At some point, the cens sign a first-round pick rookie tendy from fucking siberia who barely speaks english. And he gets assigned to the Hollander-Rozanovs.
He lives with them for a few weeks while setting up his own housing, with much help from Mister Real Estate, of course. He's in absolute awe of Rozanov and is a little bit afraid of Hollander, and is on his politest behavior the entire time.
He's a great fucking goalie (ĂĄ la DobeĆĄ irl) so Hayes ends up with him mostly during practice and Shane or Ilya is always on call to translate as needed, but he's picking up the language quickly, even if his vocabulary is mostly hockey terms and simple questions to start.
During a roadie, his roomie pulls a girl so he knocks on the Captain's door and it's very late; he's hoping to wait out the requested hour somewhere other than the hotel lobby, bar, gym, or hallway. He isnt really expecting an answer; he knows from staying with them that they are probably already asleep (since he can't hear the noises he otherwise came to expect).
Shane answers and lets him in. Tells him in hushed Russian that Ilya is asleep, but does he want to watch Property Brothers? And the kid doesnt know what that is but he sits in the little side chair by the table and watches anyway. Shane always has subtitles on because they help him sometimes, and he knows Ilya prefers them on. The rookie likes them too; his english is already lightyears ahead of where he was when he signed, in no small part due to being assigned to the Hollander-Rozanovs.
Shane sits back in the bed up against the headboard and Ilya curls around him with a sleepy, questioning hum, slipping an arm across his lap.
"The rook's here," Hollander tells him, petting his frizzy head.
Rozanov's head pops up from the pillows by Shane's hip and he squints at the kid. He grunts and slurs something at Shane as he nestles back down and almost immediately starts snoring again, earning a soft smile and a snort from Hollander. The rookie watches out of his periphery as Hollander pets Rozanov's curls and watches the TV, their evening calm and quiet and achingly domestic even in a hotel room.
The next morning, Hollander scores a hat trick in the second period and the rook blocks all but 1 shots on goal, and Rozanov knocks someone's teeth out for plowing into him at the net, even though it was technically a clean hit.
The rookie thinks that, despite being mocked for it at first, being drafted by the gay team, and his own cultural nervousness over that, he's very lucky to have been drafted by the cens.
Convict!Ghost and innocent!reader who signs up for a program to visit and write letters to convicts without friends or families on the outside. You believe in the program, believe you're acting as a way to anchor a man, who would otherwise be lost, to society.
Ghost pretends you're getting through to him, nods and smiles when you tell him you know he can do better, be better. Meanwhile, he's thinking of all the filthy, depraved things he wants to do to you when he's released, thinking of his friend Soap in the laundry whose specialty is smuggling contraband in and wondering if he can convince you to slip him a nice lil picture of yourself or maybe even a pair of your panties. Soap probably wouldn't even want his usual cut, so long as he can get a look too.
Honourable, brave, beloved of everyone he met, an icon of society. And loving too. He couldn't deny that.
Yet Arjun Singh Rangi had been loving in the way of the sun in the hours of the mid-morning. You could feel it, warming you, seeping down into your bones, re-emerging as sweat to stain your collar. That love would be undeniable, impossible to ignore...until you sat under the shade of a tree and the circle of fire disappeared from view. Your sweat dried, and all you might wonder was, was I really feeling so hot, then?
His father's love was like that. When he was there, Jassi felt his adoration every second of every minute. When he left, the vividity of the memories disappeared so fast that he was left wondering if he had imagined it.
(Later, Jaskirat would remember that he rarely ever looked his father in the eye. Which was fine. You know that the sun overhead is benevolent and exists to give you life. Doesn't mean you're going to stare at it like an idiot and burn your eyes, right? Right?)
âââââââ
He had met men of that calibre often, in his life. The officers in his training barracks, whose eyes shined with rage when he stumbled; and when he got back up, the pride in their eyes burned through Jassi's chest.
Ajay Sanyal, too. Jaskirat knew he was a tool in the hands of the IB Chief. He knew simultaneously that Sanyal cared for him.
(He hadn't known that always. When he was being tortured by Hassan after being caught, the phone had rung, and -- well, he'd know that goddamn rage-inducing calm voice no matter where he heard it. But, a second before the phone call, he had thought, help me please please get me out of here, and simultaneously, he had thought, for the first time in more than a decade, about Naieem Baloch. The absurd thought had come to him: was he scared? Did he, in his mind, call out for --?
He had wondered why Naieem had chosen that particular moment to show up in his head. What could possibly have triggered that train of thought? Until Ajay Sanyal had looked at him and said you did good, and Jaskirat had thought, oh --)
âââââââ
And Aalam, of course. But Hamza couldn't bear to think of him for long. His memory hurt, hurt, hurt and he couldn't breathe he couldn't --
âââââââ
And Rehman, oh, Rehman.
(For a brief while, Donga and Siyahi and even Uzair had been good-naturedly jealous of him. "You see, when Bhai threw mud on Naieem Baba's coffin, he ripped out some goddamn piece of his heart and threw it in there too. Stopped playing with us, smoking with us, eating with us. And then you come along! And he hugs you. He fucking hugs you in front of that whole crowd gathered in the courtyard. What do you want us to think, you attention-stealing bastard?")
Rehman, too, had been distant in his ways: buying a motorcycle for him and giving the keys to Uzair. Leaving tightly packed guns outside Hamza's apartment for him to practice with. Spending a vulgar amount of money to conduct his walima in the best hall of Lyari, all without speaking a word to Hamza or involving him in those decisions. Hamza soaked up that love like clotted blood seeping into a sponge and making it stained and heavy.
âââââââ
Fathers are weird, aren't they? Gurbaaz had said once, trying and failing not to cry out while Jassi pressed an icepack to his cheek. Mothers are much simpler.
You don't even know any mothers except mine, Jassi had answered back.
Exactly. Gurbaaz had grinned, almost tearing the stitch Mrs. Rangi had left on the corner of his lip.
âââââââ
It was true, though, Hamza had thought on the bus to Karachi. Mothers were much simpler.
He had developed a fever, once, only once, on one of the nights in which he had stayed back at the haveli. He had lain, half-unconscious, as his master's wife laid a cool cloth against his head.
Bhabhi, aap kyun -- he had murmured in one of his more lucid moments. Ulfat Baloch had laughed.
Men of blood and war, all of you. Don't I know your type? One of my poor maids will touch your forehead, and you will snap and shout, caught in a terrible dream. They can never be paid enough for that. At least I know you are too frightened of me, even while unconscious, to try something like that.
That had been a frightening night. Hamza had dreamed of fevers, of a boy called Jassi who was supposed to be dead. When he woke, his eyes refused to open. He felt a familiar scent of gunmetal and oudh. He has heard me call out things I am not supposed to talk about, in my sleep, he has come to kill me, I need to get up now --
"The poor boy." A quiet voice, so low, he could barely hear. "In the throes of his fever last night, he called me --"
"Not the first time, is it?" The husband answered the wife. "If I recall correctly, Uzair also --"
He drifted to sleep before he could hear the rest of it.
âââââââ
"What did Shirani Saab say to you?"
"What?" Her husband seemed to come out of a trance.
"He said something, and you looked at me and made that face you make when you're trying not to smile."
"Oh...that. He, ah, he said I would be a good father."
"Well, he is an excellent judge of character." Yalina smiled, stretching out to place her head in her husband's lap. "Achche waalid banoge tum, pyaare shohar mere."
His hand descended into her hair. When he spoke, he sounded far away. "Do you think so? Fathers are often complicated."
Yalina couldn't deny the truth of it. Her own -- no, we're not going there today, thank you very much. "True. But I don't need to worry about that."
"No?"
"No, Hamza. Tumhara pyaar bilkul paak-saaf hai."
She was sure she imagined his breath catching in his throat.
-Ëââ đđšđ°đ§ đđđ đđšđ« đđ đŠđđ§ ( requests are ... open ! )
22. "iâve seen the way you look at me when you think i donât notice.â
contains: waitress!reader, small age-gap, flustered!adrian, fluff
Working at Fennel Fields wasn't a glamorous arrangement by any means, but it was convenient. Life in Evergreen was relatively cheap, but there weren't an abundance of job opportunities. You had been hired as a waitress a few months ago, a way to make some money while you finished up your degree, and so far, it didn't totally suck.
The most exciting part of your job so far had proven to be a certain blond busboy, who clearly had a bit of a crush on you, but could not flirt to save his life. Every time he tried to speak to you, he would stumble over his words and rush away before you could reassure him, and it would have irritated you if he wasn't so fucking cute.
His glasses were always a little crooked on his nose, his cheeks usually flushed a delicate pink, and he had this nervous little chuckle that made your heart flutter.
It was like a little game you played whenever your shifts aligned, flashing him smiles and waves across the restaurant. on more than one occasion, this had led to him dropping things on the floor and trying to recover from it not-so-smoothly.
Your coworker, Adrian Chase, was hopelessly adorable, and although he was a few years older and definitely awkward beyond belief, you were starting to develop a little crush on him, too.
That evening, the restaurant was unusually quiet. You seized the opportunity to step out into the alley and check your texts, but when you stepped into the autumn air, you were surprised to see Adrian out there as well, leaning against the wall with his phone in his hand.
When he looked up and saw you, he promptly fumbled with his phone and dropped it onto the concrete, scrambling to pick it up with little curses muttered under his breath.
You couldn't help but giggle a little. "You good?"
"Huh? Oh, me? Yeah, no, i'm good," he replied, trying to play it off as he tucked his phone back into his pocket.
"I didn't mean to scare you," you said, walking over to stand beside him.
"Scare me? Nah, you didn't. I just...didn't wanna get caught texting on the clock, y'know? I didn't realize it was you at first."
You leaned your shoulder against the brick wall, looking up at him. It was maybe a believable lie, but you had seen him shatter enough wine glasses in your presence to know it wasn't true. You made him nervous, and it intrigued you.
He was a good-looking guy; you had seen a customer leave him her number on a napkin just the other day, actually, and he had seemed completely stunned by it. Had he never had a girlfriend before?
"So, why haven't you tried to ask me out yet?" you asked boldly, a smirk playing on your lips.
Adrian flushed to the tips of his ears, babbling out a few nonsensical noises before finally landing on, "I'm sorry?"
"Iâve seen the way you look at me when you think I donât notice.â
Adrian looked around as if he was searching for the hidden cameras in this elaborate prank. He opened his mouth and closed it again, before finally saying, "I mean...Do you want me to ask you out? Like...you'd say yes?"
You chuckled, reaching out to touch his shoulder. "Yeah, I do. I would. I'd like to see you in an outfit that isn't this uniform."
He smiled, fiddling with the straps of his apron. "Yeah, um, you too. So...Do you want to go out sometime?"
You put your finger on your chin, like you were thinking about it. "Yes," you replied after a moment.
Adrian's face lit up, like he hadn't believed you were serious. "Okay, um, awesome! When are you free?"
You two arranged to meet up that weekend, and as you walked back inside of Fennel Fields, you swore you could hear Adrian doing some sort of victory dance, which made you laugh to yourself.
May I get a drabble about Perry having to kiss Heinz to either protect his identity or just keep Heinz quiet?
Thanks for reading! Feel free to delete for whatever reason âĄ
Hiiiii, Thanks for the nice asks and thank you for your patience.
That time Perry and Doofenshmirtz bumped into Major Monogram and Carl in the supermarket was bad enough. Now, imagine Perryâs frustration when Heinz dragged him along to the supermarket again, this time to buy nougat and toothpaste. He was just minding his own business, trying to convince Heinz to buy a nicer shampoo than the cheapest one, and reading the ingredients on a bottle when a very familiar voice rang out behind him.
âPerry?âÂ
It was Linda.
Perry turned, lightning-quick, and came face to face with Linda and Candace, who were looking at him in surprise.Â
âHi.â She continued, eyeing him up and down in his work outfit. âMy, donât you look professional today.âÂ
He barely had enough time to do a nervous little wave before Heinz caught on to the conversation behind him, and he turned.
âPerry? Do you know these people?â Heinz asked, and Perry turned to him vaguely aware that he was PANICKING. NOT GOOD. HEINZ AND FAMILY. BAD. VERY BAD.
âHello?â Linda said politely. âDo you know Perry?âÂ
Candace hadnât seemed interested in the situation initially, but her uncle didnât seem to know anybody. Him being in the supermarket with a stranger was perhaps the most exciting thing Perry had ever done in his miserable and boring life.
âDo I know Perry?â Heinz repeated thoughtfully, unaware that his nemesis had stopped breathing. âYeah, of course I do.â
âOh, well. Nice to meet you,â Linda said, extending one hand for Heinz to shake. âAlthough.â She looked at Heinz curiously. âHave we met before?â
Heinz accepted the gesture and shook Lindaâs hand. âI have to be super honest with you. I am horrible with faces.â He explained. âI even forget Perryâs face sometimes. Only very rarely! But it has happened once or twice.
Despite his shock, Perry couldnât help but crack a little smile. One of twice, his secretive ass.
âAnd how do you know Perry?â Linda asked conversationally, but she and her daughter both had matching curious expressions.
âOh, you know,â Heinz explained happily, not aware that was was about to ruin Perryâs life forever. âPerry the Platypus is my secret-â
Agent. The next word was going to be agent, Perry realized. He had to do something and he had to do something NOW! There was no time for a plan, he had to act. So, Perry prepared himself and followed his instincts.
Perry jolted as he suddenly sprang to action as if he had been shocked by a bolt of lightning. With both hands, he grabbed Heinzâs face, pulled him down to his level and firmly and confidently smushed their mouths together right there in the middle of the super food stuff mart.
In a sudden wave of clarity, Perry remembered that sometimes INSTINCT. BAD. Like right now. There he was, mouth to mouth with his nemesis with no further plan. He could release Heinz, but then there would be many, many questions from Candace, Linda AND HEINZ.
So, since his instinct got him into this mess, his instinct could get him out.
Still kissing, Perry dragged Heinz around the corner to the next aisle, leaving Candace and Linda right there.Â
Stupified, they watched him go.
Over in the deodorant aisle, Perry released Heinzâs lips with a smack and placed him upright as Heinz stammered and stumbled, too confused by everything to speak coherently.
âI- eeh? Oh? Uh! aa.â He exclaimed.
Perry took Heinz by his slanted shoulders and shook him lightly.
âThis is the weirdest dream Iâve had since that time I dreamt a tiny alien force-fed me watermelons. No. Wait. This is still stranger. Perry the platypus what was that about?!â
At least Heinz seemed to be coming back to his senses. Perry, unsure of how to explain, dug through his pockets and pulled out a pamphlet with the title âSo youâve found out your uncle is a secret agent. What now?â and pushed it into Heinzâs hand. ăRead that.ăAnd off he went, back to the toothpaste aisle.
Linda and Candace were exactly where he had left them. Their mouths were still vaguely open in shock.
Perry smiled as innocently as he could as he jogged up to them. ăWhoopieă He gestured at them.
Linda stared at his hands and blinked. âWhoopsie?â she repeated.
âWhat did you just do?!â Candace shouted. âAnd with him!â she gestured at the end of the aisle, where he had dragged Doof off to.
ăCouldnât help myself.ă Perry replied hysterically. ăWhat a stud, right?ă
â... Right,â Linda replied, confused but supportive.
âNO!â Candace replied, because she was 15, always honest, and convinced something was wrong with Perry.
ăGot to go!ăBefore he left, he grabbed a tube of toothpaste, and then he ran. Luckily for him, they didnât even try to follow him.
Heinz was still busy reading the pamphlet when Perry returned and snatched it back. He presented him with the toothpaste, forced him into the next aisle, and refused to explain anything.
By the time he returned home to the Flynn-Fletcher residency, Perry was exhausted. But when he stepped into the kitchen he came face to face with Lawrence and Linda, who seemed to have been waiting for him.
âOh, there you are Perry,â Linda said, and she turned to him. âMe and Lawrence are a bit worried about you.â
22!!!! u always do it so well but I will never get tired of magical realism landoscar!!!
22. magical realism
this is such a self-indulgent ficlet. tell me if this is anything bc i have Ideas for this universe lol. set in 2023/2024 prompt list
Landoâs thing is physical touch, for better or for worse.
Most people donât make their languages public. Itâs a private matter, after all, meant for you and the people close to you. But not for him. No, no, no. Apparently when you develop at the same time as your rookie year in F1, your love language becomes a talking point in post-race debriefs.
It happened once, the whole âfainting because his body was aching for physical touchâ. Heâd miscalculated his buffer time when the session dragged on after multiple yellow and red flags. He was young, sure, but he wasnât clueless. It was just his luck that the cameras caught him at a bad time.
McLaren came under fire for not taking care of its drivers. It was absolutely horrifying, especially because it wasnât true at all. Jon and a few from his garage were briefed; they know that a side-hug or a shoulder tap goes a long way. His friends have direct access to his driverâs room. His dad travels as much as he can.
Landoâs teammate isâ was âCarlos. His language is physical touch, too, so he knows. He understands. Heâs the first to pinch Landoâs sides, to clasp his shoulders, to hug and hold and press their faces close together.
Through the ups and downs of Landoâs rookie year, Carlos was there to ground him. Lando likes to think he did the same for Carlos. Heâs not good with words, never has been, and every time he tried to express his gratitude, Carlos laughed and pulled him in for a hug.
The way Lando sees it, of all the love languages, physical touch is the greediest. Thereâs no substitute for it, no make-do. There simply is or there isnât.
Dating people with mismatched languages is difficult. Thatâs Life 101. Cross-compatibility isnât assured as well. Itâs safer, itâs best for everyone involved to keep to their lanes.
But itâs not the law. Itâs just the easiest path.
For a time, McLaren had that same thinking. He and Carlos worked well. He couldâve been happy not knowing anything else.
Okay, so thatâs unrealistic. Formula One is ever-changing. To find a solid place means youâre one of the greatsâ like Michael, like Lewis, like the great Charles Leclerc experiment.
Back in 2019, Lando only saw what was in front of him. Rookie year. Endless possibilities. Carlos. The future was far ahead. He lived in the present, he had to, or else he wouldnât be half as quick.
Then 2021 came. Danielâs another PT guy, very open and positive about it. He doesnât see it as a weakness, having to be touched every few hours or so, having your welfare depend on somebody else. Max says itâs because heâs never been unloved, and Max would know. Daniel and Max are one of the few registered Partners on the grid.
Carlos and Lando have thought about it, of course they have, but at the end of the day, itâs added paperwork on something they already do. They sleep in each otherâs rooms, in each otherâs spaces, breathing and living in unison.
Lando got fucking lucky. Imagine having Carlos as your first teammate. Imagine.
Danielâs good. Daniel was good. He and Lando were both PT, which was already something they had going for them. The carâs development was all over the place, but Lando and Daniel werenât. They had the same needs, the same wants. Danielâs limbs always spilled over Landoâs seatâ a certain kind of warmth Lando would describe as burning.
Around that time, Lando grew more comfortable in his life. Grew into being himself. He appreciated being alone more and more even if it meant remaining untouched.
The travels were long, the rest so little in between. Relationships fell through. Lando didnât mind. He had Daniel.
Then he didnât.
Oscar comes from a new generation of drivers whose love languages are âconfidentialâ. It's a cool thing, apparently. A social media movement, a cultural phenomenon. Love no matter the language.
Thatâs why his language wasnât disclosed to Lando when the contracts were finalized.
âBut he knows mine,â Lando pointed out. Howâs that fair?
âWe can assure you Mr. Piastriâs language wonât interfere with the teamâs daily affairs,â the lawyers assured him.
Translation: Oscar doesnât need Lando.
But Lando needs Oscar, frustrating as that may be.
In a pinch, teammates are your best bet. Theyâre always nearby, in the same boat as you are, even when youâre not in a boat but on a plane, but not exactly, because your flightâs been cancelled and youâre stuck in another damned airport with your body clock still in another continent.
That was the first time it happened.
Lando was tired, and so was everybody else. The managers were wrangling for flight seats, Lando was wrangling for his consciousness. He knew it was more than the lack of rest, more than another pointless weekend spent as a backmarker. Lando was exhausted.
He curled up on a random bench, vaguely aware Oscar was sitting on the other end. Someone had instructed the team to stick close in case seats opened up.
Lando wasâ
Doesnât matter now. Whatâs more important is what Oscar did.
Lando dozed off at some point. He was woken up by Oscarâs hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him.
âMate, come on,â Oscar said. His head blocked the light, a halo around him.
Lando blinked up at him, quiet.
Oscar laughed. âSleepyhead, letâs go.â
He pulled Lando up. Lando counted at least four points of contact.
He and Oscar, they werenâtâ
Doesnât matter.
âAre you okay?â Oscar asked. He was a breath closer than he usually was.
Lando nodded and hoped his face didnât betray anythingâ the churning, the melting, the grounding âhe was feeling.
Oscar tilted his head, confused. Without prompting, he touched Landoâs forehead with the back of his hand. âYouâre warm. Are you sick?â
âNo,â Lando managed out. âIâm fine. Didnât sleep well.â
Oscar retreated. âIf you say so.â
âI say so.â
This is the part that matters.
Instead of leaving Lando by himselfâ reeling, thinking, wanting âOscar held out his hands and touched Landoâs face. Thumbs across his cheeks, fingers on his chin. Small and shaking. Unsure.
âIs this okay?â Oscar asked. There was that soft, slow tilt of his voice.
Lando leaned into his touch, eyes closed. âYeah, it is.â
He heard Oscarâs smile, a small puff of air.
When Lando opened his eyes, Oscar was still in front of him.
Oscar opens his mouth once, twice, before finally saying, âNext time, just ask me.â
Lando didnât know he could.
When Jon and Kim called them over, Oscar stepped back and acted no differentâ as if he hadnât shifted Landoâs whole perspective a few degrees to the left.
Oscarâs smart, then and now. Lando was learning he was kind as well.
Landoâs parents raised him right. He was grateful, and heâd act like it, too.
Oscar must need something. Donât they all?
Afterwards, in the plane, Oscar chooses the seat beside Lando for the first time. Lando couldnât sleep, but he wasnât tired. All night, he thought, Whatâs your language? How can I say thank you in a way youâll understand?
Minaâs dorm - her door was slightly cracked open. A thin strip of light and laughter traveled across the hallway. Katsuki had just ran upstairs to grab his wallet when he overheard your laugh in particular.
Ochaco gasps
âHaha whatnow?â You slurred and giggled
âYou heard meâ Mina laughed
âNo-no say that again!?â Hakagare hiccuped
âI bet ..he canât fuck to a slow songâ she drags it out for the people in the back
You had to think about it. They were right, you guys had been dating for a few months and the sex⊠oh god itâs so good, heâs âso good but no matter how hard you tried you canât recall him ever going slow.
âSee SEEEE what did I say? Sheâs not even denying it!â Mina squealed. You pulled the pillow to your face and everyone started laughing.
âPretty girls like it rough anywaysâ you smiled throwing your pillow at Mina which started a pillow fight. He heard enough so he left smirking.
âOh fuck babyâ your back arches as he pushes between your slick folds. The way you open up for him always has him swearing and grabbing on you tighter. He had his bare chest pressed against your back while rocked inside you, pushing your right leg over until it was almost flush against the bed.
This new angle has him hovering above you as you lay on your side between his hands âsoaked and craving the stretch of his hard cock more than usual. Itâs pressed deep inside as you fist the sheets. âBaby girl!â he moans as he bottoms out. Youâre drowning his cock and he canât get enough. He wants to be deeper and if he could fuck you in your dreams he would.
He shifts his weight to the arm behind you, slides his hand over your hip, and grips your ass. He pulls that cheek up and open and pushes even deeper. Your moan is so pornographic it makes his grip stronger almost bruising. âRight -there -huh?â he pants stroking at this unfamiliar slow pace
âYes fuck!â youâre making his eyes roll back at the way youâre sounding and squeezing.
He pulls all the way out still keeping you open with his fingers. Your breath hitches at the way he drives back in âhard, deliberate, calculated.
Fuck itâs too calculated because now you canât stop creaming and he wonât stop doing it. âGod I love this pussy baby âgonna make me cumâ youâve got his cock twitching and covered in your juices
âCan I âcum inside?â he pants, his lips slightly brushing against your ear.
You lost it! Heâs never fucked you like this, never asked to cum either but holy fucking shit your orgasm is powerful. âFuck Y/N -Y/N âY/Nâ you push back bracing on your elbows as his thrusts get sloppy, filling you with his hot cum.
He rolls on you so now your tummy is flush on the bed. He doesnât even bother pulling out. Just making out with your neck and shoulder like he didnât just cum. You felt him getting hard inside you. Kissing your cheek until he gets to your lips. Itâs intense, itâs burns right to your core âsending that aching need to have him moving again.
You start moving your hips in a circle as he gradually begins thrusting again. His cum is spilling âthe view so yummy like a dam thatâs being overflowed. The sound -fuck âSo âgoodâ you pant into the sheets.
His thrusts are still slow but even harder now. Your ass jiggles each time his hips meet your cheeks âMmm remind me to record this next time âshit, wish you could see this.â He pulls out and rubs his cum all over your clit and slides his cum soaked cock between your ass cheeks âsqueezing them together creating that hotdog and bun effect as he strokes.
His balls are bouncing off your sensitive clit, each thrust harder than the last. You slowly poke your ass up so youâre low on your knees and he catches on right away.
Youâve made him even more excited, eager âsuch a turn on to see you show him what you want. He takes one of your hand and pins it on your lower back and his other presses on your opposite shoulder.
He drives in with enough force to make the headboard rattle. âKATSâ you exhale. He repeats, no change in pace just accurate thrusts that all have you screaming his name. âAgain!â he demands
âKATS!â
âAGAINâ he coaches
âKATSâ
âF-fuck AGAIN baby!â
âOH MY GOD KATSSâ you unravel and flutter on his cock as a huge wave of pleasure washes over your body as his nears too. âOH FUCKâ he pulls out just enough to watch it leak out. His toes curl as he breathes heavily. âThat slow enough for ya?â he kisses behind your ear.
