The journey back to Smallvile isn't easy after a fight, especially at night when his energy is depleted. You know he promised he'd be back, and he always did keep his promises. Pressing at your heart, you tried to take deep breaths to calm the intense marathon your heart was trying to accomplish, when you hear a sudden ‘ping!’

Jumping at the notification, you check it to see an update from Metropolis News, an account you’ve only begun following since your idiotic best friend decided to move to that horrid city.

‘Superman Saves The Day - Metropolis Miracle!’

You nearly cry tears of relief, and you turn to tell Ma and Pa Kent, who must have already deduced the good news from your delight- only to be interrupted by a knock at the door. All three pairs of ears perk up, but you’re first to react, on your feet as you unlock the bolt of the door.

Clark stumbles through the frame, nearly falling if it weren’t for you using your hands to catch him- well, more like stop him from face-planting the floor. You stumble with him, but your arms steady him enough for him to shift some of his weight back on his feet so you weren’t bearing it all.

“Clark!” Ma and Pa Kent exclaim at the same time, showcasing the strange synchronicity they have over the worry of their super-powered son. They rush on over, engulfing him into a hug, trapping all of you into a suffocating, bear squeeze.

“Ma- Pa.” He gasps. “I’m okay. I’m okay.”

“You worried the life out of us!” Pa Kent weeps, pulling away to rub his arm over his eyes.

“Pa- I’m fine. I’m sorry for worrying you.” Clark's expression is twisted in guilt, but his voice only seems to make his father more emotional.

“Don’t feel sorry, son. It’s normal for your Pa to be worried.” Ma Kent cuts in, giving a kiss to Clark’s cheek, brushing over her son’s hair and cupping his face- expression filled with relief. “She’s been waiting for you all day. I’ll give some time for the two of you and take your Pa upstairs, alright? We’ll talk in the mornin’.”

Clark nods, squeezing his Ma’s hand before his gaze lands on you. You’ve been his best friend since practically forever, but something’s different in his gaze when he looks at you. It’s not the fondness you’re used to, or his teasing expressions. It’s serious, rare- and utterly beautiful.

“Hey, Big Blue.” You whisper into the night. The crickets outside compete with your voice, but there’s something so tender about this moment that you can’t risk breaking with one of your jokes.

Your words seem to snap him out of his stupor, and he approaches you, boots heavy on the floorboards as he pulls you in gently, resting his head into the crook of your neck.

“I’m glad.” He sighs. “That you’re here.”

“I told you I wasn’t going anywhere.”

He shushes you softly, telling you he’s not done. “It’s not just that.” Pulling away just enough to meet your eyes, the warmth in his gaze soaks you in nothing else but clear blue. "I always knew growing up, that I wanted to help others. But what happened yesterday, it nearly made me forget why I started all this.” His voice is guilty in admission, a crinkle in the center of his brows.

"Then you just came in with all your belief in me.” He breathes out, as if he still can’t quite believe it. “That I sometimes don't even have in myself. You didn't question me, you just knew. You reminded me why I do what I do, even if it's hard."

"I'm so thankful that you're my person." He confesses. "You have no idea how thankful. I don’t think I’ll ever get to express how lucky I am to have met you.” Brushing the side of your face, he’s taking you in as if it were the first time.

The silence holds onto the atmosphere as you take in his words. He’s always been honest, but tonight, he’s close to tearing out his heart and offering it to you for keeps.

“You’re my person too, Clark.” Your heart is beating so loud, you hope he can’t hear it. You try convincing yourself it’s just your relief from seeing him unharmed, and not how different he feels, towering over you, expressing the words akin to a love letter to your bond.

Hearing your words, he lets out a held breath against your skin. A satiated smile crosses his lips as he looks down at you, head slightly bopping against yours, mushing his curls flat. “I’m so tired.”

You laugh. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“But I have so many things to-” A yawn cuts his words midway. “-tell you.”

“Then we can wait for tomorrow.” You reassure him, pulling back despite his groans of protest. “I’ll be here to let you boast all about your acts of heroism.”

“Promise?” His sleepy expression is adorable, even as he tries blinking a few times to open his eyes. The dark circles beneath his eyes wears your heart out just by looking at them. He's overworked himself, to no one's surprise.

You lift your hand, holding out your pinky. “Promise.”

He smiles a silly grin as he links his pinky with yours, locking them together. "Tell your Ma I'm sorry I couldn't help out at the farm today." He murmurs, and you can't help but laugh.

"Who's the one telling me to cut him some slack?" You chastise lightly, holding onto him as you brought him to his room. "You're the one beating yourself up over nothing."

"I was really looking forward to it." He admits to you. "I wanted to spend the whole day with you."

"Well, you can make it up to me tomorrow." You coerce. "Consider it the penalty for going over the 'three cheesies’ policy."

His mouth parts open, blinking before he groans. "Thought you forgot about that."

"Sure didn't." You tease, pushing open his door into his room. It hasn't changed one bit, since the days of childhood. It’s a little smaller, somehow, but maybe that’s the room adjacent to the size of him as he lands roughly onto his bed.

"Fine, deal. We're still having pancakes tomorrow, we missed out on that today." His stunning smile, crinkled and bright, relieves you from all the worries that swirled in your mind. Here in his childhood room as he rambles on what the itinerary was for tomorrow, surrounded by his punk-rock posters and science fair projects littered across the walls — the framed picture of you and him on the nightstand, it really hits you.

Clark was finally home.

a/n: i'm going to be honest i completely wrote this dedicated to the reader & clark dynamic in 'eyes like pretty lights'. this is set in their past, before she moves to metropolis, and when he's just started out and the public was still skeptical on Superman. love exploring their dynamic and past together, my cuties. might write about her moving in next, but some good ol history together is always my favourite hehe. hope you enjoyed reading!

taglist: @kissmxcheek @canyon-moon-carly @superiorbyfar @mauvesmax @trulovekay @me-by-my-lonesome @puppyseungm0 @ririxxbat @ax-alienated @yeonalie @itsjusta-prank-han @starborncourt @jxli4

[bbywhitefox123]

rafe and cath in young wild free smut having sex the whole day and multiple rounds

Summary: girl math: ditch class = fuck rafe cameron= diamonds

Warnings: NSFW (smut), car sex, yacht sex, cockwarming, protected sex, cockdrunk behavior, deepthroating + throatfucking, cumplay, rough sex, hair pulling, choking, spanking, manhandling, light degradation, public sex, dirty talk, aftercare weed/bong use, high sex, multiple orgasms / overstimulation, pussy slapping, fingering, oral (m receiving), power play,

MASTERLIST

Rafe was slouched at his desk, jaw in hand, pretending to listen to whatever the hell Mr. Lee was rambling about—cell mitosis? defensive strategies? who cared. His pencil was barely moving, just sketching random lines around a corner of his notebook where he’d written her name. Cath. The “C” looped all fancy, circled three times. Lame. He crossed it out before anyone noticed.

Three days. That’s how long he’d known her. Three days since she crawled under the desk, grabbed him and blew his mind—literally—while the teacher graded essays or whatever ten feet away. That hadn’t stopped him. Couldn’t.

He hadn’t stopped thinking about her since either.

His phone buzzed in his lap. He didn’t even wait. Unlocked it under the desk with the kind of urgency you feel when something good is about to happen.

u wanna skip? craving sushi.

Rafe smirked. Textbook still open in front of him, but his brain was already halfway in the parking lot.

sushi and?

depends what ur offering.

Fucking hell.

Five minutes later, he was already unlocking his Jeep, hoodie pulled over his button up, backpack half-zipped. He turned just in time to see her crossing the lot like she didn’t care who saw her—short-ass skirt riding high on her thighs, that white button-down she never fully buttoned, her black bra peeking out like it was intentional.

It probably was intentional.

“Hey,” she said, but before he could answer, she was kissing him. Trying to make it quick. He made it a real kiss the second her mouth touched his, hand sliding straight to her ass like it was his now, squeezing hard enough to make her whimper.

“You’re bad for me,” he muttered against her lips, tongue brushing hers. “You know that?”

She shrugged, smiled, pulled back just enough to look up at him. “So what?”

He grabbed her waist, yanked her against him. “So you’re lucky I’m not dragging you in the backseat right now.”

“Why not?” she teased, wide-eyed, cocky little grin like she knew exactly what she was doing to him. “I skipped for sushi, but I’m not that hungry anymore.”

She was lucky no one was around.

He opened the back door without another word.

The door clicked shut behind them and she was already tugging his hoodie off, straddling his lap, skirt riding up higher than it should’ve been legal. Rafe’s hands were under it in seconds—skin, warmth, lace. Fuck. She wasn’t wearing real panties. Just a thong. Thin and soaked.

“You came out here like this?” he said, voice low, head falling back against the headrest when she started grinding down on him, slow and filthy.

“Just for you, baby.”

That did something to him. He didn’t say anything—just slid his hand between her legs, pushed her thong to the side, and ran two fingers along her slit.

“God, you’re—” He cut himself off, kissed her hard. “You’re gonna get me expelled.”

“Not if we’re quick.”

Spoiler: they weren’t.

She was breathless and messy in his lap, hips stuttering when he pushed a finger in, then two, and his mouth was on her neck, his free hand tugging at the buttons of her shirt like they offended him. That black bra? Gone in seconds. Her tits bounced with every grind of her hips, and Rafe didn’t even try to be gentle anymore—he sucked a nipple into his mouth, groaned when she moaned loud enough to shake the car.

“Shhh,” he laughed, “you’re gonna get us caught.”

“Then shut me up,” she gasped, hand already yanking at his belt.

She got on her knees fast, right there between the seats, shoved his jeans down and wrapped those lips around him like it was the only thing she was meant to do.

Head tilted back. Fist in her hair. His other hand gripping the seat like he could hold on to something, anything, while she sucked him off like she meant it.

“Jesus, Cath—” he choked out. “Fuck. Fuck, don’t stop.”

She didn’t. Not even when he twitched in her mouth. Not even when he bucked up and hit the back of her throat. She pulled off only when he told her he was close—smirking, saliva glistening on her lips.

“I wasn’t done,” he growled.

“You can finish in me,” she said, flipping her skirt up and climbing back onto his lap. “If you’re fast.”

Challenge accepted.

He barely managed to get the condom out of his wall— thank God he kept two there —ripped it open, shoved it on with shaking hands while she rocked against him impatiently.

When he finally pushed in—tight, hot, wet—his whole body stilled.

“You’re mine,” he muttered before he could stop himself. “Yeah, baby?”

Catherine moaned, forehead pressed to his, nails digging into his shoulders. “Y-yeah— Now fuck me like it.”

And he did.

Rafe didn’t care about class. Or school. Or anything, really—except the way her thighs clenched around him, the way she cried out when he hit that spot deep, the way she begged for more even when she was shaking.

By the time they finished, both of them were wrecked. Hair messy. Clothes crooked. Her lipstick was on his mouth, his neck, his shirt collar. Her panties were stuffed into his pocket.

She licked her lips, still panting, and leaned in.

“So… still wanna take me eat sushi?”

Rafe laughed, breathless. “I’d buy you the whole damn ocean.”

The sushi never happened. Her favorite spot was closed, and instead of hunting down another place, they ended up at her house, Catherine tossing her phone on the bed as she scrolled through apps, casually using his card like it was hers. She didn’t even ask. Just, “what’s your PIN?” and he gave it up without blinking, sprawled on her comforter with his uniform shirt open, tie hanging loose, looking like he belonged there.

Rafe’s head tipped back against her pillows, chest rising and falling as she dug around her drawers for clothes. She peeled her bra off, not even facing him while she did it—like she didn’t need to perform, like she knew he was watching anyway. Then she stepped into a black thong, tugging it up her hips slowly, and he shifted on the bed like he was pretending not to care but his eyes never left her.

She grabbed an oversized T-shirt next, pulling it over her head. When she climbed onto the bed, he squinted at the logo, scrunching his nose like he smelled something off.

“Where’d you even get that thing?” His voice was lazy, cocky. “Looks like it’s second-hand.”

Catherine smirked, settling onto his lap, legs bracketing his hips. She could still feel him hard under her, lazy but ready, even after the Jeep. “It’s vintage.”

It was not. It was JJ’s. Her boyfriend’s. The one Rafe still didn’t know about.

“Vintage, huh.” He hummed, skeptical but already distracted, hands finding her thighs automatically, thumbs brushing her skin like it was a habit.

She leaned down, kissed his lower lip once. Soft. Then his upper lip. Again, again, again, like she was deliberately teasing him into a trance. And it worked—his eyes half-lidded, his breath hitching every time her mouth ghosted over his.

Rafe’s hands slid higher, gripping her waist, tugging her closer, but he didn’t flip her over. Didn’t rush. He just let her kiss him in pieces, like she was drawing something out of him he didn’t even know he had. His eyes flicked from her mouth to her shirt to her mouth again, a little furrow in his brow like he was trying to place the smell of smoke and saltwater still faint on the fabric.

He didn’t ask again. He just let her kiss him until his lips were swollen, until her hair fell around his face and he was breathing her in like oxygen.

Her tongue slid against his, messy, teeth clicking, lips slick. Catherine rocked her hips against him, slow at first, then faster, chasing friction against the hard bulge straining his uniform pants. Rafe groaned into her mouth, hands gripping her ass so tight it made her squeal. Her shirt was already riding up, exposing smooth skin, the black thong cutting into her hips, teasing him every time she ground down.

“Fuck, Cath—” he muttered against her lips, laughing a little because it was too much, too fast, too good. “You don’t stop, do you?”

“Why would I?” she shot back, smiling that spoiled little smile as she kissed him again, sucking his tongue into her mouth like she owned him. Her fingers were already at his belt, working it loose, popping the button, dragging the zipper down like she couldn’t stand another second of not having him out.

When her hand slid into his boxers and wrapped around him, Rafe’s breath stuttered. His hips jerked without permission, and she just looked at him—eyes wide, fake innocent, lips parted like butter wouldn’t melt.

“You’re such a fuckin’ tease,” he rasped, jaw tight as her hand pumped him slow, twisting at the tip just enough to make his stomach clench.

“Yeah?” she kissed his jaw, then lower, her teeth grazing his throat. “Then why are you letting me do whatever I want?”

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His hands flexed on her ass as she worked him, her mouth now hot and open on his neck. He tried—tried—not to make a sound, not to let her know she was wrecking him, because Rafe Cameron didn’t moan. Not for anyone.

But Catherine pulled back just enough to whisper against his skin: “Don’t hold it in. I wanna hear it. I wanna know I’m making you feel good.”

Something broke in him. A low, guttural sound slipped out of his chest, and her grin was wicked against his throat.

“See?” she cooed, squeezing him tighter in her fist. “That wasn’t so hard.”

“Fuck you,” he panted, though his hips were already bucking up into her hand, desperate.

“You will,” she said sweetly, kissing his neck again before pulling back with a sharp little laugh.

He glared at her, but his eyes were dark, needy. “You wanna run your mouth—get it around my dick.”

Her chuckle was low and smug. She slid back on the bed, crawling down between his legs, tugging his pants and boxers down just enough. “Knew you were gonna beg,” she said, arching her ass up deliberately, letting him watch the thong stretch across her. “Don’t pretend you’re not desperate, Cameron.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched, his hand already in her hair as she leaned down and wrapped her mouth around him. Heat, wetness, tongue swirling, and his head fell back on her pillows with a muttered curse.

She went slow on purpose, pulling off with a pop just to stroke him, then licking a stripe up the underside, her eyes on his face the whole time. “God, you’re twitching already,” she teased, smirking. “Don’t tell me you’re close.”

He groaned, tugging her hair hard enough to make her gasp. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re just… fuck—” He cut off when she sucked him back down, hollowing her cheeks.

Catherine laughed around him, then pulled off again, wiping spit from her mouth with the back of her hand. “Don’t come in my mouth,” she warned, stroking him, her other hand rolling his balls in her palm. “I don’t like it. It’s gross.”

Rafe let out a breathless laugh, biting down on his knuckle like he could hold himself together. “Yeah? That’s funny… ‘cause you swallowed every drop in detention.”

“That was different,” she snapped, stroking him harder now, teasing the tip with her tongue just to prove a point. “I didn’t have a choice. Ms. Litchfield was in the room. What the fuck was I supposed to do? Spit it on the floor?”

Rafe laughed, deep and shaky, tugging her hair again to make her look up at him. “You’re insane.”

“No,” Catherine smirked, leaning down to lick him slow, “I’m just the only girl who’ll treat you like this.”

And he couldn’t even argue.

Rafe’s jaw was locked, brows furrowed as he looked down at her. She had him right there, right on the edge, the kind of pressure that made his thighs tremble. His chest rose and fell fast, like he couldn’t get enough air. He wanted it so fucking bad—her lips stretched around him, her tongue everywhere, her hand stroking him cruelly slow.

He wanted to come in her mouth again. Badly. He wanted to watch her throat work, wanted her to swallow him down the way she had in detention, like she was starving for it. He bit the inside of his cheek just to stop himself from begging.

And then she did something filthy—licked over his balls, sucking the tender skin, her tongue pressing against that little line underneath while her fist pumped at his base. Rafe groaned, sharp and guttural, his head falling back against her headboard.

“Fuck, Cath—don’t stop—”

But the moment the front door creaked open downstairs, Catherine popped off him like nothing had happened. She stood up, wiping her hands shamelessly across his bare chest, leaving streaks of spit and precum behind.

Her smile was smug, evil. “Perfect timing.” She smoothed her T-shirt like she hadn’t just had her mouth on him, then padded barefoot out of the room to answer the door.

Rafe lay there, throbbing, spit‑slick and aching, staring at the ceiling like he could kill her. “Bitch,” he muttered under his breath, sitting up.

It wasn’t enough. Not even close.

He shoved to his feet, painfully hard, walking over to the drawer she’d yanked her panties out of earlier. He tugged it open, rifled through her shit until he found a sparkly pair—pink with rhinestones at the waistband. He could’ve used the damp pair already in his back pocket, the ones he stole in the Jeep. But no—he was saving those. For later. For when he was alone in his room at Tannyhill, picturing her on her knees under that detention desk again.

Now, he just needed something.

He fisted his cock with her panties tight around it, jerking fast, chest heaving as he hissed through his teeth. “Fuck, fuck—” He imagined her mouth, the smirk on her lips, the way she bossed him around like he wasn’t the one with all the power. It made him stroke harder.

His orgasm hit hard, spilling all over the soft glittery fabric. He grit his teeth, shuddering, eyes squeezed shut as his fist worked through every last drop.

The floorboards creaked—her steps coming back up the stairs. His eyes shot open. He wiped the head of his cock with the ruined panties in a rush, tossing them deep into the drawer before dragging his boxers back up, like nothing happened.

The door swung open, Catherine balancing a sushi bag in her arms, grinning like she hadn’t just left him half‑dead with need. She climbed back onto the bed casually, setting the food between them, not sparing him a single glance.

“God, I was starving,” she sighed, pulling a tray out and cracking the lid open. Chopsticks snapped between her fingers.

Rafe leaned back against her headboard, still catching his breath, eyes dark on her. She was so damn smug, chewing on a piece of spicy tuna roll like she hadn’t just broken him apart and walked away.

“Yeah,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “Starving’s one word for it.”

Catherine smirked around her bite, not even looking at him. She plucked up another roll, chewing slow like she was starring in her own commercial. She didn’t even look at him when she spoke, all casual, like she wasn’t dropping a grenade on him.

“If you feed me,” she said, licking soy sauce off her thumb, “I’ll let you hit it again.”

Rafe froze, halfway through dragging a hand through his hair. His first instinct was to scoff, to call her crazy, to tell her he wasn’t about to sit here like some fucking waiter hand‑feeding sushi to his spoiled little princess. Rafe Cameron doesn’t do that shit.

But his cock twitched in his boxers at the thought.

“You’re kidding.” His voice was flat, but his eyes were glued to her mouth as she licked rice from her lip.

She tilted her head, smirking, chopsticks dangling lazily in her fingers. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

He groaned, tipping his head back against her headboard. “You’re such a fuckin’ brat, Cath.”

“So dramatic.” She slid a tray toward him, batting her lashes like she was innocent. “Well… are you gonna man up and feed me, or are you gonna sit there with your dick hard and nothing to do with it?”

That did it.

Rafe grabbed a roll with her chopsticks—awkward as hell, too heavy‑handed—and held it out in front of her face. “You’re lucky you’re hot,” he muttered.

She grinned, leaning forward slow, tongue flicking against the edge of the roll before she took it between her lips. She chewed deliberately slow, eyes locked on him, like she knew every second he was dying to toss the sushi aside and just fuck her stupid.

When she swallowed, she hummed, all pleased with herself. “Mmm. Good boy.”

His jaw ticked. “Don’t—”

“Feed me another.” She cut him off, smirk curling.

And he did. He didn’t even hesitate this time, shoving another piece at her lips, watching them part, watching her suck a bit of soy sauce off his thumb on purpose.

By the third bite, he was shaking his head, laughing under his breath like he couldn’t believe he was doing this shit. “I’m so fucked. You know that?”

“Mmhm,” she hummed around another roll, swallowing before she dragged herself into his lap like she hadn’t just made him her personal sushi slave. She licked a drop of wasabi off her finger and smirked. “Now fuck me like you mean it.”

His hands gripped her hips instantly, dragging her down against his hard cock. He kissed her hard, teeth knocking, tongue messy, one hand already pushing her oversized shirt up over her ribs.

Then he broke the kiss just long enough to yank the shirt over her head, tossing it across the room. His dick twitched the second he got a clear look at her tits—perky, nipples tight from the cool air. His eyes dragged over them shamelessly, jaw tight, chest rising like he’d just run laps.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, running his palms over them, squeezing, thumbs swiping rough.

She arched into his touch with a smug little giggle. “You’re so obsessed.”

Instead of answering, he grabbed her thighs and shoved her back against the mattress, not asking, just taking. She bounced once, hair spilling over her pillow, her laugh turning sharp as she looked up at him with those knowing eyes.

Rafe shoved his pants down in a rush, boxers following. He grabbed a condom from his wallet, tore the foil with his teeth, and rolled it on as his cock strained for her. Catherine spread her legs wide, thong still on, giggling at the way he looked like he might snap.

“Such a good view, huh?” she teased, sliding her fingers down her own stomach, stopping just above the thin strip of fabric. “You’re drooling, Cameron.”

He smirked, yanking the thong down her legs in one swift move. He let it dangle from his fingers for a second, then dropped it on the floor, eyes glued to her slick pussy glistening in the low light.

“Prettiest cunt,” he said, almost reverent, before dragging his thumb across her folds, spreading her open for his gaze. He licked his lips, his smirk dark. “All mine right now.”

Catherine tilted her chin, cocky. “Mm, for now.”

Rafe’s laugh was low, dangerous. He leaned over her, lining himself up, pressing the blunt head of his cock against her wet entrance. His lips brushed hers as he pushed in slow, making her whimper.

For a second, she clutched at his shoulders, blinking up at him like she was lost in it. But the second her body adjusted, the brat was back.

“Harder,” she breathed, nails dragging down his arms. “You can go harder than that, Cameron.”

Rafe’s jaw flexed, his eyes narrowing. He gave her what she asked for—deep, hard strokes—but she kept talking.

“Come on,” Catherine taunted between moans, smirking even as her tits bounced with his thrusts. “What, this is all you’ve got? Thought you were supposed to fuck me stupid.”

He pulled out so fast she whined, her smirk cracking. Before she could sass him again, Rafe flipped her like nothing, shoving her face down into the mattress, her ass up high.

“Shut the fuck up,” he muttered, and slammed back inside in one brutal thrust.

Her hands scrambled against the sheets, nails dragging lines into the fabric as her body jolted forward. “Oh—fuck—Rafe!”

His hips snapped against her ass, the sound sharp and filthy, echoing off her bedroom walls. His grip on her waist was punishing, dragging her back into every thrust until she was moaning with each slap of skin on skin.

When her little attitude tried to come back—when she sucked in a breath like she might start ordering him around again—Rafe brought his hand down on her ass, hard. The crack filled the room, and she yelped, back arching.

“Yeah, that’s better,” he growled, landing another smack, watching the pink bloom under his palm. “Keep running your mouth and I’ll make it worse.”

Catherine whimpered, trying to hold herself up, her arms trembling with the effort. Her body shook under the force of his thrusts, every slap of his hips against hers wet, sticky, nasty. The room reeked of sex.

“Listen to that,” Rafe panted, leaning down over her back, fucking into her with sharp, relentless strokes. He slapped his hand over her mouth before she could speak, pressing her cheek into the mattress. “Hear yourself? Drippin’ all over my cock—needy little slut.”

Her muffled moan vibrated against his palm. He yanked her hair with his other hand, pulling her head back so he could hear her cry out properly, her sounds breaking, high and breathless.

Her arms gave out, collapsing her chest onto the mattress, but he didn’t let up. He followed her down, body caging hers, his weight pressing her into the bed. Now she couldn’t move, couldn’t push back, couldn’t fight him—just whimper and take it while his cock bullied her deeper.

“You wanted harder?” Rafe’s voice was wrecked, his lips against her ear as he drove into her again, the wet slap of his thrusts obscene. “Now you’re gonna fuckin’ get it. Every. Last. Inch.”

And all she could do was whine, body trembling, pinned beneath him as he pounded into her until her bratty attitude was nothing but broken gasps.

Catherine bit the pillow under her face as she came, loud and unashamed, her body jerking and clenching around him. Rafe grunted at the sudden tightness, sweat dripping down his temple, his hips never slowing.

“Fuck—” he hissed, watching her shake, watching her legs try to close even as he forced them open with his hips.

Her orgasm tore through her, but he didn’t give her a chance to recover. He just kept pounding into her, ragged breaths hot against her shoulder. She whimpered, the sound high and broken, trying to push up onto her elbows but collapsing again.

“Rafe—s‑stop, I—fuck, it’s too much!” she cried, her voice muffled into the pillow.

But he wasn’t stopping. Not when she was clenching around him like that, not when she was dripping down his cock, making every thrust slick, obscene.

His free hand snuck under her body, palm pressing flat to her stomach before sliding lower, fingers finding her clit.

“No, no—Rafe, please—” she gasped, tears prickling at her eyes, body jolting as he rubbed her sensitive bud in messy, ruthless circles.

“Shut up,” he muttered, pressing her face back into the pillow, fucking her harder. “You’re gonna take it.”

Her thighs trembled violently, her cries spilling into the fabric under her face. Overstimulation wrecked her, every nerve on fire, her body trying to twist away but pinned down under his weight.

“Look at you,” Rafe panted, voice sharp and breathless, sweat dripping onto her back as he grinded his hips into her with every thrust. “Crying on my cock. Can’t even handle it.”

“R‑Rafe—I can’t—”

“Yes you can,” he growled, rubbing her clit harder, watching her fall apart. “You fuckin’ will.”

Her body shook, another wave ripping through her, raw and overwhelming. She sobbed into the pillow, legs twitching, her cunt fluttering helplessly around him.

Rafe’s jaw was clenched tight, his rhythm faltering for the first time, because fuck—he was right there. So close it hurt. But he bit it back, forcing himself to hold on.

He didn’t have another condom. This was his last one, and he wasn’t about to waste it.

So he kept himself on the edge, fucking her through her tears, sweaty and ruthless, using her cries like fuel to keep going.

Catherine’s hand shot up, clutching the headboard like it might save her, but it was useless. Rafe grabbed her like she weighed nothing, dragging her back and flipping her onto her back again.

“Rafe—” she gasped, voice cracked and wrecked, but he wasn’t listening.

Her thighs tried to snap shut, trembling, her pussy flushed and raw from everything he’d already done. But Rafe just forced them apart with his hands, spreading her wide, his hungry eyes locked between her legs.

“Stop—don’t—” she whined, but the sound melted into a sob when his fingers slipped down, wet and filthy.

He shoved two inside, knuckles deep, groaning low at the way she clamped down instantly. His palm dragged across her clit with every thrust, making her jolt like she’d been shocked, her thighs curling around his wrist.

“Look at that,” Rafe panted, leaning over her, his messy hair falling into his eyes as he fingered her hard, deep, brutal. “Your body’s fuckin’ begging for it.”

Her head fell back, her mouth dropping open as she cried out, high and broken. Her back arched off the mattress, every nerve lighting up, her thighs trembling violently as his palm ground against her clit.

“Please—fuck—” she sobbed, trying to twist away from the intensity, but his weight kept her pinned.

Rafe’s smirk was mean, dark, as he curled his fingers inside her, pressing into that soft spot that made her eyes roll back. Sticky sounds filled the room, obscene, his hand working her like he owned her.

Her whole body answered him—arching, shaking, squeezing.

“Yeah,” he muttered, breath hot against her cheek as he pressed down harder on her clit with the heel of his hand. “Knew you’d break like this. Knew you’d come on my fingers.”

Her walls fluttered, spasming around him, her slick coating his palm, dripping down onto the sheets. She was a mess, undone, her voice nothing but choked sobs and moans.

And Rafe, groaning deep from his chest, spread her open wider with those dripping fingers, watching strings of slick stretch between them. He shoved his cock back inside her without hesitation, burying himself in one sharp, deep thrust that knocked the breath from her lungs.

“Fuck—” he snarled, his head dropping back, the stretch making him dizzy. Her cunt squeezed him so tight, still pulsing from the way he’d just wrecked her with his hand.

Catherine cried out, her nails clawing at his shoulders, her walls spasming desperately around him.

“Good girl,” Rafe groaned, pushing deep again, groaning like he couldn’t help it. “That’s my good fuckin’ girl.”

Rafe slowed his hips, grinding in slow, deliberate strokes, because she was so sensitive that even the smallest shift had her crying out, her voice cracking.

“Too much?” he teased, though his own voice was broken, strained, sweat dripping down his chest.

Her pussy was soaked, so wet she couldn’t hold him in. Every time he tried to stay buried, her cunt squeezed and spat his cock back out, glistening and slick.

“Fuck—” Rafe groaned, head dropping down, his jaw clenched so hard it hurt. The sight of his cock sliding out of her on its own, shiny with her slick, nearly made him lose it.

He slapped her pussy once, sharp, watching her whole body jolt. Then he shoved himself back inside, deeper this time, grunting. She whimpered, her face scrunching up, nails raking his shoulders.

When her body betrayed her again, spitting him out with a wet pop, he smirked meanly and slapped her pussy again, harder. “Keep fuckin’ doin’ that—see what happens,” he muttered, ramming back into her with another brutal thrust.

His cock twitched violently, harder than he’d ever been in his life, veins bulging, the condom straining with how badly he was holding back.

She finally hooked her legs around his thighs, squeezing, trapping him inside her. “Don’t—don’t leave me empty,” she sobbed, her voice so desperate it made his brain short‑circuit.

Rafe growled low, grabbed her thighs, and started thrusting fast, relentless, nothing held back now. The sound of his hips slapping against her was loud, wet, obscene.

Her body arched off the bed, writhing under him, trying to keep up but failing miserably. Before she knew it, he’d bent her into a tight V beneath him, folding her small body under his weight.

Her arms wrapped around his slick back, clutching at him like she’d drown without him, her sweaty, hot skin pressed flush to his. He could feel her hard nipples dragging against his chest with every thrust, and the sensation made him groan, guttural and raw, right against her ear.

“Fuck, Cath—” he rasped, voice breaking, hips slamming harder, harder, until the sound of the bedframe rattled through the room.

She was crying, babbling nonsense into his neck, clinging to him with everything she had.

Rafe felt it snap inside him, all that restraint unraveling at once. His thrusts went wild, messy, sloppy, and then his whole body stiffened against hers.

He groaned loud, teeth bared against her shoulder, cock throbbing as he spilled into the condom, pulse after pulse of hot release until he was shaking with it.

His chest heaved against hers, sweat sticking them together, her nails digging crescents into his skin as he groaned through the aftershocks.

He’d never come that hard in his fucking life.

Catherine’s hands fell limply beside her head on the mattress, mascara streaked and smeared from all the crying. Her lips trembled, still trying to catch her breath, and her small, shaking body was pressed beneath Rafe’s muscular frame as he pulled his cock out slowly.

He nearly laughed, eyes wide, staring down at the swollen condom—so heavy and thick with his cum, he’d never come this much before. He twisted it off carefully, holding it up with a cocky grin, waving it teasingly in front of Cath’s flushed face.

She groaned low, eyes drifting down between her trembling legs where her slick still glistened, dripping down onto the sheets. Her pussy was raw and so worked out she almost cried again—but this time from the overwhelming ache of it all.

“Fuck, Cath,” Rafe muttered, shaking his head. “Next time, we’re putting a goddamn towel under you. You’re such a mess.”

Cathine tried to kick him, weak and slow from the aftermath, because her body was heavy, slow, exhausted. Rafe caught her ankle effortlessly, his fingers curling around it as he bent down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the inside of her leg.

That night Catherine had said no to Rafe. She wasn’t in the mood for Kelce’s party, her whole body still aching from how Rafe had destroyed her earlier. She wanted her bed, her sheets, maybe another round of sushi. But somehow, she still ended up on Rafe’s yacht, the bass of Kelce’s playlist echoing faint from the shore.

She had a black hat pulled low over her hair, tiny bikini strings cutting into her skin, legs stretched out like she owned the whole damn boat. Rafe sat beside her, lazy grin on his face, passing her the bong. She took a long drag, holding it in until her chest burned before letting the smoke curl from her lips into the night air.

They got so high she forgot about being sore, forgot about how her thighs trembled when she walked. All she could feel was the hum under her skin, the way Rafe’s gaze burned holes in her bare thighs.

Her hat tilted as she swung a leg over him, straddling his lap. Rafe’s hands instantly gripped her ass, greedy, pulling her down against the hard line of him under his swim shorts.

“You’re unreal,” he muttered, voice low and rough, his eyes half‑lidded but locked on her like she was the only thing that mattered.

Catherine smirked, flicking ash from her fingertips over the side of the boat. “I know,” she said simply, rolling her hips against him like she wasn’t the one who’d been whining earlier about being too sore.

Rafe let out a choked laugh, his head tipping back against the seat as her tiny bikini top shifted, the swell of her tits pressing against his chest. “You’re really gonna kill me, Cath,” he groaned, thumbs digging into her skin.

She leaned down, teeth catching his lower lip before letting it snap back, her voice all honey and smoke. “Guess you’ll die happy, then.”

Catherine was already smirking when she tugged his shorts down just enough to free him, the cool night air hitting his skin. Rafe hissed through his teeth, watching her like he couldn’t believe she was real. She pulled her bikini bottom to the side, slick already glistening under the dim yacht lights, and sank down on him slow.

“Fuck,” he groaned, head thunking back against the seat. His hands clamped hard on her waist as she bottomed out, tight and wet around him, her tiny body trembling as she took all of him inside.

But then—she just…stopped.

Settling fully onto his lap, tits pushed against his chest, lips brushing his. Rafe’s jaw flexed, frustration radiating through every tense muscle. “Don’t—fuckin’—tease me, Cath,” he growled against her mouth, but she only giggled, high and smug, tongue slipping against his.

Her hands slid into his hair, tugging lightly, keeping him close while she kissed him slow and messy, like she wasn’t sitting on his cock squeezing him to death.

Rafe tried to thrust up into her, hips jerking, but she pressed her palms to his chest, holding him down. “No,” she whispered, almost sing‑song, eyes hazy and glassy from the weed. “You’re gonna sit there and keep me warm.”

He laughed, sharp and breathless, because she was insane—drunk on the power she had over him. “You’re fuckin’ evil,” he muttered, kissing her harder, teeth clashing.

Her tongue tangled with his, her hips shifting just enough to make him twitch deep inside her.

Every tiny squeeze of her pussy had him gritting his teeth, trying to stay still while she milked him just by existing on top of him. His hands couldn’t stay still, roaming over her ass, her back, squeezing her tits under the thin fabric of her bikini until she moaned into his mouth.

Rafe was unraveling, and Catherine was cock‑drunk and high, kissing him like they had all night.

But then her eyes went wide as she suddenly pulled herself off him, breath catching, the haze of weed clearing just enough for panic to flicker across her face. She stared down at his cock, slick and glistening, and then back up at him.

“Rafe,” she whispered, almost accusing. “You—fuck—you didn’t put one on.”

He groaned, head falling back against the seat with a low laugh, his hand dragging over his face. “Jesus, Cath… that—fuck—that felt so good without it, you don’t even know.” His voice was gravel, almost pained. “But—yeah—condoms. They’re in the drawer. Inside.”

For a second she almost said fuck it. She almost sank back down. But then she shoved his shoulder with a lazy slap and slid off his lap, legs shaking as she padded barefoot to grab one. A minute later she was stumbling back, waving the foil packet like a prize.

Rafe reached out for it, but she shook her head, eyes glassy and lips glossy as she grinned. “No. I wanna do it.”

He raised a brow, smirking. “You? You can’t even walk straight right now.”

“Shut up,” she giggled, fumbling with the wrapper. Her fingers kept slipping, tearing at the wrong edge, nails useless. “It’s…ugh, it’s like—stupid.”

Rafe was laughing now, low and warm in his chest, watching her struggle. “Give me that before you rip the fuckin’ thing.”

“Nooo, I got it,” she pouted, tongue peeking out as she tried to roll the condom down his cock. But it was inside out, then twisted, then she nearly dropped it completely. Both of them started laughing, their shoulders shaking, breathless from weed and frustration.

Finally, Rafe’s big hand covered hers, steadying her, helping guide it down. Their laughter lingered in the air, sticky and sweet, until he was sheathed.

She gave him a mock glare, straddling him again. “See? I did it.”

“Barely,” he smirked, but the words cut off into a hiss as she sank down onto him again, swallowing him whole. Her head fell forward onto his shoulder, his arms wrapping around her back, holding her in place.

And then—they just…stayed like that. Kissing slow, tongues sliding, weed‑heavy and giggly, her pussy squeezing him every time she shifted.

It was torture.

Rafe lasted maybe three minutes before his control snapped. His hands locked on her ass, lifting and dropping her on his cock. “Fuck this,” he groaned, teeth sinking into her neck. “I can’t—fuck, Cath, I can’t just sit here.”

Her laugh broke into a moan as he started thrusting up into her, hard, deep, the sound of their bodies slapping against each other echoing off the quiet night. She clung to his shoulders, biting his lip between moans, completely undone by how fast he flipped from lazy to feral.

Rafe’s thrusts grew rougher, his teeth gritted, eyes narrowed in focus. Catherine’s head lolled back, her giggles breaking into broken moans.

“F–fuck,” she whined through a laugh, nails digging into his shoulders. “You’re so obsessed with me—look at you, can’t even go three minutes without busting a nut in me.”

Rafe laughed against her neck, but it was sharp, cocky. “Shut up. You’re the one clenching all over me like you’re tryna milk me dry. Spoiled little bitch.” He slammed up harder, making her squeal.

She gasped, her mouth falling open as another wild thought slipped through her high haze. “Wait—wait. I want you to fuck me against the railing.” Her pupils were blown wide, voice sticky sweet, demanding.

Rafe froze for maybe half a second. Then he chuckled, shaking his head. “I can fuck you against the wheel behind you?”

“Mmhm,” she hummed smugly, sliding off his lap with wobbly legs. “Railing first. C'mon, Ray.”

He didn’t argue. He couldn’t—because he did.

She stumbled as she made her way across the deck, one hand dragging on the yacht’s wall to steady herself. Rafe followed right behind, catching her when her knees nearly buckled. “Jesus, Cath,” he muttered, but his hands never left her, guiding her until she was pressed up against the cool railing.

She wiggled her ass back at him, a mischievous grin thrown over her shoulder. “C’mon, captain, show me what you got.”

He smirked, giving her ass a playful slap, the sound cracking through the quiet night. “You’re gonna eat those words.”

But she wasn’t even paying attention. Her head tilted back, hair falling as she stared up at the dark sky. “Rafe—look. Do you see it? The stars—fuck—they look like diamonds. Like…like a thousand diamonds shinin’ just for me.” Her voice was dreamy, slurred with weed and want.

Rafe, lining himself up behind her, barely glanced up. His eyes were glued to the sight of her ass, the way she spread her legs for him against the railing. A lazy smirk curled his lips.

“Yeah, Cath,” he drawled, pushing in slow, making her choke on her own gasp. “A thousand diamonds. So pretty...”

And then he pounded into her, each thrust shaking her body against the metal, her moans mixing with her stoned rambling about the ocean shimmering like jewels.

Catherine’s laugh came out ragged, broken by moans as her forehead knocked against the railing. She tilted her head back, eyes glassy, lips parted in a lazy grin.

“Ray…” she slurred, the words tumbling out between giggles. “If the ocean’s all diamonds tonight—” she gasped when his cock hit deep, arching into him—“are you gonna buy me some? Hm? To match?”

Rafe’s low laugh ghosted hot against her ear, dangerous and indulgent all at once. His hips drove harder, deliberate, punishing. “You want diamonds?” he rasped. “Then fuckin’ earn ‘em, baby. Take it harder.”

She whimpered, then braced herself, pushing back against him, grinding sloppily on his cock. “Y-yeah? Like this?”

The railing squeaked with every thrust, her bikini bottoms hanging uselessly around one ankle as she tried to ride him standing. But she was too high, too sore, too drunk on him—her balance gave out with a sharp stumble.

“Shit—” she gasped, almost pitching forward.

Rafe caught her before she could fall, one arm locking tight around her waist, the other snaking up, his big hand wrapping firm around her throat. He yanked her back into his chest, pinning her body flush to his.

“Shh, I got you, Cath,” he muttered darkly against her ear, hips never faltering as he pounded into her. “I got you.”

Her knees buckled again, legs trembling, thighs quaking with every deep thrust. She clawed at the railing for something to hold, but her grip slipped from the sweat on her palms.

Her voice came out high, broken, half a whine. “R-Rafe, I can’t—my legs—”

He squeezed her throat just enough to make her moan instead of finish the sentence, his pace brutal. “Shut up and take it. You want diamonds? This is the price.”

Rafe’s hand slid from her throat to her jaw, his fingers forcing her chin up, thumb dragging over her bottom lip until it slipped into her mouth. Her lips parted around it instinctively, drool glistening as she sucked weakly, eyes glassy from the way his cock was splitting her open.

Her whole body jolted when the orgasm ripped through her, walls fluttering, squeezing, choking his cock until she nearly sobbed. Warm slick dripped down the inside of her thighs, coating both their legs as he groaned low, pulling out just in time.

Her knees buckled, her arms grabbing the railing to stay upright as she turned toward him, cheeks flushed, mascara smudged, hair a mess under the black cap. She looked ruined. She looked smug.

Her lips curved into that spoiled little smile—the one that always came when she wanted to twist him around her finger. “So…” she purred, her voice all sugar now, sticky-sweet in contrast to the filthy mess dripping between her thighs. “We were talking diamonds?”

Rafe stared at her, chest heaving, still hard as fuck, condom stretched tight over his cock. His jaw flexed.

She tilted her head, blinking up at him with doe eyes like she hadn’t just been moaning about how she couldn’t take anymore. “Maybe a necklace… or earrings. Something that shines like the ocean tonight.”

“Jesus Christ, Catherine,” Rafe muttered, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair, but his cock twitched at the way she asked. He wanted to laugh—wanted to tell her she was insane. Instead, he stepped forward, crowding her against the railing again.

“You think I’m gonna drop a fortune on diamonds for you—” his thumb wiped at the mascara under her eye, smearing it worse, “—when you can’t even stand without me holding you up?”

Her pout deepened, but her hand slid down between them, brushing against his length as her lashes fluttered. “Maybe if I get on my knees, I’ll earn them,” she whispered.

Rafe groaned, his self-control snapping.

Catherine yanked the condom off with a dramatic ugh, pinching it between two fingers like it was radioactive before tossing it on the floor. “Gross. Ew. Look at it. Disgusting,” she whined, wiping her hand on the sheet like she hadn’t just begged him to fuck her raw.

Rafe smirked down at her, still hard, stroking himself slow just to watch her pout. “Where do you want it, then?”

“Not in my mouth.” She shook her head quickly, tugging her bikini straps higher like she was covering herself from the thought. “I swallowed once for you. Once. Never again.”

“You swallowed half,” he shot back with a snort.

“I still did it,” she snapped, then dropped her voice to a whiny mutter. “It was gross.”

He bent over, grabbed her jaw and tilted her head up, smirking when she tried to look away. “Not in your mouth, not on your face… what about these?” His thumb dragged over her cleavage.

She slapped his hand away. “No. Not my tits. That’s—sticky and dumb and… and no.”

“Sticky and dumb?” He laughed. “Baby, you’re high as hell. You won’t even remember.”

“Yes, I will! I don’t want it in my hair, not in my mouth, not on my boobs—”

“You’re running out of places,” Rafe drawled. “Unless you want it on that pretty pussy.”

Her eyes widened, shaking her head furiously. “No! No, Rafe, I told you—what if—” She broke off, clutching her bikini bottoms tighter at her hips. “No.”

“Then tits it is.”

She groaned dramatically, flopping onto her heels like it was the worst deal of her life. “You’re so annoying. I hate you.”

He smirked, grabbing her chin again. “So, tits.”

She glared, then finally huffed out, “Fine. Once.”

“Good girl,” he muttered, walking over to the couch with that slow, cocky smile that made her want to hit him.

She moved between his legs, getting on her knees, and slid the cups of her bikini to the sides, letting her tits bounce free, and stuck her tongue out at him like she was still winning somehow. She wrapped her manicured hand around him, stroking lazily, teasing the head, circling it with her thumb. Her other hand toyed with his balls, giving them a little squeeze as she leaned in and licked across the tip.

“There,” she murmured against him, smug. “See? Easy. You’ll be done in like, two minutes.”

Rafe let out a low groan—but then his hand clamped down on hers, prying it off him.

Her brows shot up, instantly suspicious. “Rafe—”

He didn’t answer. He just slid his other hand into her hair, tugging her forward, pressing his cock against her lips until they parted.

“Wait—no—” she whined, trying to shake her head, but he tightened his grip.

“Open.”

“Rafe, I said—”

He pushed into her mouth anyway, groaning when her lips stretched around him, her eyes going wide.

Catherine’s nails dug into his thighs as she gagged, muffling a squeal against his cock, spit already slicking her chin. She smacked at his leg in protest, mascara running down her cheeks.

Rafe laughed breathlessly, holding her there. “You said no swallowing. You said no cum in your mouth. But you never said I couldn’t fuck it.”

She pulled back with a wet pop, glaring up at him with glassy eyes. “You’re—such an asshole.”

He swiped her spit across her cheek with his thumb, smirking down at her. “Yeah, you still want those diamonds, though? No?”

Rafe’s jaw flexed as he stared down at her, spit smeared across her chin and her mascara running. Catherine was whining, pouting, pulling back every chance she got.

“C’mon, Cath. Stop acting like a brat.”

“I said I don’t want it in my throat!” she snapped, voice all high and broken from the gagging.

Rafe rolled his eyes, grabbed her cheeks in one big hand, forcing her lips apart until her tongue lolled out against his palm. “Yeah? And I said open.”

Her muffled whine turned into a little sob as he shoved himself back past her lips, sliding down her throat. His other hand twisted tight in her hair, holding her steady while his hips rolled forward, slow at first, then harder, until he was fucking her mouth.

“God—look at you,” he groaned, watching her eyes water, her throat working around him. Drool streamed from the corners of her mouth, dripping down her tits where her bikini top was shoved aside. “So messy. You’re salivating like you want it.”

She tried to shake her head, her nails digging into his thighs, but the sound she made was all wet gag and spit, and he just laughed.

“Don’t cry now, baby,” he mocked, slapping her cheek lightly with his free hand as her eyes fluttered. “Just remember the ocean. Remember those pretty diamonds you want.” His hips slammed forward, making her choke, her throat clenching tight around him.

Her glassy eyes rolled up to him, spit and tears mixing on her face as his cock filled her mouth, and she let out a broken moan around him, gagging again as he hit the back of her throat.

Rafe abused her throat until his thighs trembled, until Catherine’s jaw ached and her mascara had turned into dark rivers down her cheeks. She gagged and whined against him, tears spilling over, and that only made him groan harder, holding her head still and rutting deep until his balls smacked her chin.

When he felt himself get too close, he yanked her off with a slick pop. Catherine gasped for air, coughing, her chin and tits glistening with spit.

“Last thing, c'mon,” Rafe demanded, handing her his cock like she had no choice.

She glared up at him through her red, watery eyes, but wrapped her manicured hand around him anyway, jerking fast and messy.

“Don’t you dare—” she started, realizing where he was aiming.

Rafe groaned, head tipping back as he spilled across her bare tits, streaking her bikini top and skin with hot, sticky ropes. Catherine let out a disgusted little cry, pouting as cum dripped down over her cleavage.

“Gross, Rafe! Ew!” she whined, tugging at the fabric uselessly.

But he wasn’t even listening—he was staring at her like he’d never seen anything more perfect. Her ruined makeup, the spit shining on her throat, her tits covered in his cum. Her lips swollen, breathing uneven. She looked every bit the messy little angel he’d made her.

⛅️

The next morning, Catherine woke up sore in places she didn’t even know could get sore. Her throat was raw, her jaw ached, her tits sticky even after a shower that hadn’t really helped, and her pussy felt stretched and tender from how many times Rafe had taken her.

Her head pounded from the hangover, every pulse reminding her of the bong hits and champagne she’d downed before letting him fuck her against every surface of the yacht. The sheets were ruined—her mascara still smudged on the pillow, the faint smell of sex clinging to the room.

She rolled over with a groan, reaching for Rafe, but his side of the bed was empty. Instead, sitting neatly where his head should’ve been, was a small velvet box.

Catherine blinked, groaning as she sat up and flipped it open. Inside, diamond earrings sparkled in the morning light.

She smiled despite herself, biting down on her lip. Typical Rafe. Fuck her raw, leave her half-dead, and then buy her off. At least, he kept his word, though.

She grabbed her phone off the nightstand, unlocking it and staring at the screen. For a second, she thought about texting him thank you. But that wasn’t her. Even though she loved them, even though she couldn’t stop smiling as she held one up to her ear, watching it glitter like the ocean had under the stars.

Catherine lay back against the pillows, earrings in, snapping a quick selfie. Mascara still faint under her eyes, hair a mess, pout perfect. The caption underneath the photo was just: Last season 🙄

She sent it to him.

Rafe’s phone buzzed against the polished oak of the conference table. His father droned on about figures and contracts, but Rafe’s eyes flicked down. The sight of her pout, diamonds glinting, nearly made him laugh out loud.

He smirked, typing back with one hand under the table.

Rafe: last season on your ears still looks better than diamonds on anyone else baby

Catherine: nice save

Catherine: you’re still cheap tho

Rafe: cheap?

Rage: that was 30k for a handjob

Catherine: should’ve been 60k minimum

Catherine: u owe me double for last night

Catherine: and it was a blowjob asshole

He clenched his jaw, trying not to laugh in the middle of Ward’s rant about “projected revenue margins.”

Rafe: owe you?

Rafe: you were begging me to stop, remember?

Catherine: u literally used me like a toy rafe

Catherine: my throat still hurts.

Catherine: my pussy hurts

Catherine: my tits are sticky

Catherine: u RUINED me

Rafe swallowed hard, shifting in his chair. Ward was glaring at him for being on his phone, but he couldn’t stop.

Rafe: you’re welcome

Rafe: you earned those diamonds, baby.

Catherine: u mean u owe me more diamonds

Rafe: keep whining and maybe I’ll show up with a necklace next time

Catherine grinned at her phone, kicking her feet lazily under the sheets. Then she typed:

Catherine: skip whatever boring shit you're doing and come eat sushi with me.

Rafe: baby, I can’t just walk out of a meeting

Catherine: i’ll be naked. with chopsticks. waiting.

Rafe stared at the screen, pulse kicking up. He glanced at Ward, who was still rambling. His phone buzzed again.

Catherine: and maybe I’ll wear the earrings

Catherine: only the earrings

He dragged a hand over his mouth, smirking despite himself.

Rafe: leaving in 10.

[ijustwannabecool]

Hi! I hope you’re okay. I just recently discovered your stories and they are stunning. I was wondering if you’ve thought of writing a Carlos’ version of Moments You Wish You Caught on Camera? I’d definitely love to read his version! ❤️

Moments You Wished You Caught on Camera - Carlos Sainz

Carlos Sainz x Wife!Reader

Summary…  Told through the eyes of strangers, six ordinary people recall quiet moments spent observing Carlos Sainz and Y/N L/N around the world, moments that left a lasting impression.

A/N: I'm doing all good, thanks for asking. Took a break from writing to enjoy my summer before school starts again. Thank you for the support and the request. Keep them coming (: Let me know what you thought of the story.

Comment to be added to the tag list 🫶

Requests open!

Donate a coke zero?!

Like, Comment, Reblog, Enjoy!!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The Woman Who Found Courage

Elena wasn’t sure why she’d come to the rooftop event.

Technically, it wasn’t even Y/N’s launch. Just a pop-up for a sustainable fashion brand she followed loosely online. Still, something told her to show up. She’d made the dress she was wearing for the first time, a floor-length deep green wrap with slightly uneven stitching and too much thread showing on the hem. She wore it anyway.

The terrace was bathed in golden hour light. Glasses of sangria clinked over conversations about textiles and ethics and minimalist branding. Elena stood near a planter of lavender, alone, half-heartedly sipping from her drink, trying not to fidget with the fabric at her waist.

She noticed the woman before anyone else did.

Y/N L/N arrived without announcement, no entrance, no heels clacking on tile. Just soft linen pants, a breezy top, and hair tied loosely at the nape of her neck. She wasn’t wearing makeup, but somehow she still glowed. Elena watched her float through the space, greeting friends, complimenting strangers, stopping to touch fabric with genuine interest.

And then, Elena couldn’t quite believe it, Y/N noticed her.

The designer approached with a kind smile, tilting her head toward Elena’s dress. Her voice was low but warm.

“I love this color. It suits you.”

Elena smiled, small and a little nervous. “I made it.”

Something flickered across Y/N’s face, surprise, then delight. She leaned in closer, asked a few more questions Elena couldn’t hear from where she stood. The conversation didn’t look performative. It looked kind. Gentle.

Minutes passed. At some point, a man walked up, tall, relaxed, hands in his pockets. He didn’t interrupt. Just stood close enough for Y/N to lean against his arm, resting there like it was instinct. Elena squinted, catching his profile.

Carlos Sainz.

There was a stillness to him in that moment, none of the intensity he wore on race weekends. Just a man smiling quietly while the woman he loved talked about dresses with a stranger.

Eventually, Y/N squeezed Elena’s hand. Carlos nodded. They left together, fingers interlaced, slipping out the side without needing anyone to notice.

Elena watched them go.

Later, she found a piece of paper tucked into her tote. She didn’t know when it had been placed there.

Make things you want to wear. The rest will follow. –Y/N

It wasn’t signed with a brand name or a handle. Just those words.

She pinned it above her sewing table that night. And she hasn’t stopped creating since.

——————————

The Kid Who Got a Ride Home

The storm rolled in fast, one of those early spring downpours that gave no warning, just cracked the sky open and spilled everything at once.

Mateo muttered a curse under his breath as he stood under the narrow awning outside the preschool, clutching his phone and trying to refresh the weather app like it might help. His daughter, Luna, was still inside, and he was stuck without an umbrella, his car three blocks away. Typical Tuesday.

He wasn’t the only one caught unprepared. Other parents were gathered around, shoulders hunched, rain spotting their sleeves. The staff tried to usher the kids out quickly, but the rain made everything chaotic. He barely noticed the matte black SUV that pulled up at the curb, until he saw who stepped out.

A man in joggers and a hoodie, the hood half-up, his trainers already wet. He jogged around the vehicle with surprising ease, umbrella in hand, and opened the back door.

Carlos Sainz.

Mateo blinked. Was that…? No. Couldn’t be.

But then a woman appeared too, Y/N L/N, unmistakable even in a raincoat and messy bun. She was crouched at the backseat, holding a little boy’s backpack in one hand and a Spider-Man umbrella in the other, laughing softly as she tried to keep the child dry while buckling him in.

Mateo stared. No entourage. No security. No cameras. Just two parents caught in the rain.

He must’ve been really staring because the little boy, Sebastián; if he remembered correctly, turned and waved at his daughter through the preschool window. Luna, ever bold, waved back.

A minute later, the boy was calling from inside the car. “Papi! Luna doesn’t have her coat!”

Carlos looked up then, really looked around. “Whose kid?” he asked Y/N in a low voice.

“I think she’s with her dad. Over there,” she said, subtly nodding.

Carlos approached Mateo cautiously, umbrella extended.

“You okay?” he asked in Spanish. “She’s saying your daughter’s coat is inside.”

Mateo nodded. “Yeah, just waiting. Didn’t expect the storm.”

Carlos looked up at the sky, then back at him. “We can wait a minute with you, if that’s alright. He won’t leave without saying goodbye.”

And so, they waited. The four of them, two soaked dads, a quiet woman with rain droplets clinging to her lashes, and two preschoolers pressing their hands to the foggy car windows in some kind of wordless farewell ritual.

When Luna finally ran out with her coat clutched in her hand, Carlos held the umbrella over her like it was the most natural thing in the world. He helped her into her dad’s arms and nodded once before getting back into his own car.

By the time Mateo reached his own car, he was half-wet and still in disbelief.

His daughter spoke up from the backseat. “Papi?”

“Yeah?”

“Sebastián’s daddy drives really fast.”

Mateo grinned. “Yeah, hija. I guess he does.”

———————

The Man Who Didn’t Know

Joaquim didn’t get many visitors.

His vineyard had long since stopped producing wine, and the only people who came through the winding countryside roads were either lost or chasing some romantic idea of rural Portugal they saw on a Pinterest board.

He was pruning back the fig tree when he heard the crunch of tires on gravel. An SUV. Black, sleek, foreign plates. It paused just beyond the gate, the engine idling like it was thinking too.

He didn’t rush. He had lived long enough to know people came and went no matter what you did.

The passenger window rolled down, and a woman leaned over from the driver’s side. “Desculpe,” she said in careful Portuguese, “Estamos un pouco perdidos. Sabes como llegar a…?” (“Excuse me,” “We're a little lost. Do you know how to get to…?”)

“Espere,” Joaquim waved a hand, wiping dirt on his trousers. “You’re Spanish, no?” (“Wait.”)

She nodded, clearly relieved.

Behind her, a man leaned into view. Sunglasses, stubble, a faded cap pulled low. “Our GPS thinks this is a road.”

Joaquim chuckled. “It used to be.”

He gave them directions, slow and deliberate. The woman repeated them back just to be sure. She smiled when she got it right. “Thank you so much.”

“No trouble,” he said, but he didn’t step away yet. Something about them made him linger.

The man reached back into the car, rummaged for something, and handed Joaquim a bottle of water. “It’s hot,” he said. “You’re working hard.”

Joaquim accepted it with a nod. “Obrigado.” (Thanks.)

He watched them for another moment. They weren’t in a rush. The man reached across the console to tuck a piece of hair behind the woman’s ear. She leaned into it, like it was nothing and everything at once.

That simple gesture stuck with him.

It wasn’t until two days later, when his son came to visit and saw the water bottle sitting on the porch ledge, that the penny dropped.

“Where did you get this?” his son asked, flipping it in his hand. “This is from the race in Barcelona.”

Joaquim blinked. “A couple gave it to me. They were lost.”

His son stared. “Wait…describe them.”

When Joaquim did, his son looked at him like he’d seen a ghost. “That was Carlos Sainz and Y/N L/N.”

Joaquim raised an eyebrow. “The race car driver?”

“Yes!”

Joaquim shrugged. “He was very kind. She was so bright. I liked them.”

His son gaped. “And you didn’t ask for a photo?”

Joaquim smiled, the kind that comes with age and a thousand sunrises. “Some moments don’t need to be caught on camera to last.”

—————————

The Woman Starting Over

Mariana wasn’t supposed to be in that part of Lisbon that day.

The boutique she worked at was closed for inventory, and her to-do list was long and unrelenting. But the thread store on Rua da Rosa had gotten a new shipment of linen blends, and the thought of running her fingers along clean bolts of fabric sounded better than facing another spreadsheet.

So, she went. And maybe that was fate.

The shop was quiet, warm, and smelled faintly of cedar. As she stood by the cutting table, comparing two shades of sage green, a voice behind her said, softly, “Go with the cooler one. It reads better in sunlight.”

Mariana turned. She recognized the woman instantly, though not in a celebrity way. More like the way you recognize someone whose style you’ve saved in moodboards and screenshotted late at night when you need to remember what dreams look like.

Y/N L/N.

She was dressed simply, white button-down, loose trousers, no makeup, but still looked like the sort of woman people designed runways around.

“I’m sorry,” Mariana blurted out. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

Y/N smiled. “You weren’t. You looked torn. I know that look.”

Mariana felt herself flush. “I… I’m starting over. With design. Again. It’s been a rough few years.”

Y/N didn’t ask for details. Instead, she looked at the fabric in Mariana’s hands. “It’s hard, right? Making things that might not work. Making them anyway.”

Mariana nodded.

They spoke for ten minutes. Maybe twelve. About pattern grading. About creative burnouts. About imposter syndrome. About how sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is walk into a fabric store and say, I’m still trying.

Y/N bought nothing. She wasn’t there to shop. Maybe she’d wandered in by accident. Maybe not.

But before she left, she pulled a folded swatch from her own pocket, terracotta cotton with an unusual herringbone stitch.

“I carry this when I’m stuck,” she said. “It was from my first real show. I thought no one would come.”

She placed it gently on top of Mariana’s fabric. “Here. For yours.”

And then she was gone. Just like that.

It wasn’t until later that Mariana realized a man had been waiting outside the store the whole time. Dark sunglasses, reading a newspaper, casually leaning against the wall like any other local on a slow afternoon.

She recognized him when she flipped through Instagram that night. Carlos Sainz.

He’d looked up when Y/N walked out. Not at her, but for her. And when their eyes met, he smiled like he’d been smiling for her all his life.

————————————

The Single Mom and the Toothbrush

Camila had barely slept.

Her six-year-old son, Nico, was too excited. The hotel bed felt too soft. The air conditioning clicked all night. And now, somewhere between the chaos of packing their race day backpack and trying to brush her own teeth with one eye open, Nico had realized he’d forgotten his toothbrush.

Of course he had.

She stared at him, hair still in a messy bun, shirt half-tucked, and sighed. “We’ll get you a new one at the little hotel shop, okay?”

He nodded, wide-eyed and solemn, like this was the greatest tragedy of his young life.

The hotel lobby was buzzing, Grand Prix weekend always brought chaos, but the tiny convenience store off to the side was thankfully empty. She grabbed the cheapest kid toothbrush she could find, along with a juice box Nico didn’t need but would definitely beg for.

But at the counter, her card didn’t work.

The terminal blinked red once, then again. “Insufficient funds,” the screen said with embarrassing clarity.

Camila blinked. She knew her account was tight, but she'd transferred some money last night, hadn't she?

She was trying to figure it out when a soft voice said, “Add this too, please.”

Camila turned. The woman behind her held out a small box of soft gummy candies and a travel-sized pack of markers. She smiled and not the pitying kind, but the warm, understanding kind. “They’re good for the wait at the track. Long day ahead.”

Camila opened her mouth to protest.

“No, really,” the woman said. “I’ve been there. You’re doing great.”

And before Camila could even say thank you, the man beside her stepped in, handing over his black card like it was second nature. “Here,” he said quietly. “It’s fine.”

Camila blinked.

Wait.

The man’s profile was familiar. The voice, even more so. And the woman, soft curls tied back, oversized sunglasses, denim jacket thrown casually over leggings, she looked achingly familiar, too.

Carlos Sainz and Y/N L/N. In her hotel. At her register.

Her jaw didn’t drop. Not right away. She was too stunned for that.

Carlos handed Nico the juice box himself. “You excited for the race?” he asked, smiling.

Nico’s eyes widened. “You sound like the guy my tío watches on TV.”

Carlos chuckled. “I get that sometimes.”

Then he looked back at Camila, a little more serious, and said, “Enjoy the weekend. It goes by fast.”

They walked off without fanfare. No bodyguards. No posing. Just two people, hand-in-hand, blending into a world that expected them to stand out.

Camila stood there frozen until the cashier cleared her throat and handed over the bag.

Later that night, she posted a thank-you on Twitter, not tagging anyone, not trying to make it go viral. Just a simple message.

‘To the couple who bought a toothbrush, candy, and markers for my son this morning, thank you. You were kind when you didn’t have to be. I hope your weekend was as good as you made ours.’

It never went viral.

But some moments aren’t meant to.

——————————

The Couple at the Cliffside Café

Luca had never liked the idea of “taking a break.” Either you fought for something or you let it go. You didn’t put it in a storage box and hope it’d look better after a few weeks.

But Bianca had insisted.

They booked the trip to Mallorca because it was far enough to feel like somewhere else, but familiar enough that it wouldn’t feel like pretending. They hadn’t spoken much since arriving. Just shared coffee in silence, walked side by side like strangers in familiar shoes. There were things they wanted to say. But neither wanted to say them first.

On the third morning, they found a café built into the edge of a cliff, whitewashed walls, wildflowers in chipped pots, a breeze that smelled like salt and citrus.

It was nearly empty. Only one other table was occupied.

A couple, probably in their 30s, sat tucked in the corner beneath the archway where the morning sun broke through like honey. The woman had sunglasses pushed into her hair, curls loose around her shoulders. She was laughing, really laughing, head tilted back, hands over her mouth like she couldn’t help it.

The man across from her watched her with such softness it made Luca look away.

He looked at Bianca. She was stirring her coffee slowly, eyes distant.

“I miss this,” he said quietly.

She blinked. “This?”

“Us. You and me. Before we started planning our future like it was a tax form.”

She gave him a long, searching look.

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it,” she said.

“I didn’t,” he admitted. “But then I saw them.”

He glanced toward the couple again.

The man was reaching across the table to tuck a napkin under her coffee cup before the breeze caught it. The kind of gesture you only learn after years of loving someone well.

It wasn’t showy. There were no phones out. No attention drawn. But it was… real.

And the woman? She leaned in just a little, her hand brushing his like it belonged there.

“I think they’ve been through things,” Bianca said, surprising him.

“You think so?”

“There’s a stillness in them,” she said. “Like they’re not trying to prove anything.”

Luca turned to look again, just as the man took off his sunglasses and leaned back.

Carlos Sainz.

Luca’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “No way.”

Bianca tilted her head. “And her?”

“Y/N L/N,” he said. “She’s a designer. I think they’re married. Or… something.”

Bianca smiled a little. “That explains the dress. And the calm.”

They watched for a moment longer, just the two of them, quietly taking in a couple who existed like a secret garden in plain sight. One you didn’t know you needed until you stumbled across it.

When the waiter came, Luca ordered them another round of coffee.

“We’re not done yet,” he said.

“No,” Bianca agreed, reaching for his hand. “We’re not.”

By the time they left the café, Carlos and Y/N were gone. No photos. No autographs. Just a receipt left on the table, weighed down by a smooth, sea-polished stone.

And maybe, just maybe, two hearts stitched back together in their quiet wake.

----

The end.

Tag list: @bby-lve @devilacot @angelluv16 @angstynasty @hisashifrey @mynameisangeloflife @evalynkillgrave @lorena-mv33 @frenchtwistedd @baechugff

[science-hoes]

I’m going to write a fic based on the wedding scene from Modern Family.

Robby’s youngest daughter is a flower girl in the wedding of a former resident who took an attending job at a different hospital. Your poor baby girl has to wear the ugliest, poofiest dress ever made. What’s even worse? She learned a new word the other day. “Fuck.” It’s high pitched and sweet. Not something that you or Robby were prepared to hear when she saw the frilly dress for the first time.

You immediately grab your husband by the ear and scold him. Clearly, she learned the word from him. But then you hear your oldest daughter and son laughing down the hallway, and Robby points an accusatory finger at them to distract you. “It was them.” He insists, like his own flesh and blood are his enemies. Your youngest daughter begins singing the word over and over with little happy jumps. “FUCK FUCK FUCK!” Robby is having to run into another room to stop from laughing while you admonish your daughter.

With the wedding in only a few hours, you and Robby decide to place your baby girl on verbal lockdown. When you arrive at the wedding with your children in tow, you’re met by Jack and his family. Jack’s twins immediately start giggling over your daughter’s ridiculous dress. She looks like she’s gearing up to drop the bomb again before you snatch her up to take her to the bridal suite. Robby explains the situation to Jack, who nods solemnly. “When the twins learned that word, I had to tape their mouths shut with those anti-snoring mouth covers.”

The wedding starts, and it couldn’t be more ridiculous. Clashing colors, ugly dresses, odd choices for music. But that doesn’t stop Robby from tearing up during the ceremony. He looks down the church pew and sees his beautiful children sitting next to you. They’re all grown up. Your oldest daughter is graduating high school soon, your son starting high school, your middle daughter going into 7th grade. Then he looks up and sees his baby girl. The bright-eyed, joyful caboose of the family. She’s about to start kindergarten. She’s getting so big, and it’s a wedding, at his face starts going beet red as he tears up.

You hear him take a shaky breath, look up to him, and lean your head on his shoulder, squeezing his bicep gently. It’s a sweet moment. Until you realize your daughter has clocked that her daddy is crying so he must be sad. Your eyes widen, and Robby starts to shake his head, whispering that he’s fine. But it’s too late.

“Daddy! Fuck!”

The wedding ceremony screeches to a halt, and you could hear a pin drop. Until giggles start to come from beside you. Your children are laughing, soon joined by Jack, his wife, and the twins. Then the whole room is laughing. Encouraged, your daughter smiles proudly and introduces some other profanity that she’s apparently learned. The bride looks pissed, and Robby sprints to the front to grab his giggling daughter and take her out of the church, laughing with her and the rest of the room.

[riotgurlll]

date everything characters (u can choose, which characters) with reader that has big boobs 🤗

Date everything characters with big chested homeowner!!

I’ll be keeping the reader gender neutral but afab for this one!! I loved writing this because I’m personally a larger lady and with that comes a bigger chest, so it’s nice writing stuff I can relate too as well!! Enjoy riotpeeps!! <3

AN: I honestly could do a part two… should I??? 😭😭 (like with other characters)

CW: kinda smutty but not too much

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

Mateo Manta 🩵🥥

-I think he’d love to have a partner with a bigger chest. 

-Whenever you guys snuggle I bet he loves to rest his head against your chest: as would a lot of people, but since we can all agree that Mateo is 100% a big cuddle bug, I think he loves it the MOST.

-if you ever get insecure, he’ll pout and shake his head slowly, cupping your cheeks as he hushes you lovingly. He’d say something like “mi amor.. you don’t need to hide from me..” while giving you little butterfly kisses. He’d reassure you, tell you that he thinks you’re beautiful and that he quite likes your chest size.

-if you’re like me and have stretch marks anywhere on your breasts, he’d love to trace them while you cuddle. I’d like to imagine him being the big spoon, slightly leaning over you as the both of you snuggle together bare in bed one morning..

He’s carefully using his finger to trace the colored stripes that adorn your chest, the slight contact making you feel almost ticklish as he repeats his actions over and over again. He’d press a sweet kiss just below your ear, whispering about how pretty you are and about how much he loves you.

-If you’re ever kissing I can see him gently running his hand down to the side of your breasts- he’s naturally shy about it but he can’t help himself.. he’ll ask you in a quiet voice if he can feel you. 

-if you say yes, he’ll press another warm kiss to your lips; filled with love and tender desire. His large hands would envelop each mound, carefully squeezing and testing the waters. He wants to make sure you’re comfortable, he wants to know what you like, and he’d do anything to find out.

Betty 🎀🛏️ 

-TWINNNNN

-honestly, she’d love it too. Similar with Mateo, she would love to snuggle with someone who has a bigger chest. It’s just so cozy!! And she’d love for you to rest your head on hers too.

-I feel like whenever you two kiss, both of your busts press together a decent amount and let’s just say the thought would make her blush. It’s not just a sexy thing, I feel like she finds it to be very connecting and intimate. Like your hearts are pressed together!! (Even tho your hearts are in fact not located in your tatas..)

-she loves it when you wear low cut things, she genuinely finds you to be so beautiful. She’ll compliment you, a lot- actually. Something like “look at you, lover~” through a loving smile as she presses a kiss to the top of your head. She’ll hype you up too, no matter what clothes you’re in.

-she’d press kisses to the top of your chest if you’re wearing smth low cut- if the position calls for it, like if you’re sitting on the couch together or something. I can totally see her kissing your cleave 

-everyone sexualizes her a lot and that’s fine bc she’s a sexual girlie and she serves CUNTTTTT, but I also wanna touch upon her in a more romantic light: I think that she loves to tell you how gorgeous you are. She just loves to praise you in general, and she’ll tell you how much she loves your chest whenever you need her to OR whenever you see fit.

Freddy Yeti 🧊🍨

-this big guy definitely has a soft spot for big tits 

-sure, he loves the cold, but they’re just so warm… sometimes it’s a nice change of pace!! He loves to hold them- honestly, he’s so big that his hands probably cover them no matter what, but he knows that your chest is big and he adores it. 

-he loves the angle he gets whenever he looks at you.. since he’s so tall, he has to look down at you, right? Well his view probably consists of the top of your head mostly, kinda like a point five, and then your chest. That’s pretty much it- he loves it!! It’s so silly

^^seriously every time you get something from the fridge, that’s his view- and while it makes him chuckle, he can’t help but find it adorable. 

-since he’s so big he probably feels more comfy with bigger chests, just because I Freddy is very “the bigger the better” in the most normal way. Plus points if you’re bigger in general, he adores you!!

-will not STAND for you talking bad about yourself. He will shush you and tell you not to sweat it. 

-he’ll pick you up and cuddle with you so he can rest his head on your chest. I KNOW I FEATURE CHEST RESTING IN EVERYTHING BUT ITS INEVITABLE OKAY GOOD LORD

Skips ☕️🧪

-in his ‘human’ form he definitely gets flustered. Honestly, even in his shadow monster or whatever form he still gets flustered, but he’s more flirty if that makes sense? Realistically I think that he has more confidence in that state, so it just makes sense to me. IDK VISION IT

-that green blush. THAT DAMN BLUSH IM TELLING YOU.

-He tries not to, but I’m sure he steals glances at your chest/cleavage very often. It’s like an instinct, you’ll be talking to him and he’ll get all flustered and his eyes will quickly look down before looking back up at you- he prays you don’t notice, but you do. Every time.

-if you ask him to touch you or just tell him that he can he’ll also get very intimidated. I feel like he’d be extremely hesitant at first when he’s touching you anywhere in general, but especially when it’s your chest. 

It doesn’t help that your tits are huge, either. He loves it, and finds you beautiful, but he still gets shy. (Even though he will claim he doesn’t care and is in fact not nervous, he is very nervous.) 

-press your boobs together when you’re talking to him. I dare you. 

(^he’ll stare a bit longer)

-imagine the two of you fooling around when he’s in his human form, maybe he’s on his back and you’re half way on top of him as the two of you kiss slowly, your top long gone by now.

Nervously, he guides his hand from your shoulder down your upper arm, then glides his hand gently on top of your mound. She gasp at the contact: “a-are you okay..?” He asks you with a low whisper, concerned. You smile and nod. “Y’hands are cold.” You giggle softly, pressing another kiss to his lips. He breaks away quickly to say one thing; “sorry..” 

Chance 🍷🎲

-first of all I think he has big hands. (Obvi not as big as your chest but still! They feel great.)

-he’d probably steal glances during campaigns lets be honest with ourselves. Maybe the office group has a campaign going that they invited you into, and while he’s narrating a scene he’ll stare a moment too long at your chest. Maybe you don’t notice, but Dasha definitely does. She gives him a raised brow, and he just looks away. The others notice his stutter as he stumbles over his words, but they don’t think much of it. (He’s a dweeb, your honor.)

-I feel like he feels bad looking at your boobs all the time, cuz it makes him feel rude; so if you call him out on it or tease him for it he’ll apologize and tell you he isn’t doing it with malicious intent. (You knew this)

-Looooves missionary because this man would love to watch your chest bounce. Of course, he’d be looking into your eyes most of the time- but he can still see them in his peripheral.

-he’ll be really patient with you if you’re not very secure with the way your chest is. I mean he would never pry and try and force you out of your comfort zone— especially when it comes to sexual things or body image, but he will 100% tell you that you’re beautiful and that you have nothing to worry about. 

Penelope 🖇️📒

-this girl would be so flustered

-I mean, you already make her nervous, but she adores the way you look— like, she should’ve set up a date with the two of you sooner!! Gosh

-she’ll use her silly little office monthly quotes to hype her up sometimes, she’ll get flirty with you if you’re wearing something that makes your tits look nice and then right after she’ll get nervous and ramble on and on with an embarrassed laugh

-I’d say her chest is pretty small, from what I can see from her sprites: but I think she’d find the contrast to be nice. She probably things the two of you go so well together all ready!!

-Idk if yall saw that ending art of her sleeping on Dasha’s tata but that’s her with you!!!

-I feel like whenever she sees you topless she mumbled about how pretty you are

-may or may not have accidentally doodled a picture of your body on a sticky note one day while she was lost in thought about some organization thing: when she realized what she was drawing she dropped her pen and folded the sticky note faster than the speed of light— peering around her shoulders to see if anyone was paying attention… phew.

-she likes how heavy they feel in her smaller hands

Hector ❄️🔥

-I think he admires your chest a lot, he probably compares you to some Greek or Roman statue in his mind, or an old painting. He genuinely finds your body to be beautiful; like a work of art. He’d probably write about it, too.

-if you were ever doubtfully looking in the mirror studying a top or dress that (in your opinion) made your chest look weird or too 

Pronounced, he would tell you not to worry from the nearest vent and that you look divine in his eyes. 

-I think when he is actually in the vents he’s way more forward with his admiration. Obviously, I mean we’ve seen how he is outside of them!! He’s so cute I’m crying anyways

-he’ll still express his love for you and your body outside of the vents, he just does it in a slightly more nervous and careful way. He’d have a harder time making eye contact, but he still wants you to know he thinks you’re pretty. 

-does not understand why you could ever me insecure about them if you are, and if you’re the type of person who loves the fact you have a larger chest, he’ll agree with you!! Very much so. 

He’ll nod all my as you jokingly flaunt them in a new top or something, saying smth like “oh, yes- definitely. I think you look amazing, my love.”

Abel🪵🥕

-he’d get all rosey at the sight of your chest, even more so if it was bare

-he’d probably hint at compliments, but we know Abel— he’s a big ole softy AND he’s shy- kinda? So he probably won’t directly say smth but like… he’s dropping HINTS

-would adore to watch you on top of him 😯😯omg who said this oh em gee

-If you were wearing a low cut top he’d probably say something like “Awh shucks..” under his breath while taking his hat off. (He’s so cute I’m crying)

-he’d say “you’re prettier than a mornin’ sunrise with a nice hot cup of coffee while the roosters are hootin’ and hollerin” or something of the sort (he’s so silly)

-I feel like he has calloused hands, so they’d feel rough against you

-THIS MAN IS A GENTLEMAN, He won’t make sexual comments right away at ALL, he’ll mostly keep his thoughts to himself at first, because he doesn’t want to be too forward or make you uncomfortable. 

[jyunhology]

studio muse ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ khj (m)

summary: hongjoong’s cooped up for too long in his studio that he’s lost inspiration and drive; you have just the thing to help him.

a/n: IM ALIVE!!!! im just extra busy these few days . anyway ive been getting brain worms about hongjoong a lot lately, may or may have been fuelled by this edit with dilf!joong in my head

word count: 1.4k

warnings: MINORS DNI. soft dom!hongjoong, sub!reader, pet names (baby, pretty girl, angel), praise, slight daddy kink, dumbification, slight subspace, oral (m! receiving) / blowjob, handjob, spit is involved, semi-public sex (recording studio), photos and filming with consent, cumshot (on face), i have daddy issues and i need hongjoong biblically

Hongjoong was past being productive.

But what he was preoccupied with seemed way better than brainstorming ideas for the group’s next title track, at least with how much he’s been locking himself up in the studio with little to no inspiration.

He could use a little break, you thought. He deserves this, you think. And it’s true when you first swipe your tongue along the underside of Hongjoong’s dick — his muscles visibly relax, and he sinks into his chair — that you take it as motivation to tease him.

Swirling your tongue around his tip, you take it slow. Kitten lick after kitten lick until he has his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

Wordlessly, he adjusts his hips gently. “Mmf— big.” You mumble around his fat cock, garnering a lewd, long moan from Hongjoong as he watches you slobber over him with the eagerness of someone who’s been meeting nothing but empty sheets the past few days. Eyes closed, gargling noises filled your ears, his moans rumbled through his body.

“Takin’ me so well,” Hongjoong all but whispers, threading his fingers through your hair tenderly before settling near your nape, lifting his lips a bit not to get more of your mouth but to remove the cushion from underneath him. “Here, baby.”

You come off with a pop, eyes fluttering open so stunningly it makes his dick twitch. The hand in your hair untangles itself to tilt your face up — dazed, cockdrunk, drooling — before prying your jaw open with two fingers. They’re warm against your tongue, so lost in pleasure that you don’t wait to suck on his fingers too.

“Aht, aht, no. Take a breather, angel.”

You’re so floaty you don’t register what he wants you to do, so you shake your head with a pout. “Don’t wanna.”

Hongjoong simply breathes through his nose, nodding to the cushion he’s dumped to the floor and your mind clears up a little and your body readjusts to recognise the pain blooming in your knees.

There’s a skip in your heart, seeing how attentive your boyfriend could be even in the midst of his pleasure that you lace your fingers with his, using your other hand to guide the cushion to your knees.

“Thanks, Joong.” You smile, squeezing his hand in yours and he reciprocates with an equally lovesick one. “Now…”

With extra comfort for your knees and the smell of his body wash infiltrating your senses, your desperation spills over when you latch onto him again, free hand grasping at his thighs and digging.

It’s all the leverage you need as you start to bob your head, flattening your tongue while you look up at him. He’s not super big, but he’s thick, stretching your mouth as his tip threatens to hit the back of your mouth. Saliva escapes either way, dripping out the sides of your mouth as you sputter and whine around him.

“Love your cock,” You mumble incessantly into skin, coming up ever so often to give attention to his tip — suckling, tonguing at the slit, swirling all over the angry red head that he’s grunting under his breath. The soft track playing on in the background mixes with your pretty sounds, and provides a sweet harmony beside his soft, melodic breaths, willing himself not to cum so quickly.

You were fucking intoxicated on him and he was enamoured with you. “Wanna suck you dry, until you’re cumming all over my face, Daddy.”

Hongjoong knows what the name does to him. You both don’t enforce it often in the bedroom, but ever since you’ve gasped out the name out of the blue — with warm cheeks and an embarrassed mewl that has your boyfriend cooing — he doesn’t mind indulging you any time you call out to him.

“Needy baby, hm?” He’s slurring his words, eyes locked onto the way you pull him closer, setting a comfortable pace with your mouth going up and down. Your hand leaves his body, stroking the parts of him you can’t reach, filling the room with slick noises and a deep, guttural groan from the other.

You nod with his dick still in you, speech muffled. “Yeah, w—wanna help you.”

“Aw,” Hongjoong leans forward, causing his shaft to slip out of your mouth with strings of saliva connecting you to him. The sight sends him reeling — his pretty darling with hooded lids and parted lips, and you’re moaning softly at the way his heavy cock rests on your face. “My dirty girl.”

There’s a drawl to his voice as he says it, breaking your interlocked hands to blindly reach for his phone before resting back in the chair.

Before swiping left for the camera, Hongjoong doesn’t hesitate to ask a ‘this okay?’ before you give him a verbal response (he emphasises that normally, anyway, and it drives you crazy).

The framing of you in his phone is even more obscene, spreading his hand over his cock to cover it and the bottom half of your face. A small whine escapes from your throat at the clicks of the camera, shy but still loving the attention he gives you, knowing those pictures are the sole motivation for him on tour.

“Open up, baby.” Pure lust, dripping from his words as he twitches at your pliancy, tongue lolling out while you receive his thumb into your warm mouth and breathe hard along his shaft at the filthiness of it all. “Good girl.”

With the sound of the red button being clicked, Hongjoong releases his hand on your face to grab onto his dick, slapping it briefly before nudging the tip past your lips. “Go on, darling girl.”

You can’t help but let out wanton moans, putting pressure around his cockhead. “Make Daddy feel good.”

You don’t wait a second longer, surrounding his cock with your warmth and finding a rhythm to bob your head at while spit bubbles past your lips, coating his length with a shiny sheen. The wetness only contributes to the addicting sensations, bringing the lewd sounds to an all time high with the way you slurp and suck him clean.

“Shit, fucking hell—” Hongjoong murmurs as he struggles to keep the phone steady, unable to keep away from you by the way he bundles a bit of hair in his hand, nails prodding into your scalp.

But you can’t care about the sting of your hair being pulled, nor the leg of the chair obstructing your way, when there’s a plethora of praises and whimpers from your lover from above you. “You’re a wonder, baby.”

That prompts you to release him, grinning from ear to ear before letting more spit spill past your lips, switching instead to giving all your attention to his tip while you pump the rest of him. “Oh—Oh my God.”

Hongjoong shifts in his seat, video turning shaky with how warm your hands felt. Not to mention, your eyes, just begging him for relief, release. You alternate between sucking and swirling your tongue, mouth prepared for his load.

“Gonna—” His head tilts back, shivers travelling throughout his body that make him light-headed. But he can’t take his eyes off of you long enough, relaxing his scrunched up expression to meet your intense gaze. “I’m gonna cum, baby.”

“Give it to me.” It’s garbled, but it comes from your gut, voice hoarse and mind focused on one thing only. Your hands increase their pressure while you stick out your tongue. Hongjoong’s zoned in onto your little whines on his screen, thighs flexing until you’re squeezing the base of his cock and he’s thrusting his hips in ecstasy.

The first spurt of his cum takes you by surprise, spilling both in your mouth and over your features — he’s no videographer, but the way the studio light hits your skin, illuminating the spark in your eyes and the shine of your sweat is criminally breathtaking.

Though, your surprise is overridden immediately by how much he cums, tip leaking white and staining your cheeks, tongue. 

“See what you do to me?” Hongjoong laughs breathlessly, using the hand in your hair to crane your head upwards, gently. “Makin’ me cum until I lose my fucking mind.”

He’s quick to spread his load all over your face, admiring your dazed look and feeling his heart and dick jump again when you lean on his thigh, stroking him lazily with a bite to your lip.

“The only one to get me worked up and inspired like this, pretty girl.” Your cheeks warm at his tender but firm tone. “You.” 

With a lean into his touch, you lick your lips clean with a smile. “Happy to help, Daddy.”

by. janus, from me to you ♡