#*RAKE RACE

[awkward-sultana]

(Almost) Every Costume Per Episode + Servants' costumes in Season 2

[moonshynecybin]

i don’t want jorge martin to win this title (extremely unenthusiastic voice let’s go pecco) but it would be funny to win it and then shoot himself in the foot eight times by taking the number one plate to aprilia. the bike that COOKS YOU…

[galaxythixf]

@rake-rake's Kurapika wished upon a Shooting Star!

"Just say you'll meet me halfway." A pinky rose to show his sincerity and concern with this promise. He knew Kurapika had his own obligations and Gon didn't want to stand in the way of them, but he couldn't stand idly by while his friend wore himself ragged. "I still want to help you, but not while you're feverish. If something happens to you while you're in this state, there won't be anyone left to accomplish your goal." It wouldn't mean as much even if he and Killua stood in for Kurapika. This was a personal grudge the blond needed to settle himself, Gon just knew he could help.

[zombiefishmonster]

ignoring the pain in my body from gardening by imaging myself in a real life stardew valley game

[schafpudel]

#It's kind of sad that people act like rebecca sugar is a really tepid artist #when theyre a pretty big example of a queer artist being problematized over not being that

no idea why steven universe is everyone's go to example of toothless conflict adverse queer media when it's like the most earnestly dysphoric and uncomfortable a genre show for young teenagers has ever been in its portrayal of queerness

[shomatoriashi]

03/06/25; 01:07pm

{ 18+ drabbles / headcanons }

[ eating you out for the first time ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel, caleb

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

there was a predatory gleam seen within sylus's gaze, further darkening his garnet eyes into deep onyx. your breathing hitches in response, feeling as though you were trapped-

unable to escape him when he slowly crawls closer to you, his added weight making the mattress dip. he simply admires your body, raking his eyes down your form with a sense of appreciation before slowly gripping at your ankle. your breathing hitches once more, feeling sylus gently spread your legs even wider for him before settling himself between your thighs.

lifting up the skirt of your nightgown, you tremble upon hearing the way sylus lets out an appreciative whistle. “i can smell your sweetness from here, kitten.” the onychinus leader tells you with a lazy drawl, further causing the heat to settle against your cheeks.

letting out a hum, sylus surges forward, burying his face between your legs while his tongue presses against the damp fabric of your panties. the sensation of his hot mouth against your clothed center makes you arch your back in response, hands already clutching at the silken sheets below you. he continues to tease you, kissing your slick heat through the soft material of your panties.

“ngh… sylus please… need your mouth on me… need your tongue so bad.”

his chuckles causes sweet vibrations to course through you, giving your center another chaste kiss before telling you, “as you wish, sweetie.”

his next actions succeeded in driving you absolutely insane for him, feeling the sensation of his perfect teeth pulling down your panties while allowing it to hang precariously on your right ankle. spreading your legs even further for him, sylus shamelessly breathes in your scent before putting the entirety of his mouth on you.

letting out a desperate cry of his name, you found yourself grinding against his hot mouth, basking in the way his tongue travels inside of your walls made slick with your arousal. he devours you like a man starved, not stopping until he was certain he could drink every last drop of you.

and when you felt him sucking against your swollen clit, you willingly lost yourself to the sensation of your release rushing out of you and into his awaiting mouth.

zayne was interested in performing a few… physical examinations on you, and being none the wiser, you agreed to help him-

however, what you weren’t expecting was to be stripped from the entirety of your clothes, leaving you achingly bare and feeling oh so embarrassed. while you were completely naked for him, zayne was still fully dressed in his usual suit, settling your naked back against the front of his chest when he picks up your form and carries you back to your shared bedroom.

with the full length mirror in sight, zayne sits down while keeping you on his lap. “be a good girl for me and just keep still… i promise i’ll take care of you.”

feeling your walls clench in response to his gentle command, you press the side of your cheek against his chest, feeling zayne slowly spread your legs wide open for him before inserting a finger within your slick. he pumps it in and out of you for a few seconds, relishing in the squelching sounds of your walls surrounding his single digit-

(almost greedily.)

“tch, it’s like you’re sucking me in.” zayne’s voice becomes hoarser, simply admiring the way your juices coat his finger before adding another one into the mix. he was now making scissoring motions from within you, causing you to cry out as you arched your back against his powerful frame.

“look at the mirror, honey. witness yourself falling apart for me.”

letting out heavy gasps, you force your head to turn forward, heart racing while your breathing hitches in response to your reflection. your features were caught in a pleasure daze while watching the way zayne’s fingers eagerly thrust in and out of you, unconsciously spreading your legs even wider for him when he gives your hardened clit a gentle pinch. that simple touch was enough to send you over the edge, with you crying out to zayne before spilling yourself onto his hands.

your breathings were both labored, as your eyes turned hazy, watching as zayne places his hand against his lips before licking away the evidence of your release. a soft groan escapes from him, and you felt a new jolt of pleasure coursing through your veins when he clutches at your naked breast.

“you taste so good…” letting out a gasp of his name the moment zayne pulls at your ankle, forcing you to lay back against the bedroom floor, you swore you could feel the heat settle against your cheeks. just as you sat up to see what he was doing, the moment he places his mouth against your sensitive heat was the moment you knew that it was over for you.

you had a feeling that your beloved doctor wouldn’t be finished with you anytime soon.

it was late in the evening when you decided to read some chapters of your novel, listening to the sounds of your boyfriend showering as you smiled, basking in the simple domesticity of it all.

returning your attention back to your book, you become engrossed in the pages, feeling as though you were living through the story as you read about the heroine’s trials and tribulations. being so focused on your novel, you weren’t aware that xavier had finished his shower and had walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist.

the young hunter quietly calls out your name, yet received no answer in response. he frowns a bit, trying to call out to you once more, yet the only sounds heard were of you turning the pages of your novel.

and it was at that moment a brilliant idea struck xavier. tightening the towel around his waist, he slowly crawls toward you, making sure to keep his movements slow and graceful so as to not disrupt your attention from the book. a grin spreads across his lips when he slowly manages to pull down your shorts, revealing your plain, sky blue panties to him.

and you remained blissfully unaware-

that is, until you felt something calloused and slender making its way inside of your center. “w-what? xavier, is that you?”

the philos prince merely chuckles in response, for who else could it be but him? “don’t mind me, starlight. just go back to your book.”

had you not been so distracted by your novel, you would have detected the way xavier’s voice became hoarse, thick with desire for you while eagerly breathing in your scent. he basks in the sweetness that wafts off of you, knowing that it was enough to make his mouth water in response.

feeling impatient now, xavier pulls down your panties in one swift motion, earning a gasp from you. “xavier?!”

but xavier doesn’t hear you, not in the slightest when he suddenly surges forward to press his hot mouth against your slick heat. your gasps immediately turn to moans just then, feeling the way xavier’s hot tongue invades at your slick walls, drinking up your honeyed arousal.

had xavier not been so drunk off of the sheer taste of you, he would have smirked victoriously at the sound of your book falling to the ground, already forgotten as your attention was finally focused on him alone.

you were barely focused on the movie that was playing on the screen the moment rafayel pulls you down on his face, remaining beneath you on the couch as he gave your aching cunt a series of heated kisses.

you brace yourself against the sofa’s armrest, practically riding rafayel’s face as the movie simply served as background noise. your soft moans of desperate mewls of his name echo throughout the living room, yet you were too far gone to even realize it.

his tongue kept tracing at the outer lips of your cunt, kissing at your center with an eagerness that takes your very breath away. each new thrust that came from his mouth brings a new wave of pleasure from you, making you feel the way your walls clenched around the tip of his tongue.

your juices kept coating rafayel’s tongue, making him groan in response as he quickly became addicted to the sheer taste of you. you kept riding his face, chasing that high you were so close to achieving-

and when you felt the lemurian gently biting down against your swollen bundle of nerves, you lost all of your self control, spilling yourself into his awaiting mouth while letting out a cry of his name. he drinks up all that you had to offer, letting out an appreciative grunt before giving your pussy one final kiss.

you were still trembling in the aftermath, allowing rafayel to remove your heat from his face. as he sits back on the couch, a lazy grin was seen spreading across his handsome face. you give him a questioning glance, only to feel your walls clench even further in response to his next words,

“that was great having you ride my face, cutie. now, how about you ride my cock instead?”

the sounds of your moans echo throughout caleb’s apartment, with you locked away within his bedroom as he spoiled you with complete and utter pleasure for your homecoming.

it had been a few months since you had last seen him, with the two of you being busy with your own responsibilities to do anything outside of video calls. however, since you were able to take some time off, you decided to surprise caleb with an unexpected visit. you had only seen a glimpse of caleb wearing a regular shirt with some grey sweatpants before you were immediately pulled into his home.

he says nothing to you, simply leading you back to his room while slamming it shut. all you could do was follow his commands, wishing to please him when he tells you to get on your hands and knees for him. you had expected him to rip off your sundress and panties before pressing the tip of his cock into you-

so imagine your surprise when he simply pulls down your panties while laying beneath you, hands gripping at your waist before bringing you down on him. you felt the sinful sensation of his tongue traveling deep inside of you, as if wishing to drink up the entirety of your honeyed arousal. feeling his hot kisses against your aching cunt makes you feel a dizzying amount of pleasure, never wanting him to stop.

caleb continues to play with your body, eliciting soft moans from you like he was playing an instrument. and when your colonel adds a thick finger within your heat, you lost all sense of coherency, releasing yourself into his hot and awaiting mouth.

your climax causes you to tremble in response, and you were ready to lay back down and rest when caleb suddenly continues his relentless ministrations on you. “c-caleb, what are you d-doing, i already… hah… c-came!”

a rich chuckle was heard coming from caleb, and you shiver when slowly removes his lips away from your sensitive cunt, “and what’s your point, babe? i have no intention of stopping until i make you cum at least 10 more times before giving you my cock.”

with those words (along with a particularly hard smack! felt against your ass) caleb dives right back into your sensitive heat, making you nearly release on the spot as you drunkenly thought to yourself-

eight more to go…

end notes: don’t mind me, i’m just a thirsty girlie 🙂‍↕️ not edited yet but i’m just so lazy, so just deal with my unhinged musings for now ♡

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[kurooh]

TOUCH, TOUCH, TOUCH ☆ JUJUTSU KAISEN

⊹₊˚. featuring gojo satoru, geto suguru, ino takuma, fushiguro toji, & kamo choso when their girl finds their weak spot.

warnings. 18+ content — mdni, f! reader, erogenous zones, biting, hair pulling, sensitive men, lots of cumming even though it’s november, overstimulation, oral (f&m rec), kissing, nipple play. | 3k words of sluttery

GOJO SATORU # thighs

“ugh, fuck,” satoru laughs shakily, swallowing down a groan, “really, baby, ‘s like you were made to take my cock.”

“hm, really?” you pull off his cock with a pop, savoring the way his diamond blue eyes squeeze shut, crystalline tears poking at the corners.

satoru’s got his legs spread like a whore, with you between them, nails raking up and down his thighs while you lavish his cock with attention. he’s painfully hard, cock standing up straight and covered in a sheen of your spit.

to think that this all stemmed from a tickle fight, of all things—he’d thrashed around the bed, whining and giggling when you’d gone after his thighs. once you’d finally gotten between them to brush your fingers over the tender skin, his playful giggles had unintentionally shifted into breathy moans which he’d tried to cover up by coughing.

“you should’ve told me these were this sensitive,” you breathe, pinching at his inner thigh. satoru jerks in his seat on the edge of the bed, blushing harder when he looks at the mirror across from the bed.

“riiight. and that would’ve opened the door to me waking up to you chewing on them in the mornings? nuh uh.”

“you’re so annoying, satoru,” you roll your eyes, the happy smile dropping from your lips. for good measure, you grip his cock more loosely, and he silently panics. “maybe you should suck yourself off then.”

“no no no,” satoru backtracks, spreading his thighs and slyly bucking his hips toward you. his cock bobs, fully flushed and desperate to be taken care of properly. “baby, i was joking! let’s rewind to the part where i was saying you were made to take my cock, heh.”

slowly, so as to make it as painful as possible, you take his cock into your mouth inch by inch until you’re swallowing around it. satoru moans loudly, cupping the back of your head to ease the rest of his length down your throat. he was right—he fits inside as easily as two puzzle pieces connect.

his voice shakes and he looks down at you gratefully, thighs tensing as your nails scrape a little harder. “c-can’t believe you’re all mine, baby. goddamn, you’re always so fuckin’ good to me.”

you let out a muffled moan around his thick cock, the vibrations resonating through the entirety of his lower body. spit races down to his balls from the base of his cock, making his skin sticky. this is always his favorite way to cum—somewhere inside you after you’ve made a mess together.

you bob your head on his cock, which only seems to thicken and twitch against your tongue, the first signs of his inescapable high. satoru chews on his lower lip, his breath coming in wheezy puffs while his hips rock into your mouth.

“ngh, t-take it all,” he directs you, his voice strained as the first spurts of cum spill into your throat. “be a good girl f’me and swallow, baby.”

the muscles in his thighs jump beneath your palms as his cock finally finishes emptying all the cum into your mouth—satoru’s breath audibly hitches in his throat as you swallow a few times around him. before his hazy brain can fully register, you’re no longer on his cock, instead kissing up the tender skin of his thighs.

“toru, what do you think’ll happen if i bite you?”

“it’ll hurt,” satoru pouts in reply, the expression on his face only encouraging you to do so. “ow!” he exclaims, but he doesn’t make any move to close his legs or push you away.

“what if i mark up your thighs?”

he quirks a brow, as if to dare you to. “do what you want, babe . . but it’s my turn next.”

GETO SUGURU # scalp

“so weak, baby. is that really the best you can do?” suguru teases, sticking his tongue out at you. “i mean, come on . . there’s no way.”

your fingers twist tightly in his hair and you yank, the dark tresses soft against your skin, smelling of the best shampoo and conditioner. suguru lets out a hiss, savoring the sting of his scalp with a smile that has a pleased smirk playing on his lips.

“how’s that, suguru?”

“if you keep doing that, i might just give you what you want,” he replies breezily, balmy breath fanning over your sticky cunt. “heh, you’re not even pulling hard enough, that’s—”

you interrupt suguru with a vengeful yank of his hair that pulls a groan from the depths of his chest. you raise an eyebrow, looking at him and then between your legs expectantly.

without any more protest, suguru finally presses a kiss to your swollen clit. the little smack of his lips and the preface to what’s coming soon elicits a desperate whine from your bitten lips. “sugu, jus’ spank it, please.”

a hushed chuckle follows the sharp slap to your cunt and your resulting cries of bliss. “someone’s needy today, hm?”

“yeah,” you whimper, nails scratching lightly against his scalp while your fingers tremble in his hair. the bed creaks beneath you as suguru adjusts his position between your legs, tongue lapping up your slick with a primal urgency. his nails dig crescents into your thighs as he spreads you further inch by inch—even with all your squirming, you’re unable to close your thighs.

you’re tugging at his hair insistently, impatiently, and he pins you with an unserious glare. “if you wanna be like that, you can just use my tongue, sweet thing.”

you groan, biting down on your lower lip as suguru slips his tongue inside you. it’s silky soft, hot, and the biggest tease, faintly curling as the tip of it drags against the walls of your cunt. here he is, offering himself up so you can use him; there’s no way you could possibly turn this down.

without any semblance of hesitation, you experimentally jerk your hips forward, and his nose bumps into your clit. he lets out a muffled groan, losing himself in your pussy—your slick covers his skin and makes it shine. it mixes with his spit and drips from his chin, soaking the sheets.

suguru’s scalp stings with overstimulation, shockwaves resonating through his body and shooting straight to his fully hard cock. he can’t help but hump himself against the bed in an attempt to alleviate the wild need for friction.

all too quickly, suguru gets pussydrunk, eyes rolling back while your hips roll forward sloppily. it doesn’t take long for that familiar quake to settle in your thighs, cunt squeezing and fluttering around his tongue.

“s-sugu,” you whine, and he’s sure he’s in heaven, “‘m gonna—gonna cum!”

“lemme taste it, sweetheart,” is the most you can make out from his muffled words. his fingers squeeze your thighs as they twitch beneath his palms, threatening to lock around his head. your orgasm rips through you and your cunt spasms, hips bucking as you ride out the high on his tongue. a broken whine leaves your lips as your thighs overpower his hands and squeeze around him, the soft strands of his hair tickling your skin.

he carefully moves backwards, clicking his tongue and sighing as he scoots off the bed to take off his wet boxers.

“sugu—”

“i don’t want to hear it,” he waves his hand in the air and tosses the boxers into the laundry basket. “it’s your fault anyway, you were the one ripping my hair out.”

“you encouraged me—”

“me? encourage you to pull my hairline back? never, honey.”

INO TAKUMA # neck

“takuma . . i missed you so much,” the words are mumbled against his soft, plush lips. ino smiles against your mouth, a strong arm tugging you into his chest.

he’s got you seated on his lap, for the first time in weeks—he’d been away accompanying nanami on a lengthy mission. the bed softly creaks as he adjusts himself beneath you, inadvertently grinding you down on his hardening cock.

you pull back, face hot with excitement and surprise. “hehe, sorry. was an accident,” ino leans in, pouting at you when you ignore his kiss. instead, bracing yourself with both hands on his shoulders, you start to sloppily bounce up and down in his lap. although there’s no particular rhythm or smoothness behind it, it feels amazing. ino’s face has crumbled into an expression of unadulterated bliss, and he forces his glassy eyes to focus on you rather than let them close.

“ugh, baby,” he whines as your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders, the sting a garbled mix of pain and pleasure. “f-fuck, keep doin’ that.”

without slowing your frantic movements, you toss an arm around him, fingers haphazardly twisting into the feathery hairs at the nape of his neck. you give them a light tug, forcing his head back and eliciting a sudden moan from him.

ino gasps sharply when he feels your nose nudge at his jaw, tipping his head to the side in order to expose the slope of his neck and the tender skin there. although he moved without hesitation, he still wonders what you’re doing. “huh? babe, what’re you—”

“jus’ kissing your neck, takuma,” you coo, inhaling his scent deeply. he smells faintly of his favorite soap (he bought a bar that smells the same as your body wash) and clean laundry. ino seems to tremble beneath your touch, hips jolting upwards as your own begin to slow, your focus on his neck.

truthfully, ino is afraid.

he’s afraid of what he might do or say when you inevitably discover just how sensitive his neck is. and god, the way you’re still moving on his cock has his heart swelling in his chest as he starts to forget about his initial fear. it would be insulting to even consider thinking about anything besides you when you’re on his lap like this and spoiling him with your touch.

“hah—baby,” he adjusts his hands so that they sit tightly on your hips, bouncing you up and down so you won’t get so tired. the drag of your lips against his adam’s apple has him gasping out, eyes rolling back shamelessly. “i-if you’re not careful, i swear you’ll make me cum in my pants.”

this is supposed to be a warning, one that makes you pull off him and shimmy off all the layers of clothes together, but you simply ignore him. he knows you heard what he said, feeling that little smile of yours grow against his skin. ino’s breath hitches in his throat and he loses himself in the almost-euphoria that the friction of his cock against your cunt brings. he’s been starved of you for so long that he’s hyper aware of everything—the stickiness that seeps through your panties and shorts, the scent of your body, and the unstoppable heat that courses through his limbs.

you can feel his cock throbbing against your clit in the moments between each desperate movement, and you only moan into his neck, teeth sinking into the supple skin. your kisses are flirty and teasing, peppered up and down his neck with the occasional nip every now and then.

“a-a little faster, takuma,” you beg, voice tight. “god, you feel so fucking good.” a startled gasp leaves your lips when you feel his fingers slip into your panties, heading towards your clit.

something both hot and cold races down ino’s spine after a few more bites, the double stimulation becoming too much too quickly. the way your slick sticks to his fingers doesn’t help his inescapable high to slow down. fuck, this’ll be messy . .

“b-babe,” he groans into your ear, insides twisting as he slumps against you weakly. “‘m gonna cum, baby—you’re gonna make me..” ino’s voice drifts off into a loud whine as his cock shoots white in his boxers. his face burns and he looks up at you adoringly as you sweep the stray hairs away from his eyes.

“you came, takuma?”

“yeah,” he huffs, the wetness in his underwear making him shift beneath you. a sly smile plays on his lips. “would you . . mind cleaning me up?”

FUSHIGURO TOJI # nipples

toji swears up and down he doesn’t have a single spot on his body that’s hypersensitive, besides his cock. so one night when you’re gesturing for him to lie back, propped up by all the pillows and entirely shirtless, he fixes you with a defiant scowl.

“really? you’re gonna suck my nipples? do i look like a fuckin’ girl to you?”

“toji, it’s not at all like that,” you reply calmly, taking a seat directly on top of his flaccid cock. “jus’ wanna try something, if it’s okay with you.”

“fine, i guess. if this makes you stop whining about sucking my ti—nipples,” he grunts, the corners of his lips curving to the side in annoyance. toji’s thighs are loosely spread, his body entirely relaxed. you give him a chaste kiss with a playful sweep of your tongue against his lower lip before leaning toward his strong chest.

toji’s muscles gleam with the water from his shower, a few droplets racing down the slopes and curves of his pecs. although he’s trying his hardest to act uninterested and offended, a small part of him is strangely curious to see if you’ll prove him wrong. whenever you’re messing around together, you end up playing his body like an instrument—knowing all the places he wants to be touched, how he likes it, and so on.

he covers up the hitch of his breath with a cough into his palm, and your eyes flick up to his.

“what?” he asks accusingly. “fuckin’ throat’s dry.”

“nothing, toj,” you reply, eyes twinkling in a way that has his heart kicking against his ribcage. he expects you to say more, but you don’t.

his body’s cooled substantially since the shower, and the second your lips wrap around his nipple, hot tongue flicking over the hardened bud, toji’s letting out a choked groan. the dichotomy between the temperatures is the first thing that gets him going, but then the way you start to suck—you’re about to seriously humble him.

you look up at him, asking a silent question.

“‘s not bad,” toji huffs dismissively, “just not enough stimulation.”

you nod, fingers finding his other nipple and pinching it lightly. his leg twitches and his abs clench, but he plays it off with a small shrug. you know that toji has always been too prideful, writing things off without giving them a chance. heat sparks through his body, settling in his cock, and you feel him growing rock hard beneath you.

instead of saying something cocky to piss him off, you only let out a small giggle, teeth catching on his nipple. toji hisses, unconsciously cupping the back of your head to push you into his chest.

“doll, no need to be so gentle,” he drawls, gasping sharply when you bite down. it hurts a little, but toji’s something of a masochist—he spurs you on with a weak groan. pleased with your handiwork, you switch nipples, fingers growing sticky with your spit as you spread it around his pectoral.

pressed up against your cunt, his cock throbs, desperate for attention. just as you’re thinking about touching him to alleviate the pressure, toji beats you to it, large hand pushing you to sit on his abs. he grips his cock firmly and his body shudders, jade eyes squeezing shut as he sets up a lazy pace.

“h-holy fuck,” he bites out, head tipping back onto all the pillows as puffs of breath leave his flushed lips. “‘s good, just keep doin’ that . . yeah, right there, doll.”

KAMO CHOSO # ears

“baby, i—oh, fuck,” choso swallows, fingers lightly ghosting along the slope of your bouncing ass. “i can’t hold it anymore, ‘specially not with you riding me like this.”

“i know, i know,” you huff out, voice trembling. your chest presses against his and it’s a clamor of teeth and impatience as your lips meet, tongues pushing against one another. choso has always fought off his orgasm in favor of your own, too focused on you before himself. today, it’s no different, but this time you’re drawing it out to see just how long he can last.

his eyes are closed as he loses himself in the kiss, too focused to notice you pulling away; his lips drag against your cheek when you tuck your face into his neck. confused, he asks breathily, “h-huh? is everything okay?”

“of course, cho,” you say sweetly, pressing kisses against the flushed shell of his ear. almost immediately, choso tenses beneath you, arms wrapping around your midsection tightly. he gasps when you take it a step further, nipping at his earlobe in a way that’s not so gentle.

“what’re you doing? i wanted you to cum first—then i could too.”

“‘s okay, i want you to be selfish this time,” you giggle, “cum for me, ‘kay? can you do that, cho?”

“of course i can,” choso mumbles, “jus’ look at the way you’re fucking me . . hah, ‘m gonna cum.”

he leans into you, letting you tongue and bite at his ears. choso’s on the precipice of euphoria, walking the edge and ready to fall, but you keep teasing his ears in a way that drags it out of him. he cums deep, his cock spilling against your cervix and inspiring your own high. choso’s shuddering beneath you, teeth clicking together from the overwhelming strength of it all. he whispers a few incoherent things, fingers splaying over your back as you cum around him with a loud whine.

choso’s holding you closely, pressing a few kisses to your shoulder and hissing as your riding finally comes to a stop. you can feel the heat of his cum inside you, slipping because of gravity, pouring out of you and pooling at his base.

“pull my hair next time,” he says softly, sounding embarrassed. “and i want you to bite a bit harder.”

“‘m not trying to give you an ear piercing,” you laugh, kissing over the flushed skin your teeth sunk into. “but next time can be right now, if you want it, cho.”

your hips lift upwards, and he stifles a groan, watching his cum drip from your sloppy cunt. “yeah,” he bites his lip, looking at you with rosy cheeks, “i need a minute, so before we go again . . wanna taste her, if that’s alright?”

[sergioguymanproust]

Everything boils down to our brain’s wiring we are told ,they forget that a lot has to do with our spirit,with our very soul.True though we continue to be abducted and attacked by several alien races that keep taking blood samples ,even our marrow, eggs from women and semen from men.All them things to create their own hybrids .They watch us and see us enjoying life ,taking risks like this guy surfing,something they will never do.They see how aggressive our race truly is so they figure they do not want to be like us ,but just animals to be clearly exploited and like lab rats .Some even considering us as cattle ,sheep ,meat morsels for their kind ,we know reptilians do,in the predatory scale they are indeed above us. They see us as seeing predated by white sharks the case also of surfers mauled by them. Folks it isn’t paranoid reflexes but clearly we are being constantly monitored if not by extraterrestrial beings but also our disgusting government goons.Folks we have a history and prehistoric proof ,so it isn’t a joking matter.more about in future postings.Thanks for reading.Words by Sergio GuymanProust.

[yueebby]

5:13pm — gojo satoru

contents. highschool!gojo, fluff, he’s so lovesick and everyone is just plain sick of it, obsessive behavior kinda, oblivious!reader

notes. a small drabble as i get back to writing! this is cute n all, but if a guy acted like this irl i would probably file a restraining order ngl. here's to the return of my lovesick!gojo series!!! *not proofread eek

“look at waka inoue's latest issue–!” satoru flips open his phone to display the raunchy image of the gravure idol in nothing but a tiny bikini, giving the effect that her breasts were basically spilling out of the fabric. he and the other second-years had just wrapped up a mission and, at satoru's relentless insistence, ended up celebrating at a nearby dessert shop. with a smug grin and eyes shut in self-satisfaction, the white haired boy remained oblivious to the looks of pure disgust his two friends were shooting his way.

“and you wonder why you’re less popular with girls.” suguru coughs under his breath.

satoru shoots him a glare. “what’s that supposed to mean? i’m plenty popular with the ladies thanks to this money maker,” satoru takes off his sunglasses, striking a pose for his friends.

they grimace.

“girls don’t want a guy whose wallpaper is a gravure model,” shoko deadpans. “especially not [name].”

that gets satoru's attention. he immediately perks up from his spot on the cafe booth.

“seriously?”

“seriously.” his two friends respond in unison. 

suguru snickers behind his hand, and satoru swiftly kicks his feet under the table. the resulting loud thud earns them a chorus of glares from the other patrons, but satoru barely notices.

then, like music, your familiar scolding reaches his ears

“honestly, satoru, i’m not here to supervise you and you’re already making a scene–”

his lips are already curling into a grin, ready to greet you with some teasing remark, but then– he actually sees you.

and he thinks he's stopped breathing.

“are you trying to kill me?!” satoru practically chokes, cerulean eyes blown wide as they rake over you, taking in every detail. his jaw slackens, and he stares, openly and painfully shamelessly.

under his intense, and almost hungry gaze, you shift awkwardly, suddenly all too aware of the frilly dress hugging your fram. you tug your cardigan around yourself a little tighter. "...no?"

“then why are you wearing that?" his voice is sharp, almost accusing. "why do you look like that?"

you're not sure you get what he means. his behavior is strange– stranger than usual. but satoru isn't looking at you anymore. he's looking around you, surveying the dessert shop like he's assessing a battlefield.

was something wrong? was it ugly? you lower your gaze, fingers nervously smoothing over the lace of your dress. the style was trendy... you're nearly certain.

“cute, right? i picked it out myself.” shoko says, smug and satisfied as she pulls you down into the booth beside her.

satoru clicks his tongue. "a little too cute," he mutters darkly, arms crossing as his fingers dig into his sleeves. his jaw tightens, knee bouncing underneath the table. never mind his racing heart!

he glares at the rest of the shop as if daring anyone to look at you for a second too long.

"i don't want all these normies seeing you like this."

“you freak.”

suguru, ever the angel changes the subject, steps in before satoru can dig himself an even deeper hole. “i think you look great [name], but you didn’t have to go out of your way to dress up right after your mission.”

“i wanted to dress up! it’s fun to wear something other than the uniform—“

“cursed technique reversal: red..” gojo murmurs under his breath, his eyes flickering across the room.

shoko groans, suguru sighs, and you—still blissfully unaware—blink in confusion.

[awkward-sultana]

(Almost) Every Costume Per Episode + Mrs. Varley's green gown in Season 2

[paniniani]

inexperienced bakugo drabble

"again? that's your 5th water this morning!" you exclaim as katsuki tilts his head back yet again to drain the last remaining drops out of the plastic bottle. rolling his eyes at you, he crumpled it in his fist with a simple flex of his forearm.

"whatever. what's it matter to you" he replied, quickly closing his phone as you walked by him. deciding that this was just typical bakugo behavior, you left the room to go get changed, feeling his eyes linger, burning on your hips.

unbeknownst to you, katsuki had a little secret. glancing around to make sure you were gone, he unlocked his phone again as he grabbed yet another water bottle. you were his first girlfriend, and his lack of experience, along with the way you'd been eye-fucking him lately, made him fucking terrified (in a weirdly good way).

katsuki wasn't some scared little bitch, he was determined to be the best for you. turning his attention to his screen, he resumed the tiktok he'd been playing earlier.

"-best way to make yourself taste good is to drink water. it's important..." his head whipped around when he heard giggling coming from behind him. shit. he hadn't heard you sneak back in the room, and he flushed red down his body as he realized you had caught on to him.

"aw katsu, you just wanted to make yourself taste good for me?" you teased at him, tracing a finger down his chest as he sharply inhaled at your touch, heart racing.

"s-shut up, just some stupid tiktok.." he spat back, but you knew you had him right where you wanted him. you slowly sunk down to your knees, trailing kisses down his chest and twitching abs as you continued to look in his pleading eyes. you'd never done this to him before, you didn't even know he was thinking about it, but you didn't want anything else as you looked at him with a shit-eating grin.

"sure kats..." gently drawing shapes on his thighs, you raked your fingernails up to his waistband. suddenly, the pleasure stopped. "just some stupid tiktok right?" he tried to remain expressionless, but his drawn-together eyebrows and slightly smoking hands gave him away. swallowing his pride, he managed to choke out a few words.

"fuck baby.... p-please?"

[writers-potion]

Let's Talk About Pacing Our Fight Scenes.

For Fast-Paced Parts:

Short words with single syllables. Immediately > at once/ endeavour > try/ indicate > point at/ investigate > check out.

Short sentences, the shorter the better.

Partial sentences to blaze through multiple senses and actions within a few lines.

Short paragraphs

Lots of verbs.

Few adjectives and adverbs.

Cut down on -ing form of verbs, as it can make words longer

Use simple past tense

Avoid conjunctions and link words.

Avoid internal thought - your characters are irrational, ruthless and in the flow of pure action.

For Slow-Paced Parts:

Use medium/long sentences

the paragraphs are longer: three lines minimum

Include longer words with more syllables

Use adjectives and maybe a couple of adverbs.

Insert the thoughts of the PoV character.

Words for Action Scenes

act, alter, attack, avert, back, block, bang, bash, battle, beat, beg, belt, bend, best, bite, blacken, bleed, blind, blister, blow, blunt, boil, bolt, boot, bore, bow, box, brace, brag, brash, brawl, break, breathe, brush, buck, bulgde, burn, burst, cackle, call, can, carry, cart, carve, catch, check, chop, chuck, clack, clank, clap, clash, claw, clear, cleave, click, cliff, cling, clip, close, club, cock, coil, cold, collar, come, con, connect, corner, cost, count, counter, cover, cower, crack, crackle, cram, crash, crawl, creep, crinkle, cross, crouch, rush, cry, cuff, cull, cup, curl, curse, curve, cusp, cut, dart, dash, deepen, dig, deep, dip, ditch, drive, drop, duck, dump, ede, effect, erect, escape, exert, expect, feint, fight, fire fist, fit, flag, flare, flash, flick, fling, flip, flock, force, gash, gasp, get, gore, grab, grasp, grip, grope, group, hack, harden, heat, help, hit, hop, hurl, hurry, impale, jab, jar, jerk, join, jolt, jump, keep, kick, kill, knee, knock, knot, knuckle, leak, leap, let, lever, lick, lift, lock, loop, lop, plunge, mask, nick, nip, open, oppose, pace, pack, pain, pair, pale, palm, pan, pant, parry, part, pass, paste, pat, peak, peck, pelt, pick, pierce, pile, ping, piss, pit, pivot, plot, pluck, plug, plunge, ply, point, pool, pop, pose, pot, pound, pour, powder, pray, preen, prepare, prey, prick, prickle, print, probe, pry, pull, pulp, pulse, pump, punch, pursue, push, quarry, quarter, quest, race, raise, rake, ram, rap, rasp, rear, retreat, rip, riposte, rivert, roar, rock, roll, rope, round, rouse, run, rush, sap, scale, scalp, scan, score,scream, seek, seep, shake, shape, sharpen, shock, shoot, shop, slap, slap, slash, slice, slick, slip, slit, smash, snap, snare, snatch, snipe, sock, space, spar, spark, speed, spike, spill, spin, spit, splash, spoil, spring, spur, spurt, spy, squirm, stand, steert, step, stick, strap, strike, stuff, suck, support, swat, sweat, sweep, swingm tack, tag, take, target, taste, team, tear, tent, test, thrash, throw, thrust, thud, tick, tide, tilt, time, tire, top, toss, tower, toy, trap, trick, trigger, trip, triumph, trouble, trump, try, tuck, tug, twril, twitch, weaken, wet, whip, whirl, whirr, whoop, whoosh, whop, work, zap, zip.

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[galaxythixf]

@rake-rake's Zuko wished upon a Shooting Star!

"Don't worry about me, I've been fine." About as fine as being the balance of the world could be. It was a lot for someone so young to burden by his lonesome, but he's long since come to terms with himself that he has to for the sake of everyone else. Born into this role whether he liked it or not. A slight contrast from Zuko's birthright that he had to fight for. Being the Avatar was a job that Aang warmed up to and a part of him wondered what it would have been like to share Zuko's passion. If he had tackled his responsibilities with that attitude, maybe he wouldn't have to rely on so many people all the time. "How have you been?"

[pucksandpower]

#ExposeFIA

Max Verstappen x forensic accountant!Reader

Summary: when the FIA keeps targeting your boyfriend, you decide to do something about it by digging into their financials and learning what skeletons they have hidden in the closet … nothing could have prepared you for what you unearth or the domino effect that follows

Warnings: corruption, kidnapping, violence, and murder

Based on this request

Max slams the door shut behind him, the sound reverberating through the hotel room. His jaw is tight, his hands balled into fists as he shrugs off his jacket and tosses it onto the back of the couch. You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor with your laptop open, spreadsheets and case files scattered around you.

At first, you don’t look up — this is just Max being Max after a bad day — but then you hear him muttering in Dutch, sharp and venomous under his breath.

“What now?” You ask, closing the laptop with a quiet sigh.

Max rakes a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth in front of the coffee table. “The FIA fined me again.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “For what?”

“For cursing!” His voice rises, and he gestures wildly, his frustration spilling out like a dam breaking. “In the press conference. They called it inappropriate. Inappropriate! It wasn’t even that bad — just one word!”

You press your lips together, trying not to laugh, but he catches it.

“Oh, you think this is funny?” He stops pacing, leveling you with an incredulous look.

“Max,” you say slowly, rising to your feet, “you do curse like a sailor in every other sentence.”

“Not every other sentence,” he protests, crossing his arms.

You arch a brow.

“Okay, fine. But that’s not the point!” He starts pacing again. “They only do this to me! I swear, it’s like they’re waiting for me to screw up so they can slap me with another fine.”

You fold your arms, leaning against the couch. “How much this time?”

“Fifty thousand euros,” he says bitterly, kicking the edge of the rug.

“Fifty thousand?” Your jaw drops. “For cursing?”

“Exactly! It’s ridiculous!” Max looks at you, his blue eyes blazing with anger and just a hint of something more vulnerable underneath. “Lando swears all the time, and no one says anything to him. This is personal, I know it is.”

You open your mouth to argue, then close it again. Because, honestly, he’s not wrong.

Max keeps going, his words tumbling out in a rush. “They’ve been on my case all season. The penalties, the warnings — it’s like they can’t stand the thought of me winning again. They want to knock me down, and they don’t care how they do it.”

You let out a long breath, watching him as he paces. He’s like a storm contained in human form, all fire and fury and relentless energy.

“They can’t keep getting away with this,” you say finally, your voice low but firm.

Max pauses mid-step, turning to face you. “What am I supposed to do? Complain? They’ll just call me a sore loser and fine me for that too.”

“No, not you,” you say, a sly smile creeping onto your face. “Me.”

He frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the FIA,” you say, your mind already racing. “You said it yourself — they’re out to get you. So, let’s find out why.”

Max blinks, caught off guard. “You want to investigate them?”

“I’m a forensic accountant,” you remind him. “Digging into shady organizations is literally my job. If there’s something fishy going on with their finances, I’ll find it.”

“And then what?” He asks, skeptical but intrigued.

“And then we use it against them,” you say simply.

He stares at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he shakes his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “You’re serious about this.”

“Dead serious.”

Max exhales, running a hand through his hair again. “You don’t have to do this, you know. It’s not your fight.”

“Of course, it’s my fight,” you say, stepping closer. “They’re targeting you. And that means they’re targeting me.”

His gaze softens, and for a moment, the tension in his shoulders eases. “You’re crazy,” he says, but there’s a trace of affection in his voice.

“Crazy for you,” you shoot back, grabbing your laptop and plopping down on the couch.

He groans. “That was awful.”

“Yeah, well, you’re stuck with me.”

Max flops onto the couch beside you, resting his head against the back of it. “What are you even looking for?”

“Anything that doesn’t add up,” you say, your fingers flying across the keyboard. “Expenses that don’t make sense, hidden accounts, payments to people who shouldn’t be getting paid. Everyone leaves a paper trail. Even the FIA.”

He watches you in silence for a moment, his expression a mix of curiosity and apprehension. “You really think they’re dirty?”

“I think it’s worth finding out,” you say. “Worst case, I waste a few hours and we’re no worse off. Best case …”

“Best case?” He prompts.

“Best case, we blow this whole thing wide open,” you say, grinning.

Max leans back, a thoughtful look on his face. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“Compliments won’t get you out of trouble, Verstappen,” you say without looking up.

He smirks. “Didn’t say I was trying.”

For a while, the only sound in the room is the soft clatter of your keyboard and the occasional frustrated sigh from Max as he scrolls through his phone.

“What if they come after you?” He asks suddenly, breaking the silence.

You glance at him, surprised by the seriousness in his tone. “Why would they?”

“Because they’re the FIA,” he says bluntly. “They don’t play fair. If they find out you’re digging into their finances, they’ll find a way to shut you up.”

You pause, considering his words. “Let them try,” you say finally. “I’m not scared of a bunch of bureaucrats.”

Max looks at you like he wants to argue, but then he just shakes his head and mutters something in Dutch.

“What was that?” You ask, narrowing your eyes.

“Nothing,” he says quickly.

“Max.”

“I said you’re stubborn,” he admits, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips.

“Takes one to know one,” you shoot back, your eyes already back on your screen.

He laughs, the sound low and warm and surprisingly light given the circumstances. For the first time all evening, he looks like the weight of the world isn’t pressing down on his shoulders.

“You really think you can take them on?” He asks after a while.

You glance up, meeting his gaze. “I know I can.”

Max leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Then do it,” he says, his voice steady and resolute. “If anyone can, it’s you.”

You smile, a little spark of determination igniting in your chest. “Damn right it is.”

For the next hour, you work in companionable silence, Max occasionally throwing in a sarcastic comment or a half-hearted complaint about how long this might take. But underneath it all, there’s a quiet sense of solidarity, a shared purpose that feels unshakable.

By the time you close your laptop for the night, you’ve barely scratched the surface of what you’re looking for. But you’ve got a starting point, and that’s enough.

“You coming to bed?” Max asks, standing and stretching.

“In a minute,” you say, glancing at your notes.

He hesitates, then leans down to kiss the top of your head. “Don’t stay up too late, detective.”

You smile, your fingers already back on the keyboard. “Goodnight, Verstappen.”

As he disappears down the hall, you feel a surge of determination. If the FIA thinks they can push Max around, they’ve got another thing coming. Because they’re not just dealing with him anymore. They’re dealing with you.

***

The apartment is dark and silent, the kind of stillness that only comes in the dead of night. Max is fast asleep, his breaths soft and steady, the rise and fall of his chest a calming rhythm. You’re lying beside him under the covers, your laptop propped on your knees, the faint glow from the screen illuminating your face.

You should have gone to sleep hours ago. You told yourself you’d close the laptop after one more file — just one more. But then there was another, and another, and now it’s nearly 4 AM, and you’re running on pure caffeine and spite.

Max shifts in his sleep, mumbling something incoherent in Dutch. You glance at him, your heart softening for a moment. He looks so peaceful, so unaware of the storm you’re wading through just inches away from him.

“Soon,” you whisper, your fingers flying over the keyboard. “Just a little longer.”

You’ve been combing through every financial record you can find, hacking into databases and piecing together spreadsheets like a forensic puzzle. And then, finally, you see it — a string of payments that makes your stomach turn.

The account is buried deep, hidden behind layers of shell companies and off-the-books transfers. But the numbers don’t lie. Over the past three years, millions of euros have been funneled out of the FIA’s discretionary budget and into a series of private accounts.

At first, it’s just suspicious. Then it’s horrifying.

You zoom in on the details, your pulse racing. The money trails lead to names — government officials in multiple countries, shady contractors with histories of fraud, and even one account linked to a known arms dealer.

“What the hell …” you mutter, your hands trembling slightly as you open another file.

It gets worse.

The payments aren’t just bribes or kickbacks. They’re tied to contracts for military-grade surveillance technology and riot control equipment. The kind of things no racing organization should have any business buying.

“Why would the FIA need …” Your voice trails off, your thoughts spiraling.

And then it hits you. They don’t need it. Someone within the FIA is using their funds as a cover to funnel resources for something darker — something illegal.

You feel a chill creep up your spine as you uncover more details. The timing of the payments coincides with major FIA controversies, including rulings that massively benefited certain teams or drivers. It’s almost as if the penalties and decisions were distractions, designed to shift the focus away from what was really happening behind the scenes.

Your throat tightens. This isn’t just corruption. This is criminal conspiracy on an international scale.

You close the file and lean back against the headboard, staring at the screen in disbelief. Your mind is racing, the pieces of the puzzle snapping together faster than you can process them.

The FIA isn’t just targeting Max. They’re using their position as a global governing body to launder money and traffic illegal goods. And if you’re right, they’ve been doing it for years.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, your heart pounding.

Beside you, Max stirs, his hand brushing against your arm. “What time is it?” He mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.

“Uh …” You glance at the clock. “Four thirty.”

His eyes crack open, and he frowns. “You’re still awake?”

You hesitate, your mind still reeling. “I found something.”

He rubs his face, sitting up slightly. “What kind of something?”

You turn the laptop toward him, your hands shaking as you scroll through the files. “Look at this. These payments — they’re using FIA accounts to fund illegal activities. Weapons, surveillance tech, bribes. It’s all here.”

Max blinks, trying to wake himself up. “Wait — what? The FIA is buying weapons?”

“Not for themselves,” you explain, your voice trembling. “They’re covering for someone else. Someone higher up, maybe even multiple people. It’s a money-laundering operation disguised as legitimate spending. And the worst part?” You click on another document. “They’re timing these payments to coincide with penalties and controversies. Like yours.”

He stares at the screen, his jaw tightening. “They’re creating distractions.”

“Exactly.” You meet his gaze, your chest tight with anger. “They’re using you — using all of you — to keep people from noticing what’s really going on.”

Max is silent for a moment, his expression darkening. “This can’t be real.”

“It’s real,” you say firmly. “I’ve traced the accounts. I’ve seen the contracts. It’s all there.”

He exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “This is insane. How are they getting away with this?”

“Because no one’s looking,” you say bitterly. “They’ve built a system where no one questions their authority. They hand out fines, penalties, rulings — it’s all smoke and mirrors.”

Max shakes his head, his anger simmering just below the surface. “So what do we do?”

“We expose them,” you say without hesitation. “We take this to the press, to the authorities — whoever will listen. We make sure everyone knows what they’ve been doing.”

He looks at you, his eyes blazing with determination. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious,” you say, your voice steady. “They’ve messed with you for the last time, Max. I’m not letting them get away with this.”

Max leans back against the headboard, his expression unreadable. “You know this won’t be easy. They’ll come after you.”

“Let them,” you say fiercely. “They’re not invincible, Max. They think they are, but they’re not. And now we have the proof.”

He reaches for your hand, his grip firm and grounding. “We do this together, okay?”

You nod, your resolve hardening. “Together.”

For the first time in hours, you close the laptop. The fight isn’t over — not even close. But for now, you have what you need.

The FIA has no idea what’s coming for them.

***

The findings sit like a live grenade between you and Max for weeks. Every time you try to talk about it, the conversation spirals into an argument that feels more like a desperate plea than a disagreement.

You’re sitting at the kitchen table one morning, coffee in hand, staring at the spreadsheet open on your laptop. Max leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching you like you’re about to pull the pin and toss the grenade straight into his life.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice careful, like he’s trying not to spook you. “You can’t post this. It’s too dangerous.”

You glance up, meeting his intense blue eyes. “Max, we’ve been over this. Dangerous for who? The FIA? Because it sure as hell isn’t safe for anyone else if they keep getting away with this.”

He shakes his head, frustration etched into his features. “No. Dangerous for you.”

You sigh, shutting the laptop and leaning back in your chair. “And we’ve been over this too. If it’s tied to me, and they come after me, it only makes them look worse. They’d be shooting themselves in the foot.”

Max pushes off the counter, pacing across the small kitchen. “You think they care about how it looks? These people are untouchable. They’ve been untouchable for decades. What if they don’t care about subtlety? What if they decide to make an example out of you?”

“Then they’ll prove my point,” you counter, setting your mug down harder than you meant to. “Max, they’re laundering money. Funding illegal operations. Covering up fraud. This isn’t just about you or me anymore. This is about them and what they’re doing to-”

“To you,” he cuts in, spinning to face you. “This is about you, schatje. You think I can just sit back and watch them destroy your life? Watch them drag you through the mud — or worse?” His voice cracks on the last word, and it stops you in your tracks.

“Max …”

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “I can take the fines. The penalties. Whatever bullshit they throw at me, I don’t care. But I can’t …” He falters, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I can’t lose you over this.”

The words hang heavy in the air. For a moment, you don’t know what to say.

You stand, crossing the room to him. “Max.” You reach for his hands, pulling them away from where they’re clenched at his sides. He looks up at you, his jaw tight, his eyes filled with a storm of worry and frustration.

“You’re not going to lose me,” you say softly. “But you can’t ask me to do nothing. Not when I have this.”

He shakes his head, his grip on your hands tightening. “There has to be another way. Something that doesn’t put you in the crosshairs.”

“We’ve talked about this,” you say, your voice gentle but firm. “The longer we wait, the more time they have to cover their tracks. This needs to come from me. Not you, not a journalist. Me.”

Max pulls his hands away, pacing again. “Why does it have to be you? Why not anonymously? Why not through someone else?”

“Because,” you say, your voice rising just enough to make him stop and look at you, “if it’s anonymous, it’s easier for them to discredit. If it’s me — someone with a background in forensic accounting, someone who has proof — it’s harder for them to bury.”

He stares at you, his jaw working, his frustration palpable. “You’re playing with fire.”

“And you’re worth it,” you shoot back, your words cutting through his anger like a blade.

Max looks at you, his expression crumbling. “This isn’t just about me anymore. It’s bigger than that now.”

“I know,” you say, stepping closer to him. “That’s why I have to do this.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then Max sighs, his shoulders slumping. “If you do this … if you put this out there …” He trails off, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I know the risks,” you say, reaching up to cup his cheek. “But we can’t let them keep doing this. If I don’t say something, who will?”

He leans into your touch, his eyes closing briefly. “I hate this.”

“I know,” you whisper.

The next few days are a blur of preparation. You draft the post, meticulously double-checking every link, every piece of evidence. Max hovers in the background, equal parts supportive and terrified, his tension radiating through the apartment.

Finally, the day comes. You’re sitting at your desk, your phone in your hand, the post ready to go. Max stands behind you, silent but solid, his presence grounding you.

“You sure about this?” He asks, his voice low.

You nod, your finger hovering over the “post” button. “It’s time.”

He exhales, his hands resting on your shoulders. “Then do it.”

With a deep breath, you hit the button.

The tweet goes live:

The FIA has been hiding more than bad calls and unfair penalties. They’ve been laundering money and funding illegal operations for years. Here’s the proof #ExposeFIA

The moment it’s posted, your phone buzzes with notifications, the retweets and replies piling up faster than you can process.

You lean back in your chair, your heart racing as the reality of what you’ve done sinks in. Max squeezes your shoulders, his grip firm and reassuring.

“It’s out there now,” you say, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and exhilaration.

“Yeah,” Max says, his voice steady. “And they’ll never see it coming.”

***

The world ignites within hours of your tweet.

Your phone buzzes nonstop, the notifications climbing into the thousands. News outlets pick up the story almost immediately. By mid-morning, your name is trending worldwide, alongside “#ExposeFIA” and a slew of related hashtags.

Every major publication, from The Guardian to The New York Times, runs with the story. Formula 1 Twitter is a battlefield, with fans, journalists, and even ex-drivers weighing in. Some praise you as a whistleblower, others call you reckless, but everyone is talking.

Max, watching it all unfold from the sofa, looks like he’s about to break the remote he’s gripping too tightly. “This is madness,” he mutters, shaking his head as he scrolls through his phone.

“Madness is putting it lightly,” you say, typing out a message to your lawyer, who’s already fielding calls from investigative agencies and reporters.

By noon, the FIA releases a statement calling your accusations “unfounded” and “a gross misunderstanding of internal operations.” They promise transparency, cooperation with audits, and a full investigation. It’s almost laughable how carefully worded it is, especially given how many people have already found red flags in the documents you posted.

“They’re scrambling,” Max says, glancing over at you.

“Good,” you reply, leaning back in your chair. “They should be.”

By the evening, things escalate even further. International agencies — Interpol, Europol, and financial crime units from multiple countries — announce that they’ve opened formal investigations into the FIA’s financial practices. Max reads the headline aloud from his phone, his tone a mix of shock and vindication.

“‘Interpol launches probe into FIA money-laundering allegations.’” He lets out a low whistle. “You’ve set the whole world on fire, haven’t you?”

You shrug, though your heart pounds in your chest. “Someone had to.”

But the sense of triumph doesn’t last long. By the next morning, the darker side of the storm begins to roll in.

Your email inbox floods with threats, your social media accounts are bombarded with harassment, and reporters camp outside the apartment building, cameras ready to capture every move. A particularly ominous email arrives from an anonymous account, promising that “justice will come” for what you’ve done.

Max reads it over your shoulder and immediately storms out of the room.

Fifteen minutes later, he’s back, phone pressed to his ear as he paces the length of the living room. You catch snippets of his conversation. “Former military … no, only the best … round-the-clock.”

When he finally hangs up, you cross your arms, raising an eyebrow. “What was that about?”

“Bodyguards,” he says flatly.

You blink. “What?”

“I’m not taking any chances,” Max says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ve hired a team. They’ll be here tonight.”

“Max, that’s-”

“Not negotiable,” he interrupts, his eyes blazing with determination. “I don’t care what it costs. I don’t care if it feels over the top. If they’re sending you threats, you’re not walking around without protection.”

You let out a slow breath, recognizing the sheer fear underlying his anger. “What kind of bodyguards are we talking about?”

“Ex-special forces,” he says, as if it’s obvious. “They’re the best. Trained for high-risk situations. If anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way, they’ll handle it.”

You can’t help but laugh, though the sound is hollow. “Max Verstappen, hiring a private army. Who would’ve thought?”

He doesn’t laugh. Instead, he steps closer, his expression softening. “I mean it, liefje. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

You reach for his hand, squeezing it gently. “I know.”

By nightfall, your new security team arrives. Four men and two women, all dressed in plain but professional attire, introduce themselves with clipped, no-nonsense precision. They’re intimidating, to say the least, but Max seems relieved the moment they walk through the door.

The leader of the team, a former SAS operative named Sam, lays out the plan in a low, calm voice. “Two of us will be stationed outside the apartment at all times. Another two will rotate shifts inside. We’ll also have someone following you whenever you leave the building. Discreet, but close enough to act.”

You nod, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and discomfort. “Thanks, Sam. Really.”

“Just doing our job, ma’am,” he says with a curt nod.

Max hovers nearby, watching the exchange with hawk-like focus. Once the bodyguards take their positions, he pulls you aside, his hands resting on your shoulders. “Feel safer?”

“Honestly?” You say, glancing toward the door where Sam is stationed. “It feels like we’re in a spy movie.”

Max cracks a faint smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Better a spy movie than a tragedy.”

The following days are surreal. The FIA is in complete disarray, with high-ranking officials resigning or being placed on administrative leave as the investigations intensify. Every news cycle seems to bring another bombshell revelation: hidden accounts, off-the-record meetings, connections to corrupt government officials.

Even Formula 1 teams begin distancing themselves from the governing body. Drivers are asked about it in every interview, and while most offer diplomatic responses, a few — like Lewis and Charles — publicly voice their support for you.

Through it all, Max stays glued to your side, protective in a way you’ve never seen before. Whenever you leave the apartment, he insists on going with you, even if it’s just to grab groceries.

One evening, as you’re scrolling through Twitter, you stumble upon a post from a well-known journalist.

@yourusername’s bravery has set off one of the biggest scandals in motorsport history. But the question remains: how deep does the corruption go? #ExposeFIA

You show the tweet to Max, who nods grimly. “They’re right,” he says. “This is just the beginning.”

You lean back against the couch, exhaustion weighing on you. “Yeah. And the FIA is going to do everything they can to bury me before it gets worse for them.”

Max wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “They can try,” he says quietly. “But they’ll have to go through me first.”

You smile faintly, resting your head against his chest. The fight is far from over, but with Max by your side — and a small army of bodyguards watching your back — you feel ready for whatever comes next.

***

Max’s voice cuts through the quiet of the apartment. “Don’t go to Austin, please.”

You look up from your laptop, brows furrowing. He’s standing in the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His hair is damp from the shower, but his expression is dry — serious, almost pleading.

“I already told you,” you say, your tone firm but calm. “I’m not hiding.”

“It’s not hiding,” he says quickly, stepping closer. “It’s being smart. Let them think whatever they want. You don’t have to prove anything by being there.”

You push your chair back, turning fully to face him. “If I don’t go, they’ll think they’ve won. That I’m scared of them. I’m not giving them that satisfaction.”

Max exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “This isn’t about pride, Y/N. It’s about your safety. They’ve already made it clear they’re willing to play dirty.”

“They’re already under investigation by half the agencies on the planet,” you counter. “They wouldn’t dare try anything now. Not in front of the entire world.”

His eyes narrow slightly, his frustration bubbling just under the surface. “You’re underestimating them.”

“And you’re underestimating me,” you say softly, standing up. You walk over to him, resting your hands on his forearms. “I’m not cowering in fear. I refuse to let them intimidate me.”

Max’s jaw tightens, his hands twitching as if he wants to pull you into him but can’t quite let himself. “I can’t …” He pauses, his voice dropping. “I can’t focus on the race if I’m worried about you the whole time.”

You tilt your head, giving him a small, reassuring smile. “Then don’t worry. I’ll be in the garage, surrounded by your team and my guards. Nothing’s going to happen.”

He stares at you for a long moment, the conflict in his eyes almost unbearable. Finally, he sighs, his shoulders sagging. “Promise me you’ll stay close to the guards. No wandering off, no risks.”

You nod, squeezing his arm. “I promise.”

***

The Circuit of the Americas is buzzing with energy as you and Max arrive for free practice. Fans line the paddock entrance, waving flags and shouting his name as you walk toward the Red Bull garage, flanked by two of your bodyguards. Max’s hand hovers protectively at the small of your back, and you can feel the tension radiating off him.

“You don’t leave the garage,” he says as you reach the entrance, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Not for food, not for interviews. Nothing.”

“I know,” you say, trying to soothe him with a gentle smile.

Max leans down, his voice low and fierce. “I mean it, schatje.”

“I know,” you repeat, softer this time.

Satisfied, though still visibly uneasy, Max kisses your forehead before heading off to change into his race suit. You settle into a chair near the engineers, watching the monitors as the mechanics fuss over his car. Sam stands just a few feet away, his eyes constantly scanning the room.

Max appears in full gear, his helmet tucked under his arm. He glances at you one last time before stepping toward the car. “Stay here,” he says firmly.

“Go drive, Verstappen,” you tease, trying to lighten the mood.

He doesn’t smile, but his gaze lingers on you for a moment before he nods and climbs into the car.

The first twenty minutes of the session pass uneventfully. Max is quick on track, his name lighting up the timing screens. The garage is busy but calm, the sound of the commentators droning faintly in the background.

And then, chaos.

A car bursts into flames on the back straight, smoke billowing into the air. The screens in the garage flicker to a red flag, and people jump into action, radios buzzing with updates.

“Car 23, it’s Albon!” Someone shouts. “He’s out, but the car’s on fire-”

Everyone’s attention is glued to the monitors, watching the marshals scramble to extinguish the flames. The smell of burning rubber seems to seep into the garage, and the noise level spikes as mechanics, engineers, and team officials bark orders and updates.

You glance at Sam, who nods reassuringly. “Stay put,” he says.

But in the chaos, no one notices the shadow slipping through the crowd behind you.

A hand clamps over your mouth, and something sharp pricks the side of your neck. Your vision blurs instantly, the world tilting sideways as your body goes limp. You feel yourself being dragged, but your limbs won’t cooperate, won’t fight back.

Sam’s voice echoes dimly in the background. “Where’s Y/N?”

You try to shout, to move, but the darkness swallows you whole.

And then, nothing.

***

When you wake, it’s like surfacing from a deep, suffocating void. Your head throbs, and your limbs feel heavy, almost disconnected. The first thing you notice is the faint hum of fluorescent lights above you. Then the sharp sting in your wrists and ankles — tight bonds cutting into your skin.

You’re tied to a chair, the cold metal frame unforgiving against your back. The air smells faintly of damp concrete, and the room is dimly lit, industrial — like the basement of a forgotten building.

Panic blooms in your chest as you struggle against the restraints, the rope biting into your skin with every movement. You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to think, to focus. You remember the race, the chaos in the garage, and then — nothing.

Footsteps echo down a hallway. Steady, deliberate.

Your heart pounds in your chest as a figure steps into the room. The man is immaculately dressed in a tailored suit, his dark hair slicked back, his face a mask of cold disdain.

The FIA president.

“Ah, you’re awake,” he says smoothly, closing the door behind him. He walks toward you, his polished leather shoes clicking against the floor. “I was beginning to worry the dosage was too much. I’d hate to have overdone it.”

You glare at him, your voice hoarse as you manage to croak out, “What the hell … is this?”

He stops a few feet from you, clasping his hands behind his back. “This,” he says, his tone almost casual, “is what happens when you ruin someone’s life, Miss L/N.”

Your heart sinks, but you keep your expression steady. “You kidnapped me?”

“I prefer to think of it as … leveling the playing field,” he says, tilting his head slightly. “After all, you didn’t hesitate to destroy my reputation, my career — everything I’ve built over the last three decades. Surely you didn’t expect there to be no consequences?”

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound rough and unsteady. “You destroyed your own career by being corrupt. All I did was expose the truth.”

His jaw tightens, a flicker of anger breaking through his calm façade. “The truth,” he repeats, his voice dripping with venom. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The FIA is in shambles. Investigators are tearing through every document, every bank account. Major sponsors are pulling out. Drivers are threatening to boycott. All because of you.”

“Good,” you snap, your voice gaining strength. “You deserve it. Every single one of you who let this happen deserves it.”

He steps closer, his eyes narrowing. “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into. Do you think the world will thank you for this? For dragging motorsport into the mud? You’ve made enemies far more powerful than you can imagine.”

“I’m not scared of you,” you spit, though your heart is racing.

He smiles, but it’s cold and cruel. “You should be.”

The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating. Then he leans down, his face inches from yours.

“You ruined my life,” he says softly, his tone icy and deliberate. “So the least I could do is ruin yours.”

You hold his gaze, refusing to flinch. “Do whatever you want to me. It won’t change anything. The truth is out. You can’t bury it now.”

He straightens, his expression unreadable. “Perhaps not,” he says, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. “But I can make you wish you’d never posted that little tweet.”

You don’t respond, your breath hitching as he turns and walks toward the door.

Before he leaves, he pauses, glancing over his shoulder. “Enjoy your stay, Miss L/N. It’ll be your last taste of freedom for a very long time.”

The door slams shut, and you’re left alone in the dim, silent room, your heart pounding and your mind racing. You tug at the ropes again, desperation clawing at you, but they hold firm.

You have no idea how much time you have — or if anyone even knows where you are. But one thing is clear: you’re not giving up without a fight.

***

The moment Max hears the words, it’s as if the world tilts on its axis.

“She’s gone.”

The voice comes from Sam who’s pale and shaking despite his years of military training. The garage is chaos, but Max doesn’t register any of it. The team radios, the mechanics shouting about the car, the fans outside the paddock — it all fades into a dull hum.

“What do you mean, gone?” Max’s voice is low, dangerous, the calm before an eruption.

Sam hesitates, and that hesitation is enough to snap Max’s restraint. He takes two steps forward, grabbing the man by the front of his shirt.

“What. Happened?” Max snarls, his grip tightening.

“She — someone — must have used the chaos to grab her,” Sam stammers, his voice faltering under Max’s fury. “I was right there. I don’t-”

“You were right there?” Max shouts, his voice echoing in the garage. His mechanics freeze, everyone suddenly aware of the storm brewing in the middle of their space. “Then how the hell is she gone?”

“I-I don’t know,” Sam admits, looking down, shame written across his face. “It was fast. We didn’t see-”

Max releases him with a shove, his hands trembling with rage. He feels like he’s going to explode, his chest heaving as he tries to breathe.

“Find her,” Max spits, his voice low and filled with venom. “Or I swear, you’ll regret ever taking this job.”

Sam nods quickly, already pulling out his phone, barking orders to the rest of the security team. But Max doesn’t wait to hear more.

He storms out of the garage, shoving past anyone who dares step in his path. His vision is a blur of fury, his ears ringing. People call his name — Christian, his press officer, even a few reporters — but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop.

The first FIA official he sees is standing just outside the paddock offices, talking to a group of staff. Max doesn’t even pause to think. He closes the distance in seconds, grabbing the man by the collar and slamming him against the nearest wall.

“Max!” Someone yells behind him, but he doesn’t care.

“Where is she?” Max growls, his face inches from the man’s.

The official — a younger man with wide eyes and a trembling mouth — raises his hands in surrender. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Don’t lie to me!” Max shouts, his voice raw and unhinged. He tightens his grip, the fabric of the man’s shirt bunching in his fists. “If even one hair on her head is hurt, everyone involved will wish they were dead. Do you understand me?”

“Max, let him go!” Christian’s voice cuts through the chaos as Red Bull staff rush toward him, trying to pull him back.

“Stay out of this!” Max snaps without looking, his eyes locked on the trembling FIA official. “You know something. You all do.”

“I don’t!” The man insists, his voice cracking. “I swear, I don’t-”

“You’re all complicit,” Max growls, his voice low and menacing. “You’re all covering for each other, just like always. But if anything happens to her, I will burn this entire sport to the ground.”

“Max!” Christian’s hands are on his shoulders now, trying to pull him back. “This isn’t helping. We’ll find her. You’re just making it worse!”

For a moment, Max hesitates, his breathing ragged. Then, with a frustrated snarl, he shoves the man away, releasing his grip. The official stumbles, gasping for air, but Max doesn’t even look at him as he turns to Christian.

“They took her,” Max says, his voice breaking for the first time. “She’s gone, Christian.”

Christian’s face softens, his usual calm demeanor tinged with worry. “We’ll find her, Max. I promise.”

But Max shakes his head, his jaw clenched. “Promises don’t mean anything if she’s hurt.”

He storms off again, ignoring the cameras and the whispers that follow him. His mind is racing, a thousand thoughts colliding at once. Who has you? Why? How?

And then the worst thought of all … what if he’s too late?

***

The shed is suffocatingly small, barely more than a wooden box. Its peeling paint and sagging roof make it look like it’s been abandoned for years, forgotten in the middle of rural Texas farmland.

The search had stretched for days, involving everyone from local sheriffs to federal agents to Interpol. Max hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten. He’d barely spoken, except to bark orders and demand updates. And now, standing in front of the shed, his heart feels like it might stop altogether.

“Max,” Christian says, his voice a low murmur from behind. “Let them go in first.”

But Max shakes his head, already moving forward. A Texas Ranger tries to stop him, but Max glares, and the man steps aside, the air between them crackling with unspoken understanding.

The door creaks as Max pushes it open, the sound loud in the eerie stillness.

Inside, the air is stale, thick with the scent of mildew and dust. The dim light from the open door spills into the room, illuminating the figure slumped against the far wall.

You.

Max freezes, his breath catching in his throat.

You’re tied to a chair, the ropes biting into your skin, your wrists and ankles raw from the restraints. Your head is slumped forward, but at the sound of the door, you stir, lifting your face ever so slightly.

Bruises bloom across your cheekbone, your arms, the pale skin of your neck. Dried blood streaks your temple, and your lips are cracked, split in places. But it’s your eyes — glassier than he’s ever seen them, unfocused yet somehow still searching — that shatter him completely.

“Liefje,” Max breathes, his voice breaking.

You blink slowly, struggling to process. And then, somehow, against all odds, your eyes focus on him. Recognition flares, faint but unmistakable, and your lips move, though no sound comes out.

Max falls to his knees.

The world blurs around him — voices shouting, footsteps rushing in, hands grabbing for you. But all he can see is you. He crawls forward, his knees scraping against the rough floor, until he’s right in front of you.

“Y/N,” he says again, louder this time, his voice shaking. “I’m here. It’s me. It’s Max.”

Your head tilts slightly, your lips parting as if to say something.

“Don’t,” he whispers, his hands trembling as he reaches for you. He hesitates, afraid to touch you, afraid of causing more pain. “Don’t try to talk. Just … just stay with me.”

Tears blur his vision as he takes in the state of you. Every bruise, every cut feels like a dagger to his chest. He wants to scream, to rage, to destroy whoever did this to you, but he pushes it all down, forces himself to focus on you.

You manage a weak sound — barely more than a rasp — but your eyes never leave his.

“I’m here,” Max repeats, his voice fierce now, as if sheer force of will can keep you tethered to him. “You’re safe. I swear to God, you’re safe now.”

“Max …” you whisper, your voice so faint it’s almost lost in the chaos around you.

“I’ve got you,” he says, leaning closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. “I’ve got you, schatje. They’re never going to hurt you again.”

Behind him, medics and agents flood the shed, their voices urgent as they assess the scene. Someone touches Max’s shoulder, but he shrugs them off violently.

“Not yet,” he snaps, his tone deadly. “Give me a second.”

The medic hesitates, then backs away.

“Max,” you say again, a little louder this time, your voice raw and broken. Your eyes fill with tears, spilling over as you look at him.

“I’m here,” he whispers, his own tears falling freely now. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

For the first time, the faintest flicker of a smile ghosts across your lips. It’s fragile, barely there, but it’s enough to make Max’s chest tighten.

He leans forward, pressing the gentlest kiss to your forehead, his hands finally settling on your knees as he grounds himself in your presence.

“They’ll pay for this,” he murmurs, his voice dark and unyielding. “Every single one of them. I promise you.”

Your head tips forward, leaning against him as the medics finally step in, their voices careful and quiet. Max doesn’t let go, not until they’re lifting you onto a stretcher, not until they’re absolutely sure you’re stable.

Even then, he doesn’t leave your side.

***

Max sits in the darkness of your shared apartment, his fingers steepled, his eyes fixed on the glow of his laptop screen. The names are all there. Every single one of them.

The investigation, spearheaded by law enforcement and fueled by global outrage, had revealed the tangled web of corruption that led to your kidnapping. At the center of it: the FIA president and a handful of high-ranking officials who had conspired to silence you for what you’d uncovered.

Max stares at their faces, the headshots lined up on the screen like a hit list. And in his mind, that’s exactly what it is.

There are many things about his childhood that Max tries not to think about. His father’s cold, unrelenting discipline. The constant berating. The punishments for anything less than perfection. Jos Verstappen hadn’t raised a son … he’d forged a weapon.

For years, Max had hated him for it. But now, for the first time, he feels a grim sense of gratitude. Because Jos had taught him something important: how to be cruel.

Max isn’t naïve enough to think the justice system will fix this. No prison sentence, no public disgrace will ever feel like enough for what they did to you — for the bruises that painted your skin, for the fear in your eyes when they finally found you.

These people had tried to destroy you. Max is going to destroy them first.

***

The first one falls within days. A minor official, the logistics director who had helped orchestrate your transport to the shed. He’s found in his sprawling Paris apartment, lying facedown in a pool of his own blood. The police call it a robbery gone wrong, but Max knows better.

The second is a middle manager in finance who’d helped funnel bribes through FIA accounts. He vanishes without a trace, his car abandoned on a lonely stretch of highway.

Each one is different. A tragic accident. A sudden disappearance. A stroke of bad luck. But the common thread is unmistakable. The officials complicit in your kidnapping are dropping like flies, one by one, their fates tied to their betrayal.

Max doesn’t get his hands dirty — not directly. He doesn’t have to. Money buys silence, loyalty, and an army of people willing to do what he can’t.

He watches it all unfold from a careful distance, his heart cold and steady. The guilt, if it comes, is fleeting. These people made their choices. Now they’re paying for them.

***

The FIA president is last.

Max makes him wait.

For weeks, the man is forced to watch as his associates vanish, as the walls close in around him. The investigation has left him disgraced, stripped of his title, his assets frozen. He’s a man on the run, hiding in the shadows of his former power.

But Max knows where he is. He’s known from the beginning.

It happens in the dead of night, in the decaying mansion the president had fled to somewhere in the French countryside.

Max doesn’t send someone else this time. This one, he wants to see for himself.

***

The president is sitting at a desk, the room lit by a single dim lamp. He’s aged years in a matter of months, his face gaunt, his hands trembling as he rifles through papers. He doesn’t hear Max until it’s too late.

The sound of the door closing makes him freeze.

When he looks up, Max is already there, standing in the doorway, his face blank but his eyes burning with a quiet, lethal fury.

“Hello,” Max says, his voice calm.

The president’s face goes pale. He stumbles to his feet, the chair scraping against the floor. “W-what are you doing here? You have no right-”

“Sit,” Max says sharply.

The man stops mid-sentence, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He sinks back into the chair, his movements stiff and jerky.

“You ruined your own life,” Max says, stepping closer. His voice is measured, even, but there’s an edge to it that makes the air in the room feel heavier. “But that wasn’t enough for you, was it? You had to try to ruin hers too.”

The president’s hands shake as he grips the edge of the desk. “I-I didn’t-”

“Don’t lie to me,” Max interrupts, his tone icy.

The man flinches, his eyes darting around the room as if looking for an escape. But there’s nowhere to go.

“You didn’t just hurt her,” Max continues, his voice low. “You left her tied to a chair in the middle of nowhere, beaten and bleeding. You thought no one would find her. You wanted her to disappear.”

The president tries to speak, but the words die in his throat.

Max leans forward, his hands resting on the desk. “I’ve let you live longer than you deserve. But this ends tonight.”

The president shakes his head frantically, panic overtaking him. “You can’t do this! I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Max asks, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “Run to the police? Tell them what you did? They’d love to hear about it.”

The president’s breathing becomes ragged, his chest heaving as he realizes there’s no way out.

Max straightens, his gaze cold and unrelenting. “You took her because you thought I’d let it go. Because you thought I’d be too afraid to fight back. But you were wrong.”

The room falls silent, the weight of Max’s words settling over them like a storm.

When it’s over, the only sound is the faint rustle of the wind outside.

Max walks out of the mansion, his hands steady, his heart unyielding.

The world will never know what happened to the former FIA president. But Max doesn’t care.

All that matters is that it’s done. You’re safe. And no one will ever hurt you again.

***

You wake with a jolt, the scream clawing at your throat but never making it out. Your chest heaves, your skin slick with sweat, the remnants of the nightmare still vivid behind your eyelids. The ropes, the shed, the bruising grip of strangers. You can still feel it, can still hear the taunts of the man who orchestrated it all.

For a moment, you don’t know where you are. Your hands tremble as you clutch the sheets, the darkness of the room suffocating. But then you feel him.

“Schatje,” Max whispers, his voice thick with sleep and concern. His arms are around you instantly, pulling you into his chest. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re with me.”

You bury your face in his shoulder, your breathing erratic as you cling to him like a lifeline. His scent, his warmth, his steady heartbeat — these are the things that tether you back to reality.

“It was just a dream,” he murmurs, his hand running up and down your back. “Nothing can hurt you here. I won’t let it.”

You don’t say anything, but the way your fingers fist the fabric of his shirt tells him enough.

Max tightens his hold, his lips pressing to the top of your head. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I let you down. I should’ve protected you. I-”

“Stop,” you croak, your voice hoarse from disuse. You pull back slightly, enough to meet his gaze. His blue eyes are raw, rimmed with red, his guilt carved into every line of his face. “It wasn’t your fault.”

His jaw clenches, and he shakes his head, refusing to meet your eyes. “Yes, it was,” he says, his voice rough. “I should’ve done more. I should’ve been there. If I had-”

“Max,” you interrupt, your voice soft but firm.

He finally looks at you, and the weight of his guilt makes your chest ache.

“You didn’t let me down,” you say, your hand cupping his cheek. “What happened was their fault. Not yours.”

“I’m supposed to protect you,” he says, his voice trembling. “And I didn’t. I failed.”

“Max.” You sit up straighter, your other hand framing his face. “You didn’t fail me. You saved me. You found me. You’ve been here for me every second since. That’s what matters.”

He tries to argue, his lips parting, but you don’t let him.

You lean forward and kiss him, cutting off whatever protest he was about to make. It’s gentle at first, a soft reassurance, but then it deepens, your hands slipping into his hair as you pour everything into it — all your gratitude, your love, your need to make him understand.

When you pull back, he’s breathless, his forehead resting against yours.

“I love you,” you whisper, your voice shaking. “And you didn’t let me down. You’ll never let me down.”

Max’s eyes close, a shuddering breath escaping him as his hands settle on your waist. “I’ll never let anything happen to you again,” he murmurs. “I swear. No one will ever hurt you again.”

“I know,” you say softly, your fingers brushing through his hair. “I trust you.”

The room falls quiet again, the tension melting into something softer as Max holds you close. The nightmare still lingers at the edges of your mind, but with him here, it feels manageable.

You close your eyes, letting the steady rhythm of his breathing lull you back toward sleep, your head tucked under his chin.

***

The world looks different now. Formula 1 has been turned inside out and rebuilt piece by piece, its foundation gutted, its walls scrubbed clean of rot. The FIA, once untouchable, now stands as a phoenix reborn — smaller, humbler, and watched under a microscope by a public that no longer trusts blindly.

And the man standing at its helm?

Sebastian Vettel.

His appointment shocked everyone, though in hindsight, maybe it shouldn’t have. A four-time world champion with a reputation for integrity, sharp wit, and an inexplicable love of bees, Sebastian had been the last person anyone expected to re-enter the fold. Yet here he was: a symbol of hope and accountability.

And now, sitting in your living room.

You stare at him, still trying to reconcile the fact that Sebastian Vettel is perched on your sofa, a cup of tea balanced in his hand, as if this is the most natural thing in the world. He wears a suit, though the top button is undone and his shoes scuff slightly on your rug — small signs that, for all his new authority, he’s still Sebastian.

Max, seated across the room with his arms crossed, is visibly tense. He hasn’t said much since Sebastian arrived, choosing instead to lean back in his chair and observe. Protectively.

“Just to be clear,” you say, leaning forward, “you want to hire me?”

Sebastian smiles faintly, setting his tea down on the table. “Yes. You.”

“As a forensic accountant?”

“Yes.”

“To audit the FIA?”

Sebastian leans back slightly, his expression soft but serious. “To make sure nothing like what happened ever happens again. To hold us accountable, to make sure every financial and ethical line is crystal clear. You’ve proven yourself, Y/N. The FIA needs someone sharp, honest, and relentless. You’re all three.”

You blink, thrown off balance. You’d been bracing for congratulations or polite pleasantries — not this.

“Why me?” You ask finally.

Sebastian doesn’t hesitate. “Because you’re the only person I trust to do it right.”

That knocks the air from your lungs.

Across the room, Max shifts, his brows furrowing. “You’re asking her to put herself in the middle of it again,” he says, his voice low, edged with a protectiveness Sebastian doesn’t miss. “After everything.”

Sebastian turns to Max. “I’m asking her to fix it. If anyone can make sure the FIA stays clean, it’s Y/N.”

Max’s jaw tightens, and you can feel the storm brewing inside him. He’s fought so hard to keep you away from anything that even smells like danger. You know he hates the idea of you stepping back into this mess, even from a position of safety.

But you also know he won’t stop you if this is what you want.

You take a deep breath, turning your attention back to Sebastian. “You understand what you’re asking, right? I’ll find everything — everything. Even the things you don’t want me to.”

Sebastian nods. “That’s the point.”

You study him for a moment. There’s no hesitation in his face, no flicker of doubt. He means it. He’s really here to clean house, and he’s offering you a key role in ensuring that it happens.

Your fingers twist in your lap as you weigh the choice. You could walk away from it all, leave the FIA in someone else’s hands, and never think about its corruption again.

But then you think about the shed. The ropes. The bruises. The quiet corruption that enabled people like the former president to go unchecked for so long. You think about how close they came to breaking you — and how they’ll never get the chance to do it again.

Because you won’t let them.

You straighten in your seat, your voice clear. “If I do this, I want total autonomy. No limits on what I can investigate, no oversight. If I smell anything remotely off, I follow it wherever it leads.”

Sebastian smiles faintly, like he expected nothing less. “Done.”

“And if I say something needs to change, it changes. No delays, no excuses.”

“Done,” he says again.

Max exhales sharply, his frustration rolling off him in waves. “Y/N …”

You glance at him, softening. “It’s my decision.”

He shakes his head, staring at the floor for a moment before looking back up at you. “I don’t want you anywhere near them again. I don’t care who’s in charge.”

Sebastian clears his throat, respectful but firm. “This is her choice, Max.”

Max shoots him a withering glare but doesn’t argue further. Instead, he looks at you, his expression raw. “You just got out of this. Why would you go back?”

You reach across the space between you and take his hand. “Because if I don’t, someone else will. And they won’t be as careful, or as ruthless.” You squeeze his fingers gently. “You don’t have to like it, but you know I’m right.”

Max doesn’t reply immediately. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, his brow furrowed in deep thought. Finally, he sighs, his shoulders slumping just slightly.

“I don’t like it,” he says quietly, “but I’ll stand by you.”

You smile faintly, your chest warming as you meet his eyes. “I know.”

Sebastian, ever perceptive, chooses that moment to stand. “I’ll give you some time to think it over,” he says. “But … I hope you say yes.”

You nod, your decision already made. “I’ll think about it.”

Sebastian gives you both a small smile before making his way to the door. “Take care of each other,” he says as he leaves.

The door clicks shut behind him, leaving you and Max alone in the quiet.

For a moment, neither of you speak. Then Max groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Sebastian Vettel as president of the FIA? I didn’t see that one coming.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Me neither.”

His hand drops, and he looks at you, his expression serious again. “If you’re really going to do this, I’m not letting you out of my sight. Bodyguards, security — whatever you need.”

“I’m not going to war,” you tease gently.

“You say that now,” he mutters, his voice darkening. “But I know how this world works. You’re making enemies the second you start digging again.”

You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Then it’s a good thing I’ve got you to protect me, isn’t it?”

Max exhales, his arms looping around you as he pulls you close. “Always.”

You nestle into his chest, letting his heartbeat steady you, the weight of the decision settling over you. You know what you’re walking into. You know the risks.

But you also know you can’t look away — not now, not after everything.

The FIA has been reborn. And you’re going to make sure it stays that way.

[missaengg]

Every Single Last Drop

Pairing: Caleb x f!reader Tags: nsfw, mdni, pwp, dom caleb if you squint, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus/oral, unprotected sex, reader referred to as princess Word Count: 1k All you want is for Caleb to hold you in his arms and lie with you in bed, but Caleb has something else in mind…

“Fuu–uuu–uck.”

A long, guttural groan escapes you, your hips bucking wildly into Caleb’s eager mouth as your third – or was it your fourth – orgasm rips through your trembling body. His hands pin you in place, holding your plush thighs open, his sinful tongue doing god-knows-what to your puffy clit.

You hear him chuckle – snicker, really – and a jolt of irritation runs through you, but the nip he gives your bundle of nerves shoves the notion to slap him out of your mind, overwhelmed by the electricity sizzling through your veins.

“Caleb,” you whine pathetically, your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging rather painfully on his scalp.

Caleb doesn’t react, refusing to relent for even a microsecond, not even to breathe. He sucks down instead, teasing the overstimulated nub with the tip of his tongue in tiny, rapid strokes.

“Cal–leb,” you whine again, this time with more urgency.

His purple eyes – the ones that remind you of the Orion Nebula – finally flicker to meet yours while his mouth stays locked on to your clit.

“It’s too much,” you whimper, fully aware that you’re begging at this point for him to stop. “I don’t know if I can – fuck — do this – hah – for much longer.”

Caleb narrows his eyes and releases your sex with a sharp, audible pop. “Yes, you can, Princess,” he husks, a low growl underscoring his words. He runs his tongue through your folds, ending with a baby nip on your abused clit. “I know you can.”

Tears prick the corners of your eyes, the exhaustion and overstimulation getting the best of you. You can’t deny the undeniable pleasure you’ve been receiving through just his hot, wet mouth, but you want – no, need – a break to recover from his constant torment.

“I’m almost done,” he murmurs. “I just want to taste you a little bit more.”

He nibbles along your folds, lapping up the thick remnants of your multiple orgasms while his thumb rubs sloppy circles on your clit. Your fingers curl into the sheets, clutching the fabric as if you’re holding on for dear life… because you are… teetering on the edge of yet another precipice.

“Come for me just one more time, and it’ll all be over. I promise.”

Caleb’s soothing voice lilts into your tired ears. Your muddled brain cries in relief to know that Caleb’s relentless torture will all be over soon, as soon as you allow yourself to let go. With that knowledge, you bring yourself to unravel one more time, willfully falling over the edge into a blissful surrender.

Your hips jerk uncontrollably. A flurry of euphoric spasms rack your body. Gasps flutter from your parted lips.

“That’s it. Sing for me. Just a little more.”

You barely catch Caleb’s coaxing in your dazed state, still riding out your high, feeling him collect every sweet drop of your climax with his tongue.

“Caleb,” you whisper, arching your back.

“One more time, Princess.”

“Oh fuck, Caleb,” you wrench his name out of your throat, arching your back and practically screaming at the pleasure roiling through your body.

Caleb encourages your explosive release, delving his tongue in your warmth. It darts in and out, raking along the sweet, spongy tissue that has you moaning his name and seeing stars. He presses kiss after kiss on your weeping cunt until your body eventually stills and your heaving chest and racing heart calm into a steady rhythm. 

“That’s my good girl.” Caleb presses one last kiss to your clit and releases his hold on your thighs as he removes himself from between your legs.

You sigh, waiting for him to come join you in bed and comb back your sweaty hair and hold you in his toned arms while smothering your neck in tender kisses. Instead, you hear the sound of his zipper coming undone and the rustle of his thick, canvas pants, the bed dipping from the shift of his weight.

“Caleb?” you ask, raising your head to peek at what he’s doing only to find him removing the remainder of his clothes.

He smirks, a dark heat gleaming in his purple eyes, the expression on his face hungry and… sinister. You gulp, a shiver running through your spent body, the realization that your hope for respite might just be a fantasy. Caleb lowers himself, hovering over you and filling your vision with his lust. His necklace – the one you gifted him years ago – skims the dip between your breasts.

“You didn’t think I was done with you already, did you?” he asks, his voice ominously rumbling through his torso. “I’ve got all night to make you mine, Princess. This is just the beginning.”

“But… but you said… it’d be over if I… I…” you weakly protest, licking your lips with what little saliva you have left, your mouth going dry from what you know will come next. Though, whether you want to indulge or want to cry is yet to be determined.

Caleb languidly trails his hand up the side of your body – traveling over your hip, your waist, your shoulder, all the way to your rosy pink cheek, a path of searing fire lingering in its wake. “I said that I’m almost done with your gorgeous clit, not that I’m done with you.”

In that moment, a fleeting thought crosses your mind.

Fuck.

But as he captures your lips in a bruising kiss, the sudden momentary panic flies away as soon as it comes, so consumed with desire, you forget your need for rest. Your body seeks him with a mind of its own, desperate to feel his warmth against your bare skin… to feel his warmth buried in your aching cunt.  

He slides in, deliciously stretching you to your limits despite his overzealous prep, and you note that you have no complaints. Not a single one.

He can hold you and nuzzle your neck after he’s done filling you to the brim with all of him.

Every single last drop.

Tag List: @william-rex

[rafayelxsylusho]

How would the lads men react the first time they see you wearing a babydoll.

TW: SMUT SMUT SMUT and more SMUT

Caleb/Xavier/Sylus/Zayne/Rafayel

CALEB 🪐

Caleb's eyes widened as they raked over your form, taking in the sheer black lace of the babydoll that clung to your curves. The dark fabric contrasted starkly with your skin, and the low neckline exposed the tantalizing swell of your breasts. Below, a tiny black thong disappeared between your thighs, drawing the eye down to your long, shapely legs.

For a moment, Caleb felt his breath catch in his throat. Desire, hot and intense, surged through his veins like liquid fire. He drank in the sight of you, his gaze burning a path down your body, lingering on the tempting expanse of skin and the way the flimsy lace hugged your most intimate places.

"Looks like I got home just in time for dinner" he breathed, his voice rougher than intended, "and it looks mouthwatering"

Caleb's heart raced as he closed the remaining distance between you, his eyes locked into yours. The air between you crackling with a tension that set your nerves alight. He could see the pulse fluttering at the base of your throat, could hear the hitch in your breath as he drew closer.

Caleb's fingers trembled slightly as he reached for the delicate straps of your babydoll. The flimsy black lace slid down your shoulders with a whisper of fabric against skin. He felt the weight of the lace cups ease, revealing the soft swells of your breasts to his hungry gaze.

His breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight of you, now bared before him in the dim light of the room. The urge to touch, to feel, surged through his veins, setting his heart pounding against his ribs.

He watched your nipples pebble and tighten under his intense gaze. The sight sent a jolt of desire straight to his core, stoking the flames of his arousal. He could feel himself growing hard, his cock straining against the confines of his pants as he drank in every little reaction on your skin.

Kneeling before you, Caleb gripped and slowly slid the babydoll down your body. He took his time, savoring the way the lace skimmed over your curves, revealing more and more of your skin to his greedy eyes. The fabric slipped lower and lower until finally, it fell away completely.

Caleb gripped your hips, his fingers splaying over the dip of your waist. He leaned in, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your stomach, your ribs, the valley between your breasts. He took his time, worshipping every inch of exposed skin with lips, tongue and teeth.

"Turn around for me, sweetheart," he coaxed, his voice a low, approving rumble. "Let me see all of you."

As you spun slowly, Caleb's gaze followed the line of your body, committing every detail to memory. He felt his mouth go dry at the sight of your pert ass, the way it jutted out invitingly. His fingers itched to touch, to squeeze, to feel the soft flesh yield beneath his palms.

"Fuck," he breathed, his voice strained with desire. "You're gorgeous" He could feel his cock throbbing, hard and aching in his pants as he drank in the sight of you. The way your body moved, the play of muscle and sinew beneath smooth skin, it was enough to make a grown man weep.

His hands slid around to your front, skimming over the soft skin of your belly, the gentle swell of your breasts. He cupped the weight of them in his palms, feeling the heat of you, the way your nipples pebbled against his touch.

Caleb turned you back around to face him, his eyes dark and intense as they locked onto yours. Without breaking his gaze, he hooked his fingers into the straps of your thong, his knuckles grazing the sensitive skin of your hips. The lace dug into your flesh slightly as he tugged the garment down, inch by torturous inch the lace skimming over your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

Now, you stood completely naked before Caleb, every inch of your skin bared to his ravenous gaze. You could feel the weight of his eyes on you, could sense the desire radiating off him in waves.

"Caleb," you whispered, his name falling from your lips like a plea. A plea for his touch, for his kiss, for everything he could give you.

Caleb hooked your leg over his shoulder, his large hand gripping the back of your thigh. His eyes, dark and intense, remained locked onto your most intimate place, taking in every detail of your glistening folds. The scent of your arousal filled his nostrils, making his head swim with desire.

"Fuck," he breathed, his voice a low, reverent rumble. "Look at you, already so wet for me." His thumb brushed teasingly over your slit, feeling the slick heat of you. He could feel you shudder against him, hear the sharp intake of breath that caught in your throat.

Slowly, torturously, he parted your lower lips with his fingers, revealing the pretty pink of your inner walls. His cock throbbed almost painfully at the sight, a bead of pre-cum leaking from the tip as he took in your beauty. He wanted nothing more than to bury his face between your thighs, to taste you, to feel you come undone against his mouth.

"Tell me what you want, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice a low, seductive purr. "Tell me how badly you need my mouth on this pretty little pussy." His fingers circled your clit, applying the lightest pressure, not enough to give you the relief you craved.

"Please Caleb," you whimpered, your voice trembling with need. "Please, I need your mouth on me"

Without hesitation, he leaned in, breathing in your intoxicating scent before dragging his tongue through your folds.

"Fuck, you taste divine," he growled against your skin, his voice vibrating through your core. He licked you again, slower this time, savoring the addictive flavor of your arousal.

He focused his attention on your clit, circling the sensitive nub with the tip of his tongue before sucking it between his lips. You cried out, your head falling back as jolts of pleasure raced through your body. Caleb groaned against your skin, the vibrations only adding to your rapidly building pleasure.

Two fingers slid inside you, pumping in and out of your soaked channel. They curled to hit that special spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyelids. You were lost in the sensation, drowning in the feeling of Caleb's mouth and fingers working in tandem to drive you towards oblivion.

"Oh god, Caleb!" You keened, your inner muscles starting to flutter around his invading fingers. "I'm gonna... I'm gonna come!"

"Cum for me, sweetheart," he commanded, his voice a low, seductive growl against your dripping sex. "Let go, baby. I want to feel you come all over my tongue."

He curled his fingers just right, rubbing that special spot inside as he flicked his tongue rapidly over your clit. He could feel your body tightening, your muscles pulling taut as your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave.

With a hoarse cry of his name, you came, your inner walls clenching rhythmically around his fingers as your juices gushed out, coating his hand and chin. Caleb groaned in satisfaction, lapping up every drop of your release like a man starved.

Caleb stood up, his lips and chin glistening with your essence. He kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he gathered you close. "You're exquisite," he murmured against your lips. "But I'm still a bit hungry, I'm so glad I got home in time for a delicious meal"

XAVIER 🌟🌟

Xavier's eyes widen as they rake over your exposed curves, lingering on the tantalizing swell of your cleavage peeking out from the lacy yellow fabric. A faint blush rises to his pale cheeks, and he swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He's trying to maintain his composure, but you can see the hunger simmering beneath the surface of his gaze.

"Well now, don't you look...enticing," Xavier murmurs, voice low and rough with barely restrained desire. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes never leaving your body as they drink in every inch of exposed skin and a teasing glimpse of what lies beneath. The air between you feels charged with tension and anticipation.

Do you like it Xavier? you ask, " I bought it just for you"

Xavier's eyes darken with lust at your words, a predatory grin spreading across his face. He rises to his feet in one fluid motion, closing the distance between you in two long strides. His calloused hands come up to rest on your hips, thumbs brushing along the lacy edges of your babydoll. He pulls you flush against him, letting you feel the hard length of his arousal press against your stomach.

"I love it," he growls, ducking his head to nuzzle into the crook of your neck. His lips find your pulse point, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "I love that you're standing here, looking like a fucking wet dream come to life."

One hand drifts lower, cupping the rounded globe of your ass through the thin lace of your panties. He squeezes roughly, fingers digging into the supple flesh. "It's going to look even better on my bedroom floor," he promises darkly, hot breath fanning over your ear.

Xavier hoists you effortlessly over his shoulder, one strong arm wrapped around your thighs. As he spins you around, your babydoll rides up, exposing the skimpy lace panties underneath. The cool air kisses your newly bared skin, pebbling it with goosebumps. Xavier's hand is on your ass, he squeezes and kneads the supple flesh, fingers dipping teasingly beneath the lace to brush against your most intimate area. Your heart pounds wildly, a thrill of anticipation and arousal rushing through you at his bold touch.

"Mmm, I can't wait to peel these cute little panties off and explore what's hiding underneath," Xavier rumbles, voice dripping with lust and promise. He carries you towards the bedroom, each step jostling you against his firm shoulder and muscular back. You squirm in his hold, your core clenching with need. Xavier just chuckles darkly, giving your rear a sharp smack. "Behave, you naughty thing. You're not going anywhere until I've had my fill of you."

Xavier tosses you onto the plush bed, your yellow babydoll riding up to fully expose your lace cheeky panties and the creamy skin of your thighs. You bounce slightly on the mattress, hair fanning out around your head, cheeks flushed and chest heaving with anticipation. Looming over you, Xavier takes a moment to drink in the sight, his eyes hungrily roaming your curves.

"What a pretty little picture you make," he murmurs, crawling onto the bed and hovering above you. His hands come down to either side of your head, fingers brushing through your hair almost tenderly before fisting in the dark strands. He drags his knee between your thighs, applying the slightest pressure, not quite touching your most intimate place but close enough to make you ache for it.

Xavier slowly peels the flimsy fabric of the babydoll up your body, revealing inch after tantalizing inch of smooth, sun-kissed skin. As the hem passes your collarbone, your hardened nipples come into view. A low, approving growl rumbles in Xavier's chest as he takes in the glorious sight of you splayed out beneath him, nearly bare and wanting.

Xavier's head dips lower, and he takes one aching nipple into his hot mouth, swirling his tongue around the stiff peak before suckling greedily. His other hand kneads and massages the soft weight of your breast, rolling and plucking at the nipple he's not attending to. Pleasure sparks through your nerves, making you arch into his touch and gasp out a breathy moan. Xavier just smirks against your skin, the vibrations sending tingles straight to your core. He's just getting started.

Xavier's fingers dip teasingly beneath the lace of your underwear, brushing maddeningly close to your aching, hidden folds. Your hips twitch upwards, chasing his touch, desperate for more. A wicked grin spreads across Xavier's face as he watches your needy reaction, clearly enjoying the control he has over your desire.

"Someone's eager," he taunts softly, fingers still toying with the delicate lace that barely covers your most intimate area. "Don't worry, I'll give you what you want...eventually."

Xavier takes his time, slowly peeling your soaked, lace underwear down your thighs. The drenched fabric clings to your folds before he finally tugs it away, baring your glistening, needy sex to his hungry gaze.

"Look at this, so wet and ready for me," Xavier growls approvingly, tossing your panties aside carelessly. He parts your thighs wider with his knees, settling between them. His calloused fingers trail up and down your slick slit teasingly, not quite touching where you need it most.

Xavier removes your babydoll, tossing it to the floor and leaving you bare and exposed beneath him. He settles between your spread thighs again, the heat of his breath ghosting over your dripping sex. Without warning, he leans in and drags the flat of his tongue along your slit, savoring your essence with a low moan. His hands grip your hips, holding you in place as he begins to eat you out with deep, long strokes of his tongue, lapping at your folds and delving into your entrance. He takes his time exploring every inch of your pussy, circling your clit with the tip of his tongue, but never quite touching it directly.

The teasing is exquisite torture, building your pleasure steadily as he brings you closer to the edge with his skilled mouth and tongue. Soft, filthy sounds of enjoyment rumble in Xavier's chest as he feasts on you, spurring on his enthusiastic devouring of your aching sex. Your fingers tangle in his hair, nails scraping against his scalp as you try to pull him closer, silently urging him to give you what you need, all the while, he deftly avoids your throbbing, aching clit, knowing that the slightest touch there would send you careening over the edge into ecstasy.

"Please..." you gasped out, voice ragged with need. "Xavier, please..."

Just as you teetered on the brink of exploding, your body wound tight and ready to shatter, Xavier flipped you over abruptly. He pushed your upper body down against the mattress and lifted your hips up, forcing your knees under you and leaving you presented in a needy, exposed position - hands gripping the sheets, back arched, ass high, and face pressed into the bed.

"Ah, ah, ah...not yet," Xavier tutted, giving your rear a sharp smack that echoed through the room. "You don't get to cum until I say so." His fingers slid through your dripping folds, coating them in your arousal before he brought them to your lips.

"Taste yourself," he commanded, pushing his soaked digits into your mouth. "Taste how much you want it."

As you suck your essence from Xavier's fingers, swirling your tongue around the digits and savoring your own intimate flavor, he takes the opportunity to line himself up with your entrance. With a smooth, powerful thrust of his hips, he sinks into you, stretching you wide around his thick, hard length. A guttural groan tears from his throat at the exquisite feeling of your tight, wet heat enveloping him.

"Fuck, you feel incredible," Xavier grunts, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as he hilts himself fully inside you. He stays still for a moment, allowing you to adjust to the sizeable intrusion, before he starts to move. His thrusts are deep and powerful, each one striking that perfect spot inside you.

The sound of skin slapping against skin and your mingled moans and grunts of pleasure fill the room as Xavier takes you hard and fast from behind. His hands come around to your breasts, kneading the soft mounds roughly.

Xavier fists a hand in your hair, gripping it tightly as he yanks your torso up and back. This new angle allows him to drive into you even harder and deeper, his hips slapping against your ass with each powerful thrust. The sudden change in position has him burying himself to the hilt with every stroke, his heavy balls slapping against your clit and sending jolts of intense pleasure through your core.

The combination of the deep, relentless thrusts striking your cervix and the intense stimulation on your clit has your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your inner walls clamp down around him like a vice as you scream your release, gushing around his pistoning length. Xavier just groans in satisfaction, fucking you through your climax 

With a final, brutal thrust and a hoarse shout of your name, Xavier buries himself to the hilt inside you. His cock throbs and pulses as he finds his release, hot ropes of his seed painting your fluttering walls. He grinds against your cervix, making sure every last drop takes root deep within your fertile womb.

"Fuck!" Xavier roars, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he holds you in place, pinning you on his still-twitching cock. His head falls back, eyes squeezing shut in bliss as the intense pleasure of his climax crashes through him.

Finally, with a shuddering breath, he slumps forward, blanketing your smaller form with his muscular body. He peppers your shoulder and neck with soft kisses, basking in the afterglow of your passionate lovemaking.

"That was...incredible," Xavier murmurs, nuzzling under your jaw. "I can't get enough of you, I'll never get enough of you." His hands roam your curves, caressing and possessive, as if he's trying to memorize every dip and swell.

"Mine," he whispers, voice rough with sated lust and adoration. "You're mine. Forever and always."

SYLUS 🐦‍⬛

You blush, but that doesn't stop you from trying on clothes. You hold up a red babydoll with black lace trim, sliding it over your curves. The short, silky fabric clings to your breasts, highlighting their shape and fullness. You turn to the side, admiring how the babydoll nips in at your waist before flaring out over your hips and ass. The black lace of the stockings contrasts with the bright red of the lingerie.

Sylus leans against the doorframe, his crimson eyes roaming over your body with undisguised hunger.

"Well, well, well...don't you look good enough to eat," he purrs, voice low and rough with desire. "Red is definitely your color, kitten. It sets off your skin beautifully." His tongue darts out to wet his lips as his eyes stay on the swell of your breasts, barely contained by the flimsy fabric.

He takes a sip of his whiskey, relishing the burn as it slides down his throat. "Beautiful," he murmurs, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine. "Absolutely exquisite." His gaze lingers on the swell of your breasts, the way the babydoll clings to your hardening nipples.

You startled at the sound of Sylus' voice, whirling around to face him with wide eyes. The red babydoll fluttered around your thighs as you turned, your cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink at being caught trying on lingerie. "Sylus! You're home early..." You stammer, unconsciously tugging at the hem of the short garment. "I didn't expect you until later tonight."

Your heart races as you take in his tall, imposing figure leaning casually against the doorframe. The dim lighting of the bedroom casts shadows across his chiseled jaw and sharp cheekbones, making him look even more mysteriously handsome and a touch dangerous. You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very exposed and vulnerable in the skimpy lingerie. Yet there's an undeniable thrill that shoots through you at being caught off guard like this.

Sylus's lips curve into a wicked smirk as he pushes off from the doorframe, taking a step into the bedroom. His crimson eyes drink in every detail of your appearance, from the way the red babydoll clings to your curves to the black lace stockings hugging your long legs. He can see the surprise and slight embarrassment flashing across your face, but there's something else there too - a spark of excitement, of anticipation.

"I must say, this is quite welcoming." Sylus sets his glass down on the dresser, never taking his intense gaze off you. He starts to unbutton his suit jacket slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving your face. "I had no idea you were such a fan of...lingerie shopping."

With each button he undoes, Sylus takes another step closer to where you stand frozen by the bed. The air between you feels charged with a sudden, electric tension. Sylus can see the way your breathing has quickened, the rise and fall of your breasts beneath the thin fabric of the babydoll. He knows you are feeling it too - this pull, this undeniable attraction that always seems to crackle to life whenever you are in each other's proximity.

Sylus takes another step closer, now mere inches away from where you stand frozen. He reaches out a large, elegant hand to trail his fingertips along the silky fabric of the babydoll where it drapes over your shoulder. The light touch sends goosebumps erupting across your skin and you have to fight the urge to shiver.

"You look absolutely stunning, kitten," Sylus murmurs, his voice a low, seductive rumble. "The silk is exquisite...but it's nothing compared to the exquisite creature wearing it." His crimson eyes flick up to meet your gaze, a wicked gleam in their depths. "I must say, I'm quite...intrigued by your choice of attire. Were you expecting someone tonight? Planning a little rendezvous perhaps?"

Sylus's tone is playful, almost teasing, but there's an undercurrent of something darker, more possessive beneath the words. His hand slides down the silk, skimming over the swell of your breast, before coming to rest on your hip. He grips your hip possessively, his long fingers sinking into the soft flesh.

"Or perhaps..." Sylus leans in closer, until his lips are a hair's breadth from your ear. His breath is hot against your skin as he whispers, "You dressed up for me, kitten? Hoped to give me a little...welcome home present?"

He nips lightly at your earlobe, sending a jolt of sensation zinging through you. Sylus chuckles darkly at your sharp intake of breath, clearly relishing the effect he's having on you. "Tell me, did you miss me? Did you think of me while you were trying on these...provocative little garments?"

His other hand comes up to tilt your chin, forcing you to meet his heated gaze. Sylus's eyes are dark with desire, his expression one of pure, masculine hunger. "Because I certainly thought of you, kitten. Constantly. I've been...craving you."

You gasps as Sylus's hand boldly reaches down between your legs, his fingers finding the tiny patch of silk covering your most intimate area. You can feel the heat of his touch even through the flimsy fabric, and it makes you ache with a sudden, intense longing. Your body betrays your arousal as Sylus's fingers brush against your clothed slit, the silk dampening with your excitement.

You can feel the hard, muscular length of him pressed against you, the evidence of his own desire impossible to ignore. It makes you feel powerful and wanted, to know that you can affect him this way. At the same time, it's terrifying, because you know the depths of Sylus's hunger and the way he can consume you utterly.

Your back arches slightly, pressing your breasts more firmly against Sylus's chest as his fingers continue their maddening caress between your legs. You bite your lip to stifle a moan, your hips twitching involuntarily towards his touch. "I...I didn't know when you'd be home," you manage to get out, "I just...I wanted to..."

Your tongue darts out to wet your suddenly dry lips, and you look up at Sylus from beneath lowered lashes. "I wanted to look pretty for you," you confess softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I wanted you to...want me."

You let out a soft gasp as Sylus's fingers suddenly fist in you hair, gripping the silky strands and tugging your head back to expose the column of your throat. Your pulse leaps beneath his touch, racing wildly as he leans in to rasp hotly against your sensitive skin.

"Kitten, I want you all the damn time," Sylus growls, his voice a low, feral rumble that sends molten heat straight to your core. "With this flimsy scrap of silk or without it, you drive me absolutely mad with desire."

His other hand slides around to grip your ass, squeezing the firm globe and pulling you harder against the thick, rigid length of his cock. You can feel every inch of him, even through the clothing, and it makes you ache with hunger.

Without warning, he spins you around and pushes you down onto the bed, Sylus crawls over you settling himself between your splayed thighs. He looms above you one hand still fisted in your hair, the other deftly unbuttoning his shirt. The crisp fabric parts to reveal the hard planes of his chest, the muscles rippling beneath his skin.

His crimson eyes blaze with hunger as he drinks in the sight of you splayed out beneath him, the red silk of your babydoll riding up to expose the creamy flesh of your thighs. The swell of your breasts rises and falls with each shallow breath, the hardened peaks of your nipples straining against the thin material.

"Fuck, kitten," Sylus rasps, his voice rough with desire, "you have no idea what you do to me. No idea how bad I want to tear off this scrap of silk and bury myself inside your tight little cunt."

Sylus's hand slides from your hair to wrap around your throat, his long fingers curling possessively around the slender column. At the same time, his other hand tugs harshly at the crotch of your panties, the delicate fabric rending with a sharp sound.

"Such a naughty kitten," he murmurs, his voice a low, wicked rumble. "Getting this wet, this desperate...all for me."

He tears the ruined garment away, baring your glistening folds to his heated gaze. Sylus licks his lips, his eyes glinting with anticipation.

"Spread your legs wider, kitten," he commands, his voice leaving no room for disobedience. "Let me see all of you. I want to watch you come apart on my cock."

His hand tightens around your throat as the other slides between your thighs, his fingers delving into your slick heat. He strokes you slowly, maddeningly, his thumb circling your clit in a tortuous rhythm.

You let out a startled gasp as Sylus suddenly yanks the red babydoll up and over your head, tossing it carelessly to the side. The cool air of the bedroom kisses your newly bared skin, making your nipples tighten into stiff peaks. You lie there, naked except for the black lace stockings, feeling vulnerable and exposed...and incredibly aroused.

"I want to fuck you just like this - with nothing but these sinful stockings clinging to your gorgeous legs." His gaze drags slowly down your body, lingering on the swell of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the flare of your hips. "I want to see them wrapped around my waist as I drive into you again and again."

He settles himself between your thighs, the thick ridge of his clothed erection nestling against your slick folds. You can feel the heat of him, the hard, pulsing length that makes you ache to be filled.

Sylus leans down to capture one nipple in his mouth, suckling roughly as his hand kneads the soft flesh of your breast. His other hand slides down to grip your ass, squeezing the firm globe as he rocks his hips against you.

"Fuck, I love seeing you like this," Sylus rasps against your skin, his breath hot and ragged. "Spread out and waiting for my cock, desperate to be filled." He nips at your collarbone, his teeth grazing your racing pulse. "I'm going to fuck you so hard, kitten. I'm going to make you scream until the neighbors know my name."

You watch with bated breath as Sylus's deft fingers make quick work of his belt, the leather strap slipping free with a soft hiss. Your pulse pounds in your ears as he unbuttons his pants, the sound of each button popping open seeming to echo in the charged silence of the bedroom.

As the last button gives way, Sylus pushes his pants down. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him, his thick cock springing free, the swollen head already glistening with arousal.

Sylus smirks at your reaction, his eyes glinting with a wicked, knowing light. "You like what you see, kitten?" he purrs, his voice a low, seductive rumble. "You like seeing what you do to me?"

He wraps a hand around his thick cock, stroking it slowly as he looms above you. The sight of him touching himself makes your core throb with need, a fresh flood of arousal dripping down your thighs.

He notches the swollen head of his cock against your entrance, the heat of him searing your slick folds. Your hips lift, trying to draw him inside, to feel that thick length splitting you open. But Sylus holds back, teasing you with the promise of his cock, denying you the satisfaction of being filled.

You reach down, spreading your legs wider to expose your glistening, swollen pussy to his hungry gaze. The sight of your dripping folds, the way your hips twitch with anticipation, is almost too much for Sylus to bear. With a low, feral growl, he grips your thighs and pushes forward, the thick head of his cock parting your slick flesh and sinking into your tight heat.

"Fuck, kitten," Sylus groans, his eyes squeezing shut at the exquisite sensation of your silken walls gripping him like a vice. "You are so fucking tight....so perfect"

He pushes forward slowly, inch by hard inch, until he's buried to the hilt inside you. You cry out, your back arching off the bed, you can feel every throbbing inch of him, stretching you, completing you in a way you never felt before.

Sylus starts to move, pulling out slowly until just the tip remains inside you, before slamming back in, setting a hard, deep rhythm. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as he fucks you, the force of his thrusts rocking the bed and making the headboard slam against the wall.

"Yes, fuck, just like that," You encourage him breathlessly, meeting each of Sylus's powerful thrusts with the eager lift of your hips.

Sylus grabs your thighs, his strong hands wrapping around them just above your knees. With a powerful flex of his muscles, he pushes your legs down, forcing your knees to your chest.

You throw your head back, a sharp cry escaping your lips as Sylus pounds into you mercilessly. You can feel every ridge and vein of his thick cock dragging along your sensitive walls, stoking the flames of your desire to a fever pitch. Your nails rake down his back, leaving red welts in their wake as you cling to him, anchoring yourself against the relentless assault on your senses.

"Oh God, Sylus!" You wail, your voice breaking with the force of your pleasure. "Don't stop...please don't stop! I'm so close...so fucking close!"

Sylus leans down, capturing one of your bouncing nipples in his mouth. He suckles hard, his teeth grazing the tender bud as he drives into you with renewed fervor. The dual stimulation of his cock pounding her G-spot and his mouth on your breast sends you hurtling towards your peak at breakneck speed.

When Sylus feels your pussy clench and flutter around his cock as you come undone, he wraps your legs tightly around his waist.

"Yes, just like that," Sylus growls in satisfaction, his hips never faltering as he continues to pound into your quivering core. "Milk my cock, kitten. Work those tight little muscles and drain my fucking balls"

Sylus keeps thrusting steadily, watching your face intently as you come down from your intense high. The sight of your flushed cheeks, hazy eyes, and kiss-swollen lips sends a surge of male pride and desire through him. He loves seeing you like this - lost in pleasure, completely at his mercy, wearing nothing but those black stockings that he finds so incredibly erotic.

He reaches down, running a finger along the lacy top of your stocking. The contrast of the delicate fabric against his rough, calloused skin is intensely arousing. Sylus hooks a finger under the lace and tugs lightly, watching it snap back against your soft thigh.

With a few more powerful, deep thrusts, Sylus finally lets go. You feels his cock throb and pulse inside you, growing even harder before he hilts himself fully inside you and starts to come.

"Fuck, kitten, fuck!" Sylus roars, his voice echoing off the walls as he starts to erupt inside you.

Sylus collapses on top of you, his hips still twitching and jerking as the last spurts of his release dribble into you. He captures your lips in a sloppy, passionate kiss. You stay locked together, panting and trembling in the aftermath of your intense coupling.

Sylus grins wickedly down at you, his eyes glinting with mischief and renewed lust. He leans in close, his lips brushing against you ear as he speaks in a low, conspiratorial tone.

"Guess we have to try more of those baby doll outfits on you, kitten," Sylus purrs, his hand sliding up your thigh to squeeze the soft flesh. "See which ones make you look the most fuckable"

ZAYNE🥼

Zayne paused at the doorway, hazel eyes widening slightly as he heard the soft, rhythmic noises emanating from within the bedroom. His gaze flicked downwards, taking in the sight of your silhouette, your body language unmistakable.

He stood there for a moment, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before a slow, amused smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Zayne leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms and clearing his throat softly.

"Seems like someone's been having some pleasant dreams without me," Zayne remarked, voice low and teasing as he let his eyes roam appreciatively over you.

Zayne's smirk widened into a more genuine smile as he pushed off from the doorframe, taking a few quiet steps closer to the bed. The moonlight filtering through the window illuminated your body, your white baby doll clinging to your curves in a way that made Zayne's pulse quicken. He could see the outlines of your hardened nipples pressing against the thin see through fabric, and he felt a familiar stirrings in his own body.

"Such a pretty little sight you make," Zayne murmured, voice dripping with approval and a hint of desire. He sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to trail his fingers lightly along your thigh, feeling the smooth skin beneath the thin lace. "Though I must say, seeing you like this, all flushed and needy... it's enough to make a man want to throw caution to the wind and take what he wants."

Zayne's hand slid higher, fingertips grazing the hem of the baby doll. He leaned in closer, breath hot against the shell of your ear as he whispered, "Tell me, my heart... what sort of dreams were you having that left you in such a state? Or perhaps..." His lips curved into a wicked grin. "You were hoping your dear husband would come home and help make those dreams a reality?

"I thought you would be home earlier" you said, your face blushed with embarrassment "I wanted to surprise you"

"Is that so?" he murmured, voice low and husky. His hand slid fully under the hem of the baby doll, fingers splaying possessively over the warm, soft skin of your inner thigh. "You wanted to surprise me, hmm? Well, it seems like you've certainly succeeded, my dear."

"I must say, coming home to such a tempting sight... it's the best surprise a man could ask for," he said, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "And I intend to thoroughly appreciate this surprise, and you, all night long."

Zayne's eyes darkened with lust as he gazed intensely at you, his hand still possessively gripping your inner thigh. He leaned in closer, voice lowering to a deep, husky whisper.

"How many times? How many times did you bring yourself to that blissful edge, all while thinking of your loving husband?" Zayne's thumb brushed teasingly over your bottom lip, his gaze never leaving yours. "Tell me, did you touch yourself once? Twice? More?"

His hand slid higher up your thigh, fingertips grazing the damp lace covering your most intimate area. Zayne's breath grew heavier, the bulge in his tailored slacks becoming more evident as his arousal rose.

"I want to know every sordid detail. I want you to confess just how desperately you craved my touch, my presence. How many times did you make yourself cum, imagining it was me buried deep inside you, claiming you so thoroughly?"

"I couldn't, I needed more" You said, face so red you thought it would catch fire.

"Couldn't, hmm?" Zayne murmured, voice a low, approving rumble. "You needed more than your own touch to find true release? Needed your husband's skilled hands and hard cock to fill and satisfy you completely?"

He leaned in closer, breath hot against the shell of your ear as he whispered, "Such a greedy little thing, aren't you?"  Zayne's hand slid fully under the damp lace covering your sex. He could feel the scorching heat emanating from your core, the fabric soaked through with your arousal.

A deep, approving growl rumbled from Zayne's chest as he settled himself between your thighs, pushing them further apart to make room for his broad shoulders. He could smell your intoxicating aroma, the musky scent of your desire permeating the thin, drenched lace.

"Fuck, you're absolutely dripping, my love," Zayne groaned, voice muffled against your sex. "Soaked through these pretty little panties, all for me. Such a needy, wanton thing..."

Without warning, he leaned in and dragged the flat of his tongue over your clothed slit, tasting the essence of your arousal through the flimsy barrier. He could feel the way your hips bucked involuntarily, a sharp gasp escaping your lips at the sudden contact.

Zayne smirked against your skin, hands gripping your thighs tightly as he began to eat you out with fervor. He licked and suckled at you through the drenched lace, focusing his attentions on your sensitive clit and entrance. The thin fabric provided a delicious friction, the wetness seeping through as he pleasured you with single-minded intensity.

"Mmm, you taste divine, my heart," Zayne purred, pausing briefly to speak before diving back in. "I could feast on this sweet cunt for hours... knowing I'm the reason it's so fucking wet and ready."

He could sense your growing desperation in the way you fisted your hands in his hair, nails digging into his scalp as you held him firmly against your soaked panties. The fabric, once a delicate white, was now a translucent, dripping mess, clinging to every curve and contour of your folds.

"Cum for me" Zayne commanded against your sex, his voice a low, authoritative growl that vibrated through your core. "I want to feel you explode all over my tongue, want to taste your release flooding these drenched panties."

Zayne's hands slid up to grip your ass, kneading the firm globes as he grounded his face harder against you, tongue lashing over your clothed clit with ruthless precision. He could feel your thighs beginning to quake, your body coiling like a tight spring ready to snap.

As Zayne's teeth grazed your sensitive clit through the drenched lace your body went rigid, back arching off the bed as a sharp, keening cry tore from your throat. The fabric of your panties grew instantly saturated as your release gushed forth, the thin lace no match for the force of your orgasm.

He could feel your essence flooding his mouth, the taste of your arousal exploding over his tongue. Zayne groaned in appreciation, tongue still lashing and suckling at your sensitive flesh even as you rode out the aftershocks of your intense climax.

As you came down from the euphoric high of your intense climax, you blinked away the haze of pleasure, your vision slowly coming back into focus. It was then that you noticed Zayne sitting back on his haunches, hazel eyes dark with lust and desire as he gazed up at you.

With deliberate slowness, Zayne began to unzip his fly, the sound of the zipper lowering seeming to echo in the charged atmosphere of the bedroom. Your heart racing as you watched, tongue darting out to wet your suddenly dry lips.

As his zipper reached the bottom, Zayne's hand dipped inside his boxers to fish out his impressive erection. It sprang free, thick and hard, the swollen head already glistening with beads of pre-cum. The sight of it made your mouth water and your core clench with renewed desire.

Zayne's voice was a low, seductive purr as he spoke, "You look like you want something, pretty girl... and I'm going to give it to you. I'm going to fill you so full, fuck you so deep and hard, you won't be able to walk straight for a week."

Zayne's eyes flashed with a primal hunger as he flipped you over onto your hands and knees, pushing your upper body down to press your cheek against the pillow. Your ass was now presented to him, the drenched panties riding up between your cheeks, the thin fabric cutting into your sensitive flesh.

"Keep your ass up, just like that," Zayne commanded, voice a low, authoritative growl. His large hands gripped your hips tightly, fingers sinking into the soft skin as he positioned himself behind you.

Zayne's hand slid up your spine, fingers splaying across the smooth skin of your back, holding you in place. "I'm going to fuck you now," he said, voice a low, ominous rumble.

Moving your panties to the side and with one brutal thrust, Zayne buried himself to the hilt inside your dripping core. A guttural groan tore from his throat at the exquisite, vise-like tightness that engulfed him. He paused for just a moment, savoring the feeling of your silken walls fluttering around his aching cock before he began to move.

He gripped the delicate straps of the baby doll, the thin fabric stretching taut over your shoulders as he used them for leverage to pull you back onto his pistoning cock. The lacy hem of the garment fluttered with each powerful snap of his hips, the short skirt riding up to expose more of your toned ass and dripping sex.

"Such a pretty little picture you make, bent over and stuffed full of my dick, wearing nothing but this skimpy lingerie," Zayne praised, voice a low, approving rumble.

"Tell me, is this what you were craving when you had your fingers buried in this tight little pussy?" Zayne growled, punctuating his words with a sharp thrust that made you cry out. "Did you imagine it was my thick cock stretching you open like this?"

To spur you on, he brought his palm down hard on the supple flesh of your ass, the sharp slap echoing through the room. At the same time, he pinched your swollen clit roughly between his fingers, rolling the sensitive nub and sending a jolt of pleasure-pain straight to your core.

"Come on, pretty girl. Give it to me," Zayne urged, his own release building rapidly, balls tightening as he felt you start to clench. "I want to feel you".

You let out a sharp, keening cry as your climax crashes over you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing with the force of it.

With with a groan, Zayne yanked his throbbing cock out of your spasming sex just as his own peak hit.

"Fuck, yes! Take it, baby!" Zayne roared, fisting his dick as thick ropes of hot, sticky seed erupted from the swollen tip. He aimed the pulsing head at the taut fabric of your panties, painting the pristine white lace with streaks of his pearly essence.

Jet after jet of cum splattered across the flimsy material, the sheer amount of it quickly saturating the thin fabric. The creamy liquid seeped through, dripping down onto your ass cheeks and thighs as Zayne marked his territory, claiming you in the most primal way imaginable.

"You look so fucking hot with my cum soaking through these pretty panties."

He slid his fingers through the mess he'd made, scooping up some of the cooling seed and pushing it into your fluttering entrance. "I love you," he said softly, voice filled with deep satisfaction and adoration.

RAFAYEL🐡

Rafayel pauses mid-stroke, paintbrush hovering over the canvas as he senses your presence. His ears twitch slightly and a faint blush colors his cheeks as he catches the scent of the perfume wafting from your direction. He takes a shuddering breath, trying to compose himself before turning to face you.

His gaze drifts over your form, taking in the purple baby doll that clings to your curves. His eyes linger for a moment too long before he forces himself to look away, clearing his throat.

"I'm in the middle of something important here. This painting won't complete itself, you know."

He sets the paintbrush down with a soft clink against the palette and crosses his arms over his chest, subtly trying to hide the growing tightness in his pants. The scent of your perfume is intoxicating, making it hard for Rafayel to concentrate on anything else.

He rises from his stool, paint-splattered jeans hugging his slender frame as he takes a step closer to you. His sharp purple-pink eyes roam appreciatively over your curves, taking in every detail of the purple babydoll that hugs your figure like a second skin. The way the fabric clings to your breasts, hinting at the soft mounds beneath. How it nips in at the waist before flaring out over your hips and thighs. He licks his lips unconsciously, a flicker of hunger in his gaze.

He reaches out and runs a finger along the strap of the baby doll, tracing it from your shoulder down to where it meets the swell of your breast. Rafayel's touch lingers, thumb brushing against the side of your soft mound. His breathing grows a bit heavier as he fights the urge to pull the fabric aside and expose more of your skin to his greedy eyes.

"Do you like it Rafayel?"

He takes another step closer, now standing mere inches from your body, close enough to feel the heat radiating off your skin. His hand reaches out, fingers skimming along the hem of the purple baby doll, teasing the sensitive flesh of your thigh.

"Like it? Cutie, I more than like it... I'm absolutely crazy about it," Rafayel murmurs, his voice a low, husky rasp. His fingers inch higher, slipping beneath the fabric to caress the smooth skin of your inner thigh. Rafayel's breathing grows heavier, pupils dilating as he fights the overwhelming urge to push you up against the wall and have his way with you right then and there.

"I've never seen anything so... mouthwatering in my life," he breathes, leaning in to nuzzle into the crook of your neck. Rafayel inhales deeply, the intoxicating scent of your perfume making his head spin and his cock throb almost painfully against his zipper.

"Fuck, you smell incredible... it's driving me insane," Rafayel groans, nipping at your pulse point. His hands grip your hips possessively, pulling your body flush against his own. He grinds his hips forward, letting you feel the thick ridge of his erection.

"You're testing my restraint, Miss Bodyguard," Rafayel teases breathlessly, even as he struggles against the overwhelming urge to just take what he wants.

Rafayel's fingers slip higher and higher up your thigh, brushing against your bare pussy on the crotchless panties, he suddenly loses all semblance of control. A guttural groan tears from his throat as he realizes the delicious secret hidden beneath the baby doll. His eyes flash with unchecked lust and desperation.

"Oh, you fucking tease..." Rafayel growls, eyes flashing with unbridled desire. In an instant, he loses the last threads of his control. Gripping your thighs tightly, he hoists you up, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist as he pins you against the studio wall. The paintbrushes rattle in their holders from the impact.

Panting harshly, Rafayel attacks your neck with open-mouthed kisses and sharp nips, sucking dark marks into your skin as he grinds his aching cock against your exposed, dripping sex. 

"Fuck, cutie, you're so wet... is this all for me?" Rafayel rasps, fingers delving between your folds to tease your clit. He circles the sensitive nub mercilessly, feeling it swell and pulse beneath his touch. His other hand grips the back of your neck, tilting your head to the side to bare more of your throat to his greedy mouth.

Rafayel shudders as he feels your fingers brush against his stomach, traveling lower to hook into the waistband of his jeans. The zipper rasps loudly as you slowly drag it down, inch by inch. Rafayel's chest heaves with each labored breath, his heart hammering wildly in anticipation.

As soon as the last of the buttons come undone and the zipper is fully lowered, Rafayel wastes no time shoving his jeans and boxers down his long, slender legs. The clothes pool around his ankles, leaving his throbbing erection spring free. It juts out proudly, the thick shaft flushed a deep, angry red and leaking copious amounts of precum.

He bucks his hips forward, the swollen head of his cock catching on your slick folds and slipping through them teasingly. The contact makes Rafayel hiss through clenched teeth, fingers digging into the soft globes of your ass.

Rafayel's eyes rake over the crotchless panties, taking in how they frame your glistening sex perfectly. A wicked grin spreads across his face as he considers his options, a dark gleam in his eyes. His fingers dance along the edge of the fabric, teasing your sensitive flesh.

"Mmm, as tempting as it is to leave these cute little panties on while I fuck you senseless, I think I'd rather see them ripped to shreds," Rafayel purrs, voice low and husky with desire. 

" But I think we will leave them on, for now...."Without warning, he grips the flimsy fabric tightly and tugs your hips forward, lining the swollen head of his cock up with your entrance.

Rafayel growls, eyes locked with yours as he starts to push forward. The thin fabric stretches taut around his thick length as he sinks into your tight, slick heat inch by excruciating inch.

"Fuuuck, you feel incredible..." Rafayel moans, head falling back as he hilts himself fully inside you. The sensation of your walls clenching and fluttering around him is almost too much to bear. He has to take a moment to collect himself before he starts to move.

Slowly, Rafayel begins to withdraw until just the tip remains inside, before slamming back in with a grunt of pure, unadulterated pleasure. He sets a hard, fast pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the studio as he takes you with wild abandon.

The flimsy panties stretch and strain around his pistoning cock, the fabric growing damp and clinging to his skin. Rafayel reaches down and rips away one of the straps, letting it dangle freely as he continues his relentless assault on your pussy.

"Take it, fucking take it!" Rafayel snarls, fingers sinking into the meat of your ass as he yanks your hips forward to meet his thrusts. The thin fabric of the panties bunches and twists around his shaft, the sensation driving him wild with lust.

He leans in and captures your lips in a bruising kiss, all tongue and teeth as he plunders your mouth. Rafayel's other hand reaches up to grope and squeeze the supple flesh of your breast, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers.

Breaking the kiss, Rafayel buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply as he loses himself in the intoxicating scent of your arousal. The perfume mingles with the musky aroma of sex, overwhelming his senses and spurring on his increasingly erratic movements.

Rafayel's breath hitches as he reaches up to drag the thin straps of the baby doll down your shoulders. The purple fabric pools around your waist, baring the creamy expanse of your chest to his greedy gaze. Unable to resist, Rafayel leans down and draws one of your stiff peaks into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud.

"Mmmph..." Rafayel groans around the tender flesh, suckling greedily as he continues to pound into your dripping core. The dual sensations of his hot mouth on your nipple and the relentless pace of his hips driving into you has you seeing stars.

All the while, Rafayel's hips never cease their relentless rhythm, the flimsy remains of your panties rubbing deliciously against his shaft with each roll and grind of his pelvis. The stimulation is almost too much to bear, pushing you both closer to the edge of ecstasy.

Rafayel snarls, voice strained with exertion and desire. Without warning, he spins you around and tosses you onto the plush armchair in the corner of his studio. The sudden movement makes the paintbrushes and palettes on his easel clatter to the floor.

Before you can react, Rafayel is on top of you, wedging himself between your splayed thighs. He hooks your knees over his elbows and pulls your hips forward, impaling you on his thick cock in one swift, brutal thrust.

"Fuck, yes..." Rafayel groans, eyes fluttering shut as your scorching heat engulfs him again. He starts to move, hips rolling and snapping against yours in a relentless rhythm. The new position allows him to drive even deeper, the swollen head of his cock kissing your cervix with each powerful surge.

The sensation of the rough, tattered lace rubbing against his shaft as he fucks into your sopping wet cunt is exquisite, pushing him closer to the brink of climax.

As Rafayel's fingers find your throbbing clit, he rubs the sensitive nub in tight, quick circles. The added stimulation proves too much for you to withstand, and with a sharp cry, your body goes rigid as a powerful orgasm crashes over you.

Rafayel roars, feeling your velvety walls clamp down around him like a vice. The sight of you lost in the throes of ecstasy, your tits bouncing enticingly with each powerful thrust, combined with the obscene sensation of the tattered panties rubbing against his shaft is enough to be Rafayel's undoing. With a last, brutal surge of his hips, he buries himself to the hilt inside your quivering pussy.

Rafayel screams, eyes rolling back in bliss as thick ropes of his seed paint your clenching walls. His cock pulses and throbs, pumping what feels like an endless stream of cum deep into your hungry cunt.

He collapses on top of you, hips still twitching and jerking as the last weak spurts of his climax dribbles out. He peppers sloppy kisses across your neck and collarbone, panting harshly against your sweat-slicked skin.

"Now let's get these pesky clothes out of the way," Rafayel says, he sits up and practically tears the flimsy baby doll off of your body, casting it carelessly to the side. The ruined panties follow shortly after, leaving you bare and exposed to his hungry gaze.

"Let's take this to the bedroom cutie, I'm not done with you yet".