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poguehearted77 · 6 months ago

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Baby Steps

Summary: You and Rafe are expecting your first child and decide to take a trip to the beach, not expecting to be joined by a guest with chubby cheeks and pull ups.

-some more domesticated rafe as per your request-

The golden hues of the late afternoon sun stretch across the horizon, casting a warm glow over the beach as you and Rafe arrive. You smile at the feeling of the hot sand between your toes.

The waves lazily lap against the shore, creating a serene soundtrack to your special day. It was a beautiful day out, for sure. With the cooler gripped in one hand, with the umbrella on top, and the box containing a special mini cake in his other hand, Rafe is already in full preparation mode.

“Here, let me help with that,” you offer, but Rafe shakes his head, his grin both charming and determined. "You're already carrying something valuable, let me handle the rest, okay?" Rafe reassures you as he places the items down in a nice vacated space.

Far enough from the waves to not get wet, but close enough to still hear the water cracking against the sand at an amplified volume as the perfect white noise for you to do some beach reading. You glance down at your rounded belly, letting your left hand rest over the precious cargo he's referring to.

"I'm only four months, babe. I can still carry things. Just let me help you set up at least." You hold onto the muscle of his upper arm with a soft frown and he can't resist. An idea visibly dawned upon him. "Yeah, you know what." He props open the cooler and pulls out a chilled bottle of water, "I need you to drink this, I don't want you to get too hot."

Your eyes roll and you take the bottle, about to ease yourself down onto the beach chair when Rafe is suddenly behind you, a guiding palm on your lower back to lighten your load as you sit down. "Rafe, you're joking, right? I know how to sit down by myself." You huff and he sees you're starting to get frustrated.

He crouches down to be near you, "Look, baby. I'm sorry, okay? It's all just so new to me and I don't want anything to happen to you or the baby especially not if I can help it." Your arms unfold, and your composure melts under his apologetic gaze.

How could you be mad at him? He was just so cute and excited to be a dad, he wanted to make sure you had the safest, most comfortable pregnancy possible, and he made sure of that at all times. He set up everything while you didn't lift a finger.

You'd even slipped into a light nap as he did so. Waking up under the shade of the beach umbrella and almost certain there was an extra layer of sunscreen on your arms that wasn't there before.

Your towels laid out on the sand in front of you where Rafe knelt, the cake now put away in the cooler as he organized the supplies in the first-aid kit he insisted on bringing along.

"Is this all you're gonna do all day?" You mumble, lifting up your sun hat a bit to see him better and he smiles. "Well, you fell asleep on me, so I was keeping myself busy." Taking that as your cue to stand, leaving your hat behind on the chair and untying the flowy coverup you'd been wearing.

"I'm up now, let's get in the water." He's right behind you as your heels kick up sand with your eager steps to the ocean. Your laughs blend harmoniously in the water. Playful splashes and stolen kisses fill your afternoon for the next hour until you're ready for lunch.

Now Rafe was lounging under the shade, sunglasses covering his sky-blue eyes as he relaxed on the chair. Meanwhile, you enjoyed the warm sun kissing your skin as you sat on the towel, preparing some sandwiches for you both to share.

That brings you to now, the two of you sitting on the sandy towels with satiated appetites and a pleased smile on your faces, enjoying each other's company. "You ready now?" Rafe proposes, referring to the mini cake in the cooler which had either a pink or blue filling. You shake your head.

"Not yet, I need more time." He laughs, "At this rate, you'll find out when the baby comes." He says casually and your brow arches, "Only me? Don't you mean the both of us?" His head shakes, "Uh uh, I'm eating that cake with or without you." He jokes and you swat at him, causing him to spill some water from the bottle he was sipping before putting it away.

His attention was stolen from you and focused on something behind you, before you could even turn your head, Rafe's reflexes are shown as his arms reach out for the tumbling toddler who'd tripped over the uneven terrain and it seems she'd been running at a pace faster than her chunky legs could keep up with.

"Woah! Hey there, pudding," The nickname rolls off Rafe's tongue so naturally you hardly even recognize it, she looks up at him from within his stronghold. "Hi!" She waves and Rafe smiles so big it warms your heart to see.

"Where are your parents?" He follows up but she busies herself with the chain around his neck, blabbering the words 'Dada' in the sweetest voice you'd ever heard.

Rafe's eyes crinkle at the corners with his smile as he looks at you, mouthing the words, "She's so cute" and you mouth back, "I know," "I wonder where her parents are." You say, checking the tag on her swim top for any signs of identification but nothing. The two of you stand, the toddler hanging off Rafe's side, having the time of her life with a cheeky smile.

The two of you paced the beach, up and down. "I know her parents are worried sick," You mutter, checking your phone for any services you can contact for a 'lost baby on the beach please help!'

"If they don't come back, do you think we can keep her?" Rafe inquires and you laugh, "It's probably every parent's nightmare to hear a stranger say that as you're holding their missing child." You say, stopping in your tracks and placing your hands on your back with a sigh, worn out from all the walking.

"Are you okay?" Rafe checks in and you nod, "Maybe we should just go back and wait? Her parents might be walking around too and we keep missing them." Rafe agrees and the three of you walk back to your place on the beach, each of you holding her hand as she had insisted on being put down.

You kept her busy once you returned to your spot, building sand castles and giving her some water and sunscreen to keep her hydrated and protected from the slowly setting sun.

"How old are you?" Rafe laughs at your attempts to have full conversations with who he assumes is a two-year-old, but your guess was three. "Me Ava." She says and your eyes widen. Your initial question remained unanswered but now you had other answers.

"Ava! Hi Ava!" You coo, tickling her tummy until she's a bundle of fits and giggles, completely oblivious to the longing look Rafe has on you. "Tummy!" She says, and you laugh, not sure what she's talking about until she places a hand on your belly. "Big tummy!" She repeats and Rafe can't help but stifle a laugh at her direct observation.

"That's right. There's a baby in here." You explain but her head tilts, lost. "Baby?" You gave the soft waves of her hair a gentle pat, admiring her innocence, "Yep, it's either a girl baby or a boy baby." To your surprise, she begins chanting for a 'boy baby'. "See, Ava gets it." Rafe teases, always taking the opportunity to talk about having the boy he so desperately begs you for as if you had any say in the matter.

"Hungry," She whines and that sends Rafe digging into the cooler for snacks. You let her decide which fruit she wanted but her eye had caught sight of the mini container of cake that had been taken out in order to find the other items.

"Looks like she knows what she wants," Rafe smiles and you think about it, "We can't give her sugar, Rafe. Here, do you want some watermelon?" Her focus now is on the juicy red fruit you presented to her on a plate.

She must be fond of it, slurping up the juices and making a mess of her top. Fortunately, it was later washed off with the salt water when Rafe insisted on playing with her after she'd digested her food.

The sun was slowly beginning to set and the three of you had been lounging around for the last thirty minutes or so, when Ava made a loud shriek, "Mama!" She yelled, hopping off the towel and into her mom's arms.

Ava's mom graces you with a tight hug and a desperate stream of never-ending apologies and gratitude. She congratulated you on the little one you were expecting, confident you'd be amazing parents. "Now, what do you say to the nice people who watched you, Ava?" Her mom prompts, with what you could imagine is a very secure hold on Ava's hand, ensuring she doesn't slip away again.

"Thank you!" She beams, showing off her tiny baby teeth and you feel a twinge of sadness at the thought of her leaving. The last two hours, though chaotic, gave you the reassurance you were looking for with the whole parenting thing.

You wave them goodbye and you take a deep breath, "I'm ready," You don't have to explain anything more and you're both walking back to your spot to cut the cake. Only to see a toddler-sized footprint in it that Ava must've caused as she got up, denting the container and the contents inside smushing against its confines.

Pink.

"Wait…" You say, in disbelief, kneeling down with Rafe doing the same. "Are we-" He says, eyes misting over and you call him out, "Hey, I thought you wanted a boy." He holds you close, "I thought so too, but I'm honestly just glad it's with you." He brings you in for a kiss on your forehead. She's so loved already and she doesn't even know it.

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sidobelei · 2 years ago

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Bioré UV Light Up Essence SPF 50+ PA++++

It feels nice on the skin and not oily at all, but it keeps pilling no matter what i do. I have waited in between my skincare steps for the previous product to be properly absorbed before applying the next, but this sunscreen pills no matter what; even after 30 minutes! Like, i have places to go???

[Def. Pilling is when the product isn't getting absorbed into the skin and sits on top of it. When you gently rub it, little flakes of the product form on top of your skin.]

It may happen because my skin is somewhat oily, but other people have also experienced the same (online reviews). My friend has bought a different type of Bioré sunscreen and it also pills on her face. (Biore UV Aqua Rich Aqua Protect Lotion SPF50+ PA++++)

It seems like no matter how much time it has been since you applied any product to your face, the sunscreen will pill. It pilled when i only had my skincare from the night before and didn't cleanse or apply anything else the morning of.

However, it does not pill when you apply it to your body.

At mentioned above, this sunscreen does have a good light texture and feels comfortable on the skin. It also has an intentional brightening effect that might give a very noticeable white cast on people who have tanner and darker skin.

[Def. A white cast happens when sunscreen isn't completely clear/absorbed when applied and makes you look like you have a layer of white paint on your face.]

If you have skin similar to mine (see my skin type), i would not recommend this sunscreen.

Prices in Canada (CAD):

Bioré UV Light Up Essence SPF 50+ PA++++ | ~20$ / 70mL

Biore UV Aqua Rich Aqua Protect Lotion SPF50+ PA++++ | ~20$ / 70mL

#sunscreen #skincare #biore sunscreen #pilling #combination skin #biore uv light up essence #white cast

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777gojosgf · 9 months ago

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thinking about dad!gojo and you enjoying a nice day at the pool to cool down from the summer heat.

with your thirteen-month-old baby sitting on your lap, protected from the sun by a parasol while you applied sunscreen to his face, satoru continued glancing at the two of you with a mischievous grin, and you knew exactly what he was up to.

because you enjoyed swimming so much and went to the pool on a daily basis, you made it necessary for your baby to begin swimming lessons when he was five months old. despite the fact that your husband's face was filled with dread, you realised it was better to be cautious than sorry.

funnily enough, he was a natural at it.

“he definitely has it from you,” satoru had murmured as he was perplexed at the baby quickly getting to know how to come back to the surface without freaking out and you only smirked confidently.

satoru kissed your forehead before lifting him up from your lap and carrying him on his shoulders. your eyes widened and you stood up from the bed, opening your lips to interject, but he pouted at you, making you groan in frustration.

"let me put sunscreen on you first, toru." you said it in a tone that permitted no dispute, and he mocked you before you applied the SPF 50 sunscreen on his face, shoulders, chest, and back before patting him to indicate that you were finished. the white cast of sunscreen made you laugh at him, and he merely rolled his eyes before stealing another kiss as he walked down the pool with the thirteen-month-old still on his shoulders.

let’s be real, with that white hair and sensitive crystal eyes he would be the first out of anyone to get heavily sunburnt.

the laughter of your infant drew your attention, and you couldn't help but follow them down into the pool, sitting on the edge with your legs in the water. satoru was tall enough to stroll into the pool's deepest portions, but for safety, he stayed at the shorter ends to play with you and his child.

he smiled, and you just sighed admiringly, unable to believe that you had finally found your own loving family, and you had no idea what you had done to earn any of this.

but that train of thought quickly ended by feeling a splash on your face, the culprit being none other than your devoted husband. but a tiny splash was added on by his mini version and you only laughed. “oh you little—“ you started but satoru jokingly defended him, putting himself in front of the baby.

“no. take me! he has so many years to come—“ he started to defend him with his annoying smirk that made you want to kiss off his face. “i’m not going to hurt him, idiot.” you pleaded your case while crossing your arms but your gaze never leaving him or your child.

you wish you could capture this moment forever.

“what about me?” he asked.

“not too sure, might just… you know?”

“oh, yeah?” he drawled before getting hold of your leg and swiftly dragging you into the pool. you hadn’t realized before the pressure of the water suddenly made you aware to come back up to the surface, and once you did you could only hear his laugh echoing.

followed by the giggles of your child, as well.

“can’t believe the two of you are ganging up on me,” you said dramatically while squeezing the cheeks of your baby who only stared up at you adoringly.

“nah, we’re not.” he shrugged nonchalantly and you narrowed your eyes at him.

he then placed the infant on the pool's edge, floaties around his waist and both arms, and a cap to keep him out of the sun. after he grabbed you around the waist with a gleam in his eyes that caused you to raise your brows.

“how about we play a little game?”

“a game?”

he nodded, “yeah. let’s see who can stay underwater the longest.”

your brows wrinkled in uncertainty, and you looked at the thirteen-month-old, who was staring at the two of you in wonder. probably attempting to make out any words.

"fine," you agreed reluctantly before he counted down to three, and the two of you immediately pushed yourselves into the water, opened your eyes and staring at him. you weren’t sure if the chlorine in your eyes influenced your perception, but you swear he was smirking at you underwater. however, you didn't have time to register before he pulled you in and kissed you.

he then quickly brought the two of you to the surface, allowing you to gasp for air before pulling you back in two moments later.

it felt fantastic.

however, the moment was cut short when your son blurted out a simple "blegh".

it was quiet for a time before you looked back at satoru, and the two of you burst out laughing, to which your child just giggled.

you wish this summer would never end.

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk #jjk drabbles #jjk imagines #jjk x reader #gojo imagine #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fluff #jjk headcanons #jjk x you #jjk fanfic #gojo satoru imagine #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo #gojo fluff

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suyanova · 1 month ago

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GIRL NEXT DOOR — jang wonyoung

𝜗𝜚 ┈ (💭) after moving into a quiet new neighborhood, you didn’t expect much—certainly not her. but wonyoung has a way of catching your gaze and holding it, like she already knows what you’re thinking. and when the lights go out, it turns out she’s not so innocent… and you’re exactly who she’s been waiting for.

✦ ݁ pairing: dom!neighbour!wonyoung x sub!student!reader

✦ ݁ warnings: sub!reader, dom!wonyoung voyeurism, masturbation, oral sex, face sitting, overstimulation, semi-public risk, fingering

✦ ݁ word count: 5.6k

the neighborhood was quieter than you expected. you’d only moved in that morning. your room was still in chaos—boxes stacked by the closet, clothes spilling halfway out of an open suitcase, and a bed that hadn’t even been fully made. you’d tried to unpack for a while, but after peeling off two layers of duct tape and nearly giving yourself a paper cut digging through a box of tangled wires, you gave up. instead, you slipped on a hoodie, shoved your hands into your pockets, and wandered out into the warm evening air.

the street felt like a movie set. each house had its own little charm—vines curling along fences, ceramic frogs in front gardens, welcome mats that looked like they’d been there for years. the air smelled faintly of cut grass and someone’s dinner. you could hear the hum of insects hiding somewhere in the trees, the occasional distant bark of a dog, and your own footsteps against the pavement. it all felt too peaceful, almost staged, like you’d stepped into a version of suburbia that only existed in commercials.

you were halfway down the block when you heard the sound of a door creaking open across the street.

you looked up without thinking—and froze. the girl stepping onto the porch didn’t look real. the late sun hit her from behind, casting a soft orange glow along the edges of her hair, which was clipped up in a lazy twist that somehow still looked intentional. she wore an oversized white t-shirt tucked loosely into high-waisted denim shorts, her legs impossibly long and bare except for the slight sheen of sunscreen or lotion that caught the light. she was barefoot, nails painted something soft—maybe a pale pink or lavender. her posture was relaxed, casual in a way that made your breath catch. her eyes then met yours.

there was a flicker of something—curiosity, recognition, maybe amusement. her lips pulled into a small, easy smile as she leaned against the wooden railing, arms crossed loosely over her chest. you realized, belatedly, that you were staring. a beat too long. maybe two.

“i haven’t seen you before..” her voice carried across the street effortlessly. smooth, warm, a little playful. it made the inside of your chest feel tight. “did you just move in?”

you blinked. straightening your posture as your eyes wander around, helplessly avoiding eye contact with the girl. “uh—yeah. earlier today.”

your voice came out a little rough, and you immediately hated how stiff you sounded. she didn’t seem to notice, or maybe she did and just didn’t care. her smile stayed where it was, like she knew exactly how she looked and exactly what it was doing to you.

“welcome,” she said, straightening a little. “i’m wonyoung. i live right there.” she gestured behind her with a tilt of her head, and even that looked effortlessly graceful.

you nodded, your pulse thudding a little too loud in your ears. “hello… i live across the street.”

the conversation should’ve ended there. a polite exchange, maybe a wave, and then you’d both be on your way. but she didn’t leave. she stepped down the stairs instead, slowly, like she was giving you time to react.

“you looked kind of lost earlier,” she said, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “i almost came out to say something. but i didn’t want to scare you off on your first day.”

you swallowed, trying not to let your eyes wander. “were you… watching?”

her eyebrows lifted slightly, just for a second, and her mouth curved—not quite a smirk, but something close. “maybe.”

your palms started to sweat. you wiped one against your hoodie. the breeze had picked up a little, brushing against your legs, rustling the trees lining the sidewalk. the golden light hit her eyes at the right angle, and they shimmered—soft brown with something unreadable in them, like she was in on a joke you didn’t know the punchline to.

“just wanted to see who my new neighbor was,” she added, voice lighter now, like it wasn’t meant to be taken too seriously. but her gaze lingered a second too long.

you didn’t know what to say. your heart felt like it was tapping against your ribs in morse code, and all you could think was: she definitely knows. she knows you’re flustered. and worse—she’s enjoying it.

“well,” she said after a moment, starting to head back toward her door. “if you ever need anything… sugar, coffee, advice on what not to do when you move into this neighborhood… my window’s right across from yours.”

she glanced over her shoulder before disappearing inside. the way she spoke made your skin prickle.

the door clicked shut behind her, and the street felt too quiet again.

you stood there for a few more seconds, staring at the spot where she’d just been. your thoughts were all scrambled, your skin warm in places you didn’t expect. when you finally walked back home, it wasn’t the wind chimes or the glowing porches that played over and over in your mind.

it was her voice. her eyes. that tiny shift in her smile.

when you got to your room and sat at your desk, the first thing you did was glance out the window. her house was right there—lit softly, curtains pulled halfway open.

you had a feeling she’d done that on purpose.

—

it was past 1 a.m. when you finally gave up on sleeping.

your room was too quiet, too still—so quiet that the hum of your desk lamp felt loud, and the occasional creak of the old house settling made your heart skip. you had tossed and turned for what felt like hours, the sheets kicked halfway off your bed and twisted around your legs, your body hot even though the night air was cool. it wasn’t just restlessness. it was her. jang wonyoung, with that effortless, amused smile and the voice that had lingered in your head like a song you couldn’t stop replaying.

you hadn’t stopped thinking about the way she looked at you. like she already knew.

you sat down at your desk with the sketchbook open in front of you and tried to focus, fingers absentmindedly tapping the pencil against the paper. nothing came out. your brain felt blank and loud at the same time, full of static and unfinished thoughts. you tried drawing something—anything—but your hand felt disconnected from your mind. every half-drawn line turned into nonsense, and eventually you just dropped the pencil, slouching forward with your chin resting on your palm.

the street outside was silent. only the faint glow of streetlights spilled in through your half-open blinds, painting long shadows across the floor. your window faced directly across to hers—wonyoung’s—and for some reason, your eyes drifted to it more than once. it was automatic now. muscle memory. some stupid part of you hoping to see her again.

you almost missed it when her light turned on.

your eyes snapped up the second the soft yellow glow spilled into her room, faint behind gauzy curtains. she hadn’t drawn them completely shut. not this time. just enough to veil the edges, but not enough to hide what was inside.

wonyoung was there—standing near her bed, framed in that soft amber light, her back slightly turned as she reached up to twist her hair out of the clip. it fell down over her shoulders, silky and loose, and she shook it out with a lazy motion, like she was alone and comfortable. her shirt was oversized again, slipping down over one shoulder. she looked casual. intimate. like something out of a dream you didn’t realize you were already having.

you leaned forward, slowly, as if moving too fast would break the moment. your heart had already started to pick up its pace. you told yourself you’d just glance. just a second. you weren’t even sure if she could see you—the light from your desk was low, your silhouette faint against the dim backdrop of your room.

but then she turned..

toward you.

it was subtle. she didn’t startle. didn’t flinch. she just stood there for a moment, her head tilted slightly to the side as if she was confirming something. and then—there it was. a smile, slow. sly. like she was enjoying an inside joke and you were just now catching on.

her fingers reached for the hem of her shirt. she didn’t hesitate—not even for a second. she began to lift it, slowly, inch by inch, revealing a smooth stretch of skin from her hips to her ribs. her stomach was flat, soft lines visible in the warm lighting. she peeled the shirt over her chest and then up over her arms, letting it fall carelessly to the floor beside her.

she was wearing a pale pink bra, delicate and barely-there, the cups sheer with a small bow in the center. it looked like something meant to be taken off. like it was worn for someone—not just for comfort. she turned slightly, enough to give you a better view. and when her hand ghosted over her stomach, brushing low toward the waistband of her shorts, you felt your whole body tense.

you should’ve looked away.

she sat down at the edge of her bed, one leg bent beneath her, the other stretched out. her fingers toyed with the drawstring of her shorts for a moment—lightly, teasingly—before slipping beneath the waistband. her eyes never left the window.

your mouth parted. your thighs squeezed together involuntarily. you could feel your pulse everywhere—in your chest, your fingertips, between your legs.

her brows knit together slightly as her hand moved lower. you watched the shift in her posture—the way her back arched the faintest bit, how her chest rose and fell more slowly. her lips parted with a soft, barely-there sigh. even without hearing it, you could see it. she wasn’t putting on a show. not exactly. it was real. it was happening. and yet every single motion was intentional. languid. teasing.

your skin felt flushed, the heat spreading beneath your shirt and over the back of your neck. the weight of what you were seeing pressed down on you like a secret you weren’t supposed to know. your breath had shortened without you noticing, coming out in shallow little bursts as you watched her slip deeper into herself.

she shifted slightly again, her thighs spreading just a little wider as her hand moved slower now, deeper. her body responded in soft, subtle ways—shoulders tightening, lips twitching, her head tipping back just enough to show the pale line of her throat. and still… still… her eyes would flick back to you.

you sat frozen, one hand gripping the edge of the desk until your knuckles ached. it wasn’t just that she was doing it. it was that she wanted you to see. she was showing you what you couldn’t have. and you hated how badly you wanted more.

she moved her other hand to her chest, fingers trailing lightly over her ribs, then cupping one breast. she arched into her own touch. your entire body was practically buzzing with tension now, every nerve ending alight. your legs pressed tightly together under the desk, trying to control something you’d already lost the moment her shirt came off.

and then—like she was satisfied—she stopped.

slowly, casually, she pulled her hand from her shorts and stood up, adjusting her hair again as if nothing had happened. she reached for the lamp beside her bed and turned it off, casting her room into shadow. your window reflected your own stunned face now, your eyes wide and your mouth slightly open.

wonyoung was gone, and you were left there with your mouth hanging open, feeling your throat go completely dry. and you were left there, alone, trembling, unsure if you’d imagined the entire thing.

but you knew you hadn’t. not with the way your skin was still burning. and with the ache between your legs that wasn’t going away. and definitely not with the image of her—flushed, smug, glowing—seared into your brain like a brand.

she saw you. she wanted you to see. and now you had no idea what to do with yourself.

—

you didn’t sleep.

you tried. god, you tried. you laid in bed after the light went out in her room, heart still racing, body burning with a heat that refused to go away. you kicked off the covers, pulled them back on, turned over again and again until your sheets were a mess and your thighs were sore from how tense you’d kept them. everything smelled like warm fabric and skin, and your mind kept looping that image of her—half-undressed, glowing in soft amber light, fingers buried in her shorts, staring right at you. by the time the sun began to rise, painting your walls in streaks of pale yellow and soft gold, you still hadn’t closed your eyes.

you had no idea what you were going to say. all you knew was that you couldn’t not say something.

you didn’t bother getting properly dressed. the moment the neighborhood started to stir—quiet footsteps, car doors, the sound of someone rolling their trash bin down the driveway—you were out of your room, slipping into a hoodie and shorts that probably didn’t match. your face felt warm, eyes still puffy from exhaustion, but the adrenaline was already kicking in. your body was moving before your mind had fully caught up, crossing the street on autopilot with your heart beating so hard it echoed in your ears. each step felt heavier the closer you got to her front porch, like your legs were trying to stop you but your body refused to listen. you reached her door and raised your fist before you could change your mind, knocking once, twice, three times—sharp and fast, like you were daring her not to answer.

you didn’t have to wait long.

the door swung open after only a few seconds, and there she was—jang wonyoung, in the flesh, standing barefoot in her doorway in nothing but a fitted tank top and soft, loose pajama shorts. her hair was a little messy, like she’d just rolled out of bed, and her skin still carried the dewy glow of sleep. for a moment, you were hit with the worst kind of déjà vu—because the light behind her was almost the same as the night before, and so was the way she looked at you. calm. curious. amused. like you hadn’t caught her doing something unthinkable last night. like you were the one interrupting her peace.

her lips curled upward slightly, and she tilted her head just a little. “morning.”

you stared at her, your chest already tight, fingers curled into fists at your sides. “what the fuck was that?”

she raised an eyebrow, but didn’t flinch. didn’t even pretend to be confused. instead, she leaned her shoulder against the doorframe and blinked slowly, like she was savoring the moment. “what was what?”

you felt the heat rise to your cheeks, not from embarrassment, but from how infuriatingly calm she was. you didn’t expect her to be flustered—but you also didn’t expect her to look at you like this, like you were a fly caught in her web and she was already spinning the next layer. “you know what. last night. your window. you—” your voice caught for a second, mouth suddenly too dry to say it out loud. “you knew i could see you.”

wonyoung’s smile widened slightly. her eyes drifted over your face, then down your frame like she was taking her time cataloguing your reactions. you didn’t miss the way her gaze paused at your mouth, at the pulse ticking in your throat. “i did,” she said simply.

your stomach flipped. she said it like it was nothing. like you’d just asked her what time it was, and she’d answered without hesitation. your fingers twitched, the tension building inside your body like pressure behind a dam. “why?”

she didn’t respond at first. instead, she pushed the door open a little wider and stepped back. “come inside.”

you hesitated, feet still planted on the porch, your brain suddenly very aware that you were standing in front of her in nothing but your hoodie and bare legs. she didn’t press you. just looked at you with that same expression—neutral, expectant, patient in a way that somehow made it worse. you stepped inside before you could second-guess it, and she closed the door behind you with a soft click that felt way too loud in the stillness of her entryway.

her house smelled faintly of vanilla and something floral, something clean and soft, like fresh linen and warm skin. you stood awkwardly in her hallway while she padded a few steps ahead, glancing over her shoulder like she was waiting to see if you’d follow. sunlight filtered through her living room window, washing the room in soft morning light, and you caught a glimpse of her phone on the coffee table, a half-full glass of water beside it.

“you want to know why?” she asked, finally turning to face you again. her voice was quieter now, like the words weren’t meant to echo.

you nodded, your throat tight.

wonyoung stepped closer, slowly, like she was giving you time to run if you wanted to. but you didn’t move. you just watched her, watched the way her eyes narrowed slightly as she looked up at you, her bare feet silent against the wood floor. when she finally stopped in front of you, she was so close you could smell the faint trace of her body lotion, the warmth of her skin, the sweetness of her breath.

“because,” she said, her voice low and deliberate, “you look at me like you want to fuck me every time you think i’m not watching.”

you flinched. the words hit like a slap—not because they were vulgar, but because they were true. completely, utterly true. you felt them in your spine, in your stomach, in the sudden spike of arousal that pulsed through your core like a warning siren. she didn’t blink. didn’t back down. her hand lifted, fingers brushing against the hem of your hoodie, not quite touching—hovering.

“so i gave you something to look at.”

your mouth parted. your breath came out shallow. your brain was short-circuiting—half shame, half desire, all tangled into a knot that sat heavy in your chest. you didn’t know what you were supposed to say. what you could say. because she was right. she had been right from the beginning. you did want her. and she knew it.

“you don’t have to pretend,” she whispered, almost kindly. “i don’t mind.”

your heart was pounding so loudly you were scared she could hear it. the way she looked at you was unbearable—like she was reading your every thought before you could finish thinking it. her fingers grazed the fabric of your sleeve, light and teasing, and her voice dropped even lower.

“but if you really want to talk about last night… we should probably continue this somewhere a little more comfortable.”

—

the hallway felt longer this time. it wasn’t, not really, but every step you took behind her made your skin tighten like it was shrinking. wonyoung walked slowly, her hips swaying gently with each step, bare feet soft against the floor, tank top clinging to her back like a second skin. you couldn’t stop looking at her—even though your chest was tight, even though your throat was dry and your heartbeat pounded too loud in your ears. the world outside her house had shrunk to this moment, this silence, this unbearable thrum of anticipation that grew with each breath.

her room looked exactly as you’d remembered it from the window. golden light poured in through the curtains, warming the white bedsheets and catching against her mirror. the bed was unmade, a slight dip in the center where she’d been lying earlier, and the air smelled like vanilla and something floral—like her skin after a shower. your mouth felt dry. you didn’t know where to stand, or what to do, or how to be around her when she turned back toward you, eyes calm and sure like she hadn’t just pulled the floor out from under your feet last night.

she reached for the hem of your hoodie and slowly pushed it off your shoulders. her touch was gentle, but intentional—hands skimming your arms, eyes never leaving yours as she let the fabric fall behind you. your skin prickled with awareness, goosebumps rising despite the warmth of the room. when her fingers grazed your collarbone, your breath hitched. she seemed to notice. her hand paused there, then slid down, knuckles brushing the curve of your chest through your shirt.

the tension thickened, suspended in the silence between you. her touch was so light it was maddening—barely there, just a ghost of pressure—but it made your stomach twist, made heat bloom low and deep inside you. she was watching your reaction closely, eyes flicking from your face to your neck to your trembling fingers.

you didn’t even notice she was walking you backward until your knees touched the edge of her bed. she pushed gently, and your body folded like paper. the mattress dipped under your weight, and she didn’t hesitate—she climbed on top, one leg swinging over your hips, her bare thighs bracketing your body, her palms planted on either side of your head. her hair tickled your cheeks. she smelled like jasmine and sugar and sleep.

she didn’t speak. she didn’t need to.

her mouth found yours, and everything else dissolved. she kissed you like she already knew what you liked—deep, slow, indulgent. her tongue slid against yours in lazy strokes, lips soft but firm, head tilted to slot against you perfectly. you couldn’t help the way you gasped, fingers curling into the sheets when she rolled her hips once, just enough to make you feel her heat against your stomach. it was dizzying—how much control she had over her own body, how precise her movements were, how every shift of her weight made you ache harder.

she pulled away without warning, lips swollen, her breath brushing your jaw as she moved down. her hands slipped beneath your shirt and pushed it up, revealing inch by inch of your stomach. she didn’t rush. she pressed kisses to your ribs, your waist, the spot just beneath your navel, her breath hot against your skin. you felt your muscles twitch under her mouth, heat pooling between your legs so fast it made your head spin.

she removed your shorts next. slow. methodical. her fingers hooked into the waistband and tugged them down your legs along with your underwear, her eyes following the motion like she was memorizing the way your skin revealed itself to her. you could feel how wet you were—your thighs sticky, your cunt throbbing, your whole body on fire from the tension she built with nothing but her presence.

she lowered herself between your legs like she belonged there. she kissed the inside of your knee first, then lower, her lips brushing the softest skin with agonizing care. she held your thighs open with her hands, thumbs pressing gently into the curve of your hips, keeping you still.

you were already shaking when her mouth got close.

her breath was warm when it hit you, and you flinched—not from fear, but from the raw sensitivity that pulsed through your core. she didn’t touch you right away. she just stayed there, close enough that you could feel her exhale against your folds, her lips brushing you once, barely. your hips lifted instinctively, needing something, but her grip tightened, keeping you grounded.

when she finally dragged her tongue up the length of your pussy—slow, steady, hot—you gasped so hard your lungs burned. her mouth moved like she’d waited for this, like she wanted to savor every part of you. her tongue circled your clit once, soft and teasing, then again, firmer. you moaned, hands reaching for her hair before you remembered she hadn’t given you permission to touch. they hovered in the air for a second, then dropped uselessly to your sides, gripping the sheets instead.

she licked you like she had nowhere else to be. long, deep strokes that made your hips twitch. she flattened her tongue against you, then sucked gently, then used the tip to trace slow, infuriating shapes that made your thighs tremble. you didn’t know what sounds you were making anymore—gasps, moans, broken little whines—but she heard them all. and each one seemed to encourage her.

her fingers joined her mouth, slipping inside you with a smooth, practiced motion that made you arch off the bed. they curled just right, searching for that spot, and when she found it—god—your whole body lit up. your mouth dropped open, your eyes squeezed shut, and your moan came out wrecked and desperate. she fucked you slow at first, letting you feel every inch of her, her tongue never leaving your clit.

you couldn’t hold still. your hips rolled helplessly against her hand, chasing friction, and her free hand pressed flat against your stomach, grounding you. the pressure made it worse—in the best way. every stroke of her fingers sent sparks up your spine. your legs were shaking, your skin sticky with sweat, and the coil in your stomach was winding tighter with each second.

when you finally came, it hit like a wave crashing all at once. you cried out, high and hoarse, your hips lifting off the bed as your cunt clenched around her fingers. she didn’t stop. her mouth stayed on you, licking through your orgasm, drinking every twitch and gasp and whimper you gave her.

your body trembled violently beneath her, and still—still—she kept going.

your hands scrambled for her wrist, your voice breaking as you gasped her name, the overstimulation sending sparks up your spine. but she didn’t stop. she slowed only slightly, her tongue more deliberate now, her fingers dragging through your dripping heat as you whimpered and begged under your breath. your vision blurred. your body pulsed, overstretched, overfilled. your legs kicked weakly. she held them open.

another orgasm built, uninvited and sharp, and you choked on a sob as it hit you—fast, brutal, your body thrashing under her mouth. you were crying by then, soft tears slipping down your cheeks, not from pain but from the rawness of it, the sheer intensity of pleasure. your fingers finally found her hair, clinging to her like an anchor, but she just moaned softly against your cunt like she was proud of you.

when she finally pulled away, her chin and lips glistened with your slick. her eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown wide, and her skin flushed with satisfaction. she climbed up your body, slow and heavy, and you let her—limp, spent, broken in the most beautiful way. she pressed a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, then your collarbone.

you were still panting when she finally whispered against your ear. “i told you,” she murmured, breath hot. “we’re just getting started.”

after that, you don’t remember how long you laid there—limp and flushed against her sheets, your legs still trembling slightly from the last orgasm she tore out of you. your brain wasn’t keeping time anymore. the air in her bedroom had turned heavy, the sunlight spilling through the curtains now thick like honey, drenching your skin in gold. everything smelled like her. her lotion. her sweat. you—sweet and wet and ruined. your thighs still felt sticky with it, your body worn down to nothing but sensation.

wonyoung hadn’t said much since then. she’d kissed your cheek. stroked your side. whispered something soft you didn’t catch because you were too far gone to hear it properly. she didn’t need to speak to be in control. she just existed, and your body answered like it was wired to hers.

she was still above you, kneeling on the mattress between your legs, hair falling around her shoulders, chest rising and falling slow and steady like she hadn’t just made you fall apart twice in a row. she looked flushed and gorgeous and entirely untouched, as if she’d barely broken a sweat while your body had completely unraveled under her mouth.

you were still catching your breath when her hand slid back down your stomach.

you tensed slightly, your thighs twitching open, and she smiled like she could read the exact panic and desire crawling under your skin. her fingers dipped between your legs, slow, slick gliding through the mess she’d already made of you, and you shuddered violently. you were hypersensitive, your nerves still sparking like exposed wires, and yet—your body ached for more. it wasn’t fair, how badly you wanted it. wanted her. again. already.

“you can take it,” she murmured, voice low and knowing, like a lullaby with teeth. “you will.”

you whimpered when her fingers pressed against your clit—soft, then firmer, rubbing gentle circles that had you writhing almost immediately. she leaned down, tongue dragging over your chest again, warm and wet as her mouth wrapped around your nipple. your back arched into her, arms thrown over your head like you’d given up the fight. your body was hers now, and you both knew it.

she worked you slowly at first, building you back up with painstaking care. every flick of her fingers, every kiss to your neck, every low hum against your skin—it all made you feel like she was sculpting something. like she was carving you open just to see what was inside. she whispered things sometimes, barely audible, right against your ear. words like, you sound so pretty when you beg and i want to see you cry again. they made you clench around nothing. they made you ache. and then, without warning, she moved up.

her hands gripped your wrists, guiding them down to the mattress beside you. you were dazed, hazy with pleasure, barely aware of her body shifting until she was straddling your face.

your eyes widened.

her pussy hovered above your mouth—dripping, flushed, her thighs glistening with sweat. she hadn’t touched herself once. all of this, all of you, and she was still this wet. you could barely think straight as she lowered herself, slowly, deliberately, her hand gripping the headboard, the other tangled gently in your hair. she paused just before contact, her voice like silk and smoke.

“open.” and your lips parted automatically, a decision made in a split second.

when she sat down fully on your face, everything else ceased to exist. her taste, her heat, the weight of her—all of her—pressed into your tongue like she belonged there. you moaned into her, your hands flying to her thighs instinctively, gripping her soft skin like it was the only thing tethering you to reality. she rolled her hips once, her cunt dragging across your mouth, and your brain just blanked.

she started moving slowly—grinding into your face in lazy, controlled motions, her breath hitching the first time your tongue slipped between her folds and curled upward. she gasped, then let out a long, shaky sigh that you swore you felt in your bones.

“fuck, baby…” she whispered, almost breathless for the first time. “just like that.”

you licked her like you were starving. like it was the only thing that mattered. your tongue moved in tight circles, then flattened out, then traced her slit, back and forth, over and over. her taste coated your mouth—sweet, musky, addictive—and you didn’t want to breathe if it meant stopping. her hands gripped the headboard tighter, knuckles white, and her thighs began to tremble on either side of your face. she moaned now—open, desperate sounds that echoed through the room—and when her hips began to move faster, you knew she was close.

“don’t stop,” she panted, and you didn’t. even when your jaw ached. even when your lungs burned. even when your vision blurred.

you felt her come like a tidal wave.

her thighs clamped around your head, her hips jerking forward once, twice, her pussy grinding down against your tongue as she cried out—high and sharp, like she hadn’t expected it to hit that hard. she kept moving, chasing every aftershock, gasping your name like it hurt to say it. her legs shook. her whole body quivered above you, and still, you didn’t stop. not until her grip loosened. not until she collapsed forward onto her arms, breath coming out in broken, hitched whimpers.

she eventually slid off you with a shaky sigh, collapsing beside you on the bed, her body flushed and glowing, lips parted. she looked at you then—really looked at you—and something shifted in her eyes. something softer. gentler. she leaned in, her hand cupping your cheek, thumb brushing the edge of your swollen mouth.

“you’re mine now,” she whispered, almost tender. “aren’t you?” you nodded, breathless. dazed. hers.

she smiled—slow and satisfied—and then she leaned in again, her lips brushing your ear, her voice barely a whisper.

“and i’m just the girl next door.”

358 notes · View notes

lxndonorris · 9 months ago

Text

tender waves - Lando Norris

Y/N x Lando Norris Theme: Smut sharing in intimate moment between the tender waves x word count: 7200+ taglist: @game-set-canet thank you @pitstopreality-f1 for the help :)

The summer sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the secluded beach. The soft, rhytmic lapping of waves against the shore provides a soothing soundtrack, punctuated by the occasional call of a seagull. The scent of saltwater fills the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the sand beneath you. The perfect day, one that feels stolen from the everyday hustle of life, like a secret only you know.

Lando insisted on driving you there—to this hidden gem of a beach, far away from the crowds. "Just us," he said, his voice full of excitement, the way it always was when he talked about his plans for the two of you. And true to his word, it is just you—no fans, no paparazzi—just the sun, the sand, and the vast expanse of the ocean stretching out before you.

You lie on your stomach, the towel beneath you soft and warm from the sun. Your bathing suit—a vibrant shade of turquoise that Lando complimented several times that morning—clings to your skin; the material cool against the heat of the day. Your body relaxes, sinking into the towel, as the sun's rays kiss your back, lulling you into blissful contentment.

Beside you, Lando lies on his side, propped up on one arm. His other hand traces lazy patterns along your arm; his fingers light as a feather as they dance over your skin. The sensation is soothing, almost hypnotic, and you find yourself focusing on it, enjoying the simple, affectionate gesture. You feel his warmth radiating next to you; his presence a comforting constant, grounding you in this moment.

You turn your head to look at him, the motion slow and deliberate, savoring the sight of him as your eyes take in every detail.

Lando looks effortlessly handsome, his tousled hair catching the light and the strands a mix of sun-kissed gold and chestnut brown. His skin, tanned from hours spent outdoors, is a beautiful contrast against the white sand, his muscles defined and relaxed. There is something that draws you in and holds you captive.

He is gazing at his fingers as they trail along your arm, a small, almost shy smile playing on his lips. His eyes, a rich shade of hazel, follow the path of his touch, but as if sensing your gaze, they flick up to meet yours. For a moment, you just look at each other, the world around you fading into the background.

His smile widens, a hint of bashfulness creeping into it as he brings his hand to his chest, rubbing at the skin there almost absentmindedly. You notice the faint flush creeping up his neck, a soft pink that deepens as it spreads to his cheeks. It is endearing to see him like this—so confident on the track yet so adorably shy in moments like these.

"You look so good, you know," you say, your voice low and warm, the words slipping out almost on their own. You reach out, your fingers brushing against his as you speak. "But you're turning red, Lando. I think you need some sunscreen."

Lando chuckles softly; the sound a mix of amusement and embarrassment. "Yeah, maybe I do," he agrees, his tone light but with a telltale smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. There is a glint in his eyes now, playful and teasing, as if he is already imagining the next few moments.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, shifting so that you sit beside him. "Here," you offer, reaching for the bottle of sunscreen that lies discarded on the towel.

You squeeze a generous amount into your palm, the cool lotion contrasting with the warmth of the sun on your skin.

"Let me help."

Lando watches you with a mischievous smile, his eyes following your every movement as you rub the sunscreen between your hands, warming it up before you begin to apply it to his chest. His skin is hot under your touch, a reminder of how long you were out here in the sun.

You start at his shoulders, smoothing the lotion over the firm muscles there, your hands working in slow, deliberate strokes.

Lando closes his eyes, his breathing steady and relaxed, as if your touch is as soothing for him as his was for you. You feel the tension melting away from his body, the knots of stress from weeks of racing and traveling unraveling under your fingertips.

"You really needed this, didn't you?" You murmur, your hands moving down to his arms, covering every inch of his skin with the protective layer of sunscreen.

"Mmm, yeah," he admits, his voice soft and content. "This whole summer break... I've been looking forward to it. But more than that, I've been looking forward to this. Just...us."

His words send a warm, fluttering feeling through you, and you can't help but smile. Lando was always good at making you feel special, but it is moments like these—so simple yet so full of meaning—that truly make you realize how much you love him.

"Me too," you reply, your hands moving to his chest now, spreading the sunscreen across the smooth planes of muscle. You feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm, a reminder of the life and energy that define him.

"It's been nice, hasn't it? Not having to worry about schedules of flights or races... just being together."

Lando nods, his eyes still closed, a peaceful expression on his face.

"Yeah, it's perfect."

You fall into a comfortable silence, the only sounds being the gentle rustle of the breeze and the occasional hiss of the waves. Your hands continue their work, moving across his chest, down his sides, over his stomach, until every inch of exposed skin is covered.

When you are done, you sit back on your heels, admiring your work. Lando's skin glistens in the sunlight, the sunscreen giving him a slightly glossy sheen. He looks even more breathtaking, if that is possible, the golden hue of his tan contrasting beautifully with the white sand and the deep blue of the ocean beyond.

Lando opens his eyes, blinking up at you with a lazy smile.

"Thanks," he says, his voice thick with relaxation. "You always know how to take care of me."

"Of course," you reply, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips—a brief, gentle kiss—but it is enough to make your heart skip a beat. "Now you can relax without worrying about getting sunburned."

He grins, pulling you down beside him. "You're the best," he murmurs, his arm wrapping around your waist as he draws you close. You settle back onto the towel, this time with you curled up against his side, your bodies pressed together in a comfortable tangle of limbs.

For a while, you just lie there, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the feel of each other's presence. It is one of those perfect moments where everything feels right and nothing else matters.

As the sun begins to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the sand, Lando shifts beside you, propping himself up on one elbow. His eyes are bright, and his expression full of the familiar spark of mischief that you know so well.

"You know," he begins, his voice low and teasing. "I think it's your turn now."

You raise an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "My turn for what?"

He reaches for the sunscreen, holding it up with a grin.

"Your turn for some sunscreen. Can't have you getting sunburned, can we?"

You laugh, shaking your head.

"You're impossible, you know that?"

He just smiles—that boyish, irresistible smile that always makes your heart melt.

"Yeah, but you love me anyway."

There is no arguing that.

With a playful roll of your eyes, you turn onto your stomach, resting your head on your folded arms as you stretch out on the towel. You feel Lando's eyes on you; the heat of his gaze almost as warm as the sun itself.

He is taking his time, you realize, and the thought makes your heart race with anticipation.

Finally, you feel the cool touch of the lotion on your back, followed by the gentle pressure of Lando's hands as he begins to rub it in.

His touch is slow and deliberate, his fingers tracing the contours of your shoulders and down the length of your spine. It is soothing, just like before, but there is something else in it too—something that makes your skin tingle and your breath catch in your throat.

Lando's hands move lower, massaging the sunscreen into your lower back, his fingers kneading the muscles there with just the right amount of pressure. You let out a soft sigh, your body relaxing completely under his touch. It feels so good, so intimate, that you can't help but close your eyes and savor the moment.

He works in silence, his hands moving with a rhythm that is both calming and sensual. You feel the warmth of his skin against yours, the steady rise and fall of his breath as he focuses on the task at hand—a simple act, really, but the way he does it—so careful, so attentive—makes it feel like so much more.

Then, Lando's hands linger on your lower back, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles on your skin as he continued applying sunscreen. Suddenly, as his hands move a little lower, just above the curve of your hips, you feel him lean down, his breath hot against the shell of your ear.

"You know," he whispers, his voice low and teasing, "this is really nice... but it's doing something to me."

There is a playful edge to his tone, but underneath it, you sense something else—something darker, more intense. You feel a shiver run through you as you turn your head slightly to catch his gaze.

His hazel eyes are filled with that familiar mischief, but there is a flicker of something deeper, more primal, that sends your heart racing.

"Lando," you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, but before you can say anything else, he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear.

"I'm growing hard," he confesses, his voice a husky whisper that sends a surge of heat through your body. His words are bold, but there is a softness to them—a playful undertone that makes your pulse quicken.

You feel your breath hitch as the implications of his words sink in. His hands, still resting on your lower back, tighten their grip slightly, just enough to let you know he is serious about it all.

You feel the heat radiating from his body even more now, his arousal unmistakable, even before he gently presses his hips against yours.

A soft gasp escapes your lips as you feel the unmistakable hardness of him pressing against you, even through the thin fabric of your swimwear.

Lando moves slowly, carefully, making sure not to put too much weight on you as he positions himself on top of you. His body is warm, his skin hot from the sun, and the feel of him against you is enough to send a shiver of anticipation coursing through your veins.

"Lando," you breathe, your voice barely more than a whisper, as you feel him shift slightly, his hips pressing a little more firmly against you. There is no denying the effect this is having on both of you, and you feel your own arousal growing in response to his.

He lets out a soft, almost inaudible groan, his breath warm against the nape of your neck.

"You have no idea how much I want you right now," he murmurs, his voice low and filled with desire. "But we're out here in the open..."

There is a teasing lilt to his words, as if he is enjoying the fact that you are in such a public place yet completely hidden from the world. It is thrilling and slightly forbidden knowing that you are alone on this secluded beach, the vastness of the ocean stretching out before you, but the possibility of being seen is still there. It adds an extra layer of excitement, making everything feel that much more intense.

Lando shifts again, his hips pressing even more firmly against you, and you feel the full length of his arousal now, hard and insistent against your lower back. The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure through you, and you can't help but arch your back slightly, pressing up against him in response.

His breath hitches, and you feel him tense slightly, as if he is holding himself back. His hands move from your back to your sides, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist with a tenderness that makes your heart flutter.

He is so close, his body warm and solid against you, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to turn over and pull him down on top of you completely.

"Lando," you whisper again, your voice trembling with desire, "what are you doing?"

He chuckles softly, the sound low and rich, as he leans down to press a soft kiss to your shoulder.

"Just making sure you're well protected from the sun," he teases, his lips brushing against your skin with every word. "Can't have you getting burned, can we?"

His words are light, but the way he is pressing against you, the way his breath is coming in short, heated bursts, tells a different story. You feel the tension in his body—the barely restrained desire that is simmering just below the surface.

Lando shifts slightly, his hands moving up to rest on your shoulders, and for a moment, he just stays there, his chest pressed against your back, his breath warm against your neck. It is an intimate, almost possessive gesture, and you find yourself biting your lip to keep you from making a sound as his hips press even more firmly against you.

"Babè," you murmur, your voice trembling with need, "this is..."

"Yeah," he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear. "I know."

For a moment, you just stay like that, your bodies pressed together, the tension between you thick and electric. The feel of his arousal against you is almost too much to bear, and you feel your own desire growing with every passing second.

But then, just as quickly as he initiated the contact, Lando pulls back slightly, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts.

"We shouldn't," he says, his voice low and filled with regret, even as his hands linger on your skin, as if he can't quite bring himself to pull away completely. "Not here."

You nod, even though he can't see you, understanding what he means even as your body screams for more. The thrill of being so close, of feeling his desire so plainly is intoxicating, but there is a part of you that knows he is right.

You turn your head to look at him, your eyes meeting his. There is a fire in his gaze, a hunger that mirrors your own, and it is enough to make your breath catch in your throat.

"Lando," you whisper, reaching up to run your fingers through his tousled hair. "Later?"

He nods, a small, almost shy smile playing on his lips. "Definetly later."

With that, he presses a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, his touch gentle yet full of promise. It is enough to make you ache with longing.

Lando carefully climbs off you, his touch lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. The absence of his warmth leaves your skin tingling, the memory of his weight pressing against you still fresh in your mind.

You feel the tension between you, thick and undeniable, as you roll onto your back to face him.

His eyes meet yours, a mixture of desire and restraint flickering in those hazel depths. He is so close, his body still hovering over you, and you reach up without thinking, your fingers finding the warm, smooth skin of his chest.

You trace the lines of his muscles, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your fingertips. The heat of his skin radiating through your hand, sending a shiver of pleasure down your spine.

"I don't know if I can wait.." you admit, your eyes leaving his burning gaze to follow as your fingers dance over his skin.

Lando's eyes darken as you continue to explore his chest, your touch slow and firm. He sucks in a breath, his muscles tensing under your caress. The low, rumbling growl that escapes his throat sends a wave of heat rushing through you; the sound so primal, so raw that it makes your pulse quicken.

Encouraged by his reaction, you let your hand drift lower, your fingers tracing the defined ridges of his abs. You feel the tautness of his body; every muscle firm and responsive under your touch.

Lando's breath hitches as your hand slides even lower, brushing against the waistband of his swim shorts, where the evidence of his desire is unmistakable.

"Y/N..."

His reaction is immediate; a deep, guttural moan rumbles from his chest, his hips instinctively shifting closer to your hand as if he can't help himself.

You feel the hard length of him through the thin fabric, hot, and insistent, and the sensation sends a rush of excitement through you.

Lando's eyes flutter closed for a brief moment, his head tilting back slightly as if savoring the pleasure. His hand finds yours, guiding you as you stroke him gently through his shorts.

The contact is almost too much and not nearly enough at the same time—a teasing caress that leaves you both wanting more.

"God, you're driving me crazy," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire.

You look up at him, and he holds your gaze as you continue your slow, deliberate movements, each touch sending a jolt of pleasure through both of you.

The intensity of his reaction, the way his body responds to every little thing you do only fuel your own desire.

But just when you thought you might lose yourself in the heat of the moment, Lando suddenly pulls away.

He gets to his feet with a quick, fluid motion, leaving you breathless and a little dazed as you watch him rise.

His eyes are dark with a mix of restraint and longing, but there is something else there too—something playful, almost wicked.

Standing above you, Lando stretches his arms high above his head, his muscles rippling beneath his tanned skin. The movement is slow, deliberate, as if he is putting on a show just for you.

And he is.

Every inch of his well-formed body is on display—the tautness of his chest, the cut of his abs, the broadness of his shoulders—all of it a testament to the hours of training and dedication he put into his sport.

You can't tear your eyes away from him, completely captivated by the sight of him stretching and flexing above you.

The sun catches the sheen of sunscreen on his skin, making him glow with a healthy, golden hue that only adds to his allure.

His swim shorts hang low on his hips, the fabric doing little to hide the evidence of his desire, now even more obvious as he stretches.

Lando grins as he catches you staring, his expression both smug and full of that boyish charm that you adore.

He holds his pose for a moment longer, letting you take in every detail, before he slowly relaxes his arms and shifts his stance.

"Enjoying the view?" he teases, his voice light but with that underlying tone of challenge, as if daring you to admit just how much you are.

You don't bother to hide the way your eyes roam over his body, taking in every flex and ripple of muscle as he adjusts his position.

He bends down slightly, the movement causing his abs to tighten, the muscles in his arms and chest bulge as he puts his weight on one leg—a casual action, but the effect is anything but.

Your breath catches in your throat as he shifts again, his body moving with the easy grace of someone completely in tune with himself. There is confidence to his movements, a quiet, self-assured strength that is incredibly sexy.

But what really holds your attention is the way his arousal is now undeniable, straining against the fabric of his shorts with no attempt to hide it.

There is no denying the effect his little display, and all the teasing before, is having on both of you. The tension crackles between you with electricity, and the air is thick with anticipation.

You feel the heat pooling low in your belly, the desire building with every second you watch him.

Lando's smirk softens into something warmer for a second as he takes a step closer to you, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your face. His touch is gentle, but there is an intensity in his eyes that makes your heart race.

"Maybe we should take a dip in the ocean," he suggests, his voice low and full of promise, "to cool off a bit."

There is no mistaking the double meaning behind his words, and the playful glint in his eyes only confirms it. You feel the excitement bubbling up inside you—the thrill of what is to come—making your skin tingle.

"Maybe we should," you reply, matching his tone, your voice laced with desire.

Lando grins—that same mischievous grin like before. He holds out his hand, and without hesitation, you take it, letting him pull you up to your feet.

The contact sends a spark of electricity through you, and as you stand there face-to-face, the desire between you is palpable.

As Lando stands before you, his gaze grows more intense, the playful light in his eyes darkening once again with something deeper, something more primal.

You see the shift in him—the way his muscles tense as he struggles to maintain control. The tension is thick with anticipation, simmering just below the surface, ready to boil over.

He looks at you with such desire that it sends shivery waves down your back. His eyes are filled with a need that matches your own, and there is no mistaking what he wants.

Lando's hand moves almost absently, his fingers brushing over the hard outline of his member through his shorts. The action is unintentional, but it speaks volumes, his body responding instinctively to the closeness between you.

Your gaze follows the movement of his hand, your pulse quickening as you take in the sight of him. There is something erotic about the way he touches himself so casually, as if he can't help it, as if his body is reacting to yours without conscious thought.

Lando's eyes flick back up to yours, and without a word, he offers you his hand, his expression daring you to take it.

A soft giggle escapes your lips at the playful intensity in his gaze, the way he seems so sure of himself, so confident in what is to come.

You place your hand in his, feeling the heat of his palm against you, and you can't help but tease him as you ask, "What are you planning?"

He doesn't answer right away; he just smiles that roguish, boyish grin of his that makes your heart flutter. But there is something different in his eyes now—a determination that sends a thrill of excitement racing through you.

Lando tightens his grip on your hand, his fingers wrapping around you with a firmness that is both reassuring and possessive.

With a quiet resolve, Lando leads you toward the ocean, your steps synchronized as if you were moving to the rhythm of the waves. The sand is warm beneath your feet, but you can feel the coolness of the water lapping at your ankles as you walk in.

The sun hangs low in the sky, the water shimmers with the last light of the day.

You walk deeper into the sea, the water rising up to your knees, then your thighs, until it reaches your navels. The coolness of the water is a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your bodies, the sensation sending a shiver through you as you move closer to Lando.

He turns to face you, pulling you into his arms with a gentle yet firm hug. The motion is so effortless, so natural, that you find yourself pressed against him in an instant, your body molding to his.

The water buoyed you slightly, making every touch feel lighter, more ethereal, as if you were floating together in a world of your own.

His hands settle on your hips, holding you steady against the gentle sway of the ocean. You reach up, placing both of your hands on his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your palms.

The contrast between his heated body and the cool water is intoxicating; the sensation heightens your awareness of every point of contact between you.

Lando's breath hitches slightly as your hands roam over his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles, the rise and fall of his breath. You look up at him, your eyes searching for his confirmation, for some indication that you are both on the same page.

There is no hesitation in his gaze, only a teasing, playful glint that makes your heart skip another beat.

"Do you want to do it?" You ask, your voice barely more than a whisper, the words hanging between you like a challenge.

Lando's response is immediate, his lips curving into a sly, knowing smile as he nods. There is a teasing quality to his nod, as if he is saying, Of course I do, but also, You have to ask?

His hands slide up from your hips to your waist, pulling you even closer until there is no space between you. The feel of his body pressed against you, his skin hot against the coolness of the water, sends a wave of desire crashing over you.

You feel his arousal, hard and insistent yet again, against your lower belly, and the knowledge that he wants you just as much as you want him is enough to make your knees weak.

"Then what are you waiting for?" You whisper, your voice trembling.

Lando's eyes flash with something wild as he leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmurs, "I've been waiting all day."

The words send a thrill through you; the low, husky timbre of his voice makes your pulse quicken. He isn't teasing anymore; this is real, raw desire, and it is driving you both to the edge.

Without another word, Lando's hands move lower, cupping your backside and lifting you slightly in the water. The movement is smooth, so natural, that it takes you a moment to realize what is happening.

Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, holding on as he shifts his stance, his body aligning perfectly with yours.

The ocean laps gently around you, the refreshing water contrasting sharply with the heat of your bodies as you move together. The water makes everything feel lighter, more fluid, combined with the solid heat of Lando's body against you.

You feel his arousal pressing against you, hard and demanding, and the sensation sends a wave of longing through you. Every nerve in your body is on fire, the anticipation builds with every passing second. You feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter, ready to snap at any moment.

Lando's breath is hot against your neck as he holds you close, his hands steadying you as you move together in the water. There is an urgency to his touch now, a need that matches your own, and you know that neither of you can wait much longer.

His hands roam over your body, his touch exploring every curve and dip of your skin as if he is memorizing you all over again. His fingers trace the lines of your back, the curve of your waist before dipping lower still, skimming over the wet fabric of your swimsuit. The sensation is exhilarating, each touch sending a jolt of pleasure through you as you lean into him, trusting him completely.

As Lando's hands become more intimate, you tilt your head back, your eyes closing as you surrender to the sensations coursing through you.

He is taking his time; his touch both tender and teasing, and it drives you wild.

Your breath hitches as his fingers find more sensitive areas; the pressure firm but gentle, exactly what you need. But you are not content to simply let him take the lead.

Your hands move over his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. His skin is slick with seawater, and as you trace the hard lines of his muscles, you feel the tension in his body—the way his desire matches your own.

Your hand trails lower, down the planes of his stomach, until you reach the waistband of his swim shorts. You feel his arousal against your palm, and the sound that escapes his lips—a soft whimper—sends a thrill through you.

It is a sound you know well, one that he makes only in moments like this, when the pleasure is almost too much to bear.

Hearing Lando, usually so composed and confident, make such a vulnerable sound, sends a rush of heat through you. You smile, a surge of satisfaction coursing through you as you realize how much you are affecting him. You squeeze gently, eliciting another quiet whimper from him, and the sound makes your heart race even faster.

Lando's head dips forward, his lips brushing against the curve of your neck as he lets out a shaky breath. You feel his need in the way he touches you, the way his hands tighten on your hips as if he is trying to steady himself—a heady feeling, knowing that you have this power over him, that you can make him unravel with just a touch.

Together, you move in perfect sync, your hands exploring, teasing, giving as much as you receive.

The waves roll around you, gentle and warm, adding to the rhythm you found together. It is a slow, sensual dance, the water buoying you, making every moment feel effortless, almost dreamlike.

Lando's touch grows more confident, his fingers finding the places that make you gasp, your body responding to him with an intensity that leaves you breathless. Every caress, every brush of his skin against you, only heighten the pleasure.

His mouth finds yours again; your kiss deep and urgent, and you can taste the salt of the sea on his lips.

Together, you pull his swim shorts down a few inches, and he removes your panties just as much as he needs.

When he moves inside you, it is as though the entire world stops, and all that exists is the connection between you.

You move together as one, smooth and deliberate movements, the rhythm of the waves guiding you. There is a natural ease to it, as if you are meant to be this way, entwined and inseparable.

Lando's hands grip your hips firmly, holding you steady against him as you hold on to him. His breath is hot against your neck, and every time he thrusts, it sends jolts of pure pleasure through you that weaken your knees. The sensation is overwhelming—a perfect blend of desire and connection that leaves you trembling in his arms.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, your bodies pressed so tightly together that it feels as if you are one.

The feel of his muscles beneath your fingers, the way they tense and relax with every movement, only heightens the pleasure coursing through you.

Lando is focused, his gaze intense, his determination palpable as he maintains your rhythm, driving you both closer to the edge.

But then, a heavier wave surges toward you, crashing against your bodies with a force that momentarily throws you off balance. You flinch at the unexpected impact, your body instinctively reacting as your nails dig into Lando's back, leaving faint, red lines in their wake.

Lando grunts at the sharpness of your touch, a sound that is both primal and restrained, his breath hitching slightly as the pain mingles with the pleasure.

But he doesn't lose his composure—not for a single second. Instead, he tightens his grip on you, steadying you both as the wave subsides.

There is a fierce determination in the way he holds you, an unspoken promise that he isn't going to let anything—especially not a mere wave—disrupt the connection you have.

His resolve only makes the moment more intense. Even as you cling to him, feeling the strength and steadiness of his body beneath your hands, you sense the depth of his focus.

Lando isn't just in control of himself; he is in control of everything—the waves, the moment, the desire that burns between you.

And it is intoxicating.

He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered your name, the sound a low, breathy moan.

You feel the effort in every thrust, the way he drives you forward with a singular purpose, determined to reach the peak together.

You reach out, your hand intsinctively drawn to Lando's chest. Your fingers meet the warmth of his skin, slick with seawater, and you feel his heart pounding beneath your palm. Each rapid breath he takes makes his chest rise and fall quickly, a clear sign of the intensity of the moment.

As your hand traces the contours of his chest, you feel the way his muscles tense and tremble under your touch. The usualy steady, confident Lando is now showing a side of himself that is raw and vulnerable.

There is something incredibly intimate about the way he responds to you, how his body betrays just how much this moment affects him.

His breathing quickens as your fingers continue to explore, moving across the hard planes of his chest. The subtle tremors in his muscles tell you that he is holding back, trying to maintain control even as the intensity of all of what is happening is threatening to overwhelm him.

You look up at him, your eyes meeting his, and see the conflict of emotions there; the desire, the need, and the effort to stay composed. It's a side of Lando you rarely see and it makes you want to be closer to him, to hold him, to let him know that he doesn't need to hide anything from you.

His body leans into yours, as if seeking the reassurance of your touch.

Then, almost imperceptibly at first, a low, breathy sound escapes his lips; a soft moan that sends shivers down your spine. A sound of pure, unfiltered desire, a reaction he can't suppress despite his usual control.

The waves continue to roll around you, but they are nothing compared to the sensations building within you. Every movement, every touch, every breath brings you closer, the pleasure intensifying with each passing second.

Your body moves in perfect harmony with his, responding to every subtle shift, every whispered encouragement until there is nothing left but the sheer intensity of the moment.

And when the final wave of pleasure crashes over you, it is overwhelming—the perfect culmination of all the tension, desire, and connection that was built between you throughout the day.

Lando holds you close, his arms wrapping around you as you both tremble in the aftermath, your breaths mingling as you cling to each other in the gentle sway of the ocean.

As the waves lap gently around you, you stay there, wrapped in each other's arms, the world slowly coming back into focus.

The sun dips lower in the sky, the water shimmering gold, but all you can see is Lando, his eyes soft and filled with the kind of warmth that makes your heart swell.

He brushes a strand of wet hair away from your face, his touch tender and loving, a contrast to the intensity of what you just shared.

And as he looks at you with that boyish smile, you know that this moment is something you will carry with you forever.

The sun dips even lower on the horizon, painting the sky in hues of gold, pink, and deepening purple. Lando and you make your way back to the beach, hand in hand. The waves, now calmer and gentler, whispering against the shore, and the warmth of the day lingering in the air, wrapping around you like a soft blanket.

With every step, you feel the connection between you—the shared intimacy.

You are silent, but it is a comfortable silence, filled with the weight of everything you don't need to say.

Lando's hand is warm in yours, his grip gentle but firm, as if he never wants to let go, and you feel the same.

As you reach your spot on the beach, the towels still laid out where you left them, you can't help but notice the faint, red scratches on Lando's back—the marks you made in the heat of the moment. Your heart gives a little pang of guilt, knowing that you hurt him, even if it was unintentional.

"I'm sorry about those," you say softly, your voice tinged with concern as you gesture to the scratches. The last thing you want is to have caused him any pain.

Lando just turns to you, his eyes sparkling with amusement, and lets out a light, carefree giggle that makes your worry evaporate in an instant.

"Are you kidding?" he teases, flashing that boyish grin again. "It was worth it."

His words, spoken with such ease and sincerity, make you smile in return. There is no regret in his eyes, only a mischievous glint that tells you he wouldn't change a thing. It is just like him to find humor in something so small, to brush it off with a laugh and a cheeky comment.

You settle back onto your towels, the sun now a mere sliver on the horizon, casting long shadows across the sand.

Lando lies down on his stomach; his body relaxes, the tension from earlier completely melted away. You take place beside him, sitting down with one leg folded under you, the other stretched out along the soft sand.

You reach out, your fingers tracing the lines of his back, following the path of the scratches with a gentle, soothing touch. The scratches aren't deep, just light marks that will fade soon enough, but you want to show him how much you care, how sorry you are for causing him even a moment's discomfort.

Lando hums in contentment, a deep, rumbling sound that reverberates in his chest. His body shifts slightly under your touch, the muscles in his back rippling with each pass of your hand—a simple, quiet moment, but it feels profound.

As you continue to stroke his back, you feel the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips, the steady rise and fall of his breath. It is a comforting rhythm, one that lulls you into a sense of calm and peace.

Lando's contentment is infectious, and you find yourself relaxing even more, your worries slipping away with each gentle caress.

After a while, Lando shifts onto his side, turning to face you with a soft smile. His eyes are filled with affection, and he reaches out, inviting you to come closer with a gentle tug on your arm.

You don't hesitate, moving into his embrace, your body fitting perfectly against his as you settle beside him.

You cuddle together on the towel, the warmth of his body enveloping you as you rest your head against his chest. The steady thrum of his heartbeat is like a soothing lullaby, and you close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the comfort of his presence.

Lando's arm drapes around you, holding you close, while his other hand continues to stroke your arm and back in a slow, rhytmic motion. The sensation is blissful; the soft touch of his fingers against your skin sends little shivers down your spine.

As you nestle closer into Lando's embrace, the first thing that strikes you is his scent—a warm, intoxicating mix of the ocean, sun, and something unquiely him. A perfect blend of freshness from the sea breeze mingled with the faint, lingering notes of his cologne.

There is something comforting about it—a scent that speaks of warmth, safety, and home. You breathe him in deeply, feeling a sense of peace wash over you as you lie against his chest.

His skin, still slightly salty from the ocean, carries the faintest hint of sunscreen, adding to the mix. But beneath all that is the unmistakable scent that is just Lando—a subtle, masculine fragrance that is warm and inviting, grounding you again in the moment.

Every time you take a breath, you feel closer to him, as if his scent is weaving itself into your very being. It is a scent that you know you would recognize anywhere, one that you would miss deeply whenever you were apart.

You sigh contentedly, snuggling deeper into his warmth, letting his scent and gentle touches envelop you fully.

Lando's fingers never stop moving, tracing patterns on your skin; his touch light and tender. Every so often, he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, his breath warm against your hair.

Then, in the quiet of the moment, Lando's voice breaks through the stillness, soft and filled with emotion.

"I love you," he whispers.

You tilt your head up to look at him, your eyes meeting his. His gaze is intense, so raw and deep that it takes your breath away. There is no teasing smirk, no hint of the playful boyishness he often wears. This is Lando, stripped bare of any pretense, speaking from the very depths of his heart.

"And thank you..." he continues, "for taking care of me." His voice barely above a whisper, but the words resonate with a gravity that makes them feel like a vow. "More than anything. I need you."

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you take in the weight of his words. It isn't just about the passion or the connection you share; it is about something more profound, something that goes beyond just love.

You reach up to gently cup his face, your thumb brushing along his cheek as you try to convey everything you feel in that moment without words.

"I love you too, Lando," you whisper back, your voice thick with emotion. "And I will always care for you and need you just as much."

A soft, almost relieved smile spreads across his lips, and he leans down to press a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering as if he wants to hold on to this moment forever.

When he pulls back, his eyes are shining with the same emotion you feel—love, need, and an unbreakable bond that ties you together.

#lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris smut #lando norris fic #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 smut #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 smut

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goldfades · 6 months ago

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honeymoon! | JOE BURROW⁹ [006]

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine it's crucial that we stand in solidarity with those who need our support. right now, the people of palestine are facing unimaginable hardship, and it's up to all of us to do what we can to help. whether it's raising awareness, donating to relief organizations, or supporting calls for justice and peace, every action counts. we can amplify their voices, shed light on their struggles, and work towards a future where every individual can live with dignity and freedom. your support can make a difference! FREE PALESTINE!

MASTERLIST

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 4.1k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | based on a request -> maybe a smutty blurb for the joe series from their honeymoon 😍 night the baby was conceived

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | plot w/ NSFW under the cut, mdni! pretty soft, honeymoon fucking, we all know how it goes. unprotected sex! (oops... that's how our little accident baby was made, ig) p in v, a whole lotta praise, maybe a little too much foreplay, dry humping? SO MUCH EFFING KISSING IT'S ACTUALLY INSANE,

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 began with sunlight slipping through the white linen curtains of their beachfront villa, casting warm, golden streaks across the bed. The sound of gentle waves crashing against the shore replaced the usual hum of alarm clocks and city noise. It was peaceful, a slow and languid awakening to the soft melody of Barbados.

You stirred first, the warm breeze from the open balcony brushing against your skin. The air smelled like salt and hibiscus, mingled with the faintest trace of sunscreen from the night before. Stretching out, your arm brushed against Joe’s chest, the steady rhythm of his breathing letting you know he was still fast asleep.

For a moment, you just watched him. His lashes rested on his cheeks, his hair an unruly mess from a restless sleep on the crisp sheets. His sun-kissed skin glowed faintly in the morning light, a preview of what the week ahead would bring. He looked peaceful, his usual intensity softened in this quiet morning moment.

Eventually, the tantalizing aroma of breakfast—sweet coconut, warm banana bread, and freshly brewed coffee—wafted into the room, urging you to move. You leaned over, pressing a kiss to Joe’s shoulder.

“Joe,” you whispered softly, your voice barely above the ocean breeze.

He groaned in response, his eyes still closed. “Five more minutes,” he muttered, pulling the sheet higher over his shoulder.

You laughed, tugging at the blanket. “If you don’t get up, I’m starting this honeymoon without you.”

His eyes cracked open at that, one brow arching lazily. “You wouldn’t dare.”

With a playful roll of your eyes, you slipped out of bed, grabbing the silky robe from the back of the door and tying it loosely around your waist. The cool tile floor under your bare feet was a sharp contrast to the warmth of the Caribbean morning. Joe watched you from the bed, his lips twitching into a soft smile as you peeked out onto the balcony.

The view stole your breath. A turquoise sea stretched endlessly toward the horizon, dotted with white sailboats that glided lazily across the water. The beach was a postcard come to life: soft, white sand scattered with seashells and bordered by swaying palm trees.

“Okay, now I’m up,” Joe announced, his voice gravelly from sleep as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

Breakfast was served on the villa’s private terrace, a table set for two with fresh tropical fruits, flaky pastries, and omelets stuffed with local spices. Joe poured you a glass of orange juice, and you returned the favor by slicing up pieces of mango to share.

The morning passed in the kind of leisurely bliss you could only find on an island vacation. After breakfast, you walked down to the beach, your fingers intertwined as the sun climbed higher into the sky. The sand was warm beneath your feet, and the occasional cool splash of the ocean sent shivers up your spine.

Joe insisted on carrying you over a shallow tidepool when you hesitated, laughing at your squeal as the water splashed higher than you expected. “Can’t have you chickening out now,” he teased, setting you down just as the next wave brushed against your calves.

By midday, you found yourselves sprawled out on two lounge chairs under a palm tree. Joe had traded his usual serious demeanor for something more relaxed, leaning back with a contented sigh as you read aloud from a cheesy romance novel you’d brought along. His teasing interruptions—“People actually say that?!”—had you both laughing until your cheeks hurt.

As the day unfolded, everything seemed perfect in its simplicity. The quiet moments between you, the way Joe’s hand lingered on your back when you walked past, or the way he absentmindedly kissed your forehead when you handed him a drink—it was all the kind of effortless love you’d dreamed of.

┈┈┈

The soft hum of the ceiling fan swirled with the salt-tinged breeze that swept through the villa, carrying with it the promise of a balmy Barbados night. Outside, the waves lapped lazily against the shore, their rhythmic song mingling with the distant chirping of tree frogs. The day had melted into evening seamlessly, the sky now painted in inky blues and dotted with stars.

You stood on the balcony, wrapped in one of Joe’s oversized button-ups, the hem brushing mid-thigh as you leaned against the railing. The ocean stretched endlessly before you, a dark expanse glimmering under the moonlight. Behind you, Joe emerged from the shower, his steps quiet on the cool tiles.

“You always steal my shirts,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

Without turning, you smirked. “That’s what you’re focusing on?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, his arms slipped around your waist from behind, his damp skin cool against your back as he pulled you close. His hands splayed over your stomach, his thumbs brushing small, deliberate circles against the fabric.

“You looked good out there today,” he murmured, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.

Your breath hitched at the soft intimacy of it. “You mean when I almost face-planted in the tidepool?”

Joe chuckled, the sound reverberating through his chest. “Even then. You make clumsiness look cute.”

You tilted your head to glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

His grin was boyish, disarming. “Depends. Did it work?”

You rolled your eyes but leaned into him anyway, your body softening under his touch. His hands didn’t stop their exploration, sliding along your sides, his fingers brushing the edges of bare skin where the shirt didn’t quite meet your thighs.

“Joey,” you started, your voice dipping slightly as you tried to maintain composure.

“Hmm?” His lips found your neck, his movements slow and deliberate.

“You’re being distracting.”

“That’s kind of the point.” His words were muffled against your skin, but the grin in his voice was unmistakable.

He turned you around, his hands settling on your hips as he pressed you gently against the railing. His gaze was heavy-lidded, the playful glint in his blue eyes softened by something deeper, something intimate. He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours.

“You’re beautiful,” he said simply, the teasing gone now. His thumb brushed your cheek as if committing the moment to memory.

The vulnerability in his voice made your breath catch. You reached up, cupping his jaw, your thumb tracing the curve of his cheekbone. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

He laughed softly, the sound warm and familiar. “You’re terrible at taking compliments.”

“Maybe you’re just too good at giving them.”

Joe’s hands tightened on your hips, tugging you closer. “You’re lucky I like you.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips twitching into a smirk. “Oh? Just ‘like’ me?”

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, his lips met yours, slow and unhurried, as though you had all the time in the world. His kiss was soft, yet his hands were firm, grounding you as they slipped under the hem of the shirt, warm against your skin.

When you finally broke apart, breathless, he rested his chin on the top of your head, holding you close. “For the record,” he murmured, “I more than like you.”

You tilted your head back to look at him, a teasing glint in your eyes. “I would hope so. You did marry me.”

His laughter rumbled through his chest as he leaned down to kiss you again. This time, the kiss was different—more hurried, more insistent. Before you could catch your breath or process the shift in his mood, Joe’s arms slid under your thighs, lifting you with ease. A startled laugh escaped your lips, quickly muffled as he kissed you again, walking the two of you back into the villa without breaking contact.

“Joe!” you managed between kisses, your fingers instinctively tangling in the damp strands of his hair. “You’re going to trip.”

He smirked against your lips, his confidence unwavering. “I’m a quarterback. I don’t trip.”

You wanted to argue, but the warmth of his lips and the steady strength of his hold on you left little room for coherent thought. His stride was purposeful, his hands secure on your thighs as he carried you through the open patio doors and into the softly lit living room. The sea breeze followed, carrying the scent of salt and hibiscus, but the cool air was no match for the heat radiating between the two of you.

By the time he reached the bedroom, you were breathless, your heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with the journey. He set you down carefully on the edge of the bed, his hands lingering on your waist, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for something.

“What?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joe shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Nothing. Just... you.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile you tried to suppress gave you away. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got.” His voice was lower now, a teasing edge to it as he leaned in, his hands framing your face. “You gonna keep arguing, or can I kiss you again?”

Your response was immediate, pulling him down to meet you halfway. This kiss was no longer hurried but deliberate, the weight of the moment sinking in as his hands moved with purpose, sliding under the fabric of the shirt you wore.

The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast long shadows across the room, and the sound of the waves outside became a distant murmur. For a while, the world shrank to just the two of you—Joe’s hands, his lips, his warmth surrounding you entirely.

The teasing was still there in the way he nipped at your bottom lip or murmured something smug when you let out a quiet gasp. But beneath it all was something deeper, something unspoken yet understood between you both.

When you finally broke apart, his forehead pressed to yours, both of you catching your breath, he grinned that boyish grin that always disarmed you. “So,” he said, his voice thick with amusement and affection, “still think I’m going to trip?”

You laughed softly, your fingers tracing idle patterns along the back of his neck. “No. But I might.”

Joe chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple before easing you back against the pillows, the teasing glint in his eyes softening into something more tender. “Don’t worry,” he whispered, his voice a promise. “I’ll catch you.”

Joe’s lips grazed yours again, soft and deliberate, the teasing smile still lingering at the corner of his mouth. His hands settled at your waist, fingers brushing the hem of the oversized shirt you’d thrown on after your shower. It was technically his, the fabric worn and loose, but he didn’t seem to mind—especially as he slowly started to lift it, his knuckles ghosting over your bare thighs.

“I think this belongs to me,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. His baby blues flicked up to meet yours, daring you to argue.

“Does it?” you challenged softly, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the warmth of his muscled skin under your palms.

Joe grinned, leaning in so his nose brushed against yours. “It does. But I’m willing to share—if you ask nicely.”

The laugh that bubbled out of you was cut short when his lips trailed along your jaw, his hands continuing their slow ascent, sending little shocks of heat through your skin. “You’re ridiculous,” you managed, though your breath hitched when his thumbs brushed the curve of your hips.

“And yet, here you are,” he teased, his voice a quiet rumble against your neck. His lips moved with deliberate slowness, leaving a trail of kisses that had you melting into his touch.

Your hands found their way into his blonde hair, tugging lightly in retaliation, which only made him chuckle. The sound vibrated against your skin, and you felt his grip on your waist tighten slightly.

“Careful,” he warned playfully, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were darker now, filled with a heat that sent a shiver down your spine. “You keep doing that, and I won’t be able to stop.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to keep your voice steady. “Who says I want you to?”

That was all the encouragement Joe needed. His smile turned wicked, and before you could say another word, he was easing you back onto the bed, his hands bracketing your face as he kissed you again—deeper this time, less teasing, more intent.

His weight settled above you, one hand slipping beneath the shirt to trace the curve of your ribs while the other tangled in your hair. The kisses grew slower but no less consuming, each one leaving you breathless and wanting more.

“God, you’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice almost reverent as he pulled back slightly to look at you. His thumb brushed over your cheek, his gaze softening despite the heat between you.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you teased, though the words came out shaky, your heart racing under his touch.

Joe laughed softly, his breath warm against your lips. “Not so bad? I think I can do better than that.”

Joe’s teasing edge melted away, replaced by a deeper intensity. His lips pressed to yours with a hunger that left no room for playful quips or lingering hesitation. His hands moved with purpose, slipping under the thin fabric of the shirt as if it had always been in his way before unbuttoning it slowly, slipping it off of you, his blue eyes never leaving yours. You were only left in your bra and underwear, your whole body felt like it was on fire.

Your breath caught as his hands mapped every inch of bare skin they could find, the roughness of his palms contrasting with the softness of his touch. His fingers splayed against your waist, pulling you closer, like even the smallest gap between you was too much before he pulled you toward his crotch. You felt his bulge against your warmth, the feeling too dizzying, you just had to let out a small whimper, your head falling back into the plush pillow.

“You like that?” he murmured, the word barely audible as he leaned forward, his mouth trailed down your neck, each kiss leaving a warm flush in its wake as he began pushing his bulge against you, rougher this time.

“Joey,” you whimpered, your voice trembling as your fingers skimmed over his shoulders and down his back, feeling the taut muscle beneath.

He hummed in response, his lips finding the hollow of your throat, lingering there for a moment before moving lower. He slowly began moving his hips against your covered pussy, eliciting small noises from you. He was rock-hard, you could feel his excitement through the thin material of his gray sweats.

For a moment, he stilled, his eyes roving over you as if committing every detail to memory. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice low and thick, his words sinking into your skin like a promise.

Heat bloomed in your chest, and before you could respond, his lips found yours again, firmer, deeper, his hand sliding up your side to cup your cheek. The world outside the villa ceased to exist; all that mattered was the way his touch sent a current through you, grounding you and setting you alight all at once.

You tugged at his shirt in response, your fingers fumbling slightly in your urgency. He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your lips, before leaning back just enough to help you. The fabric joined yours on the floor, and then he was back, his skin warm against yours, every inch of contact electric.

His hands skimmed over your thighs, hooking behind your knees to draw you closer. The air felt charged, the only sounds filling the room your uneven breaths and the gentle crash of waves outside. He began rocking his hips against yours, letting out a needy groan of his own.

“Please, Joe,” you moaned, breathless and oh so wet, your hand slipping to his chest to feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

“Please, what?” He challenged, his forehead leaning to rest against yours. His lips were curved, a cocky smiling gracing his features. Yeah, he wasn't giving in so easily—even if he was rock-hard and just as needy as you.

You rolled your eyes, your chest rising and falling as your eyes found his again. His baby blues were dilated and dark, the familiar lustful gaze glazing his eyes. But somehow, there was still that warmth and love you knew he felt for you.

“Just, please fuck me.”

That was all he needed.

His lips found yours again, harder this time, more insistent, as if the words you’d exchanged weren’t enough to convey the depth of his feelings. His hands slid to your hips, pulling you closer with a quiet, desperate kind of urgency that left no space between you, his body practically trembling with restraint.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he whispered against your lips, his voice low, his breath hot.

You tried to reply, but your words were swallowed by the kiss that followed, deeper, more fervent. His hands roamed, fingers splayed wide as they moved over the curves of your back, memorizing every inch. There was no hesitation now, no pretense—just raw affection and the kind of vulnerability that came from letting someone see all of you, heart and soul.

He broke away only briefly, his forehead pressed to yours, his blue eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you,” he admitted, his voice uneven, like the words cost him something.

The weight of his gaze and the sincerity in his voice sent a shiver through you. “I don’t think I’d ever want you to,” you murmured back, your fingers threading through his hair, tugging gently to anchor yourself.

That was all it took for his restraint to falter. His lips were back on yours, hungrier this time, his hands tightening their grip as if he was afraid you might slip away. His desperation wasn’t rushed or clumsy; it was reverent, like he was determined to make every moment count, to leave no part of you untouched by the depth of his adoration.

Finally, his hands began pulling off his sweatpants, his lips never leaving yours. He tugged them off swiftly, throwing them on the floor as he pulled away for a second, gripping your hips and pulling you impossibly closer. Joe's eyes never left yours as he slowly took off his briefs, your breath hitching. As soon as his briefs were off, his large fingers hooked on your panties and slipped them off.

His lips found yours again, moving forward slowly as he led himself toward your folds. You felt his breath hitch before he slowly pushed into you, broken moans leaving your lips. You already felt so full and he wasn't even a quarter inside yet.

You were sopping wet at that point, he could easily slip into you quickly—but he took his time, as if he was trying to memorize the way your cunt squeezed him so perfectly, how perfect you felt around his cock and how he swore your pussy was made for him. Joe was huge, that was never a secret—the whole “Big Dick Joe” hat was never really a joke.

You felt him fill you up slowly but surely, until he completely bottomed you out. Your hands were gripping his broad shoulders as your eyebrows furrowed in concentration, focusing on the feeling of Joe's cock stretching you out.

And you swore, no matter how many times you fuck—the feeling will never, ever get old.

“Oh God, yes,” you practically cried out as you squeezed his shoulders tighter, your nails digging into his warm skin. He groaned at the stinging feeling, the pleasure coursing through his body.

He let you adjust to his size as he began kissing you again, slower this time. The kiss grew more intense, trailing down your jawline and across your neck, each one carrying a weight that left you breathless. His hands remained steady on your hips as he let you adjust to his size, and yet there was an unmistakable tremor in the way his fingers pressed into your skin, like he was holding on for dear life.

Slowly, he began thrusting out of you, before crashing into you rougher. His patience was wavering, you could see it in his expression.

“Harder, Joe,” you moaned breathlessly as you squeezed his shoulder harder, gazing up at him through your lashes.

That was all he needed. Joe began rocking into you, the bed moving along with each of his hard thrusts. His hands gripped your thighs before lifting your legs onto his shoulders, your hands falling back on the bed as he began fucking you even deeper. The new angle made you cry out in utter pleasure, gripping the sheets as he groaned at the feeling of your walls tightening around him.

“Say you’re mine,” he murmured against the hollow of your throat as he leaned in, his voice rough with need, the words barely audible over the sound of the bed creaking beneath the two of you.

“I’m yours,” you answered without hesitation, your voice trembling but sure. The words seemed to undo him further, a shiver running through his frame as his hips began moving at an almost impossible speed, his forehead dropping against your shoulder.

“You don’t know what that does to me,” he whispered breathlessly, his breath hot against your skin. His hands gripped your hips firmly as if to ground himself, but his lips never stopped their journey—brushing along your collarbone, lingering where he could feel the rapid beat of your pulse.

His kisses became softer for a moment, almost trembling with the intensity of what he was trying to say without words. The movements of his hips were a perfect blend of desperation and purpose—like every thrust, every kiss, was a vow, a promise of just how much you meant to him.

But the desperation was still there, simmering just beneath the surface, waiting to bubble over again.

You felt that familiar tightening in your lower stomach, and your walls tightened around his cock. He was close, too—you could feel it in the way his hips rocked against yours, harder and more frantic than the last and the way he let out his groans freely.

Time seemed to dissolve, measured only by the gentle rhythm of the waves outside and the warmth of Joe’s touch. Every movement between you was deliberate, filled with a perfect mix of care and roughness that made the world outside feel irrelevant.

His hands never strayed far, always returning to cradle your face or trace patterns along your thighs as though grounding himself in the moment.

And right as you were about to go over the edge, Joe’s hand slipped to yours, his fingers threading through yours in a gesture so tender it brought an ache to your chest. The knot in your stomach snapped violently, your orgasm hitting you like a truck, rippling through you harshly.

You cried out loudly in pleasure, the sound echoing in the empty villa. A few more frantic thrusts and Joe was spilling into you, his groans heavenly and loud. You both caught your breathes, slow and heavy all at once. The villa was quiet except for the shared sounds of your breathing, the ocean breeze filtered in through the slightly open windows, cool and refreshing against the heat you shared, carrying the faint scent of salt and hibiscus.

After a moment, his lips brushed your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, as if he couldn’t get enough, as if memorizing you was his life’s work.

“You okay?” he murmured again, his voice softer now, almost reverent, his forehead pressed lightly against yours.

“Yes,” you replied, breathless but certain, your hand slipping to his chest to feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. “Perfect, actually.”

The night stretched on in a haze of soft laughter, quiet reassurances, and the feeling of being utterly cherished. By the time you lay tangled together beneath the linen sheets, exhaustion pulled at your limbs, but your heart was light. Joe’s arm was slung protectively around your waist, his breath warm against your shoulder.

“Love you,” he murmured, the words slurred with sleep but no less sincere.

You smiled, your fingers tracing lazy circles on the back of his hand. “I love you, too.”

The moonlight poured through the open window, silver light painting your intertwined forms as the waves provided a lullaby. With Joe’s steady presence beside you, you felt more at peace than ever—like the rest of the world could wait, because here, in this moment, you had everything you could ever need.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

#nfl imagine #nfl players #nfl football #joe burrow bengals #bengals #cincinnati bengals #joeyb #who dey #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow smut #joe burrow #joe burrow x you #joe burrow x oc #joe burrow x y/n

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riddlesrizzler · 7 days ago

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Tackled at the Tailgate

summary: Who knew tailgates could be romantic? characters: frat bro! mattheo. sweetheart! reader. frat boy! slytherin boys warnings: mentions of alcohol word count: 1.7k

By the time the morning light spilled across the lawn of Sigma Nu, the world had already shifted.

Sunlight broke through the clouds in soft golden beams, casting a honeyed glow over the dew-slick grass, which shimmered like it had been kissed by stardust overnight. The entire street pulsed with an undercurrent of excitement-a barely-contained buzz in the air, like the seconds before a storm breaks, only this storm smelled like beer, cheap cologne, fresh-cut grass, and something distinctly electric.

Banners flapped in the breeze, fraying slightly at the edges, their bold letters spray-painted in colors that had long since faded from too many seasons of tailgate glory. Empty cans rattled down sidewalks like windblown tumbleweeds, pushed by the same breeze that carried the bass thrum of music into the sky. The Sigma Nu snake, regal and coiled, stared down from every flagpole and cooler with a smug kind of pride-an unspoken dare to any other frat who thought they could compete.

Mattheo Riddle stood at the edge of it all-silent, composed, watchful. His broad shoulders tensed beneath a charcoal gray hoodie already dusted with grass stains and pollen, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, exposing strong forearms inked with memories and mischief. He sipped slowly from a red Solo cup, watching pledges scurry with folding tables and speaker cords like ants desperate to impress their queen.

He didn’t speak often during tailgate setup, but when he did, his voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

“If that table wobbles,” he called, not even looking up from his drink, “and she spills anything-you're walking home from this tailgate.”

They knew exactly who she was.

And then-like a scene written by fate-she arrived.

Her glitter-dusted Jeep pulled up in a swirl of sunlight and dust, the engine humming like the opening chord of a favorite song. She stepped out like the universe had slowed down to watch. Cooler in one hand, sunglasses perched on the tip of her nose, a cropped Alpha Delta Pi jersey tied at the waist, and white sneakers so clean they glowed. A dainty gold necklace glinted at her collarbone, catching the light with every step she took.

The Sweetheart of Sigma Nu.

The crowd shifted as if pulled by her gravity. A few girls waved, a few boys tripped over themselves trying to offer help, and one pledge abandoned an entire stack of plates just to grab her cooler. She moved through it all like she was born for this moment-composed, radiant, the kind of beautiful that didn’t feel real unless you were lucky enough to see it in motion.

Mattheo’s smirk betrayed him before his words could. He didn’t move to greet her. He didn’t need to. She was already walking toward him.

“Morning, Sweetheart,” a voice called.

“Morning, boys,” she replied, her laugh dancing through the air like wind chimes.

She passed Mattheo with a sideways glance and the ghost of a smirk-one he knew was meant only for him. And when she winked, like a secret shared across a battlefield of red cups and dented coolers, something settled in his chest. Something heavy. Something familiar.

By noon, the party was in full bloom. The Sigma Nu lawn had become a tapestry of noise and motion and color. Cornhole bags flew lazily through the air, music spilled from truck beds and balconies, and someone had tied gold streamers to the backs of barstools just because it looked festive. The air smelled like sunscreen, hot dogs, and something that would become nostalgic in later years.

The porch was a patchwork of peeling paint and sun-faded frat pillows, but she made it look like a throne.

Tucked into the corner of a battered couch, legs folded beneath her like a cat in the sun, she had Mattheo’s Sigma Nu hoodie wrapped loosely around her shoulders-its sleeves pushed up to reveal delicate wrists stacked with beaded bracelets and a faint smear of glitter along her forearm. Her cheeks were flushed with heat and laughter, eyes half-lidded behind oversized sunglasses as she sipped lazily from a half-empty Solo cup.

The chaos of the tailgate buzzed around her-music pulsing from the lawn, someone yelling about a lost frisbee, Blaise singing off-key into a broomstick-but she sat above it all, untouched and glowing. Like she belonged to a slower, sweeter world tucked just out of reach.

Mattheo returned from the grill, balancing a paper plate in one hand, condensation dripping from a cold can of Sprite in the other.

“Figured you’d forget to eat,” he said, holding out the plate.

On it: a cheeseburger-perfectly seared, still steaming, bun slightly smushed at the edges-and a handful of chips with no napkin in sight.

She blinked up at him, lips parted in surprise. “Wait… did you just voluntarily bring me food?”

“I know,” he said, deadpan. “Call the Pope.”

She laughed as she scooted over, patting the seat beside her with the heel of her palm. “Did you make it?”

“Watched it cook. That’s close enough.”

He dropped down beside her, his thigh brushing hers. The couch groaned under his weight, the springs protesting like they knew exactly what kind of tension they were holding.

She peeled back the foil all the way, the smell hitting her immediately-grilled onions, melty cheese, that warm toasted-bread comfort. Her stomach growled audibly.

Mattheo smirked. “Told you.”

“Fine,” she said, breaking the burger in half and handing him a piece. “You can stay.”

“Lucky me.”

They ate in companionable silence for a moment, the kind that only came with familiarity-the kind built on midnight study sessions, long walks back from parties, and whispered confessions on rooftops no one else knew how to find.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, laughing when Mattheo offered the corner of his sleeve.

“Gross,” she said, but used it anyway.

“I’m a man of many talents,” he murmured.

“Apparently. Grill master. Sleeve provider. Sweetheart handler.”

His expression softened, gaze dipping to her lips before he quickly looked away. “I don’t handle you. That would be impossible.”

She smiled down at the burger like it was suddenly the most interesting thing on earth. “You’d be surprised.”

A gust of wind tugged at the streamers tied to the porch rail. She shivered, more from the weight of the moment than the breeze, and instinctively curled closer to him. The hoodie smelled like him-cologne and soap and bonfire smoke, earthy and warm and unmistakably him.

He leaned back, arm stretched lazily across the back of the couch, fingers barely grazing her shoulder.

“You always show up like that,” he said suddenly.

“Like what?”

“Like a goddamn movie scene. That Jeep rolling up. That laugh. The sunglasses. The glitter.” He turned his head slightly, eyes finding hers. “You wreck the whole party in three seconds flat.”

She didn’t answer right away. She couldn’t.

Instead, she looked down at her half-eaten burger, heart thudding against her ribs like it wanted out.

“I never know what to say when you talk like that,” she whispered.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he replied, just as soft. “You’re already the best part of my day.”

The game played on somewhere in the background, Theo screaming at the radio, Blaise doing a keg stand for no reason other than the crowd had started to chant his name. Enzo ran laps around the lawn with a Sigma Nu flag billowing behind him like he was leading a charge into war.

But on the porch, time folded in.

And for a moment, it was just them. Sharing a burger on a broken couch, wrapped in sun and shadows and something that felt dangerously close to forever.

But Mattheo stayed seated, eyes on her.

Until the football came flying.

It landed with a soft thud beside her sneakers, rolling to a stop like it knew it had found the most important person on the lawn.

“Oh no,” she said, holding her drink like it was fine china. “Absolutely not.”

“You’re playing,” Theo shouted. “House rule!”

“I bruise like a peach,” she argued, already laughing.

“Two-hand touch!” Blaise yelled back. “We’re not monsters!”

“Let me guess,” she said, standing. “If I’m playing, Mattheo is too?”

Mattheo arched a brow and drained the rest of his drink. “Obviously.”

The teams formed quickly, lines drawn in the grass with crushed cup borders and sun-faded frat shirts.

Mattheo stood behind her as quarterback, fingers brushing her waist to guide her forward.

“Run left,” he whispered near her ear, his breath warm against her skin. “I’ll find you.”

She shivered. Not from cold.

The game was glorious chaos-wild laughter, tangled limbs, and the kind of fake competitiveness that comes from people who know each other too well. She juked left, then right, her laughter ringing out every time someone missed a tag. Her cheeks flushed with sunlight and adrenaline, her eyes bright and wild.

Then she ran straight into Mattheo’s arms.

He caught her easily, one hand around her waist, the other bracing her fall. They tumbled into the grass like a moment suspended in amber-time slowing as they landed in a mess of limbs and breathlessness.

She was beneath him, wide-eyed, laughing. Grass tangled in her hair. The sun turning her into a painting.

“Did I win?” she breathed.

He smirked, leaning over her, weight balanced on his elbows. “You always do.”

She stared up at him, and for one long moment, the party faded-voices distant, the world blurry around the edges.

He brushed a blade of grass from her cheek.

“Do you ever think,” he murmured, “we’re just… meant to end up in moments like this?”

Her breath caught. “You mean sweaty, grass-stained, and slightly concussed?”

He laughed, soft and full. “Something like that.”

The cheers called them back-Theo yelling about penalties, someone screaming about a pizza delivery.

Mattheo stood and offered her his hand.

She took it.

Their fingers threaded together, instinctive now.

As he pulled her to her feet, their laughter trailing behind them like confetti in the wind, neither of them noticed the way the sun dipped lower, casting everything in a golden haze.

It had started as just another tailgate.

But the way he looked at her-like she was a secret only he knew, like she was already his and just didn’t realize it yet-told a different story.

One that wasn’t finished.

One that was only just beginning.

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deansbeer · 14 days ago

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presenting ╱ saltwater kisses & sun-drenched mornings.

featuring ദ dean winchester ⨯ beachbum!reader.

caution! none. domestic fluff. kissing. beach setting.

notepad! again this has not been proofread !! i missed writing for dean and my mermaid girl :') so be on the lookout for more possible fics about these two <3 okay ily bye ! 💗

you wake up to the sound of waves crashing outside your window and the low, steady hum of dean's breathing beside you. sunlight is already pouring into the room through the sheer white curtains you hung up the day he moved in, casting soft golden stripes across the bed and over his bare back. he's sprawled out like a starfish, his arm draped lazily around your waist, his face half-buried in the pillow.

you can feel the slight scratch of his stubble against your shoulder where his head rests, and you smile, sinking a little deeper into the mattress for just a few more seconds.

but the beach is calling.

not in a dramatic, poetic way—well, maybe a little poetic—but in that way it always does: the breeze wafting in through the open window smells like salt and sunscreen, and somewhere not far off, a seagull squawks loudly enough to make dean groan and shift.

you giggle quietly as he pulls you in closer, his arm tightening as he presses a lazy kiss to the back of your shoulder.

"five more minutes," he mumbles, voice gravelly from sleep.

"you say that every morning, babe," you whisper, reaching back to run your fingers through his messy hair. it's sticking up at the crown, flattened at the sides. you love it. he grunts in response, clearly not ready to let go of you just yet. and honestly? you’re not in a rush either.

but the sun is high already, and you promised yourself you'd go seashell hunting this morning before the tide rolls in too far. so, eventually, with a little coaxing and a lot of kisses, you manage to untangle yourself from dean's limbs and slip out of bed, padding barefoot across the wooden floors of your little beachside apartment.

your anklet jingles faintly as you move, the one dean bought for you at a tiny surf shop a few blocks down. it's gold and delicate and has a little seashell charm that clicks softly with every step.

you throw on your favorite bikini—white with baby blue trim—and a pair of loose, unbuttoned beach shorts. your sun-kissed skin is still warm from yesterday's beach day, and your hair, lightened by the sun and salt, tumbles down your back in soft waves. you swipe on a little of your favorite lip gloss, the one that tastes like coconut and sparkles just enough to catch the light, and slip on your sunglasses.

dean's still in bed when you return to the bedroom, though he’s rolled onto his back now, eyes half-open, watching you. there's a sleepy smile on his face, and it makes your heart do that little fluttery thing it always does when he looks at you like that.

"you're not seriously going out without saying good morning properly, are you?" he asks, voice still thick with sleep, one hand reaching out lazily toward you.

you laugh, walking over and leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips. he tastes like sleep and something sweet—probably the chocolate-covered strawberries he snuck into bed last night. "morning, handsome," you murmur against his mouth.

"better," he whispers, tugging you closer by the waistband of your shorts. "now go find your seashells, mermaid girl."

you grin, and grab your beach tote before heading out the door.

the sand is warm under your feet as you make your way down to the shoreline, the tide just starting to creep in. the beach is mostly empty this early, just a few locals walking their dogs or out for a morning run. you wander along the water's edge, toes sinking into the wet sand, eyes scanning for any little treasures the ocean might've left behind.

you find a few good ones—a pink-and-white spiral shell, a piece of sea glass smoothed by time, a tiny sand dollar that you cradle carefully in your palm.

after a while, you sit down near a patch of dune grass, letting the waves roll close enough to lick at your feet. you close your eyes, tipping your face toward the sun, breathing in deep.

this is your favorite kind of silence—the kind that hums with life. seagulls overhead, waves crashing, the occasional bark of a dog in the distance. it's peaceful. grounding. and you feel so at home, right here.

you don't realize how long you’ve been sitting there until you feel a familiar presence behind you. a shadow falls across your body, and you open your eyes to find dean standing there, shirtless, wearing his old worn-out jean shorts. his hair is still messy, and he's squinting against the sun, but there's that same soft look in his eyes.

"figured you'd still be out here," he says, dropping down beside you.

"i found a sand dollar," you say, showing him your little collection.

he takes it from your hand gently, inspecting it like it's something rare and precious. "you and your shells," he murmurs, then leans over to kiss your temple. "they're beautiful, though. like you.”

you laugh, nudging him playfully. “smooth.”

"i try," he says, smirking.

you spend the rest of the morning on the beach together. you drag him into the water, even though he complains it's cold, and you splash him until he's laughing and chasing you through the waves. you float together for a while, arms wrapped around his neck, your legs hooked around his waist beneath the water, just swaying with the current.

you talk about nothing and everything—memories from childhood, what you’d name your hypothetical beach bar, how bobby would roll his eyes if he saw dean wearing flip flops. you laugh until your stomach hurts, until dean is kissing you breathless with water dripping down your faces and your lip gloss smeared.

by the time you head back home, the sun is high, and you’re both covered in salt, sand, and water. you rinse off together in the outdoor shower beside the apartment, dean's hands always finding your waist, your back, the curve of your hips, no matter how many times you playfully swat him away.

inside, he makes lunch while you lounge on the couch in one of his flannels, your damp hair wrapped in a towel. he grills fish tacos, claiming he learned the recipe from some surfer guy he met last week while grocery shopping, and you sit at the kitchen island watching him, your chin propped in your hand, heart full to the brim.

he serves the tacos with lime wedges and cold beers, and you eat barefoot on the balcony, legs tangled under the table, the ocean stretching out in front of you like a painting.

the afternoon is lazy. you nap together, curled up on the couch with the windows open, the breeze drifting in and the sound of the waves lulling you to sleep. when you wake up, the sun is lower in the sky, casting everything in that golden hour glow that makes your skin look like it’s been lit from within.

you grab the camera from his duffle—yes, his camera, the expensive one he bought to photograph the world but ended up using mostly for you—and snap a few pictures of the view, of him, of yourself in the mirror with the sun behind you. you'll sneak it back later. you always do.

by the time dinner rolls around, you've changed into one of your favorite dresses, a soft, pastel pink one that flows when you walk. dean whistles when he sees you, tugging you close by the waist and planting a kiss on your cheek. "you clean up nice, baby girl."

"you’re not so bad yourself, winchester."

you go to your favorite little seaside diner, the one with the string lights and the mismatched chairs. you sit outside, order too much food, and feed each other bites of dessert. dean insists on paying, as always, and you roll your eyes with a smile, letting him slip his card to the waitress before you can argue.

when you get home, the sky is dark, and the stars are out. you sit on the balcony wrapped in a blanket together, your head on his shoulder, his arm around you, and you listen to the waves again. it never gets old. he presses a kiss to your hair and whispers, "i could get used to this."

you smile softly, eyes drifting shut.

"you already have."

✸ stamped. @titsout4jackles @daylighted @soldiersgirl @bluemerakis @honeyryewhiskey @jensenacklesballsack @h8aaz @bluestrd @blue-d @stereotypicalbarbie @funkycoloured @fuckedupfate @deanswidow @beausling @bejeweledinterludes @ultravi0lence14 @blossomingorchids @tinas111 @0ccvltism @bruisedfig @deanswifeyy @dollyfiles @cupidzbunny @tallandcunt @kamisobsessed @pieandflannel @faiszt @acaibcwl @coquitokisses @americanvenom13 @rubyvhs @starzify @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @mahi-wayy @maddie0101 @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @honeyyxxbee @suckitands33 ╱ a kissie & a warm hug .ᐟ

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utu-sun · 4 months ago

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Top Sunscreens Every Marathon Runner Needs for Ultimate Protection

Discover the ultimate guide to sun protection for marathon runners with our blog, "Top Sunscreens Every Marathon Runner Needs for Ultimate Protection." Learn about the best sunscreens designed to withstand sweat, long hours, and intense UV exposure. Stay protected while pushing your limits.

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amirawrah · 27 days ago

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⭐︎ coachella heat

with JUDE BELLINGHAM ⭐︎ THIS WAS A REQUEST BY AN ANON, HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!

The sun filtered through the hotel suite in soft gold streaks, casting warm light across the white sheets as you blinked awake. Coachella morning had finally arrived. The playlist was already buzzing low from your speaker—Frank Ocean humming softly in the background—while Jude, shirtless and fresh from the shower, stood at the sink carefully brushing his teeth.

You sat up, braids a little messy, cheeks warm, watching him like you hadn't seen him a hundred times before. Jude caught your eyes in the mirror and smirked, foam still in his mouth.

“Don’t stare,” he mumbled around the toothbrush, “you’re gonna make me nervous.”

You snorted. “You? Nervous? You’re Jude Bellingham.”

He rinsed and wiped his face, then walked over to press a kiss to your forehead, damp curls brushing your skin. “Still get nervous when you look at me like that,” he said, voice low, sweet.

You hummed, leaning into him. “Help me pick my outfit?”

He gave you a mock-serious nod. “Only if you help me with my jewelry. You know I can’t layer necklaces like you do.”

Thirty minutes later, the room was an explosion of fringe, glitter, sunglasses, and soft laughter. You stood in front of the full-length mirror, holding up two options and Jude lounged on the bed behind you, chin propped on his hand, watching like you were the entire festival.

“Left one,” he said, pointing and smirking. “The skirt. Its hot.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re a pervert now?”

He shrugged and laughed. “You bring it out of me.”

You turned back around, slipping into the outfit, feeling his eyes on you the whole time. When you turned back for approval, Jude just whistled low. “Yeah. We’re about to shut Coachella down.”

You laughed, walking over to fix the chain around his neck. “We? I don’t know, Mr. ‘Black Tank and Nike Cortez.’”

“I’m accessorising!” he protested, pointing to his rings and gold chain. “And my sunglasses are Dior, okay?”

“Okay, fashion king.”

He leaned in and kissed you, slow and sweet, then rested his forehead against yours. “Let’s go show the desert what love looks like.”

The shuttle dropped you off right outside the artist entry, security guiding your small group through the crowd as the buzz of Coachella washed over you like heat from the sun. Music thumped in the distance—bass vibrating through the soles of your boots—and the scent of sunscreen, warm air, and sweet food trucks wrapped around everything like a veil.

Jude held your hand tightly, fingers locked, not just protectively but like he couldn’t believe this was real—just the two of you, off-duty, no stadiums, no post-match interviews. Just sunglasses, and love under a desert sky.

“Remind me again why we don’t do this every year?” he said in your ear, lips brushing your temple.

“Because someone’s usually too busy saving Real Madrid's ass,” you teased, swinging his hand.

He chuckled, then perked up when he saw a familiar figure waving from behind a velvet rope. David Alaba, effortlessly cool in a vintage tee and a black durag, stood with his wife Shalimar, who looked like she stepped straight out of a Vogue desert editorial—flowy pastel set, gold bangles, and baby braids.

“Ayyy, finally!” David grinned, pulling Jude into a hug before turning to you. “You’re glowing honestly”

Shalimar hugged you tightly. “I was wondering what took y’all so long. We already saw Camavinga take, like, fifteen mirror selfies.”

And there he was—Eduardo, in bright printed pants and tinted pink shades, adjusting his phone in the reflection of a chrome Airstream trailer. Vini was leaned against it, nodding along to a beat with his arm slung around a girl you’d met a few times, who gave you a sweet wave. Aurélien strolled up with an iced drink in each hand, offering you one.

“Hydration,” he winked. “Mandatory.”

You all found a quiet backstage lounging spot—a shaded area filled with huge cushions, string lights overhead, low tables with fruit trays and drinks. Everyone kicked back, shoes off, laughing, vibing. Jude was tucked into your side, arm lazily around your waist, your head resting on his shoulder as you sipped from his coconut water.

Someone had a Polaroid camera—probably Vini—and soon there were little film shots lying around like confetti. Jude and you posed in one: you on his lap, sunglasses low on your nose, your arm thrown around his shoulders, his cheek pressed to yours with that soft, smirky grin he always saved just for you.

Another photo: Shalimar pulling you into a laughing hug. Then one of Jude trying (and failing) to copy Eduardo’s dance moves, everyone howling in the background.

It wasn’t long before a few fans spotted the group, phones quietly snapping photos. A young girl approached shyly, clutching a mini instant cam.

“Excuse me,” she said nervously, “could I maybe get a picture with you, Jude?”

Jude smiled warmly, standing and crouching next to her. “Of course, sweetheart.”

Then her eyes darted to you, recognition dawning slowly. “Wait… you’re his girlfriend, right? Can I—could I get one with both of you? You’re so pretty. I love your style.”

Your cheeks burned, but Jude beamed, proud. He pulled you in gently. “She is pretty, isn’t she?” he said, low enough that only the three of you could hear. “Prettiest girl here.”

The sun had dipped behind the palm trees hours ago, leaving a streak of lavender and burnt orange in its wake. Neon lights shimmered across the festival grounds as the crowd buzzed in anticipation. Everyone knew what time it was—Travis Scott was about to hit the stage.

Jude’s hand never left yours as you both made your way through the thickening crowd. You were tucked under his arm, his palm spread firm and protective over the small of your back. You could hear girls whispering, phones snapping, but none of it mattered—not when he was this close, not when the bass was already vibrating through your chest and his lips were grazing your ear.

“Good view?” he asked as you reached the sweet spot—far enough not to get crushed, close enough to feel the heat of the lights.

You smiled, pulling your phone out for a quick story. “The best.”

And then the beat dropped. The crowd erupted. Goosebumps blared through the night air, and the world exploded into bass, strobe lights, and the wild kind of freedom that only a music festival at midnight can bring.

Jude moved behind you, pulling you flush against him, arms wrapping around your waist. His locs brushed the side of your face as he leaned in, voice low, half-singing, half-laughing into your ear.

“I get those goosebumps every time…”

You threw your head back, laughing as he sang the line dramatically, rocking the two of you side to side with the rhythm.

“Don’t make me rap it all,” he said, teasing, mouthing the next line in sync with Travis. “I could do the whole thing right now.”

You turned slightly, one hand reaching up to run along his jaw. “I dare you.”

Jude took the challenge way too seriously. For the next song, he rapped every word, hype and smooth, into your ear—his chest pressed to your back, voice low and warm as his hands slid around your waist, gripping your hips in time with the beat.

Your head rested against his shoulder, swaying together, your bodies moving in sync under the stars. The lights flashed red and gold and violet across his face, and every time you looked up at him, he was already watching you.

“You’re unreal,” he muttered into your hair, pulling you closer. “Like—look at you. At Coachella. With me. I’m never getting over this.”

You laughed, throwing your arms over his shoulders. “You’re acting like this isn’t your everyday life.”

“It’s not,” he said, serious now. “This? You? You’re the best part.”

A beat later, he was singing with you again, his voice right in your ear as your fingers laced behind his neck. It was loud, chaotic, magical—but none of it could touch the little world you and Jude had built within that crowd. You were his calm in the middle of the storm, his favourite melody even louder than the music.

And as the chorus hit again, Jude spun you gently in his arms, catching you under the lights with that look—like you were it. The moment. The feeling. The song.

And honestly?

You were.

The crowd had just come down from Travis’s set, sweat-slick and starstruck, but the second Bad Bunny stepped on stage, the energy shifted. The lights went low, the air thick with heat and anticipation, and the beat dropped into something darker—something slow, pulsing, undeniably sensual.

Jude’s arms were still wrapped around your waist from behind, but now, his grip tightened.

The bass vibrated straight through your chest as Bad Bunny launched into 'Titi Me Preguntó', and then slid effortlessly into something smoother, more explicit. You couldn’t understand every word, but the tone said enough. Heavy. Tempting. Dripping with want.

And Jude? He was gone.

You felt it the second the tempo slowed and his hips pressed flush against yours, one hand splayed low on your stomach, the other inching down to your hip. His lips brushed your ear, breath hot.

“You’re killing me, you know that?” he murmured, voice low and rough, like the song was getting to him more than he wanted to admit. “The way you move…”

You rolled your hips back just slightly—just enough to feel the tension in his body spike.

“Fucking hell,” he hissed, fingers digging into your waist.

The beat slowed into something dirtily hypnotic, and you started to move in time with it, grinding back into him, the way you knew would make his knees weak. Jude’s hands roamed now—hungry, possessive. He pressed in closer, chest to your back, lips trailing along your neck.

You could feel just how turned on he was, and it made your breath hitch.

“This is torture,” he growled, voice raw and desperate now. “You in this outfit, dancing on me like this… in front of everyone.”

You smirked, looking over your shoulder at him. “Then take me home.”

He let out a low laugh, almost dangerous, eyes dark. “If you keep this up, I won’t make it home.”

His hands slid down your sides, pulling you even tighter against him, hips moving with yours to the rhythm as Bad Bunny’s voice poured through the speakers like smoke. Your bodies moved like one—synchronised, slick with sweat, caught in a loop of teasing touches and grinding tension.

Around you, the crowd faded into neon blur. It was just you and Jude, dancing like no one else existed, like the heat between your bodies could start a fire in the desert night.

When the next track started, just as hot and heavy, Jude leaned in, voice full of gravel and need. “I swear, the second this set ends, I’m getting you out of here.”

And the way he said it? You didn’t doubt him for a second. as the heated glances traded between you as the pounding bass vibrated through the air, feeding the electric charge building between your bodies. Jude's fingers traced up your spine, sending shivers down your skin, as his other hand gripped your hip, pulling you harder against his straining erection.

You couldn't help but roll your hips in response, grinding against him with a moan that was lost in the music. The crowd around you throbbed and pulsed, but all you saw was Jude's intense gaze, all you felt was his body moving in perfect harmony with yours.

Bad Bunny's seductive lyrics painted a vivid picture in your mind, each word echoing the primal desire coursing through your veins. When the song reached its climax, Jude captured your lips in a searing kiss, tongues tangling in a frenzied dance that left you breathless and craving more.

The music transitioned into a slower, more sensual track, but the heat between you only intensified and honestly you were fine with that.

#mirahsworks🦫#jude bellingham oneshot #jude bellingham x black reader #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham #jude bellingham x you #footballer x black reader #footballer x black oc #footballer x reader #footballer x y/n #footballer x you

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