#could just be thats what happens if i stay up late

[rohirric-hunter]

Honestly a lot of things could have gone wrong with the soup. My refrigerator door was open when I went into the kitchen yesterday morning, and I don't know for how long, so the fish and bacon could potentially have spoiled. I don't think they did, because the ranch dressing that was in the door and right by the opening was still plenty cold (and I ate a lot of that earlier in the day and felt fine) and also Morgoth was eager enough to try and eat the fish and bacon, and he generally has a good sense for food that's gone bad.

Some of the cilantro I used was blooming. I picked all of the blooming bits (and the bits where the leaves were a different shape around it) out, but potentially that didn't sit well with me? Blooming broccoli certainly doesn't.

A few of the larger chunks of potato were undercooked, but I ate them anyway. I don't think this is it either, as I used to eat fully uncooked potato all the time with no negative side effects.

Had really bad heartburn, but drank wine anyway. (Completely unrelated to the soup. This is just a bad idea in general.)

Drank Pinot Grigio. Legitimately and unironically think how disgusting this wine is makes it just as likely a candidate as anything else.

This Just Happens Sometimes. This just happens sometimes. Like I said, I'm sure it was due to gas moving in my stomach. I have that pretty bad in general and I think that throwing up is sometimes just a physical response to that, without the necessity of having bad food (though bad food can of course make it worse). Could have just been bad timing. I hope that's it.

[leclsrc]

do you want it? ✴︎ cs55

genre: summer love!!!, slight age gap, porn w plot basically...

word count: 10.5k  

Whatever preconceived notions you have about your summer at the beach house are all toppled over when your parents announce the arrival of a guest, who happens to be your dad's friend. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by several people! few notes... carlos is aged up a tad, the age gap is 21/33 so not too bad (i aged him up bc the age gap was 7 yrs and i was like. Huh. thats tame). if ur not into that (tho everything is consensual and reader is legal) its ok! anyway im sorry this came so late i had like 6 anons asking ab carlos and lana haha. also big thanks to dani whose work got me thru 4 writing ruts

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, dry humping, oral sex (m and f receiving), deepthroating, semi public sex ish?, praise central, size kink, like a flash of spit kink sorry..., overuse of the term good girl

Half past noon and after a particularly snappy call from his manager, Carlos bites the bullet on summer plans and decides to accept what is arguably the least glamorous offer on his roster. By no means a dazzling standout, the offer to stay at a family friend’s house in Comporta seems to be the most comfortable option—besides, he doesn’t feel himself to be in the glitzy mood for cities like Los Angeles or Monaco.

Lando, beside him, is thus the first to get wind of the news that “grumpy old man” Carlos will not be accompanying him to the ultimate, tequila-flavored “summer extravaganza” in Morocco.

“You’re boring,” Lando moans, pacing the room. Outside, London’s skyline moves passively. Carlos hangs up his phone call with his assistant, receives a picture of his flight details, and looks up amusedly.

“Portugal is not boring.”

“Morocco. DJs, drinks, girls.” Lando raises one hand. “Comporta. Family friends, apple cider, sand in your eyes.” He raises another hand a few inches lower. “See the difference?”

“I appreciate the difference.” Truth is, Carlos has needed this kind of quiet, calm time off for a while now. The season gets heavy and intense and tiring, and sometimes just staying by the beach with a beer is the best kind of reprieve.

“You’re getting old,” Lando says with a sour grimace. “Old.”

“That is,” Carlos says, searching for the word, “defamation.”

Lando shrugs, moves off the subject as he shoves a handful of crisps into his mouth. “Are you meeting family there?”

“No.” Both of his parents are out of the country for the next few weeks; Carlos was invited by his dad’s friend, though the bond they share is more friendly than just the standard uncle-nephew type of relationship, and they often refer to each other as just friends. “Just friends. Gallery owner and a company owner, I think.”

Lando whistles. “Rich.”

In response, Carlos nods. “And their daughter, who’s visiting from university in the States.” The details are fuzzy in his head, but the gist is about right.

“Sounds boring,” his friend snorts. “Come on, mate. You, me, Daniel. One last chance to watch Peggy Gou’s set and take shots and have fuuun.” He says the last part with the suave that would only rival a preteen’s.

Carlos, for a second, lets his resolve waver. Maybe it would be better watching loud DJ sets, dancing, getting all flushed with alcohol. But he blinks and shakes his head anyway. He hopes his decision is the right one, that summer in the beach house ends up being worth it. It’s a few weeks by the beach, anyway—what’s the worst that could happen?

—

Any recollection of your childhood almost instantly connects to the beach house in Comporta, big and wide and right by the coast. You spent fall, winter, and spring in a constant bumbling state of excitement to spend summer there. Your parents owned it, and often offered family friends to take up residence there when summers in the city got unbearable; for the most part, though, it was the three of you and, on rare years, a guest.

Your summers there have since smudged into the same few memories, of your mum and dad’s faces, of swimming and the learning curve of sailing, of bonfires by the beach on cold nights. And they have since become just that: memories. Summers grew sparse with time, and eventually the idea of meeting distant family friends became more embarrassing than exciting; by the time your parents moved you out of Europe for college, you’d lost almost all memory of the house.

So when your parents ask if you want to fly back to Comporta and spend a few “quiet” weeks there, you figure there’s no harm in seeing what the house is like and what summer can offer you beyond the weekly club outings. Instead of the usual quiet and overall lack-of-bustle that comes with summers, however, you open the front door to three housekeepers dusting every surface in your immediate eyesight.

“Are we hosting a wedding?” You ask when you find your parents tending to two sweaty glasses of champagne. You gesture faintly to the cleanfest inside. “What is going on?”

“We have a guest,” your mother says as she gets up to hug you tight. “Staying for the summer.”

“You said this summer would be quiet,” you deadpan, eyes narrowing underneath your sunglasses.

Your mum pinches your elbow. “I wasn’t lying,” she defends, raising her eyebrows. “Carlos’ son is coming.” She pats your arm. “You know? The race driver! He’s close with your father.” And, leaving no space for you to voice your dissent, she slips back into the house through the screen door, your father kissing your cheek then following suit. Your mouth parts, thoughts beginning to rush with implications of what your mother has just told you.

Carlos—if you’re correct—is Carlos Sainz, Sr., a good friend of your dad’s, and his son is Carlos Sainz, Jr., another good friend of your dad’s, because if there’s one thing rich Europeans do well, it’s the repetition of names. You’ve never met his son, only heard of him and seen a few pictures, but being so far detached from life here, you can’t even shape his face.

All you recall is the fact that he should now be thirty or older, which makes him rather older than you—and therefore effectively incapable of providing any break from any possible summer boredom. For fuck’s sake, he’s close to your dad. You’re at the top of the stairs when you hear the commotion by the front door, peeking at the foyer to catch a glimpse of him.

He’s solo, you observe; upon a glance into the front parking, you notice he’s driven here in a Ferrari, one a bit too modern for your taste but beautiful nevertheless. He carries only two pieces of luggage, and the sun blinds you for a moment before he’s finally at the doorframe, smiling politely, talking to your dad in casual Spanish.

He is, for lack of better word, insanely handsome. He wears a polo that shows off much of his arms, that flex as he puts down his luggage to shake hands with your parents; you follow the movement of his hands to watch one comb through his thick hair, then down to his smile, back up to his brown eyes, deep and so, so pretty.

Maybe this summer deserves a little less begrudge, you decide as you retreat back into your room, still brewing with residual annoyance.

Your parents send him off after a drink and a brief conversation, catch-up, tour of the downstairs area. Carlos knows his room is supposed to be upstairs, but the problem arises in the fact that there are two upstairs rooms and he doesn’t know which one he’s supposed to be staying in. Setting his luggage down for a minute, he knocks on the first door; permissive silence greets him for half a minute, so he turns the knob and prepares to enter.

To his surprise, he finds somebody already inside, a figure by the mirror on the other end of the room. What catches his eye is not the tiny skirt, but the half-tied bikini top currently being wound around two fingers at the centre of your back. You’re basically clothed, but Carlos can’t decide if he’s thankful or not—he doesn’t have time to when you catch him in the mirror and turn around quick, mouth agape.

“Can’t you knock?!” You ask, catty.

“I did—I knocked, but you—there was no answer,” he explains profusely. “I’m Carlos. Sorry, apologies. Truly.”

You introduce yourself. You’re his friend’s daughter, this and that, and you’re visiting from the States to spend summer here. He apologizes again when you finish. 

“Well, seeing as though this is my room,” you shoot back, “that must be yours.” You gesture vaguely to the one down the hall. Amused and a little embarrassed, he mouths apologies as he closes the door.

Carlos exits, departs and doesn’t have time to take in the room before he’s facedown on the bed. Any sleepiness he’d collected from the trip over, from the day drinks, from the headache that’d been blooming at the temples of his head, has dissipated. His mind’s been imprinted with one image only, and it’s down the hall in a tiny skirt.

—

Lunch brings lemonade and pasta, two staples for every summer meal. You, however, find yourself hopelessly distracted by the presence of your guest, and despite your best efforts, the churn in your stomach disables you from fully enjoying the carbonara on the table. The conversation between Carlos and your dad ends up taking your attention instead. “So you’re racing again in a few weeks?”

“Sí,” Carlos nods in-between forkfuls. Then, to add, “Busy, busy times.”

“Well. It’s the worst of our days,” your mum says, a quote she picked up from—of all places—a BBC sitcom she watched to tears last winter. “You are a talented driver, Carlos. Very cultured. I’m sure you’ll enjoy Comporta.”

“I have not been around much,” he says; his gaze flutters over to his glass, which is devoid of water or lemonade. “Any recommendations?”

“A lot, cabrón. Our daughter will be happy to take you around,” your father says on your behalf. He turns to you. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, sure,” you say, allowing a terse smile. “There’s some places around here that aren’t so boring. But that’s being generous.” Carlos laughs at your joke, raucous and goofy, and you would definitely be lying if you told yourself it didn’t get you blushing a little bit, eyes casting themselves to your still-full plate.

“While you’re here, Carlos,” your dad continues, “I have an old car in the garage that could use some looking at. Are you—would you know how to—?”

Carlos nods, accepting the favor—then the conversation naturally slides into one of cars and racing. Carlos chronicles his journey in Formula One, his Toro Rosso days back then when he was younger, his McLaren period, and now, his time representing Ferrari. He talks of pet peeves on the grid, annoyances but also praises for the sport.

“I’d appreciate the downtime, actually,” he explains, “that I’d get from working on a car instead of in one.” He laughs, eyes briefly meeting yours. He looks away, then looks again. He can’t help himself. He wonders if he’s being obvious, if you can tell the way his looks are anything but casual. “Can you pour me a glass?” He adds.

“Yeah,” you mutter, sitting straight to pour lemonade into his waiting glass. You meet his eyes and almost pour it over the pasta. The rest of the lunch is uneventful, a series of adult conversation you can’t seem to engage yourself in fully, and whether that’s because of personal preference or Carlos’ presence, you don’t make an effort to try.

“…ney. Honey.” Your mum’s voice distracts you from your thoughts; when you look up, half the table is clear and Carlos and your dad have ventured inside to deposit plates at the sink. 

“Sorry. Wh—sorry, what?” You blink.

“Your father and I are heading out for the evening. Carlos will be working on the car. That okay, or you want to come along?”

“Um…” You pretend the latter is even an option before shaking your head. “No, I’ll stay.”

“Good.” She strokes your hair. “He could use the company.”

You follow her walking figure inside, where you station your eyes on Carlos. He’s sipping a lemonade. His eyes meet yours for a second and your face is outrageously flushed when you realize you’ve been caught staring, just like his had been earlier when he walked into your room.

—

You’re hellbent on solving a Sudoku puzzle when the dinner bell rings, and you have to finish it on the stairs. Your dad’s always been a stickler for arriving to dinner on time—every meal, but a gargantuan emphasis on the last—and you’ve been victim to scoldings about being five to six minutes late, an instance you don't wish to repeat.

9, you scribble, bare feet moving with speed through the living room, indoor dining room, then to the patio door. 4 comes next, your footsteps following the smell of grilled meat. 8, you write as you turn into the outdoor dining area. You’re halfway through 2 when you stop, look up, and find Carlos preparing dinner.

“Oh—” You pause. “You rang the dinner bell? Are my parents not…?”

“They are at a dinner,” says Carlos, eyes meeting yours briefly. It reminds you of earlier and you clear your throat, looking away. “So I hope my cooking is good enough.”

“It smells great,” you offer, seating yourself down and pouring a glass of wine. He sets the plate down—just-cut steak, a smear of potatoes. “Christ, you cook better than Dad.”

“I take that as a compliment,” he laughs, sitting across you. “Listen, I want to apologize for accidentally walking into your room earlier.”

Your face warms. “No, it’s okay. I was just surprised.”

“It was wrong of me. Let’s start over. I’m Carlos.” He reaches over to shake your hand, still standing. You take it, eyes flitting over his hand, spotting no glinting ring on his finger. With a saccharine smile, you assure him it was an honest mistake, so he segues into a different topic, the corners of his mouth turning up. “So, do you have an itinerary for me tomorrow?”

You hum, passing the wine over to him. “A bookstore, an ice cream parlor, and a bike ride. Anything else is seriously not worth it. You’ll have the next few weeks to explore town. If the house gets that boring.”

“I haven’t been bored so far,” he says, eyes glinting.

“Oh?”

“You know, with the car fixing.” He points vaguely to where the garage is. “But it’s only been a day.”

“Car fixing is boring,” you state matter-of-factly. “You’ll have fun tomorrow.” You cut into the steak and bite into the forkful you stab at, eyes fluttering.

“Good?” Carlos asks, smiling a little.

“I love it,” you mumble. “You’re so good at this, Carlos.”

Carlos retires to his room that night, and finds that today has held a collective motif of losing his shit. He’s anything but sleepy. Restless, wild-eyed, combing hand after hand through his hair. God, if he’d known you were this pretty—this hard to resist, on his first night here, no less—he would’ve been watching some DJ spin out a set with Lando right now.

Instead, he finds he can’t stop himself from thinking about you, the way your eyes had fluttered when he tried saying something on the edge of flirty. Your hair. Your hands, your fingers, lithe around the stem of your wine glass.

I love it, you’d said, you’re so good at this, Carlos. You knew exactly what you were doing, skittish tone putting him on edge. Despite himself, he can’t help but squeeze himself through his pants when he sits down on the edge of the bed, breathing heavy to purge himself of thoughts so low and dirty.

You’re so pretty. You’d be so easy to wreck, make his, goad little moans out of you, get your lips around him, puffy and pink and pretty. He wedges his eyes shut tight and hopes these thoughts will dissipate as the week passes.

Something tells him he’s wrong, though.

—

The tour is delayed because your dad insists he go fishing with Carlos three days in a row, but eventually (likely due to your mum’s insistence) it pushes through. You greet him with a smile, waiting by the door, wearing a sundress. Sundresses will definitely be his demise.

You’re a good tour guide, though, Carlos figures when you’re finished pointing at every turn and sign and dictating what goes where and where the passage to the coast is, when you’ve even quizzed him about where you are and where the house is supposed to be.

After he points in the correct direction, you nod approvingly. “That’s how my dad made sure I wouldn’t get lost,” you explain when he laughs at your choice of tour guidance. 

“And you were what—twelve?” He asks, walking beside you. It’s fairly empty in town, a few tourists mulling about carrying shopping bags and plastic cups of juice.

“Try fourteen,” you argue. 

“Well, quizzing a, uh—a fourteen-year-old is really not the same as quizzing a grown adult.”

“Ha. Call me when you can’t find your way home tonight,” you diss sarcastically, making a turn toward the bookstore down the street. “Okay, here we are. Don’t get too excited. They’re just books.”

For a relatively empty town, the bookstore always has new batches of titles, displayed proudly for natives and tourists alike front and centre. But you’re already going to the right side of the store, busying yourself with looking at the signs. 

“The classics shelf is always my favorite,” you say, already walking ahead of him. Your dress bobs softly with your legs as you pace, short and sweet and white. You turn and his eyes slide back up instantly, and he hopes he was quick enough. “Do you have any authors you like?”

“I am not a big reader. You?”

“Huge,” you say, smiling a little. “Okay, we can browse. Are you into any genre…?”

Carlos proceeds to tell you his track record in the literary field includes: reading half the Harry Potter series, a car manual, and a few other titles in Spanish he cannot recall the name or plot of. But, he adds, he’s always wanted to read, found the activity so quiet and still and perfect, so he allows you to lead him through the titles stacked on each table and condensed on each shelf. He points at, sometimes, or picks up covers he finds appealing.

“How about—?” He reaches for a pink cover that reads It Ends With Us, but your hand loops around his wrist before he can pick it up and you’re pulling him into another aisle.

“…Not that.” You continue perusing the books around you, your hand still wrapped around his. With your free finger, you point at the top shelf, and tiptoe against the bookcase to try and get it. You come close, but not close enough.

Carlos, behind you, is successful, not even needing to tiptoe to reach for the red hardbound you’d been pointing at. It also means he’s pressed up against you, heavy and big, and the sensation dizzies you. When he finally pulls it off, you turn to him and find respite in the proximity—you two are so close, every exhale out of your lips causes a puff of air to blow against his hair.

He steps backward. You smile and gesture toward the book he’s holding. “That’s a good one.”

“Gabriel Garcia Marquez.” He reads out the author’s name in one fluid sentence, his Spanish accent becoming naturally more obvious.

“Okay, colonizer.” He knits his brows. “Trust me,” you insist. “One Hundred Years of Solitude—so good. It was one of the first books I read front to back twice in a row.”

“Wow, what an honor,” he teases sarcastically as you move along the aisle, fingertips brushing against the indents of the books. You turn to narrow your eyes and stick your tongue out. Unfortunately for Carlos, the effect this inflicts upon him is not oh she mocked me, but oh how would it look if—

He needs ice cream. Or to just get out of this aisle.

—

You punctuate the day with two cones of it, melting way too fast in the heat of summer. He’s already half-finished with his vanilla, and you’re taking your time with the lemon sorbet you’d gotten for yourself. Apparently, this is the only other highlight the town has to offer, and judging by the fact that most of the other stores are expensive clothes, souvenir shops, and a Bible bookstore—yeah.

Carlos is also more than sated with the three books in the paper bag he’s holding. Scratch that—six books, you bought a haul for yourself—but it’s not a particularly heavy load, so he’s fine. His phone has been buzzing with Lando’s update requests that he’s been deliberately ignoring.

“They make the best ice cream,” you rave, smiling. You lick over the melt on your lips. “Right?”

He might actually drop his cone now. “It is delicious.”

“Well…” You look around, your hair flying with every turn of your head. Lick over lips again. Again, and again. He has to look away.

“…Do you wanna stop by anywhere else?” You turn to him and ask, licking over the tip of your ice cream cone.

It’s hard for Carlos to pretend he’s looking around your surroundings, at the signs and storefronts, and not at your sticky lips, your pink tongue just peeking out to lap at the quickly melting gelato around your hand. His eyes flit downward, to where the hem of your tiny white dress has flown up in the coastal wind, exposing more of your thighs.

“Carlos?” You repeat, voice sweet and waiting.

He snaps his eyes back up and wills his voice to remain passive. “We can head back.”

So you do, meaning your tour ends around noon, and your parents greet you both with lunch and the round of inevitable questions. Did Comporta live up to your expectations? What books did you get? Was our daughter a good tour guide? The latter, Carlos answers with a smile—very good. You allowed your face to flush, blamed it on the sangria.

Now, though, it’s the brink in-between chilly and hot, sticky traces of the summer afternoon still lingering in the air, mixing with the cool of dusk when you decide to exit your room and fix yourself a glass of something, preferably sweet and alcoholic. An empty driveway save for a Ferrari means your parents are gone, leaving you and—if you’re lucky, which you hope you are—

“Carlos,” you call out from the window you’ve just tugged open with the expertise of somebody who’s lived here for twenty-one summers. “Thirsty?”

He looks up from where he is, outside, continuing his operation on your dad’s car. The hood’s been cranked open, and his long hair is damp with sweat, flying gently in the face of the sunset breeze. He smiles when he sees your figure peeking out.

“For what?”

“Whatever you want,” you respond, taking your bottom lip between your teeth. His white shirt’s stained with oil and dirt, tainting it beige and grey, the tight fit even tighter from his sweat. You can make out the outline of his abs just underneath. 

He squints. “Beer?”

You make an exaggerated eugh face to tease him, but duck back inside to bring your homemade aperol and an open, frosty beer outside. When he sees you, he walks closer, smiles and takes a swig of the drink you offer. He makes a noise of satisfaction and you have to make a real effort to maintain a semblance of normalcy, eyes averting from his lips to gaze instead at his solid shoulders, his build, big and tall.

“What’s the problem with beer, hmm?”

“Tastes like shit.” You raise your aperol. “The sweeter, the better. How’s Dad’s car?” You blink, sidestepping him to try and gauge his progress.

“Casi termino.” You look at him, raising your eyebrows, and he translates. “Almost done. It wasn’t that destroyed, if at all.”

“You think he’ll let you drive it when you’re done?” You ask playfully, swiping your condensation-wet finger over the side of the car. You turn, smiling expectantly; Carlos laughs a bit, shrugs.

“It is just a favor. But if he does, I’ll make sure you get to come along.” He says. “You like that?”

“Mmm,” you nod, sipping on your aperol. You part from your straw, lips stained, and smile up at him. “I do.”

His gaze is stuck on your lips. You lick over them, and he looks away with a slow blink. You watch as he ruffles his hair, rounds the car and crosses his arms to view it from the back.

God, he’s handsome. You think of the long-winded nights you’ve been spending trailing your fingers over your legs or texting inspired paragraphs to friends back in university about him. Their responses are almost always Send pic now and a cacophony of heart eye emojis when you manage to snag a stolen shot of him doing just about anything.

His gaze is scrutinizing, every little detail of the car, and eventually he closes the hood again. “Should be good by tomorrow.”

“Where’d you learn to fix cars?” You ask sweetly, nearing him. The wind bites at your legs, your flowy skirt bouncing sporadically and held down by your free hand. When your eyes flit to his, waiting for his response, you find them snapping upward. He’d been distracted.

“I work with cars, so it comes natural.” You lean on the hood of the car and he comes to stand in front of you, his eyes pointed downward at you. “That’s not a very good habit,” he adds.

“Drinking?” You pout, raising your half-empty glass. You blink up at him, the corner of your smiling lip caught in your teeth.

“Biting your lip.” His gaze is intense. “You do it a lot, I noticed.”

You smile, leaning backward a little. His resolve is breaking. “Can I borrow one of the books you got earlier?”

“The three ones you bought not enough?” He raises a brow, downing beer again. Some of it dribbles out of the corner of his lip. You’ve never been one to like the taste, but you’d lick it off him if you could.

“I just wanna browse it,” you push. “I’ll return it tomorrow.”

“Fine,” he relents. “I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”

—

He sees you the next day after lunch, which you’d skipped because you “weren’t hungry.” You’re wearing a dress, hair clipped into a bun when you excuse yourself to pick up an earring in front of him. He almost thinks it’s a fib until he sees it, the pink gem on the floor.

“Sorry,” you say, voice mellow, and then you’re bending over to pick it up. You’re wearing pretty lace panties underneath.

Carlos clears his throat and excuses himself, adjusting his shorts as he goes upstairs.

—

He gives you Norweigan Wood after dinner, like he promised earlier in the week. Two raps on your door, and when you open it, he’s already handing it to you with a quiet smile. “Goodnight,” he says, his voice clipped.

“Our tour isn’t over yet,” you tease, tossing the book onto your bed and descending the steps back downstairs. Confused and interested, he follows you, to the back area of the house, past the swinging screen door, down the steps, and onto the sand.

“Tour?” He repeats, for clarification. The only things to tour are sand and twigs.

“Yeah, Carlos. This is the real tour,” you joke, walking backwards. Every step sends your foot sinking into the cold sand, slowing your pace until Carlos catches up, matching your steps once he does. “Comporta—real and unfiltered.” You both laugh at your hyperbolic, MTV-worthy statement, and he waits for more, entertains you further.

“What is so real about this?” Carlos laughs, allowing himself to humor your little schtick.

“Well, mister. This isn’t bookstores and ice cream parlors.” You point to a nearby spot in the sand, just by a rogue stick. “This is where I smoke without getting caught. Near enough that I can run back in seconds, but faraway enough that my parents can’t immediately see what I’m doing. Granted, I don’t need to be sneaking around much, but if you ever want to do something in secret—”

The implication sends Carlos into a spiral of thought.

“—here’s your spot.”

“So you smoke,” he says when he sits himself on the sand, observing the now-dark skyline of the area. You continue pacing around a little, and when you raise your arms up to stretch, he catches a glimpse of your abdomen, the waistband of pink lace underneath the low rise of your denim shorts.

“Occasionally. Don’t play Holy Mary,” you warn, standing in front of him and stretching your hand out to reveal a box of Marlboro Reds. 

“Wasn’t planning to,” he responds, taking a stick and inserting it in between his lips. “Got a light?”

“No,” you tease, taking one for yourself and sliding your lighter out from your pocket in one quick motion. The flame illuminates your face, casts a light on your thin white tee and on the bikini top you have on underneath. You puff out a small cloud of smoke, and Carlos reaches up to take the lighter.

“I said no,” you giggle, your lips knotting into a pout. You hold the lighter just out of his reach, red and bold against the bleak evening. 

“Give it.” He sits up higher, reaches harder; he almost gets it, but you step backward and raise your arm out of reach. Again your shirt rises with the movement. The view he gets, this time, of your hips, the lace that hugs the area there, is much more close.  The laugh you emit sends a cloud of smoke out.

“No, no,” you continue, laughing, a sweet sound.

Carlos gets up, tries again to lunge for the lighter. At this point he doesn’t even care about the cigarette in between his lips, just wants to entertain you. He tries again but you’re quick with it, ducking every lunge just in time.

“Come on,” he goads, laughing himself. You pace backward, smoking, until your ankles hit the shallow shore water, water that goes deeper and deeper until you’re knee-level, still smiling at him mischievously. 

“Fine,” you relent, shrugging. You throw your hands up in surrender, in the process taking the stick out of your mouth to blow smoke out. “Do you want it? C’mere, then.” You beckon him closer, wave the lighter tantalizingly so he steps closer, closer, until you’re holding the flame to the cigarette between his lips.

He’s so tall, he has to bend a little to let you light it, his eyes meeting yours, illuminated by the pale moon and the orange of the flame.

It all goes to plan. Once you light it, you place two hands square on his shoulders, whirl him so he’s behind you and thus even deeper in the water, and with all your might, push him into the sea. 

“Brat—” he manages to gasp out as he goes, the word leaving his lips in the first and last puff of smoke he lets out. He surfaces, every dip and ridge of his abs and chest accentuated, his linen polo near invisible with how saturated it is with water. His long hair, too, sticks to his forehead; he combs it backward, reveals his amused-irritated eyes, the dead cigarette spouting seawater and ash.

He spits it out. You stare and pinch the soggy stick in between two fingers, stuffing the trash into his chest pocket. “That’s bad for the environment.”

“I am freezing,” he says in response, but you’re just stifling a laugh.

He narrows his eyes, and with unsurprising ease given his build, picks you up and carries you over his shoulder. You barely have time to protest, almost dropping your own cigarette into the water, kicking and pounding on his back to please put me down. You can feel the water getting deep, deeper, and when he finally dunks you in, it’s only a second of dryness before you’re submerged in the chilly water.

Your cigarette dies, and you manage to collect it, because you’re not in the interest of leaving your stick floating; you wedge it into your pocket.

“You’re such”—you gasp for air—“a dick!”

You’re smiling, though, flailing your legs to stay afloat. Carlos can’t help but stare, entranced with the way your eyelashes stick together, damp, the droplets of water on your cheeks, your two hands wringing saltwater out of your hair, and when you swim upward, the way your white tee leaves nothing to his imagination.

You can tell. He can tell you can tell—because the next thing you do, with some faux exaggerated sigh of annoyance, is say, “Can’t swim, too heavy,” and you’re taking off your shirt so all he sees is the red of your bikini top underneath. The white tee bobs softly with each passing wave, and you’re smiling up at him. Checkmate, you’re saying. I’ve got you. A skittish, playful smile on your lips.

“I can help you swim,” he offers—retaliates, more like, his height offering him great advantage. He finds your bare ankle underwater, guides it to wrap around his waist. Naturally, your other leg follows until you’re flush against him, held up by him so you don’t need to wag your legs around just to stay above water.

Your hands go on his still-clothed shoulders first, then eventually around them, fingers linking at the nape of his neck. Your smile is wicked. You’re so sinfully pretty. He wades deeper, holds you all the while, two big hands on either side of your waist, thumbs rubbing over your sides so you can shiver.

“‘M so wet,” you say, voice shaky with chill and laughter. His grip tightens and he has to squeeze his eyes shut to try and pretend you didn’t just say that.

He dips you underneath the surface to surprise you, and your shriek is cut off by the water—he pulls you up quick, laughing, but underestimates his strength because as he tugs, you barrel right onto him, forehead bumping his.

Your eyes are closed, and you momentarily detach from him to wipe salt out of them. “Ass.”

“Brat,” he responds.

You open your eyes to find he’s close, so close you could just lean forward an inch—an inch—and you’d be meeting his lips. You wonder how they feel, how he kisses. He’s confident everywhere else, would he kiss you like that, too? You lean closer, a wrecked gasp escaping you.

“You’re so pretty,” you say, and it’s supposed to be teasing, but your breathy voice is genuine, honest. A thumb swipes over his eyelashes, causing him to blink, then the bridge of his nose. He leans upward, tries to catch your lips, but pauses, his eyes fluttering open and closed.

“This is wrong,” he says in a quiet breath, making no move at all you stop either of you from kissing right now.

You want—need—to kiss him, but you can play the long game if he wishes to. Your eyes flit back up to his, dark brown and reflecting the moon.

“Then let’s head back,” you suggest, even if both of you want anything but.

Long game. He guides you back to shore, picks your tee up, uses it as a sieve for any loose ash and cigarette bits in your path back to shore, even finds your red lighter that’s now dispensing water. He apologizes for not having anything to dry you with, and drops you off at your room with a puddle in both of your wakes.

“Thank you again,” he says, his voice a whisper through your ajar door. He observes your room with what little vantage point he has. The posters on the wall, the art, postcards. The laptop on the bed, open. The phone charging on the nightstand. The thong hanging out of the hamper.

“No problem,” you say back, voice saccharine. Your hand wraps around his wrist. “See you tomorrow.”

Even if you’re doused in seawater, he can still smell the traces of your perfume, the summery sweet of it, when you close the door. He stays for a second, blinks, relishes in the hint of floral.

—

You spend three days walking on eggshells around each other, testing the limits of interaction.

Your night at the beach was risky, dangerous, thrilling—but it was fun, sending you both into antsy, restless trains of thought. Carlos self-medicates with coffee, beer in the afternoon, working on your dad’s car, and the first two hundred pages of the Marquez book you insisted he pick up. He spots you sometimes, lounging on the beach with his book in your grip, the waistline of your bikini bottoms leaving a tanline he can’t stop staring at when you walk back into the house.

But he can’t act on it—he was the one who labeled it wrong, the one who suppressed himself, held the urge back. He told you it was wrong. And it is wrong. He’s older, he should be wiser; he’s close with your dad; and a cacophony of other rational reasons he shouldn’t be playing into this skittish summer crush.

“Dad said the boat’s free,” a voice says, and he looks up from his book to find you standing in front of him, wearing nothing but a bikini top and a skirt, loose and riding low on your hips. Your lips stretch into a sweet smile. “Wanna come?”

He really shouldn’t. “Sí.”

So he goes. He’s thirty-five. That’s a grown age. If anything, he’s capable of making sure he stays responsible. He dog-ears his page and picks up his beer to follow you to where the boat is docked. He’d been on your dad’s yacht earlier in his trip here, to go fishing, but it’s quieter today, bobbing softly atop the water. You lie yourself down on the sunny side of the boat, sunglasses over your eyes.

“Stay anywhere you like,” you say charmingly. It’s silent for a while, Carlos seating himself on one of the lounge seats in the shaded area, and then you’re moving around on your towel.

You peer over your lenses, blinking and sitting up, and this is when he knows he can’t do it.

“Carlos,” you call out. “Can you put sunscreen on my back?” You get up again, rifling in your bag for the bottle of sunscreen, dragging a hand through your hair to comb it out. It falls in loose waves, swishing when you turn to hand him the bottle. He pretends he’d been distracted on page 210 when he accepts it, watching as you sit in front of the seat, your back turned to him, your little figure in-between his spread legs. 

A minute passes with no hand at your back. “Go ahead, move even slower,” you joke, and the tension breaks a little; he humors you, laughs and apologizes.

“It’s because hour hair is in the way,” he says, touching it gently, combing it to the side.

“Wait—” You dig through your bag again and pull out a blunt pink ribbon, slipping it into his hand. “Can you braid it for me?”

“Braid?” He doesn’t know jack shit about braiding hair. “I don’t know how.”

“At that age of yours and you don’t know anything about how to please a girl,” you whistle lowly. “Adult virgin?” 

But you guide him through it despite your teasing, teaching him to divide your hair in threes, weaving one strand over the other until “it looks half decent.” He fucks up a few times and your hair looks odd at some point, but in the end, it’s—well, it’s a braid.

“How is it?” You ask, and he can hear your smile.

He does the job well enough for a first-timer, he thinks, finishing it with the ribbon, which he ties loosely lest you’re unhappy with the finished product. It becomes easier to move your hair out of the way, and once your back is saturated with sunscreen, you unfold your legs and get up, turning around and smiling down at his sitting figure.. Loose tendrils of hair frame your face, the braid resting at your back softly, already loosening.

“Your hair can be braided, too,” you comment quietly, knotting a rogue few strands in your fingers. It hasn’t been this tense since that night at the beach, but that ended before the tension rose further—this, now, keeps going. You step closer and he leans back, smiling. “Can I?”

He blinks, nostrils flaring, then nods, his grip on your hips gentle when you sit on his lap, your legs on either side of his. You smile coquettishly, feeling how hard he is underneath you, the denim of his jeans rough against the skin of your bare thighs. Your skirt’s riding up on them with every little shift you make, just to rile him up.

Carlos drinks in the sight of you, sunkissed and on his lap, legs sprawled out, pretty little face framed, bottom lip in your teeth. You’re inviting him closer, your gaze meeting his with sleepy, demure eyes—do something. You look so fucking precious, so pretty. It makes him want to give you everything right now.

You reach forward, make an attempt to try and weave his hair together—but he grinds upward, your breath hitching and a whimper punched out of your mouth.

Your hands are shaking now, barely able to piece his hair together with how good his clothed cock feels pressed against you, where you need it most. 

“Carlos,” you gasp, and all he can really think is—where’d all your fight go? You were so used to being a brat and a half, now you’re whimpering, on the edge of begging.

“Be quiet,” Carlos grunts, digging his fingers into your hips. His other hand lifts your skirt, bunching the fabric around your hips for a better view of your cunt rubbing against the bulge in his pants. The damp fabric of your panties is swallowed between your lips with every grind you make forward and he has to stop himself from cursing out loud at the sight. “Good girl.”

Your hands move from his hair to his shoulders, sturdy and broad; you can feel him squeeze your waist with both hands, then pull you down against him, just once, so your weight presses down on the hard shape of his cock. It makes him shudder and you whine out loud. You resist the urge to grind over it; you’re already so wet you’re making a mess on his jeans.

His praise, mumbled deep and slow in your ear, gets you feeling all warm, almost ditzy. Your hips roll on their own, chasing the delicious drag of rough denim against your clit, slick soaks into and through your panties, making the material cling to the shape your folds. Carlos’ hands are rough when they wander and grope, hiking this godforsaken skirt up so he can press a thumb against the centre of your folds.

“Been so good for you, Carlos,” you whine, circling your hips against him. He can’t stop staring at your pretty, fucked-out eyes, your bitten lips. He shoves two fingers in-between them, imagines how they looked just a few days ago slick with ice cream—now your tongue is laving over his hand. The braid you'd just taught him is quickly unraveling with every nod of your head. “‘M gonna—can I—” The pleas leave you quick, your voice choked.

Euphoric, your mind lifts, foggy and saturated with pleasure, the braid almost completely undone now. His praise is so addictive, gets you worked up and needy. Come on, he says. Make a mess. His accent, his deep voice, the way it rumbles right through you—his voice drops, his touch a little heavier as he presses harder.

You gonna cum for me? His thumb rubs faster until you’re gasping, shuddering, little ahs leaving your lips. He’s got the upper hand now, but you can hear the strain, the suppression in his voice as he rubs over the soaked fabric; you feel his cock growing under you, getting harder. 

P—please—I want to—please let me, you say breathlessly, and you’ve never needed it to the point of begging before, but Carlos is different. He keeps going, doesn’t give you permission, rubbing faster, your heart hammering in your chest.

Feel good?

Y—yeah, you whimper, trying your best not to fall apart here, on your dad’s boat, where anybody could walk on—or maybe see you from afar, humping your dad’s friend in broad daylight. He loves watching you like this; you’ve somehow become even prettier, face flushed and voice shaky.

Come on, he goads. Be a good girl. Cum for me.

It’s the only instruction that matters to you right now, your body seizing with it and cute little moans escaping you as you finish. You catch your breath against his chest, craving warmth even if it’s hot—maybe you’re craving him, his touch, Carlos, just Carlos. You maneuver yourself so legs, exhausted from shaking, are on one side of his body—he holds you close, humming.

He rubs a steady hand across your lower back, gentle and firm and you want him so much more now. “Are you okay?” He asks. “Talk to me.”

“Perfect,” you pant against his polo, fingers playing with the stitching, tugging the collar down so you can mouth at his skin. His hand plays with what’s left of the braid, winds the pink ribbon around his fingers. “Let’s go for a swim.”

—

“And we drove the jet ski around, too,” you say gleefully, your damp hair bobbing with every move of your head. Your face is sunkissed, a little sore from being in the sun for most of the afternoon. Carlos laughs along from where he is at the grill—he’s cooking for dinner, on a quest to make burgers because he’s known for making the best ones back in Madrid, apparently. Your dad, of course, insists on joining, and the two have been asking and answering questions while you and your mum sip rosé at the table.

“Did you have fun?” Your mum asks, her head turning to address Carlos.

“Yeah, tons,” he replies with a smile, his eyes meeting yours for a brief second. You know what he means. It’s been only two days since the afternoon on the boat, and since then you’ve mostly swam and ridden around on the jet ski with Carlos—nothing more.

“See, sweetie,” she adds, placing a hand over yours. “I told you this summer would be fun with him around!”

“Mmm, yeah,” you say, nodding and parting from your glass, “I can really count on him for some excitement.” The statement catches his attention and he almost trails off, eyes returning to yours, before he continues speaking in Spanish to your dad about something or other.

The burgers’ reputation precedes them, and is warranted, you learn later when you’re biting into it for the first time. The remainder of dinner passes by in lively conversation, the sun setting low underneath the Comporta horizon, wine taking the place of rosé. Carlos mentions the racing world again, about how he’ll be back into the thick of it sooner than later, and you pulse with something akin to sadness.

Your parents, apparently so grateful for the blessing that is Carlos’ burgers, offer to clean up and before long, they retreat to their downstairs bedroom. Upstairs, you marinate in your thoughts, blinking up at your ceiling, twining your pink ribbon around your fingers as your hair dries splayed over your bedding. You let your arm down, in the process bumping your elbow against a hard surface.

Upon investigation, you find it’s a copy of Norweigan Wood. 

Carlos is at his desk, taking a timezone-separated call about simulation and season prep, when two soft knocks go at his door and it creaks open. He turns the chair away from the desk to see who it is. An ankle steps in first, then more leg, and then you—in a lovely, pretty pink lace dress, your face illuminated by the moonlight outside. One hand clutches a copy of his book; the other, the ribbon he’d used on your hair earlier.

He’s nursing a bottle of beer, just to help ease the drag of the day, and he watches you approach him, your footsteps quiet against the hardwood of the floor. Wait, he mouths, finishing the call in a hushed tone, and when he hangs up you approach him again.

“I thought you should have this back,” you say, offering him the book. Your eyes rake over him, wearing the same getup he’d worn to dinner—denim jeans, because he’d ducked out to buy food, except he’s ridden himself of his shirt. 

He takes the book, places it on the table, continues staring up at you. “And I thought you should keep this.” The ribbon, pale pink, is now looped around his wrist and tied into a delicate ribbon at the apex of it. You admire your handiwork with a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

You lean down, face just shy of his. “We shouldn’t,” he manages to eke out, his voice strained.

“But you want to,” you respond softly. “No one’s going to know. Our little secret.”

His eyes are shut, contemplating, and then he’s kissing you—the only thing you’ve wanted, craved, touched yourself to the thought of over the course of the summer. You reciprocate immediately, parting your lips to let him kiss you deeper, a whimper leaving your mouth. He kisses like he knows he’s a good kisser, and he really is. His scent is intoxicating, a drug, sending arousal and desire straight through you.

You part, eyes half-lidded as you stand straight again. You cock your head slowly to the side, and with your head’s movement your hair follows, gathering on one side. It exposes much of your shoulder and collarbones, which lay underneath the thin lace dress you wear to sleep, and which is now subject to Carlos' unwavering stare. He has no shame, eyes raking over you, up and down and back up. One hand curled around a bottle of beer, the other coming up to slowly graze the back of your thigh.

Your breath hitches. “Do you like the dress?” You ask softly, teasingly. It’s nothing special, Carlos, you seem to say; it’s just a nightie.

His hand is rough against the thin skin of your leg, traveling upward. He gives you a nod in response; he does like it, the sheer material, the pink color, the loose way it hugs your body. Roughly, he voices his assent. “Come sit on my lap.”

“Wait,” you say, pouting. Your knee rubs softly against the material of his jeans, and you slowly sink onto your knees, hands placing themselves on your thighs. His grip goes from the back of your thigh to your hair, combing it softly, cradling your face. 

“Let me,” you say, letting your silence imply everything unsaid. He’s going crazy, losing his mind.

“So pretty,” he says, nodding. his voice thin. “Go ahead, baby.”

The petname gets you dizzy. You lean forward, resting your face on the hard bulge in his pants, smiling up at him. You’ve got these big, doe eyes, begging him, and he’s not so sure he even has the upper hand anymore—he would do anything you asked, any request that left those pretty bitten lips. He gathers your hair in two hands, forms a messy, unclean braid, crisscross at the back of your head just so he has something to grip while he fucks your throat.

You make quick, deft work of unbuttoning his jeans, and he watches, leaned back on the chair, legs spread wide with bent knees on either side of your body, caging you in. Carlos’ eyes are half-lidded, a hand at your braid, bringing his beer to his lips, swallowing before he sets it onto the adjacent desk.

His cock is big—thick, intimidating—and you can’t help but wonder how you’re going to fit the whole thing in your mouth without choking. It twitches in your palms the longer you stroke him, precum weeping from the head and slicking up your palms. Gruff expletives, in Spanish and English, slip past his gritted teeth and the sounds travel directly to your core, causing you to instinctively press your thighs together to soothe the ache blossoming there.

You take head of his cock into your mouth, feel it roll over your tongue, heavy and warm. Drool gathers in your mouth and your fingers dig into the muscle of his thighs in anticipation. The hand wound around your braid, pressed against your head, presses heavier slowly, slotting the first few inches of cock into your mouth while avoiding the back of your throat. You relax, letting your lips seal around the length, cheeks hollowing and tongue lulling at the underside. He curses.

You continue bobbing your head, lewd noises leaving your mouth with every move you make; it embarrasses you, but also sends slick gushing out of you.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes when the tip of his cock grazes the back of your throat; you cough, fingers heavy as they dig into the flesh of his still-denim clas thighs; drool trickles onto his balls. The hand remains there, though, pushing you and keeping you pinned in place as he slowly thrusts upward. You haven’t even gotten him all the way.

You gag and sputter, eyes fully watering the harder Carlos bullies his cock into your throat; you’re dizzy with arousal and submission, maybe one, maybe both, you’re too far gone.

“Easy,” he orders, and you will yourself to breathe nasally, relaxing, burying more of him in you. He loves seeing you like this, hair all pretty—his braid, too—and on your knees, trying your best to please him. “Being so good for me, good girl,” he says, losing resolve. You’re so pretty when you cry, eyes rimmed and bloodshot, tear streaks all over your cheekbones.

He ruts shallowly into your throat, every move punctuated by a guttural gag from your end—once, twice, a third time, before finally he releases you. You let out a cough, and a gasp, breathy, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. He doesn’t want to cum yet—not like this. You gaze up at him, big eyes anticipating, and he guides you upward, on the bed.

He kicks his jeans off and readjusts his briefs, watches you scramble to position yourself on the bed, sitting down properly. “Will you fuck me now?” You ask, your sweet voice raspy. He likes knowing he’s the reason why.

You inch yourself backward so you’re fully on his bed, a hand traveling to stop your tiny dress from riding up any further. He steps closer, one knee on the bed, caging you in again, and stops you. His gaze flickers down to your legs, forces your knees apart so he can see in between them. Your pretty cunt’s soaked through your panties. “Don’t hide from me,” he says, voice rough as he steps back off the bed and kneels beside it.

“Carlos,” you breathe, letting him have his way with you. Your mind’s all fuzzy, but it’s okay—he takes care of you. 

Strong arms snake around your thighs and pull you toward him until your cunt is level with his face. His breath, warm, fans against you, muted by the thin fabric of your panties and it does nothing to help the unadulterated, dirty arousal throbbing in your cunt. He bites at the flesh of your inner thigh, then hooks two fingers into your panties and pulls them aside.

The taste of you is so good; it goes straight to Carlos’ head. And all of your embarrassed, whiny whimpers, the way your fingers knot helplessly into his hair as he drags his tongue up your cunt — that drives him absolutely crazy. He licks at your pussy, sticks his tongue in, nudges your clit with his nose, ekes whimpers and debauched moans out of your lips.

He pushes two fingers into you, doesn’t give you time to adjust before he’s fucking them in and out, moans spilling out of you involuntarily. It’s lewd, it’s dirty, getting his friend’s daughter all spread out for him like this, but Carlos loves it. More, you sob, more, please, I need—yeah—

His skilled tongue doesn’t let up, continues toying with you, licking up all the arousal oozing out of your cunt. He eats you, fucks you with his fingers, until your eyes are welling up with overwhelm and the need to release, your hands pulling at his long hair—your pussy dripping, quivering, right at the edge of your orgasm.

Any of the reservations you had are now out the window. Your grip on Carlos’ hair is tight, pushing his head deeper into your pussy and grinding against his mouth mindlessly.

I’m cumming—!

Your voice is so dirty, so lewd, so needy, when you finally finish around him, slick dripping out and your pussy twitching, clenching and unclenching around nothing as you release. Panting, you hoist yourself on your elbows, your braid surprisingly intact, and pout down at him.

“I said fuck me.”

“So you complain,” he responds with a coy smile, his lips shiny with your slick. You want him to fuck you stupid.

He does eventually, gets you all calm and lying down on the bed, knees to your chest. Your feet cross and uncross with anticipation. He lets his cock rest first on your stomach, where it twitches, smearing precum under your belly button.

“That’s where you’ll be,” you say, stroking him. When he finally does begin thrusting into you, he wishes he could save the image of your pretty eyes fluttering closed, puffy lips open in a whimper.

Your legs tremble with the size you’re taking, his hand gentle as it is firm on your hips, forcing you to take him, take him good, take him better. Good girl, he’s saying, good fucking girl. Inch by inch, you struggle to take all of him, his girth thicker than what your cunt is willing to take. You’re positive you’ll feel him in your stomach.

“Carlos,” you whimper, voice aching.

“Fuck,” is all he can muster, watching your pussy swallow him. “So tight.”

He’s drunk on the feeling of you, wet and clenching around him, so tight. He can tell you’re high on it too, on the stretch of him, the way you keep trying to meet every thrust, legs already beginning to tremble with pleasure and deep arousal. He bottoms out, an expletive leaving him in Spanish, and then slowly begins to fuck in and out of you.

He watches your face, the way your brows knit as you take him, take his cock, eyelides fluttering. “So good,” you moan, mouth open. He drops a glob of spit onto your tongue, tells you to swallow—you do, presenting your empty tongue to him. Good girl, prettiest girl—any and all praise leaves him in dizzy, heady breaths.

“Teasing me for so long,” he pants, his dick splitting you in half. “This what you wanted? Hmm?”

But even in your cloudy mind, you find the grit to retaliate, teasingly, a cloy smile on your lips. “You said it was wrong,” you gasp out with every thrust. “Fucking your friend’s daughter.”

“But you love it,” Carlos goads. “Do you?”

You nod, cockdrunk, but it’s not enough. “Use your words, pretty. You can do it.”

“I do, I love it. I need more,” you whine, getting off on his teasing, on the implication that this is all wrong, that neither of you should be doing this. “Needed this so much, Carlos.” You crack your eyes open to watch the bulge in your abdomen, the shape of his girth splitting you open. He slams into you harder and you try to squirm away, but he keeps you pinned in place.

“And if your dad walked in?”

You gush slick all over him. “Carlos,” you plead.

“Saw his daughter taking his friend’s dick?” He says it low into your ear, bending to make sure you hear all of it. “Taking it like a good girl, too.” He pulls out, slaps your ruined hole with his dick, then shoves it in deep again, groaning when you cry out—getting off on you whining about how sensitive you are, the way you tremble under him and around him. Your pretty little face, all sweaty and ruined.

“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m, Carlos—I’m gonna cum,” you say, nodding. You’ve probably cum twice already, little bursts of pleasure causing your cunt to twitch around him, sensitive. “Can I—?” 

“That’s it,” he praises. “Come on, cum for me. Been so good for me.” You tremble around him as you finish, broken moans fucked out of you with every surge of his hips forward.

He’s close, too, having held off fucking you for the past how many days, and you can tell; his thrusts get shallower, faster, until his hips are stuttering and he’s panting your name out, long hair framing his flushed, pretty face. You reach up to comb a hand through it. “Cum inside me,” you beg, watching him go crazy, his nostrils flaring and eyes blinking quick. 

He pumps his cum into you, thrusting several times as he rides it out, fucking you full of him, of his cum. You relish in the feeling, of being his girl, his good girl. “You’re a mess,” he comments, his face buried into your neck. He pulls out, both of you sighing at the sight and feeling of his cum dribbling out of you, onto the bed.

You unfold your legs, sitting up despite how sore you feel. Your dress is damp with sweat, and slick, and cum. “I feel a mess.” You pout.

“You look pretty.”

“Can I sleep here tonight?” You ask, voice meek. He nods, holds you tight as you both drift off, like he knows that you won’t be his to call his by the time the summer wanes and Comporta is left empty again.

—

“It’s the post-race interview,” Ali calls. “Hurry!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” You hop into the living room, tossing her the bag of popcorn she’d requested you to cook. Fall has officially dawned upon the city, adorning it with orange and red leaves, jazz music and cold nights—and weekends watching races.

Around you, all your university friends watch with intense gazes at the winner of the latest Formula One grand prix—something none of you had been remotely interested in just months prior.

You watch, eyes glittering, at the winner. Tan skin, long hair, jogging over to the journalist. Sainz, what a stellar drive! She sounds awestruck, genuinely taken aback by his dominance on the track today. She asks for a message in Spanish, as always; a few words of inspiration, and then, just as a fun little tidbit—did you have a good luck charm today?

He smiles to himself, like he’s just heard an inside joke and seems to think for a minute. “No, not really.” Then he combs a hand through his hair. There, looped around his wrist, is a pretty, pale pink ribbon.

[cherriesformatt]

the affair || matt sturniolo

summary: you sneak around behind his brothers back

warnings: suggestive

word count: 1,1k

a/n: Thank you for almost 300 followers and 300 notes under last post! Some of my favorite writers on here liked it and I was freaking out. Hope you like this one ily

🍒

"So you think he is acting different? Is that what you are saying?" I asked Nick while putting jar or peanut butter in the shopping cart.

We were grocery shopping for our movie night. Nick was one of my really good friends here in LA. I was a content creator as well. l mainly made music on TikTok, mostly singing and playing covers on the guitar.

"Yes... He is weirdly happy and not that tough as always...like man fine if he is getting laid but why the fuck he is so secret about it? Like we literally know that there is someone " He said and threw more stuff. Cookies and chocolate.

"I don't know Nick...Did you ask him?" I said looking at the labels of products.

I did not want to look him in the eye. If he only knew.

"No.. Chris only made one stupid joke about it and he got mad so we are not asking anymore" He answered.

We spent like an hour in Target before I drove us back to his house.

It was kinda late. Already past 10 pm, so we quickly took turns with a shower and settle to watch movies in his bed. We started Twilight because I made him. And because I knew by the time we start the second movie he is going to be asleep.

So when that happened, I left the tv on because I knew that's how he liked to sleep. I sneaked out of his room and went down the stairs.

I knocked on Matt's doors and within two seconds he opened it.

"Finally..." He said and pulled me into the room.

He closed the doors gently and smiled looking at me.

"Hi..." He said and gently pulled my chin to connect our lips.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back. I did not see him for two days due to his busy schedule.

He slipped his cold hands under my hoodie giving me a goosebump allover my body.

Did I ever planned to sneak behind Nicks back to hook up with his brother? No. It just happened. From the beginning me and Matt had a special connection. We could talk for hours even if both of us were not the biggest talkers in the world. We were similar but yet completely different.

"I missed you too" I said quietly after he pulled back to take a deep breath.

He sat on his bed and made me seat on his lap. I straddle him and smiled.

"Your brothers knows that you are getting some..." I wiggled my eyebrows at him.

"Believe me, I know..." He said and rubbed my cheek.

"I wonder why? Am I making you less mean?" I pushed on his chest so he was under me completely.

"Honestly I do not want to talk about my brothers right now" He said and turned us so now I was under him.

He started to kiss my neck and I moved my head a little to give him more access. I sight a little. I missed his touch so much. It was on my mind for a whole day.

This is going to be a long night...

"Stay with me.... It's like 4 in the morning anyways...He is not going to know..." He said after he helped me to clean up in the bathroom and waited for me to pee.

"I don't know Matt... I was usually back to his bed" I said and yawned.

I hugged him and close my eyes. I was so tired.

"You literally sleeping while standing" He kissed my head and hugged me back.

"To be honest I can't really stand..." I blushed and he laughed a little.

"You sleeping in my bed kid... thats it" He said and picked me up and took me to his bed.

"I am not sleeping naked tho..."I said and he just helped me to put one of his t-shirt on and my pajama pants back on.

I instantly did fall asleep in his arms.

I woke up with pure panic. Because clock on the nightstand said 11 am. That means Nick is up for sure. And that means there is no way to sneak out without him knowing.

"Matt..." I started to wiggled from his arms.

"Mhm?" He moved away and stretched.

"It's almost noon... they are probably up already" I said and covered my face with my hands.

"Baby... thats okay.. it's going for long enough. I wanna finally take you out and spent time together without pretending that you are my bro and that I'm having a fucking secret affair with some random girl that I am not telling my brothers about. Because you are far from that. I do understand that you are friends with Nick and it's like bros code or whatever you think it is. But I think is time..." He looked at me.

Like chilled out weren't you asleep 3 seconds ago? It is too early for this.

"I know..." I breathed out heavily.

"So? Let's go.. if they are up they are probably in the kitchen." He got up and pulled a shirt on because he was sleeping only in his pj pants.

I also got up and pulled my hoodie on and fixed my hair.

"Oh... good morning... so I am waking up, right? Looking next to me...my best friend? Gone. I though... maybe something happened...I texted her phone... still on my nightstand by the way. I looked through the window, her car is still here. So I came down stairs... Chris was already here. I asked him... Did you see y/n by any chance? Chris said no.. but unfortunately he wanted some water at 3 am.. he didn't see her just heard her... FUCKING MY OTHER BROTHER" Nick was looking at us from the kitchen table.

"Do not be dramatic Nick..."Matt started.

"Oh I am not being dramatic I lost 50 bucks to him. Because we had a bet if you tell us first or we will find out this way..." He pointed at us.

"So you knew?" I asked looking at him.

"Of course I knew... I always know. Free pass only this one time both of you. No more secrets. Like what the fuck? I am happy you're happy and I wouldn't be mad" He said.

"Im sorry... I love you" I came up to him and gave him a hug. He only patted my back.

"Alright, alright you should only be sorry for Chris. He is traumatized" He laughed.

Matt laughed as well but I felt embarrassed.

"I am kidding, you are fine" He said.

"Also I must say... I always knew you guys will end up together" He said and I smiled at Matt.

"No more secret affair..." Matt laughed.

"No more" I said.

"So should we go out for breakfast?" Nick asked.

"Yes, please, I am starving..." I said.

"Too many burned calories, huh?" Nick asked.

"Oh my god now it will never end.... let's go back to the secret affair actually" I covered my face with my hands.

[hannieehaee]

content: badboy!wonwoo (he's actually a cutie pie he's just v careless with his safety T-T), established relationship, break up, angst, fluffy ending (it's always fluffy endings here or i die), mentions of shady work, mentions of bruises, etc.

part 2

wc: 1191

a/n: thank you so much to the person who requested this!! im rlly bad with angst so this was hard haha if any of u want a smutty continuation pls lmk <3 i was gonna finish w smut but i wasnt sure ;-;

masterlist

"how can you expect me to care about you when you have such little regard for yourself?"

those were some of the last words wonwoo had heard from you last time he saw you.

he had, once again, arrived home late, blue and grey from yet another altercation he'd found himself in. he had promised you he'd leave his shady past behind. that he'd take care of you and you'd exist happily together, never having to worry for the other's safety.

it had taken you a while to break, begging him to put you out of your misery and either leave you or promise you a life in which you wouldn't be terrified every time he stepped foot out of the door. living without you was just unconceivable for wonwoo, which left him with only one choice.

he managed to keep his promise for about a week or two, happy to arrive punctual at home every night and find you waiting for him, more than ready to shower him with your affections.

he hadn't meant to break his promise. nothing broke him more than the look in your eyes as he entered your shared home, two hours late and with twenty missed calls from you. his skin was once again covered with bruises, disheveled hair and exhausted state to match. he hadn't thought this would be the end. that despite of his pleas to please stay, you'd still pack your bags, eyes filled with tears as you cried at him that you couldn't stay and watch him slowly kill himself like this. what you hadn't realized was that nothing could kill him more than your absence.

~

it had only been two weeks since you left him. two weeks since his last genuine smile graced his face. two weeks since he was able to sleep. and most ironically, two weeks since he'd gotten into some type of life-threatening altercation. his bruises had healed by now, taking longer than usual now that he didn't have you to tend to him like before. he still kept up with you, watching you from afar as you cruised through life. he didn't want to make you uncomfortable, hoping to respect your decision to leave and take his heart with you, but your absence was too much for him. if he couldn't have you, he'd at least watch you from afar, dreading what he had lost. so that's what he did, and thats what he was currently doing right now.

you were attending some party, he'd found out. which meant he needed to be in attendance too and watch over you. he felt dejected as he watched you have fun with your friends, sad that maybe the breakup just hadn't been that big of a deal to you. maybe you were truly better off without him. maybe he needed to leave you alone and allow you to enjoy life without a burden such as jeon wonwoo.

he wanted to leave, he truly did, but his body wouldn't let him. he just wanted you back into his life so badly. everything had turned bleak the moment you left, making him just a shell of himself. he wanted to approach you and get on his knees (in front of all the wasted party goes, even) and beg you for forgiveness. he wanted to cry out to you how much he loved you, that you were the light of his life, that he'd leave it all behind for you. but he was too much of a coward to do that. so, he prepared himself mentally in order to leave, sparing one last look your way before disappearing into the crowd. except you were gone. in his distracted state, you had left. your friends were still there, but you were the sole disappearance. wonwoo knew he should've just left you alone, but he couldn't live with himself if something were to happen to you.

he frantically looked for you for a good five minutes before finding you in some empty balcony, sitting down against the rail with your legs hanging from it. he could only see your profile, but was able to spot the shine of your cheeks, a clear indicator that you'd been crying. he once again couldn't help himself when he spoke up.

"baby?" he was slow at approaching you, not wanting to surprise you too much.

you jumped a bit anyways, "wonwoo? what are you doing here?"

"i ... i wanted to see you. i'm sorry"

you had gotten up, now facing him but keeping yourself closed off, arms wrapped around yourself and eyes not meeting his, very much unlike your usual affectionate self.

"wonwoo ... you can't keep doing this. i know you've been following me around. you need to leave me alone."

"i .."

"do you think this is easy for me? i love you. so fucking much. i just cant watch you get hurt over and over. i cant wait home late not knowing if you'll actually come back," you'd began ranting, your emotions getting stronger by the second, "every time you leave it's like i have to hold my breath, and i cant breathe until i have you back to me safely. i can't do this anymore. i love you, i-"

wonwoo couldnt take it anymore. he walked the rest of the way and held onto you. he lightly grabbed you and placed you in his arms, engulfing your shaking form against his chest. you'd begun crying halfway through your speech, your words becoming slurred and you shook and sniffled throughout. wonwoo couldn't physically handle seeing you in such distress without wanting to take it away. so he held onto you. what surprised him was that you held him back. you nuzzled your face into his chest, wrapping your arms tightly around him as you sobbed against him, crying that you loved him.

"i love you ... so fucking much," pulling away, he made sure to look into your eyes as he spoke, "i can't exist without you. i'll stop- i stopped. i'll leave it all behind for you. we can leave. together. i'll do anything for you, just- please. please come back to me. i love you."

"wonwoo ..."

"i mean it! i'll keep you safe. i'll keep us safe. we can start new. just us. you'll never have to worry about me again, i promise. just need you back. please. i can't do this without you, i-"

like in any other cliche, you pulled him into you, kissing his words back into his mouth. but he didn't care. he kissed all emotions right back into yours, letting all the sadness he had in him dissipate against your lips. you kissed until you became lightheaded, sighing against each other's lips even when you were out of breath, refusing to pull away. wonwoo was finally the one to pull away, almost losing his mind at the way your lips chased after his.

"let me take you home? i love you. wanna take care of you."

and with that, you walked back into his life, hand in hand, with the promise that his love for you would keep him safe.

[sunnyswide]

Murderer POLY 141 🔪 x Oblivious Female Reader

NSFW/MDNI (sexual activities and sexual themes)

Instead of military.. Why not just a bunch of fucking murders.

To you, it seemed so odd that they would show up at the most convenient of times. Nonetheless, you were mighty grateful for the help. For the quick fix-up on your car. The multitude of groceries you had. The short-lived stalker you never heard from again. The drunken who suddenly approached you late at dusk, but also got taken care of quite swiftly. The fruitful amount of cash that was hidden under piles of junk in the drawer. They were a bit tinted with red… Chalking that up to “Oh I must have put that there” even though you had no recollection.

But to them, it was all fun and games. Who'd be first caught or who'd be the last one standing?

Gaz was just so kind, inviting you to every opportunity for tea or snack breaks. You’re surprised when he tells you he lives at the complete opposite side of town.

“Thats an hour away Gaz! Isn't it exhausting?”

“Not at all, I have work here.”

He lies theough his teeth but hey? Isn't it all lies around here. As long as your adorable mind doesn't realize.. It won't hurt. Just like the many times he takes you to where he resides, eyes staring at the two of you.

Course you’re scared, but he promises it's because they’re not too keen with visitors. Not realizing the multitude of people don't seem to be glaring at you. But at him.

You don't ask questions and go along with it. Letting him lead you to his apartment that seemed to be barely lived in.. But it doesn't matter after he Fucks those pretty thoughts out of your mind. Making you see stars as he finishes inside of you for the third time.

But Price isn't that open. He keeps the conversation entertaining but reveals absolutely nothing about himself as he listens to you talk.

He loves the expressions you make, your lips pouting when you talk about the scary days you had over the week because of some weird stalker.

“I promise! There is someone following me!”

“Then why don’t you let me take you home”

He walks you home every night the two of you go out. The one day he doesn't, you swear you could hear an extra pair of footsteps. Looking around deliriously you opt for a run instead, going through alleyways and shortcuts. Until you accidentally bump into someone, causing you to trip over your feet.

“Gah! Sorry!”

You look up to see Price! He looked shocked at first but soon composed himself, taking your hand in his.

“Dont be sorry”

He smiles gently, kissing the top of your forehead while you burst into soft sobs. You swear you saw something.. Or someone else behind him. On the floor? Maybe it was your imagination..

He takes you home but you beg him to stay the night.

“Can you stay?..”

He holds you tight, pressing his fingers deeper into your hips. This only leads to an excuse to fuck you on his cock as an “apology” for scaring you. He whispers sweet nothings to you as he overstimulates your dripping cunt, making you cockwarm him even after cumming.

But after meeting Ghost and Soap, the perfect self-proclajmed duo, you couldn’t help but find yourself attracted. They were a mix of dark humor and wholesome dad jokes.

They invite you for a quick drink as friends. Friends that sit too close to each other.. Ghost insisting you sit in the middle as Soap drapes an arm around your waist, pouring you more and more Alcohol you didn’t want to drink.

Sooner or later the “fun” was coming to an end as you try to stand up, toppling over Ghost’s lap. They chuckle at your vulnerable state, taking it up as a reason to carry you back home. Of course this attracting other drunken dudes to come up to them asking them where they think they’re going.

“Cmoonnnn, We can all have a piece of that”

Soap smirks.. He was damn happy they even asked.

“Why not gentlemen”

But you didn't see what happened after as Ghost drove you back to his place with Soap after the quick charade. Soap smelled a bit.. Odd.. His hands covered in a.. Red substance.

“Just wine luv”

A few minutes later you sobered up quite quickly, surprised even though you drank so much. But hey no hangover!

And as a thank you they happily ate you out. Getting Fucked by both of them at once felt.. Ruthless. Your clit brimmed with overstimulation as Simon rubbed circles over it and your mouth forced wide open as Soap shoved his shaft deeper and deeper.

You sobbed quietly into the pillow as Soap rammed his Dick into your sopping cunt, relieved for the pounding to stop until Ghost took his time teasing your entrance. Making you gasp..

“Fu..ck.. Wai-wait”

Begging? Uselsss.

He didn't mind you screaming for him to stop. Overestimation turned into torture for your pussy. Brutilized after just one night, you’d had to come back to them for more right?

But it wasn't much of your choice to come back.

Part two

[levilxvr]

who confessed first?

ft. levi, armin, mikasa, annie, hange x gn!reader

cw: fluff, none else that i can think of tbh

levi

you confessed first

He thinks about you every night, replaying little scenarios of your interactions in his head to feed his bedtime thoughts. Everyone knows he’s got a soft spot for you, and erwin has been telling him to grow some balls and tell you how he feels.

But one night you’re on the rooftop of hq with him, spending some time alone. It’s become one of your favourite nightly escapes, catching up and discussing each others’ worries in the dead of night. But this time was different. He was complimenting the way you look under the moonlight, fingers absentmindedly trailing through your hair. You let out a small giggle and his heart warms. God, even your laugh is so perfect.

“you know levi, I kinda like you.”

“oh?” He’s honestly not surprised, but a small part of him felt as if maybe you wouldn’t feel the same.

“hm.. good thing I’ve got a thing for you too, then.” One of his rare smiles forms on his lips and he pulls you in, stealing a quick kiss on the top of your head.

armin

he confessed first

Armin was a little drunk when he confessed, it was after a dinner party during the trip to Marley. Eren accidentally made him drink too much and you took him back to the hotel so he could rest, but he ended up clinging on tight to you, begging you to stay. Of course you agreed, and seconds later he just kinda spilled the beans in his intoxicated state.

“I.. hic- I love you.. love you so much..”

At first you tried to brush it off, thinking he didn’t really mean it since he was all drunk and blushing. But the next morning when you guys wake up you ask if he remembered what happened the night before.

“I really did mean it when I said I love you.”

The smile you return is enough for him to know you reciprocate his feelings. And armin has never been happier in his life.

mikasa

you confessed first

ok she kinda dragged it out of you lol. She caught feelings the moment her gaze landed on you, but never wanted to confess because of the fear that you’d turn her down. But over the weeks she started to get subtle hints that you like her too. Sasha keeps encouraging her to make a move but poor girl feels like she’s just being delusional HSJSFD

One day you’re alone in the gym with her, doing your daily morning workouts together as usual. She catches you eyeing her every now and then, especially while she’s doing her sit ups. It feels like your gaze is burning right through her and she can’t contain herself anymore.

“do you like me?” she randomly blurts out the question and you’re caught off guard. “I mean, it’s a safe question, I just need you to answer honestly.”

“yeah..” You turn away to avoid seeing her reaction.

“hey,” mikasa’s hand cups your cheek and turns your face back to her. “I like you. a lot. And I enjoy hanging out with you, I just wanted to be sure cuz, y’know.”

And just like that, the hard part is over and now she can finally make all her dreams come true.

annie

she confessed first

Annie isn’t one to catch feelings that easily. She prefers to keep herself reserved and unknown to the rest of the world, but every time she sees you walk by there’s this strange sensation she can’t seem to ignore.

It’s late at night and you’re lazing around in your room when you hear a knock on the door.

“I.. need to talk to you about something.” Her cheeks begin to heat up and the blood rushing to her face gives you a hint of what’s on her mind.

“You can tell me anything, annie.” You take her hands gently and she doesn’t let go.

“Every time I see you or hear your voice, there’s this.. feeling I can’t seem to put my finger on.”

“love?”

she nods. Love, thats right. She’s in love. You brush the hair out of her pretty blue eyes and squeeze her hands. When you tell her you’ve got feelings for her too, it feels as if a weight has been lifted off her shoulders and she can finally be at peace.

hange

they confessed first

It was a really unplanned, random setting. You were in hange’s lab helping to conduct an experiment with flowers and slime. You’re wearing their lab coat and goggles, standing by the side as you hold up the little glass vile of slime. The fascinated look on your face makes hange smile. You look adorable in that coat, gazing in awe at the sample they picked up earlier.

They move closer and ruffle your hair, hand lingering for just a little longer than necessary.

“you’re so cute.” Hange laughs, taking the tube from your hand and emptying it over the bowl of crushed flowers. Your heart skips a beat and you avert your gaze.

“really?”

“come on, of course you are, always! Why do you think I like having you in the lab with me?” Hange gives you a side hug and you return it, leaning your head against their shoulder.

“oh, and by the way, I mean I like like you.” they wink and go back to stirring the mixture on the table as if nothing happened.

[lukall705]

hello!! I would like to ask from chuuya x f! shy reader who asks to ride his thigh

Chuuya x shy!f!reader asking to ride his thigh

______________________________________________________________

Sorry this took so long! i took a small break cuz i wasn't feeling well but i'm back:D

Btw for anyone who has requested something but i haven't done it yet, i'm not ignoring yall(not all of you)!

TW: Use of the word cunt, cock and dildo idk, just tell me if i need to add more

English is not my first language!!

______________________________________________________________

Lately Chuuya has been away from home and staying late at his office way to much, which has left you with some pent up desire! But you couldn't just ask for him to fuck you because it's embarrassing and he would most likely tease you for it!

So you've tried everything to relieve the pent up desire, but nothing worked. You tried fingering yourself, but your fingers weren't as long and skilled as his. You tried to use dildos, but it didn't feel as good as when he would bounce you on his cock and praise you for being so good.

You always tried to wait for him to come home so he could fuck you, but you always ended up falling asleep or being to tired to do anything else then sleeping.

At this point you were so desperate for some sort of intimacy with him, so you finally decided to face the embarrassment of asking him.

It was quite late in the evening, almost night time, when you walked into Chuuya's office and seeing him working on some paper's on his table.

"..Darling..? what are you doing here so late..?" He asks looking at you with concern. You walk up to him behind the desk and you can see him giving you a confused look, "is something the matter doll..?" he asks again while slightly rubbing your hips with his thumbs.

You just look at him while feeling your face turn red, and your fingers slightly fiddle with the hem of your night gown. After some time you finally get the courage to tell him, "Chuuya i need you so bad!" you say louder then you thought and slightly turn away.

He chuckles sligthly, "is thats whats been bothering you, princess..?" he asks with a smile. You look him in the eyes, "..yes.. you've been away from me to long.." you whine. He chuckles again and brings you close to his chest so he can smell your hair. "..Darling.. this is important.. you can't ride me while i do this.." he whispers in your ear.

You whine again and sit on his lap while slightly rubbing yourself onto him, "Chuuya.. please just let me ride your thigh, i won't distract you..!" you say while hiding your face in the crook of his neck. "..please.." you beg and he just strokes your hair.

"Fine, but you better not distract me, pretty girl" he teases you while helping you take of your panties, and once they're finally of you slowly lower yourself onto his thigh.

As soon as your cunt touches his thigh, you start to move to get some friction on your clit. You let out slight whipers that are muffled by chuuya's shoulder, while he just keeps writing.

Chuuya feels his thigh becoming wet and chuckles, and every once in a while he bounces his leg to make you squeak.

After some time you feel your orgasm coming closer and start to rub yourself faster and faster, while your moans and whimpers become louder making chuuya stop paying attention to his work.

Your orgasm hit you hard, eyes tearing up, thighs shaking and out of breath. once you had calmed down slightly, chuuya puts you onto the desk.

"Darling.. you look so beautiful like this.." He whispers in your ear while you can hear the sound of him unbuckling his belt.

You know whats about to happen, and you sure are gonna enjoy it.

______________________________________________________________

An: Sorry this took so long, at first i was just taking a small break for like two days but then i found out one of my friends killed themself's and i didn't feel like writing anything since i was already having a hard time getting through school

Anyways requests are open!!

[webslingingslasher]

You mentioned once or twice that frat!peter isnt as affectionate when his brothers are around so I was wonder if we could get a little something something about reader just stop being affectionate towards him in general because she didn’t mind initially since some people are just like that when it comes to pda but it’s just starting to feel to make her feel like he’s just repulsed by her ☹️

i imagine this is when they first start entering the situationship era. cause i think they were hooking up for a minute and then the lines started to blur and thats when this starts happening.

so let's say,

one night you're sitting next to him on the couch and peter's got his hand rubbing from your knee to inner thigh and back down while he's talking to you.

and when two of his frat brothers come around from the back of the couch, and one chooses to sit on the arm rest, the other on the coffee table across from him. peter's hand stops and he drops it back on his own leg. so, you try to reach out your hand to hold his but he brings his up to move his hat, obviously dodging your hold, so you got up for a drink and stayed away.

----------

the next time this happens was a morning after you spent the night, the house had gone out for breakfast and peter had made you and him breakfast, which was the first time he's ever done something like that.

you're on counter and he's got his waist slotted between your thighs with his hands up his your shirt while making out. peter pulls at the back of your knees and pulls you flush to him, subtly pulling your underwear down when the front door opens and you hear loud chatter and laughs.

peter flies backwards and turns his back completely, grabbing cups from the cabinet and pulling orange and apple juice from the fridge. he nods his head in a greeting when ethan walks in, "look who stayed the night," he gave you a fist bump.

peter holds up the juices and you point for the one in his left hand, "yup, couldn't get her to leave if i tried."

that makes you feel shitty, "no, you absolutely could. you could've said 'hey, you should go,' instead of 'let me make you breakfast and fuck you on the kitchen island.'"

tarrent's next in the kitchen, "bro, your chicks got buttcheeks on the counter."

peter places a hand on your lower back, "let's stop looking at my girls ass and let her get upstairs." he holds your arm as you jump down, tugging his shirt down to cover your bottom completely.

you speed up the steps, then call out, "i like my toast dark!" before you could hit the landing you heard ethan, "you so like her."

"gross, shut up, keznek."

------------------

the final time you arrived to a party late and searched around until you found him talking in a small huddle of his friends so you walked up with a happy grin and pushed yourself up to give him a kiss on the cheek.

"hi, handsome." the most subtle shift away, "hey," you watched him look around the room, "got any friends here?" that must mean he doesn't see himself as one, how rude.

if he doesn't want you acting like you know him outside of fucking that's fine with you. but he doesn't get to act one way around you and another around his friends, it's confusing and unfair.

"you know what, peter? you suck."

you hear his friends scoff and softly 'oo' when you walk off, peter calls out behind you, "what does that mean?" you wanted to turn around and tell him off, but you think giving him a taste of his own medicine is better.

so, you go straight to the kitchen to down three shots and grab a cup of whatever so you could jumpstart the peter hate train. it took a while, but you finally made him break away from his friend group when you'd been in an unbroken conversation with a random guy for ten minutes.

"hey, where you been?" a territorial arm is thrown around your waist, you brush his hand off and step to the side. "hey, i'll catch up with you in a minute."

and that makes peter want to explode. you're blowing him off for some random guy? some guy that's mostly no threat?"

"well-"

you gesture to the side with your head, "see you later, parker." and to stab him a little harder when he turns his back you shake your head and beam a smile, "sorry, he's kinda weird. what were you saying?"

but when you don't even find him after and wonder into the kitchen he's almost seething. peter walks up behind you and tugs at your arm, "hey, what the fuck was that?"

innocently, "what are you talking about?"

"well, let's see, trouble." he starts counting with his fingers, "you threw my arm off you, you blew me off, you cut me off, um, parker? then you said i was weird and you apologized on my behalf when i all was trying to do was talk to you."

you pout sarcastically, "oh, did i? i'm sorry, i just know how you are with me hanging all over you around your friends." peter dares look confused, "what do you mean?"

"oh!" you blink fast, "you hate it! so, i refuse to do it. and going forward, we'll keep the same energy, so no more hanging around after sex."

"no, what? why do you think i hate it? i mean, where's this coming from?" is... peter panicking a little?

"peter, you pull away and act like you don't know me everytime your friends come around. you act one way when we're alone and another when someone from the house comes around, it's unfair."

"it's not personal, trouble! if they figure out how much i like you i'll never hear the end of it."

"so... you're emotionally manipulating me because you don't want to be teased?"

when you put it like that it makes him feel terrible.

"no! yes? but not purposely. and hey, from now on, no more pulling away. even if i get roasted by every one. you have my word."

"i don't believe you."

that means prove it.

peter grabs your hips and lifts you to plop you on the counter next to the sink, he moved with such accuracy you yelp and rest your hand over his. before you could say anything ethan glides into the kitchen, unfazed by the sight.

"yo, parker, will you grab... and nevermind," just to prove a point, he kissed you while his best friend was mid question and watching.

[mayoonn]

heyya! i saw u needing some1 to request so here i am 😈 imagine maki (from jjk) is from a family thats known for their alpha genes (yes. a/b/o universe.) and shes engaged with m!reader whom she thought is a female omega due to his pretty face + mid length hair. she couldnt do anything but froze infront of m!reader bcs she thinks that an angel has fallen (cheesy, i know.) but no, its not a fallen angel. ts a human being. maki is rough at reader first but cant help being smitten to reader liek shes ready to give the whole world for him. also could u add smut innit? any kinks r welcome ;) and and make maki a softdomtop!!!!@ im such a sucker for maki ong 😩 ANYWAYS have a great weekend :]]

Thank you, dear! Maki is so.. hfgghh ♡♡

I apologize if it's very late and if this story was a little rushed or doesn't make sense, I was in the hospital with my mom.. Don't worry, she is very well! She just had surgery (I'm suck at writing smut ಥ_ಥ)

(Male reader!!, smitten omega! reader, subbttm! reader, alpha! Maki, softdom! Maki, Maki has cock, reader has pussy and cock, feminization, nipple play, frottage, rough to soft vanilla sex)

Being an omega is a curse and a blessing for you at the same time, from getting special treatment to getting treated like a slut or an object sometimes. It was 0 to 100 real quick, you have to meet the right person or in this case, the right alpha. You were glad your parents weren't like those abusive or narcissistic as other Omegas are experienced before. You actually have a very decent and normal life, your parents taught you well especially about the alphas.

You believe that not all alphas are that horrible but often, you heard or even saw with your own eyes that you actually questioned yourself whether you should even mate with one. You are an independent, one truly rare to see in omegas so it's really a choice to have a mate. Your parents were worried that you'll end up alone all your life so they offered to set up an arrangement of alphas as your potential mate.

At first you were reluctant, you were afraid about your parents taste in alphas. Not that they had terrible taste, you were scared of what kind of alphas they are. You know how they can be but thinking of being alone for the rest of your life sounds depressing. You agreed nonetheless and your parents were very delighted. They were so excited that you were sure they already made a list..

For the first few dates, they were terrible. Just as you expected, one even sent death threats just because you weren't interested in.. "Open relationship". You frustratedly sighed when most of them were talking about themselves. Well at least you dodged big bullets there, you knew you'll regret when you mate one of them. Your mother comforts you, giving you hope to find a suitable mate while your father arranged your dates.

You were starting to give up until your father came in the room, running as he looked very very excited. You were skeptical, raising your brow at him and crossing your arm. You hoped it would be great news or you might as well give up on this whole mate thing. " well, you don't believe it but Maki Zenin accepted our arrangements! " your father exclaimed as both of you and your mother were shocked to hear this news.

Your face was flushed red as your mother hugged you, celebrating as if you actually achieved something. Well you did, Maki Zenin was a powerful woman and also her family was known for their alpha genes. You actually have a crush on Maki since forever, you didn't think this would've happened to you but it did. You have seen her fights, you even heard that she's actually very respectful and such a gentleman!!

If you could, you would be squealing right now like a high school girl getting love notes from her crush. Your father had told you the arrangement, usually date in the same restaurant as always on tomorrow night. You had to stay calm in front of your parents, you didn't want to look so excited when in the past, you repeatedly told them you don't even need or want a mate. It would be embarrassing, you went to your room and got your outfit ready. You even practiced in front of your mirror, you also don't want to be a stuttering mess in front of her, Maki Zenin! You pray that it'll end up well and you are happily married together and forever! ♡

Okay, maybe you were a bit delusional there.. The next day, you were waiting in the restaurant. You came way too early, you kept checking your hair and your attire. You actually did your best as much as you can, you want to impress her so hard.

➶➶➶➶➶٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭٭➷➷➷➷➷

After months of courting her, you were both engaged and it was actually going pretty well. The first date, Maki thought you were a female omega with how much you actually cleaned yourself very well. She was flustered when you confronted her that you were a male but hey, she really hit the jackpot there. The way you talk with your soft tone, your eyes fluttering at her, your attire almost seen as an angel that has fallen from heaven. It's cheesy, she knows but she can't help but flirt with you. Your blush compliments your skin so much

That night, after your wedding and on your first honeymoon night was the night you lost your virginity to her. She was glad and appreciated that you waited for her for a long time and she won't hold back. You weren't surprised that she manhandled you so much, it actually turned you on. You were both naked on the bed as she said in hushed words in your ear while she prepared your pussy and stroking your cock. She kept edging you, fingering your hole so fast then slowing down when you were so so so close to cumming.

"Aww, I'm sorry baby but I want you to cum on my cock. Hmm, so sweet, " she smirked as you arched your back in pleasure, your hand gripping on her hand while the other was holding her other hand. It was romantic to you, you thought it was because even though she's so mean and being so rough on your pussy but she is actually so sweet. You tighten your grip as you moan louder, begging for release. Then she stopped and slowly pulled out her fingers from your gaping hole, you huff and pant as tears swelled in your eyes. Your cock twitching so hard, it was painful to hold it in but anything for your lover.

Your hole is gaping as if it was calling for her, you let go of her wrist and wrapped your arm around her neck. Your lips hovering hers as you slowly leaned and kissed. Maki traced her hands on your body, slowly from your chest then on your curves. She gripped your waist and started to devour your neck, marking and biting that it'll leave bruises. You were sure that it won't fade for weeks, you love how possessive she can get.

"Ahh~.. M-maki, please~..," you don't know why you begged for but you really need her. You feel like your body is heating up like a scorching fire. Maki hummed while she gently bit your nipples, playing with your chest. You lightly moaned and your brows furrowed, both of your naked bodies were sweating like crazy. "Baby boy~ be patient, I'll be gentle with you, " she chuckled as she gripped your thighs and pushed up, rubbing her cock to your hole. Your legs twitch every time her cock rubbed your entrance, the head of her cock threatened to push inside. You whimpered and pleaded as you buck your hips but Maki gripped on your thighs.

Your hands gripped onto the blanket behind you as you watched her cock sliding onto your pussy until she finally pushed it in. You arched your back and your eyes widened, your hole clamping on her cock. "Relax baby~ shh.. Shh, relax," she grunt while she rubbed your hips. Your eyes shut, your knuckles became white and slowly getting used to her size. It was bigger and more painful than you expected your first time to be.

After a few minutes of staying still, Maki slowly thrust her cock. You moaned, wrapping your hands around her neck again and nuzzled your head to her neck. Your feverishly moan and gasped were clearly heard from her ear, she grunt as she started to thrust hard. The slaps and your girlish moans can be heard from outside the room, your legs twitch while her cock drilling your inside as if she was rearranged your guts.

You squealed and moaned, bed creaking from how hard she thrust. Maki holds your hand as she whispers sweet nothing in your ear. She growled and soon your release came, the Milly and sticky white substance covered both your stomach and hers. Maki thrust harder than before and you mewled, pleading for her cum as your eyes rolled to the back. Not too long after your orgasm, she came inside. You gasped, feeling your womb were filled and you were pretty sure that your stomach bulged out a bit. Maki lay down on top of you, her cock still inside as she kissed the hickeys she gave in your neck. You grunt when she pulled out, her cum oozing out of your hole and you were too tired to do anything.

She went to the bathroom and came back with a wet rag and water for you, she helps you sit up and clean your body. She kissed your shoulder over and over again as you hummed, this was the best night you will not forget ♡

[angel-eyes05]

a spider in the snow

pairing: fem!reader x miguel o’hara

summary: you help rehabilitate an injured miguel after he returns from one of his late night patrols…in more ways than one

warnings: nsfw, fluff then smut then fluff, handjob (both m and f recieving), blood mention, an incy wincy tincy bit of angst

word count: 2.5k

notes: heyyyyy i've come back from the dead. i don't really write a lot of one shots so go easy on me for this one. just like every horny person on the internet, i’ve fallen head over heels in love with miguel o’hara. this is me giving into my impulses lmao. sorry if i do anything thats out of character idk him that well so just work with me here. i also don't know everything about nueva york and if names are different than here or something so im just gonna pretend they’re the same. if they are, great! if not, just go with it lmao. one more thing, despite being cuban i am a no sabo kid (rip me) so i had to use a translator for some of this so apologies in advance if some things aren't super accurate. ok lets get on with the show.

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Snowy nights in Nueva York have always been one of your favorite parts about moving up north. Seeing all the lit up buildings illuminated in the snow, all the people ice skating in Rockefeller Center rink just below your apartment window, the reminders of Christmas coming soon. It kept your heart warm against the freezing temperatures outside. You also loved the feeling of being able to bundle yourself up in blankets and hoodies, a mix of yours and your boyfriend’s, having an excuse to make hot chocolate, and finally being able to use the fireplace that normally laid dormant in the middle of your living room. The one con about the snow was when it would land on Miguel’s patrol nights. Your already nervous mind was only heightened by the added uncertainty of everything that could happen while he was out there. What if he got too cold while out there and it affected his ability to fight? What if it started snowing too hard and he wouldn’t be able to find his way back to the apartment? You knew some of your concerns were probably dumb, but they felt serious to you. 

This was one of those nights. One of the nights where you would sit on your couch, next to the cracked window, unable to sleep until you could see him come back safe. You flipped through the channels of the tv aimlessly, trying to find something to keep your mind off of the growing cold outside. You eventually turn it off after coming across the weather channel, claiming a snowstorm would be rolling into the city in about 15 minutes. Deciding there was nothing you could do about your situation, you walked over to your bedroom and wrapped yourself in your massive duvet to shield from the cold. Worries dashed around your mind about everything that could happen. Despite being verbally supportive about Miguel and his…hobbies, you really hated the idea of him sneaking out in basically pajamas almost every night to “beat up the bad guys” essentially. Even though he had explained everything to you by this point, having been dating for about three years now, you still couldn’t quite understand everything. Radioactive spiders? Corrupt businesses? Fangs and claws? Mutations? A multiverse? It was a lot to wrap your head around. But, despite all of this, all of your worries and concerns over Miguel, you stayed. Because you knew you didn’t start dating him because of his whole superhero business or whatever. You were dating him because you loved him. The real him. The way he would always press gentle kisses into the crook of your neck. How on his days off, you would be woken up to the smell of eggs and bacon cooking in the kitchen just for you. How he would always whisper sweet praises to you while you would give him head. How easily he could be crumbled down beneath his rock hard exterior. The Miguel underneath the red and blue spandex. You dreamt of this as you slowly fell into a calm slumber. You fell asleep bundled up in all the blankets on your bed, arm outstretched to the opposite side the bed, almost as if you were reaching for something that wasn’t there. 

After some time had passed, you’re not sure exactly how much, you were awoken by a thud coming from your bathroom. You lazily rubbed your eyes and grabbed your alarm clock to check the time. 3:47 am. Yeah, that’s definitely Miguel in there. You dragged yourself out of bed to help him out, throwing one of this hoodies over your tank top for extra warmth. You also liked how it still smelled like him after three times in the wash. You opened the door, eyes squinting from the bright fluorescent light. And there he was. You found it endearing. How Miguel was trying, and failing, to reach this massive scratch on his back to clean it instead of just waking you up to ask for your help. You look to the floor to find a bottle of hydrogen peroxide sitting there on the rug, probably what caused the thudding sound. You stood there leaning in the doorframe, waiting for him to notice you, even though he probably already heard every step you’ve taken from the bed up to the door now. “You need any help there?” you ask him, jokingly. You had seen him in much worse conditions, so you took moments like these to be more comedic, an attempt to lighten his mood sort of. It didn’t usually work. “No, I got it. Please go back to sleep,” he said, still attempting to wrap his arms around himself. You rolled your eyes and walked over to sit behind him, picking up the hydrogen peroxide off the floor and grabbing a couple of cotton balls from the first aid basket. “Mi amor, please go back to sleep, I promise I can do this by myself,” he argued. Before he could get another word in, you poured some of the hydrogen peroxide over his wound. He groaned in response and squeezed your thigh to help level out the pain. “That’s for worrying me all night,” you said to him, just over the volume of a whisper. As you began to dab the blood off of his cut, he responded. “You know I don’t want you to worry.” Once you could see he was turning his head around to look at you, you turned your eyes away. You didn’t really want to look at him right now. It’s not that you were mad at him. Ok that’s a lie, you were a little mad. But it was more of a helplessness you felt when you would see him like this. Beat up, cut, scratched, bruised. And there wasn’t anything you could do to help. Not until after at least. And it wasn’t like you were a trained nurse or anything. You dreaded the day that he would come stumbling through the window, too injured for you to take care of yourself. Or worse. The day he wouldn’t come home at all. “Yeah, well that doesn’t mean I don’t,” you said sort of coldly. You stood up from your position, waiting to patch up his back until after he showered. You changed your positions to sit from behind him to in front, ready to take care of his front side now. “I don’t want to talk about that right now tho-.” You cut yourself off when you finally saw his face

Cuts were scattered across his face, one above his eyebrow still dripping blood catching your attention first. He also had a bruise quickly forming on his left cheekbone. Once you moved your eyes more, you saw his nose marked with a deep cut going through the middle. His beautiful nose. It was one of your favorite parts of his appearance. Done scanning his face, your eyes moved down to his chest and his torso. His chest was marked with similar cuts to the one on his back. You kept your eyes on his chest in an attempt to hide the fact you were holding back tears right now. “I’m sorry mi cariño. I really am.” You knew he was. But sorry wasn’t going to keep him safe. This was one apology among many. It didn’t really matter. He wasn’t sorry for getting hurt again and again and again. He was sorry for the fact you had to see him like this. If you wouldn’t have seen that he was injured, he wouldn’t have said anything And you knew after this apology as well, he would go out tomorrow night and do the same thing over again. You didn’t respond to his words. All you could manage to do was pull him into an embrace and apologize when he winced from your hands hitting his cuts. You sat there for a bit, running your hands through his hair and trying to hold yourself back from crying. He nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck and planted gentle kisses there, each a little apology from him. Once you finally pulled away and wiped your face, you started to clean the scrapes on his face, this time more gentle than his back. You dabbed the cotton ball on his forehead as he held you straddled on his lap. He admired your features as you concentrated on him, rubbing your back with his fingers in the process. You didn’t say much, only a simple “sorry” if you were a little too rough with cleaning. Despite the stern face you were putting on, Miguel knew you secretly liked the way he would grab at your thighs and hips with his claws when you did something that hurt.

Once you were finished, you silently put the first aid equipment away and left the bathroom so he could take a shower. He planted a soft kiss into your forehead before you left the room. Once you crawled back into bed, you sighed to yourself. How did you end up here anyways? There’s no way you were expecting all of this when you first saw Miguel at the concert bar that day. Some days were amazing with him. Others were much harder. And while you’ve definitely had worse days with him, today was leaning on the latter option. You contemplated all of this until you heard the door to the bathroom behind you open, Miguel stepping out of the steaming room with his towel wrapped around his lower body. You were very quickly reminded of one of the reasons you’ve stayed with him for so long. The way his wet curls were laying around his head. How his chest glistened while it was damp, despite currently being tattered with cuts at the current moment. He sleepily shuffled over to the bed, dropping his towel before crawling up close to you in bed. The warmth of Miguel’s freshly showered body against yours helped to melt the majority of your worries away. It also helped that you could feel his his cock getting harder against your leg while he cuddled against you. You finally turned around to face him, cupping his jaw in your hand and rubbing your thumb across his face. He grasped your hand and pressed soft kisses into it. “I love you so much Miggy,” you finally said, breaking the silence and drawing his eyes towards you. “I really do, and I’m sorry if I ever make it seem like I don’t. You just…you scare me sometimes.” You quickly realize those weren’t the words you meant. You begin to stutter and take back your words a bit, until you see that Miguel has given you his full attention. You take a deep breath and continue. “You don’t scare me. It’s more of what you do that scares me. I never know when you’re gonna come back or if you even are. If you think I take joy in taking care of you after you come back, I really don’t. I hate seeing my boy like this. And it makes me scared that one day you’re gonna come back in a shape I can’t fix. It scares me so bad Miggy you don’t even know,” you say, choking back your tears. Once Miguel notices you’re about to start crying, he wraps his arms around you immediately. “Shhh it’s ok preciosa,” he comforts as you quietly cry into his broad shoulders. “I’m so sorry for making you worry,” he says in between kissing the top of your head. “I promise I’ll make it up to you, and I love you too.” 

You pull away from his hug and stare into his beautiful crimson eyes as he wipes away your tears. You suddenly fall into the overwhelming urge to kiss him. He returns the kiss with even more passion than you put into it. You quickly found yourself exploring his body with your hands, moans escaping his lips whenever you would graze over one of his wounds. You drew yourself closer to him to absorb more of his body heat, though you were quickly reminded of his bare cock as you could feel it hardening on your leg. Your hands eventually made it down there, teasing Miguel along the way as you felt him up on the way down. You then took his hard, already wet cock into your hands, caressing every ridge you could find on it. You could hear more moans exit his mouth and slide into yours as you handled him like putty. He would let out messier sounds, even a growl at one point, and jerk forward into your hand when you would tease around his tip. “F-fuck baby. Y-you’re s-so good to me. ‘N pr-retty too,” he would blurb out Feeling his cock get increasingly hard in your hand began to make you slightly wet as well. This only increased as Miguel began to take off your underwear as well, sliding two of his fingers into your pussy and placing his thumb to draw circles onto your clit. Your grip on his length becomes lazy and sloppy as you’re stimulated as well. You’re surprised at how quickly Miguel is able to find your clit, but then again you expect him to know your body so well after three years. After both of you have been at it for a while, you’re the first one to get close to your orgasm. “Fuck M-Miggy, I-I’m gonna cum,” you manage to moan out. His kisses on you get sloppy as he reaches his as well. It’s over for you once he begins to put more pressure onto your core. You let out an inhuman noise as your stomach fills with the white heat of your orgasm, shaking your entire body. Miguel takes his fingers out of your entrance and licks your cum off of his fingers. It’s then over for him when you eventually put the pressure of your fingers onto his cock. You hand is then covered in his cum once he reaches his climax in your fist, moaning intensely into the air. While he’s in the middle of his orgasm, his claws pop out of his fingers and into your hips and underneath your thigh where his hands are placed. Then, he lets out his fangs and uses them to leave hickeys into your neck, making sure not to let out any of his poison while doing so. “Just stay here with me Miggy,” you sigh out, his fangs deep into your neck. “You don’t ever need to go back out there again. Just stay here with me forever.” He simply nods at first, still sucking into your neck. Once he lets go and and begins to calm down, he responds with “Forever and always mi corazón,” whispering the words into your ear as he lays more kisses along your collarbone and neck.

You stare outside the window at the falling snow, hoping this time he’ll keep his word, but knowing deep down that he wasn’t going to. But for now, you could just appreciate your time with him now. He was all yours right now. Everything. And that was enough.

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A/N: uhhhh sorry but i didn't feel like proofreading this cause its super late for me rn sorry not sorry lmao

[scaredofbrits]

having the afton men as your bosses

william afton & micheal afton hcs

nsfw headcannons will be colored red.

william afton ✦

• he was a very serious man, to say the least. he didnt want any of his workers to see him act like a goof.

• "none of you will be prepared for the real world if you cannot behave correctly at your job."

• but then you came along. and every bit of respect he had for his reputation was shattered. not with other people, of course, but with you.

• instead of seeing william as your tough boss, you saw him as your literal reason to wake up everyday.

• and to him, you were his pretty little assistant. his good girl, even.

• sometimes, he'd give you extra work just to see you everyday.

• and other times, that work would lead to staying at the job extra late.

• once you would finish all that hard extra work, he'd reward you in various ways.

• "you did such a good job for me." he'd grin as he fingered you with all his power and speed.

• "my slutty little assistant fucking herself on my fingers.."

• his praise and degrading could drive anyone crazy for more.

• when you two would have sex during work hours, he'd tease you about noise the whole time.

• "shhhh, you don't want all your friends to know how cock thirsty you are.." and he'd cover your mouth.

• he made more than sure to fuck you so rough that your moans were extremely loud, and youd leave his office embarrassed.

• but what you didnt know was that the walls were soundproof. he just liked fucking around with you.

• nothing surprised him more than seeing your whore side for the first time. and oh did he love seeing it.

micheal afton ✦

• he was super sweet to all of his workers. bringing gifts, joking around, and being kind overall was his specialty.

• "how did you all sleep today?" he'd say over the intercom with genuine curiosity.

• once you had become his assistant, he could not resist you. a different side of him came along. a more needy one.

• he was always buying you gorgeous flowers every single day. and even though you were his assistant, he demanded nothing from you.

• and since he was an amazing conversation starter, you'd usually be found sitting on top of his desk talking to him.

• when your shift was over, he'd always say "time goes by so fast, doesnt it?" and that was his trick to make you stay.

• "a few more minutes, please? i'll do anything, gorgeous, please." was his other go to.

• he loved seeing you on top of his desk like you owned it. and he also loved seeing you mess around with his name plate on the desk. just fidgeting with it.

• and he wished youd fidget with him. just use him and treat him like your little fuck toy.

• one time, you wore a skirt to work. and of course that pervert kept sneaking glances at your revealed thighs and panties. those sights made his cock throb.

• and when he got horny? oh you were in for it. so much begging. "touch me please please please. look at how hard i am baby, please."

• "its okay if you dont wanna touch me, i'll touch myself and you can watch. tell me thats okay mommy. please."

• it was definitely hard to say no, especially with those puppy eyes he'd give. he acted like you getting rid of his boner was the best thing to ever happen to him.

• and when youd suck him off occasionally, he would absolutely lose it. he loved your mouth so much and he felt the need to repay you the same way.

• if you pleased him a certain way, he'd try his hardest to make it up to you the same way. suck him off? he'll eat you out. hand job? you get fingered.

• at the end of the day, all he wanted to do was be a good boy for his gorgeous girl. sometimes flowers didnt feel like enough to please you, so he had to try other ways.

[canvasbaby]

stuck!- one piece x reader nsfw

yknow the stuck in a box together trope? yeah that + ,y hc on their fave position

Monster trio + law x reader

Luffy- 69

- He still, to this day, insists it was an accident

- he was just so hungry! and that pasta smelled so good! 

- unfortunately, however, it happened to be a trap by a rival pirate group, so now you two were stuck...

he led you by the arm through a back alley 

“C’mon Y/n! i can smell it!”

“Luffy, this is oddly suspi-” you cut yourself off with a scream as you and your boyfriend fell through the ground into a box, that was quickly shut. You could hear some guys laughing, and walking away,,, great

“Luffy! Hurry and get us outta here!” you whined

“hnnnmmm cant.. so.. weak” of course, they made the box out of sea-prism stone. at least, thats what you thought, but really, luffy just wanted to stay here a bit longer. him, on his back with his feet up, your ass hovering over his chest, facing his legs.

You gasp as he suddenly grasps your hips and licks your shorts

“L-LUFFY!!” god, he really was impatient. He always took you wherever, whenever he was in the mood, and it just so happens that right now hw was. 

“mm y/n.. lets just stay a while...” 

Your crew was wondering why it took you two so long to get back to the meeting point.

Zoro- doggy style

-You two were facing a DF user, and usually Zoro would have him beat in no time

-but he was distracted... totally NOT by how good your ass looks in that skirt...short very short skirt-

It was hard to see, and you felt as though you were suffocating

it all happened so suddenly! One minute you’re walking through the woods with Zoro, trying to find your way back to the ship, then boom! in a box. 

“Zoro, could you move a bit? i cant see” you were met with silence, then you felt it, suddenly you are very aware of your position. you’re face down ass up, him leaned over you, dick yo ass (his fave)- you can feel his dick hardening as he tries to not so inconspicuously move against you

“Zoro! seriously hun, i wanna get outta here!” you were starting to get a little too hot

“c’mon babe..” god you love his gruff voice in your ear, whispering- “lets just have a little fun~”

You did, in fact, have fun

Sanji- missionary (i would say oral, but i didn’t want it to be too similar to luffys, and hes a classic romantic guy)

- you two were alone on the ship, the crew should’nt be back for another hour or so, and Franky trusted you two enough for this task

- but that damn unstable flooring- Franky was out now getting supplies to fix the hole  luffy someone put in the floor- but you’d totally forgot it was there

“hey Sanji, love, could yOUU OH SHIT-”

“Y/N” he tried to catch you, but was too late with his footing, and fell in on top of you

“Sanji get up, i need to do the laundry..” you could tell he wasn’t listening. you doubted he was alive right now, face buried in your neck, dick hardening against your clothed pussy- oh god he couldn’t stop thinking about it now-

“Ma Belle.. you look so beautiful like this..” he lifts his head out of your neck, hands going straight to your boobs

“S-Sanji! we can do that in bed! just get us o-” your cut off by you two moaning in unison as he grinds against you

“Mon amour, allow me to indulge myself..” oh, he did.

Law- cowgirl

-Similar to Luffy, you were trapped by a pirate gang, who put you two in an actual sea-prism box and left you for dead

- now in the middle of the woods in a box, you’re stuck with your now pissed off captain

You go to push up on the box, causing you to push down on him- he’s laying down with his lanky knees uncomfortably bent, and you’re sitting on his lap, though there’s not much room, so your tits are practically smothering him

“Y/N..” he groans, grabbing your hips to rut up into you

“Captain! W-we need to get out of here” but really, who were you to deny him? you’re already going in for a kiss, moaning in his mouth as he move his hand under your skirt to toy with your clothed clit, sucking on your tongue.

wow, he’s pulling out all the stops. he must be real horny 

“Law! NO! we need to get out of here and beat up those guys!” you pull back from him suddenly. leaving him pouting, but he sits up as much as he can to assess the situation. 

after some struggling, your crew comes with the key and frees you two (thank god, you almost gave in) 

but judging by what he was whispering to you in that box, you’re in for it tonight.

[comet-forgot-you]

love power bottom river but now we need power bottom amber 🙏🏻🙏🏻

tile

power-bottom!amber freeman x reader

summary: you and amber almost get caught

warnings: 18+ pls, smut, oral, fingering, power bottom amber, almost get caught but they don't dw, all characters are over the age of 18, i think thats all

a/n: i missed writing for amber :(( do not repost for any reason

no strings attached.

you had to remind yourself of that every single time you found yourself caught up in your current position. on your knees, giving amber freeman head in the locker room.

it was a predicament you had been finding yourself in a lot lately. in the middle of the night, in the middle of classes, and even now, in the middle of a fucking pep rally where the entire school was just down the hall. it was electrifying, really. the thought that you two could get caught at any given point, it only turned you on more.

amber tangles her fingers in your hair, tugging you closer to her soaking cunt. "keep makin' me feel good," she mutters. loud music blasts from the gym, cheers erupting from the over-hyped crowd. you circle her clit with your tongue, flattening it against the nub, a groan vibrating from your throat.

you grab onto her pale thighs for some sort of extra support, trying desperately to get yourself impossibly closer to her warm cunt. you knead at the flesh beneath your fingertips, sucking rhythmically on her pulsing clit. you place one of her thighs on your shoulder, allowing yourself more access to her cunt. your knees ached, the cold, tiled floor digging into them.

"yeah, fuck, just like that," she mumbles, bucking her hips into your warm mouth. you smile against her cunt, prodding at her soaking entrance with your finger. she lets out a moan, biting her bottom lip to quiet herself. you sink two fingers in, curling them like you know she likes it.

her back arches off of the cool metal of the lockers, her clit pulsing erratically on your tongue. her walls squeeze your fingers as you scissor them in and out of her. the music in the gym gets louder, the sound of a slamming, metal door sounding from the hallway. amber's eyes widen, shooting to the wooden door. she glances down at you, heat flooding her body. she was so close, but the thought of getting caught with you buried between her thighs had her anxiety rising.

"fuck," she tries to pry her leg off of your shoulder, but your firm grip on her thigh stops her. "y/n, we're gonna get caught," she whisper yells, trying desperately to get herself out of your hold. she whines when you pull yourself off of her clit with a pop.

"showers," you mutter, too focused on making her finish to care about getting caught, but you knew amber would never let you eat her out again if you got caught, so you opted to place yourselves in a less revealing area. you let go of amber's thigh, pulling her pants up the best you could before getting off of the floor and rushing the both of you to the concealed showers. you close the curtain before your back in your previous position, dragging her jeans down as you dropped to your knees.

"Y/n" she hisses the second your warm mouth meets her clit again. you look up at her through your eyelashes. you're far too gone, drunk on the taste of her pussy and getting her off to care about what could happen.

"better stay quiet then, hm?" you mumble, diving back in to continue your ministrations. the door to the locker room opens, the sounds of footsteps walking towards the lockers. amber covers her mouth with the palm of her hand.

"why didn't you change before the pep rally?" a voice mutters. you flatten your tongue against amber's clit, finger sinking back into her cunt.

"i didn't have time, besides, i don't want to be in this stupid ass mascot costume more than i have to," amber looks down at you, tugging your hair. she moves her hand away the second your movements on her cunt stop.

"don't you dare stop," she mouths, jaw clenching. if you weren't going to stop when someone came in, you definitely weren't going to stop now. you nod, curling your fingers to hit the spongey spot she loves so much. her head falls back, resting against the cool shower walls.

it feels like hours had passed by the time the two that interrupted the two of you leave, and the second the wooden door slams shut, amber's coming undone on your fingers, moans muffled in the palm of her hand.

"so fucking persistent," she mumbles, panting as she comes down from her high.

[echosfandoms]

I just finished this most recent fantasy high episode (I'm late, I know.) and so much shit happened, but I'm such a sucker for how tracker and Kristen's relationship has evolved, I'm gonna hyper focus on that for a second. And how fucking tragic this separation truly is, and how their dynamic has changed.

They're so awkward in a way thats so realistic. And actually, I think breaking up has helped them communicate with each other more effectively. Both Kristen and Tracker call each other out on their religion bullshit, in a way that's maybe not the nicest, but is truthful. And it's so upsetting that this truly was probably the best thing for both of them.

I think what fucks me up the most though, was actually the conversation between Nara and Kristen this episode. That comment Brennan made about Naradriel being exactly like Kristen, if Kristen had money. That hit something in me and I can't quite articulate why. It could just be a comment about how Tracker has a type, or perhaps alluding to how Tracker has an unhealthy tendency to try and "fix" people, just like she's trying to do with galicea even. But there's something in there to me, of Kristen possibly having this moment of "this girl is so similar to me, whats so different about her then? Why am I not good enough, but she is? Would Tracker have stayed with me if I had x y z" and just.. the fact that some part of Tracker is still attracted to Kristen, because fucking of course. Kristen is a great person, but Kristen's also a mess. Makes you wonder if she's going to do it all over again with Nara, and what happens to wolfsong when Naras family takes away that help.

So many parallels between characters this season, it has me going feral oh my god.

[nrdmssgs]

Little things, they do 2 (Price, Ghost, Gaz) (headcannons)

Masterlist

Part 1 (Alex, Soap, König) here

Little things, they do, that get you every time. Silly, warm, heart-melting, wholesome things.

Captain John Price

Knuckle kisses. That's it.

Praises you not only when you succeed, but also when you fail. “I know, you tried so hard, love. This doesn't make you lesser. You don't have to prove anything to me. I'm proud of you. You're enough.”

Compliments you at the most random times. You've just woken up with an absolute mess on your head, or you walk around the house in old faded sweatpants and a dirty T-shirt because the rest of the clothes are being washed? John takes your hand, brings it to his lips and whispers "You are incredibly beautiful." or “How did an old git like me ended up with the most gorgeous, hottest  human being out there?”

He has this habit of going behind your back and leaning close to your very ear while telling you something. Maybe he just likes to feel you close and uses it as an excuse, maybe he wants to “envelop” you in a way, hide you from the whole world, sharing his knowledge, feeling, how interested you are in a topic.

One of those people to actually use paper and envelopes, that some hotel still provide their rooms with. You get these long 3-5 page letters from different corners of earth every now and then. They can be absolutely platonic - he can literally describe, what he's seen or overheard on the streets lately or rant about how he wants to hear seabirds voices, but they are interrupted by the unceasing roar of engines and roadworks here… But you see it: every line screams “I love you. I freaking love you so much, it's almost 4 am here, and I'm still wide awake, because I need to write to you, to communicate in any way that will be safe for you.” 

Simon Ghost Riley

He is no stranger to triggered stress or panic. So if you have any phobia, and he finds out about it - he starts protecting you from its triggers. Let's say, you're scared of spiders and scorpions. Even a picture of one can absolutely freak you out. Simon goes above and beyond to shield you from any type of appearance of these creatures in your life. In summer, he'll escort and even tiniest spider out of your apartment, before you see it.

He even shares a googledoc with trigger warning time codes for every piece of media, you wanted to see. Even if it's a long series - he just checks every episode of it on a fast rewind and writes you, if it's fully safe to watch or not. 

Ghost has a wealth of experience in dealing with insomnia and is willing to help you, if you come across this issue. Just don't hesitate to ask - he is ready to spend all the night helping you out. Will definitely start with pressing your back to his chest and guiding you through a breathing exercise.

If you had a bad day and dropped him a message - he`d surely call you as soon as he can to talk you through everything that happened and soothe you. 

“I`m always there for you, you know?” “I know, Simon…” “No, thats not the way, we do that.” “...” “Come on. Say it.” “I remember, ok?” “Say. it. I need you say it out loud.” “You are always there for me, no matter what.” “And?” “... and I can call or text you any time and you'll reach back asap.” “Good job. I'll call you again before you go to sleep.”

Despite his ascetic way of life, he likes nice things and gradually accustoms you to the same preferences. 

It all starts with tea. One day, you go grocery shopping together. You walk between the rows of shelves while Simon stays by your cart. Returning to the cart, you find him skeptically examining the box of tea you dropped into the cart earlier. "What is this?" "It's tea, Simon, stop pretending you can't read." Ghosts gaze eloquently demonstrates his attitude towards this product. "It's trash." He pulls out a simple but elegant box from the top shelf. "This is tea." You try to convince him that with the money spent on that "good" box, you could drink tea all year, but he is relentless. Simon ends up buying the tea himself and brewing it at your place. When you first try it and roll your eyes in pleasure - he smiles contentedly. “Told you.”

Kyle Gaz Garrick

“Babe this is delicious, wanna try it?” - say yes and firstly he will kiss you. You absolutely need to try that ice cream, his tongue is just a nice bonus. Ofc shares his food with you afterward.

One of the most supportive human beings out there. Encourages every your hobby, hella proud of you and not shy to demonstrate it. “Have you heard her singing? RNs got a voice of a songbird!” “Kyle, please, I just went to a few vocal lessons and learned like… 2 songs.” “Those are my favorite ones from now on, love.”

If you work from home, he'll walk into your room randomly (but only when he is 100% sure, you're not on the call), sit beside you and just stare silently at you. Ask him, what's up, and he'll give you a quick kiss on the forehead and walk away grinning. 

Slow dances with you on streets, when you two pass by street musicians. Doesn't care if everybody looking, even if someone pulls out a phone and starts filming this wholesome scene. It's only you in Kyles hands, that matter right now to him. 

If you have a pet - he definitely becomes its new dad. When Kyle is around - your four-legged friend absolutely forgets about your existence, because Gaz is an expert in best scratches!

By the way, your pets birthday is now Kyles official holiday!

[lucy90712]

Hiiiii so if u do requests can u pls do one where like reader is jude’s gf but jobe has like a little crush on her and jude can feel it and like when they all hangout jobe is all over her and jude gets a lik jelly pleassseeee😭🫶🏻

WC: 1.7k Living in Madrid is amazing it's warm and the city is filled with so many amazing people but nothing beats being back home. Moving to Madrid with my boyfriend Jude was a big decision to make but after a lot of thinking and talks with my family I decided to just do it. It's been one of the best decisions I've ever made I found a job I really enjoy that is also flexible so it allows me to travel with Jude to some of his away games. I've also made some great friends with not only the other Real Madrid players but also their partners who have been really welcoming. As much as it's been a great few months here I've been looking forward to getting to go home for a few days ever since I found out Jude had a small break between games. We won't be back long but while we are there we are going to stay with Jude's parents and mine are going to visit at some point so we can all see each other before our normal lives resume. 

Jude being the ever sensible person he is decided that we needed to get the first flight we could physically make which happened to be just after his last game before the break. This meant we had to pack once we got up and have everything in the car ready to go straight to the airport after the end of the game. It was highly stressful but as soon as the plane touched down on home soil all that stress melted away and the tiredness kicked in too. Jude's parents were there to meet us both at the airport despite it being late which was much appreciated. On the relatively short drive back to their house Jude wouldn't stop talking about what life has been like and the last game even though his parents will already know everything that's happened. While he was talking away I just rested my head on his shoulder starting to really feel the tiredness of getting up early and not sleeping on the plane. 

As soon as we arrived Jobe was quick to meet us at the door I was expecting him to greet Jude first seeing as they are brothers and they have always been really close but instead he came straight over to me to give me a hug. It's not exactly out of the ordinary as Jobe and I get on well and he saw Jude more recently at an event they both went to that I couldn't attend so I guess it makes sense for him to be excited to see me. Despite my attempts to have a small nap in the car I was still really tired so I just hugged Jobe back until he pulled away to finally greet his brother with less enthusiasm it seemed. 

"How have you been y/n?" Jobe asked 

"I've been good life is amazing in Madrid but it's good to be home" I said

"Well I'm glad you're back I missed you" he said 

"Aww thanks Jobe that's sweet" I said 

"You know I'm here too right" Jude interrupted clearly a little agitated 

I don't know what was going on but there seemed to be a bit of tension between the two of them but it was far too late for me to worry about it too much. It's quite possible that they had an argument at some point and now they are just trying to annoy each other as thats happens quite a lot and sometimes I end up in the middle of their fights. After saying goodnight to everyone I grabbed Jude's hand to lead him up to bed but I could see him giving Jobe almost a death stare out the corner of my eye. Hopefully they sort out whatever's going on between them as I don't want to be dealing with their probably stupid argument in the few days we have back home. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Waking up this morning all the tension from last night seemed to have disappeared Jude woke up with a smile on his face which stayed even when Jobe came downstairs and sat right next to me on the sofa. Today we didn't have anything planned as we weren't exactly sure what time we would get here and how tired we would be but seeing as both of us were quite well rested we decided to spend the day going out around the town and the places we used to go all the time when still living here. Jobe wanted to tag along as he didn't have training and to try and keep the peace I said he could join us but I promised Jude we would spend the evening together just us. 

After having some breakfast we all got ready, somehow I was the first one ready so I had to wait downstairs but I was joined by Jobe not long after. As he sat down he put his hand on my knee for a few seconds before taking it off and resting it in his lap. He's never done that before but I assume he just misjudged where to put his hand and that it was an accident. He then went on to ask me how things have been in Madrid and if Jude has been treating me right which felt like a weird question but I just want to enjoy my few days back home so I let it slide. Thankfully Jude came down not too long after so I used that as my chance to get away from the awkward conversation without making a scene. 

Jude wanted to just walk around the town so that's what we did. Luckily it wasn't too busy sure people took pictures and stopped us but it wasn't as bad as it has been in Madrid recently we can't move when we go out over there now. While Jude was taking pictures with a group of fans I stood out the way with Jobe as I don't like to be in the pictures unless I'm asked. While we were stood to the side Jobe tried to be slick and slide his arm over my shoulders but I saw it coming a mile away and moved a bit to the side to avoid it. I really wanted to say something as this isn't like Jobe but I won't do it while in public as I don't want to start an argument and create a scandal for Jude. We walked for a bit longer before deciding to find somewhere to have lunch and hey again Jobe was acting weird as he wanted to sit next to me but Jude took that seat before he got the chance. The entire time we were eating he was just staring at me which made me a little uncomfortable but by this point Jude had caught on to what was going on and he made sure to be as close to me as possible and whenever he got the chance he kissed my cheek. 

The rest of our day out was just as awkward as the morning Jude was trying to make it clear that I was his by constantly having his arm around my waist and giving me kisses all while Jobe was still trying to get me attention. I felt like an object the way they were almost competing over me and using me to prove a point to one another. Jude wasn't being affectionate because he felt like it he wanted to assert dominance and prove that I'm his which just infuriated me as I can stand up for myself. Jobe was also getting on my last nerve he knows that I'm with his brother and have been for a long time now, we are happy together and even if we were to break up I would certainly not go for Jude's brother that's just wrong. While we were out I kept my cool but as soon as we got back I just stood by the door looking at them both trying not to let my anger completely take over. 

"Ok what is going on with you both today?" I asked 

"Nothing" Jude replied 

"Something is going on and I don't like it Jobe you're acting like you can just flirt with me and touch me whenever you like which you can't and Jude you're treating me like your possession not a human being let alone your girlfriend so someone explain what's going on" I ranted 

"I'm sorry baby I don't mean to treat you like that I just didn't like what Jobe was doing and I wanted to show him you were mine" Jude explained 

"Jobe why have you been trying to put your hands on my girlfriend?" Jude asked 

"I haven't been" he tried to defend himself 

The two of them just started arguing after that so I decided to just walk away I said what I wanted to say I don't need to watch them argue. I'd only just made it out the room when I hear Jobe admit that he had a crush on me. As anyone could predict that statement didn't go down too well Jude only got more angry with Jobe swearing and yelling even more than before. My relaxing trip back home has long gone, at this point I just want to leave without someone killing each other. Just as I was about to step in Jude told Jobe that he just had to get over it and came to find me dragging me upstairs with him. 

Jude was very much still annoyed but once we got to his room he pulled me down onto the bed with him at let out a frustrated sigh. He clearly needed to let off some steam so I just let him rant about the situation for a good 5 minutes before he calmed down and apologised for how today went. I wanted to be mad but I just couldn't it's hard to stay mad at him for too long instead I just wanted to have the quiet evening that I promised him earlier which will ideally be just the two of us in bed watching movies and eating lots of food. Nothing sounds better than relaxing and forgetting about the events of the day because today is definitely not a day to remember.