#And worst of all��� ‘maybe he just has an age kink; maybe he gets off on you being younger’

[aeolianblues]

it is literally not about legality, if you’re in your late 30s literally what are you hitting up 21 y/os for. Don’t you have investments to make.

[hyunnie04]

cat and mouse

summary: your co-worker has been on your case ever since you've started your time at the company. a strange turn of events and circumstance changes all that.

pairing: coworker! lee know x reader

trope: enemies to lovers <3, office au

genre: slight angst, smut, and fluff

warnings: fem-bodied reader, oral, creampie, overstim, unprotected sex, bulge kink, spitting, etc. 18+ mdni

word count: 9.8k

a/n: a little practice piece for you guys, i hope i did well;; so sorry this took me so long to write :( i also hope it's cohesive enough, i keep writing this fic on and off sleep deprived lol

-

tick…

tock…

tick…

to-

“the clock isn’t going to speed up just because you keep staring at it.” the cubicle beside you chirps in, momentarily shaking you out of your thoughts. by now, you’ve trained to pay him no mind as you keep your focus on the clock that reads 4:56 pm, almost taunting you in a way. 

a few more minutes and you’ll be home free for the weekend. maybe you can finally relax and get away from your dreaded paperwork. perhaps look through your shopping apps since you had nothing else better to do for the weekend, or better yet- you could run a well deserved bath with that bath bomb you always wanted to use but never got a chance to. all the possibilities sounded heavenly although all that would have to actually wait until you get home.

one other thing that you had been anticipating all day was having that dinner after work with jeongin- your close friend and coworker from a different department. he had been begging you for ages to finally try that one soba place that opened up nearby with him. you being a good friend, agreed.

“you might actually melt the clock if you keep doing that y’know.” your cubicle neighbor- lee minho smirks, now standing and leaning over your workspace.

"what do you want?" pointedly asking him.

"oh, nothing. nothing."

“you just don’t ever shut up, do you?” you deadpan and tilt your chin up to stare at him, minho just offers a sly smirk in return. he always liked to bother and butt into your business for some odd reason. 

minho shrugs, “it’s fun teasing you. you do that thing where you scrunch your nose when you get riled up.” a vain visibly pops up from your forehead, but turn to your computer, hoping to drown him out with your typing.

you knew better than to give him a reaction. if you had a penny for how many times that particular vein popped from your forehead because of minho, you’d probably be a millionaire by now.

“oh, one more thing-” the brown haired man saunters back to his desk, and comes back to yours with a huge stack of papers. he unceremoniously plops it down, the annoying feline-like grin on his face. 

“what’s…this?” raising an eyebrow at him, you hope it's not what you think he's planning. you have plans. he crosses his arms and pushes his framed glasses back.

“paperwork, of course.” you wanted to strangle him. “yes, i’m well aware that this is paperwork. why is it now on my desk?”

before you could protest any further, “they want this finished by next week.” he leans to practically whisper in your ear. minho grins mischievously after he sees your pink flustered face take a step back.

the humongous stack was already on his desk, so your boss most likely assigned it to him in the first place. you furrow your eyebrows and turn to him, worst fear coming true.

"ohh no. not in a million years." you get up from your seat, avoiding the offending pile. he starts going back to his desk, neatly placing his things in it's organizers.

“why can’t you finish it? you- what are you doing?” but minho was already grabbing his bag and blazer and looking at his wrist watch.

“would you look at the time- thanks for covering for me!” aaaand he's gone.

plopping down on your chair, you bury your face in your hands, stopping yourself from pulling out hair. frustration creases on your forehead. well, you could kiss that dinner with jeongin goodbye. now you definitely want to strangle him.

-

lee minho. if you were to find a personification of the word annoying, the brunette would certainly be it. that man has done nothing but annoy the hell out of you ever since you started your time in the company. other people in your department often regarded him as one of the most reliable and polite employees here.

you would inwardly scoff at the frequent mention of minho and his apparent “reliable-ness and politeness” since all he was, was just the opposite. to you at least. it was hard to believe at first. 

but then you actually saw the way he carried himself with effortlessness and composure, handled business affairs, and how he mingled so seamlessly with fellow colleagues. it was nothing short of professional.

so you had a theory that he was only like that towards you. a complete dick only to you. you although weren’t quite sure why.

the girls in your department would often talk about him as well, mostly for his appearance. you really weren’t one for gossiping but you would listen in sometimes, curious about what they see in him. it was hard not to when they would gush about their workplace crushes and love lives so openly, a tinge of envy seeps through your bones every time it would be mentioned. you have got to get laid one day.

“he’s totally my type, you think i should ask him out?” your other cubicle neighbor says quite loudly during her break. her friend beside her shakes their head, “no, no you can’t.”

“why not? isn't he hot and available?” she asks absentmindedly. you start to zone out for a minute, only catching bits and pieces of their conversation. but you contemplate about what she said for a second, you would be lying if you said that lee minho was unattractive.

far from that actually. distinctly remembering catching a few glimpses of him from your first day, intrigued and interest piqued. his sharp nose and cheek bones, features were like sculpted by michaelangelo himself, his toned and lean figure accentuated by the perfectly well fit suit that he always seem to wear.

you definitely found him attractive at first.

that was until he started annoying you, so all of that was quickly out the window.

but you would probably end yourself before admitting that to anyone. you let out a disgruntled sigh, appearance wouldn’t really matter if he wasn’t such a knob to begin with. 

as you approached your dimly lit street, all you could think about was that feline faced jerk. what was he thinking, dumping all that work on you last minute? you felt really bad about cancelling on jeongin, texting him earlier about the sudden change of schedule. the dark haired man you've come to know just replies with a little;

'we'll just try again next week lol'

you breathe out a relieved sigh, thankful that he wasn't mad. kicking the pebbles on the side of the road, you imagined that the little rocks were minho's face. you could not wait until you get home.

“stupid paperwork, stupid minho, stupid…” 

your muttering fades and you suddenly stop in your tracks as your elderly neighbor waves you over from her front door, grandma lee or just grandma- as she insists you call her instead.

you bowed and greeted her, “hi grandma, did you need something?” you were quite close with the sweet old lady, her gray hair swaying lightly in the wind.

the elder would often check up on you after hearing that you traveled all the way from your hometown to the city, almost taking you in as her own. you were grateful for the company since homesickness would often creep up. she would also often bring you comically large jars of kimchi which you appreciated greatly.

she smiles as she gestures to the multiple bags she was holding, "i just need a little help getting these inside the house, dear." you take the heavy bags from her hands. what were in these, rocks? grandma claps her hands together in remembrance.

“have you had dinner yet? i made extra.”

-

grandma sets a bowl in front of you, the sight of seaweed soup instantly brings you comfort. your stomach grumbles as you dig in. she watches you intently as you practically inhale the soup, starved from the long and terrible day you had.

you sent her a polite questioning look. “i want to ask you for a favor.” she finally starts, flicking through the channels of her tv. the weather was on, the forecaster droning on about rain happening this week in the same monotone voice for the past 10 minutes. you look at her and nod immediately, she had done so much for you, doing a few favors aren't going to hurt.

“do you have a car, dear?”

blowing on the steaming hot seaweed soup, you nod again at her question, wondering where this conversation is heading.

“i need someone to drive me to my son’s house tomorrow, i'm staying over there for the weekend and my bags are a little heavy. would that be alright with you, dear?” you’ve heard about her family from her stories when she would have you over like now, little bits and pieces. you smile and agree.

a cheshire grin graces your features after a moment.  “what’s in it for me?” it was a joke of course, grandma knew it too. having spent a large amount of time with her, your humor must’ve rubbed off at some point.

you didn’t expect her to actually answer but she replies, “actually, i’d like you to meet my grandson as well. i think you two would get along. he's the same age as you too.”

the aforementioned grandson was someone you’ve seen in a bunch of grandma lee’s hallway pictures. you remember that he was an only child, often the only kid and the lone subject in the photos. your favorite was the kid in red with a toothy grin. he must’ve been 5 when it was taken.

"it was a joke, grandma. i'm sure your grandson wouldn't want a stranger suddenly coming to meet him." she shakes her head,

"nonsense. that boy doesn't know what he wants." you laugh at her persistence. getting another bowl of rice, you ponder her offer for a second. maybe this could finally cure your dull and dry love life, it couldn't hurt to try. if worse comes to worst, you could just pretend it never happened.

“but of course, i’ll drive you there. i have nothing to do anyways.” you say with a mouthful of rice. grandma pats you on the back and continues to flick through the channels once more.

“thank you dear.”

-

the sunset blears through your windshield, sun rays momentarily blinding you. it was clear as day. the ride to her family’s house was relatively quiet, the elderly lady in your passenger seat preferred to sleep the whole ride through after handing you the address, giving you a moment to leave you in your thoughts.

pulling up to the neighborhood, you let out a low whistle. the house was at the end of the street, steep and uphill. it was surely going to be a struggle to get the car way up there.

you get to the curb, reverse and try to park your car as best as you can. the house was really pretty, you thought. it looked pretty lived in too, but in a cozy way. vines was sprawled all over the brick exterior and flowers had bloomed all over the property.

you wake up grandma and start to haul her luggage up and out the car.

"you go up, grandma. i'll catch up."

after struggling to get the multiple bags of luggage up hill, you finally waddle to the front door. the door was left slightly ajar, probably for your convenience. you took a quick peek around, hoping for someone to let you in.

calling out before entering, you were met with silence. you figured they were too busy catching up so you eventually let yourself in.

the furniture adorning the hallway and rooms were made out of wood, the handiwork and craftsmanship was evident, intricate carvings on each and every one of them. it must’ve been made by grandma lee’s son as you’ve heard from her many stories.

a ginger cat with white stripes greets you as you enter the front door, it strides over to you in intrigue. leaning down and dropping grandma's bags gently, you let the feline sniff your hand before allowing itself to be pet. soon enough it starts rubbing its body on your legs and purring loudly. adorable cat, you thought.

silence fills the house, aside from the soft chatter coming from the other side of the wall. the cat leaves it's spot, not wanting to be pet anymore. you sit up and observe the house again, noticing a myriad of family photos adorning the walls and some of the tables.

coming closer to one of the pictures, again, you encounter the same young boy in red but this time he was wearing a cap sideways and a puffer jacket that seemed to be way too big for him.

"hello! you must be y/n!" a feminine voice suddenly calls out from the living room. you straighten your back from the mention of your name, hoping she didn't catch you closely staring at their personal and probably private photos. grandma lee comes out from the living room as well and walks towards you with a younger and kind looking woman in tow. she had another cat in her arms, this time it's coat was gray with dark streaks.

you smile and greet her politely, exchanging pleasantries. you quietly pick up the neglected bags and place them near the guest room. they continue their conversation with each other from before, you now awkwardly standing in the middle. looking at your wrist watch, you figured you should probably head on home.

"i suppose i'll get going now, it was really nice meeting you." mrs. lee looked startled at your sudden announcement.

"why don't you stay for a while? it must've been a long drive here, you're probably hungry." these two women weren't related by blood but they practically were, having the same idea when it came to hospitality.

"well, i don't want to overstay my welcome. i'm just here to give grandma a ride." smoothening out your non-existent clothes wrinkles in apprehension.

she waves her hand in dismissal, "but you must stay, you're already here anyways." she grins and pats your back. mrs. lee didn't seem to budge at your refusal.

you relented, finally accepting her offer. "my son is in the kitchen whipping something up. he's a great cook." you totally forgot about her son being actually here. the joke offer from yesterday completely forgotten and flew out of your mind. slight embarrassment runs through you, realizing that the offer was somewhat serious. you would surely need to mentally prep yourself for more socialization than you've anticipated.

but you instantly believe her claim that her son was a great cook, the amazing and aromatic smell of what seems to be steak and multiple herbs and spices from the kitchen wafts through out the entire house.

"okay- while we're waiting," mrs. lee gestures for you to take a seat, "you should go sit on the couch, y/n. i've been dying to meet you."

she hands you a mug of hot tea and sits down next to you. "mom here talks about you all the time, thank you for keeping her company."

"it's no problem at all, i like her company too." and with that, the three of you fall into a smooth and comfortable rhythm of conversation. the younger of the two women across from you continues to poke and prod into life, not that you minded. she would ask you about your life, where were you from, where you went to school, and where you went to work and among other things.

she offers you stories of her son gleefully in return, laughing about a particularly embarrassing story when he was younger. you learned that he was quite fond and talented in dancing, loves cats, and loves to cook. oddly enough mrs. lee never mentioned his name at all, you didn't want to pry. now that you've thought about it, grandma hadn't mentioned his name at all either. all you had for a lead was initials you remember seeing etched on one of grandma's photos. you figured you'd meet this person soon enough anyways.

after a while, grandma lee retreats to the guest room they've set up, assuming that she'd want to fix her belongings. mrs. lee starts to drag you around the house, urging you to help her set the plates up and talk more while doing so. midway through placing the chopsticks on the table, the sound of pots and pans clanging from the other room shakes you out of your thoughts.

"mom?" a voice calls out from their kitchen. it must be her son. you slightly raise your eyebrows, he sounds oddly familiar but you can't place your finger who he might've sounded like. you quickly brush it off.

"yes?"

"have you seen the slow cooker?" the man finally reveals himself and pokes his head through the entryway to the kitchen.

you lift your head and lock eyes with the said person. shock freezes your movements, dropping the utensils that you were holding. blinking owlishly in surprise, you weren't sure if what you were seeing was real.

you feel the wind knock out of your lungs. this was not happening. the brown eyes, brown hair, and cat like face from work that you've come to dislike stared back. you must be hallucinating.

standing across from you was lee minho, the lee minho. grandma lee’s grandson. the same one that's been tormenting you all year round. you just couldn't believe it, wondering what kind of luck you had to end up here.

you think back to when you looking (--more like snooping) at grandma lee's framed hallway photos, the kid- that was him all along? you're really bad at recognizing faces, you thought to yourself. well, she certainly made him seem like a complete angel from the stories.

"oh! this is y/n. your grandmother invited her to eat dinner with us." mrs. lee pulls your figure closer into a side hug and beams at her son.

he furrows his eyebrows at you, glancing back and forth at you and his mother. he must be as confused and shocked as you are. "hi." minho says, nodding at your direction. you purse your lips and shuffle uncomfortably in place.

minho again asks where the slow cooker was since the first time he asked was ignored. he was wearing a loose fitting shirt, his broad shoulders looking more prominent. you realize you've never seen him outside of his work attire before. he looked comfortable, domestic even.

his mom says to check the cupboards, paying him no mind and continuing to set the table up. minho nods slowly, eyes not leaving yours and heads back to the kitchen. a little shell shocked about your little encounter, you clear your throat and go back to the task at hand. you'd just have to deal with this for the evening and then you could go home.

when the table was done, mrs. lee turns to you, "y/n? would you mind helping minho over there with bringing the side dishes to the table?" you freeze at the realization that you would have to interact with him alone.

"sure." you say meekly. she thanks you and goes to the guest room to presumably get the older lady for dinner. psyching your self up before entering the kitchen, his broad back facing you. he senses your presence and chuckles.

you were sure he was going to make this whole night unbearable.

"well, this is a nice surprise."

"what are you doing here?" stupid question from you seeing as this was his own house. mentally face palming your head, he hums smugly and starts dividing the side dishes onto smaller plates. you notice his very toned arms flexing as he puts the tubs away.

"i should be asking you that. i didn't expect you to be here." he says nonchalantly, but you could feel a sly smile forming on his face as he speaks.

"neither did i." you grumble and lightly shove him aside, wanting to get the side dishes out to the table already. you ignore the way he looks so domestic right now.

-

you stare at him from directly across the table, hoping he would keep his mouth shut. he smirks while he eats, purposefully riling you up and glancing at you with a knowing grin.

do not lose your cool, y/n.

silence rings out the dining room aside from the quiet clattering of utensils on plates.

"y/n?"

"i'm sorry?" you snap out of your little less than friendly staring contest with him.

"do... you know each other?" his mother finally breaks the silence and here eyes flickers back and forth between both of you.

"yes-"

"no-"

a full on headache is surely forming now, it's going to be hard to hide your annoyance. quick, think of a lie.

"we're coworkers. same company." you grimace as he answers for the both of you. no use in hiding it now. "oh! that's wonderful." the older lady to your right clasps her hands in delight.

"you didn't tell me you worked together." grandma turns to you grinning brightly. you avoid eye contact with her, nodding and forcing out a smile. you wanted nothing more than want the ground to swallow you up right then and there.

"you two must be close." his mother says, sipping at her drink. you were about to open your mouth to say that you really aren't actually, but minho beats you to the punch.

"we kind of are." minho rests his elbows on the table and turns to you. he's enjoying this. the bastard was enjoying this. resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you turn back to finish your meal.

hatred for the man aside, he really was a great cook as mentioned countless of times. you actually find yourself enjoying the meal he had prepared.

"tell me what you two get up to at work, i want to hear all of it."

you shift uncomfortably in your seat, being honest wouldn't be the best idea. you didn't want these two lovely women to know how much of an unpleasant man their son and grandson is. and it was his house after all, the best decision might be to at least be civil with him.

so you play along with his facade, not wanting to disappoint them even if it was probably going to bite you in the ass later.

minho starts cutting the meat up into bite sized pieces while the conversation between the two ladies continue. he places it on your plate without saying anything. this takes you by surprise, looking at his face for an answer.

the two audience members among the dining table seems to have noticed your little exchange. a wrinkly hand touches over yours catches your attention.

"oh, so are you two..." she trails off, implication heavy on her tone.

"no- no, grandma. i told you i wasn't seeing anyone." you shoot a discrete glare towards minho.

"ah, i see..."

you shrink down your seat for the remainder of the hour, embarrassment flooding your being. why did he have to do that? you were already practically fighting for your life not to get too involved with all this, and he pulls that?

after that very eventful dinner, it was already nearing 8 pm. you figured that you should probably get out of their hair, not wanting to disturb them than you already had. that bubble bath and movie marathon you had planned in your head sounded amazing right about now. maybe that would help you forget about this crazy night.

"grandma," she turns in response, "i think i better get going." you smile at her, digging through your pockets for the car keys. a different cat from the other two that you've met takes long strides, stopping by your feet. you greet it by petting it's head gently. you wondered how many cats they have.

"now? look at the weather dear," you look briefly at the window nearest you, surely enough it was heavily pouring. you deflate at the sight.

"i don't think it's a great idea to drive out in a storm." she looks at you in concern. crap. the conversation at dinner must've carried you away, not even noticing the angry rumble of thunder that came from the sky. she was right, you don't think you could drive out there immediately.

the last time you drove into hard pelting rain, you couldn’t see through the windshield and almost crashed your car in the process. you could still remember how your car swerved and screeched when you couldn't control the way the tires' direction.

reluctantly dropping your hands to your side in defeat, "i guess i can wait it out for a bit." you finally say.

"yes, please do stay. we made extra dessert!" mrs. lee chuckles, seemingly enjoying your presence. glancing at minho, he was leaning on the side of the couch watching the exchange between you three, uncharacteristically silent and expression unreadable.

you reckon he wasn't all that thrilled about the whole thing either.

-

"the storm isn't letting up." minho sighs next to you, observing the dark and heavy rain pelting the window. it continues to pour down, filing in the silence.

"great." you mumble lowly, crossing your arms. a loud cackle of thunder makes you jump from your spot. he just laughs in response. you could feel your heart pounding out of your chest, anxiety quietly eating at you. damn weather man. you should've paid more attention to the forecast.

the smart watch on your wrist flashes with a notification. it was 11 pm now. "you should stay until tomorrow, dear."

you feel a comforting hand on your back, it was mrs. lee. it was only her staying with you two right now since grandma had already retired back to her room.

"tomorrow? oh, i- uh... i don't want to intrude." you stutter and look down, unsure how to accept her offer. but as much as you wanted to turn her down, you knew deep down you don't really have a choice in the matter.

another strike of thunder confirms your pitiful situation.

"i know what you're thinking, you can take minho's room." her words take you aback, that really wasn't what you were thinking. but she wasn't serious, was she?

at the mention of his name and apparent lending of his own bed, he whips his head towards his mother. he points to himself silently and gawks in disbelief.

you try to stifle a laugh at his ridiculous face. it wasn't often that you see minho all flustered.

realizing that mrs. lee might actually kick minho out of his room if you don't say anything, you decide to spare him. "that's okay, i'll take the couch."

"are you sure? the couch isn't the most comfortable..."

you reassure her that the couch is fine and not to worry. mrs. lee takes this as a confirmation that you'll stay for the night. she beams and grabs her son's shoulder,

"minho, do you have clothes that you can lend to y/n?" she catches you about to protest at the unnecessary offer, "don't worry about that, you're going to end up uncomfortable if you sleep in your clothes right now."

she leaves not long after with a quick good night to you both, also not leaving any room for any counter arguments. minho nods after registering what she said, hesitantly gesturing you to follow him towards the room at the end of the corridor.

he was quiet these past few hours, you observed. the annoying minho that you have gotten used to was no where to be found. putting yourself in his shoes, you understood. having a person that you dislike come into your home and spend the night would irk you as well.

the unexpected warm lighting and a subtle citrus scent with notes of jasmine and sandalwood welcomed you upon entering. it instantly brings comfort. not really expecting anything coming into his room, it was truly a pleasant surprise.

you stand awkwardly in the middle of his room, not wanting to touch or disrupt any of his space or belongings. he heads straight to his closet near his bed.

"it's alright, uh..."

minho ignores your attempt to refuse and starts digging deep for clothes that he could lend.

okay, nevermind.

you quietly glance at the homey decor that adorns the wall of his bedroom. multiple pictures of what you assume to be his friends were strewn all across the room. some of them seemed to be taken when he was in high school and some more recent. there were doing various funny and serious poses, minho seems to be really well liked.

"alright,"

he starts handing you a pair of black jogging pants and a plain white t-shirt. you reluctantly take the pile of clothes from him, your fingers momentarily brushing. you were certain you could hear your pulse thump in your ears. it confuses you greatly.

"this is the smallest one i have, sorry."

he coughs and rubs his neck, "the bathroom is over there, if you wanna change."

awkwardly shuffling on the way to the bathroom, a sigh of relief leaves your mouth as you lock the door behind. why were you so affected by a simple touch of his fingers? this was minho. you quickly shove the odd feeling down.

you hold the white shirt up to your torso, it was definitely too big. the hem of the shirt reaching your thighs and sleeves reaching your elbows as well.

peeling out of your clothes, and hold up minho's large shirt to finally wear. as you put it on, you could faintly smell the cleanness of detergent and a faint musky patchouli scent. your cheeks burn with the realization that you were really going to spend the night here.

when you return to the empty main corridor, the leather couch was already set up with a cozy looking blanket and multiple plush pillows. you struggle to hide a smile.

-

tossing and turning, you struggle to find a comfortable position on the couch. the blanket proving to be too hot right now, you push it off. you check your phone out of boredom and the led screen lights up.

1:19 am. it was in the middle of the night and the rain continues to pour outside. the occasional rumble of thunder once again evoking anxiety in you. sighing, you don't think you will be getting any sleep tonight. it's just you and your thoughts for now.

thinking back to this afternoon, the whole situation seems so absurd and surreal. who would've thought that you and minho would pretend being friends even if it was just for one night. it was a strange chance of circumstance.

the door from the end of hallway opens, a scruffy and disheveled minho rubs his eyes to get rid of his sleepiness. you sit up in curiosity to observe his sleepy state. he pads over the wooden floors to the kitchen looking for water, not sparing you a second glance.

when he was out of sight, you start thinking of ways to distract yourself, wanting to already succumb to slumber.

“oh, it’s you.” he says after coming back, finally noticing your slumped figure. "didn't sleep yet?" minho ruffles his hair haphazardly, trying to smoothen it down. you shake your head,

"insomnia. it's the thunder."

"ah."

"the couch is making your neck hurt isn't it?"

"yeah, that too."

he opens his mouth to hopefully offer another solution, but shuts it immediately. he wasn't sure if it would make you comfortable so he just stands there quietly.

"i'll go get you more pillows." he places his cup down on the coffee table before going to his room. minho stops in his tracks when he feels your fingers tug on his shirt. another strike of thunder flashes outside making you flinch.

"stay." you catch yourself saying before even realizing. it's selfish to ask but you don't think you could stand the thunder alone. watching him stare into your eyes, as if looking for an explanation- you offer him no words.

minho takes a seat at the end of the couch silently joining you, sipping at his mug. to fill the awkward silence, you clear your throat and fiddle with the ends of the cotton blanket.

you start thinking of ways to justify your selfish request of making him stay.

"i finished that damn paperwork you dumped on me. dick move by the way." you chortled to try to lighten the mood. he seems to notice your attempts to distract yourself and indulge your sudden desire to chat.

he folds his hands on his stomach, grinning. his bunny like teeth poking out. you always thought it was endearing. "it's fun seeing you all grumpy."

"sadist." you simper, the anger you felt from a yesterday dwindling at the surprisingly pleasant banter.

quietness takes over again. he stares into the celling, pondering. "i didn't know you were close with my grandmother." he says after a while. he avoids your gaze and places his mug back on the table.

"neither did i. it wasn't deliberate," you reply. he turns to you, curious about the story. so you explain to him how you met, for how long and that you didn't even recognize him despite seeing the photos.

he chuckles, "i bet it was this pose, wasn't it?" minho imitates the very same pose that he did in the photo, eliciting another laugh from you. it was exactly the same.

minho shuffles a little bit closer to you, now propping his arm on the back of the couch. you straighten up, now being hyperaware of his presence and proximity. he looks really different without his glasses.

a furry tail suddenly brushes against your exposed leg. you lean forward to check what had just rubbed past you, it was one of the cats. it meows for attention, pawing at the base of the couch.

"your cats are really cute." you watch him pick the orange haired feline and place it on his lap. one by one, two of the other cats that you've seen this afternoon start padding over to where you and minho were seated, jumping on the couch.

"that's dori," he points to the gray furred kitty. "doongie," an orange cat with a predominately white underbelly, "and soonie." the last one who's also orange but more so than the other. minho raises soonie's paw, waving it at you. cute.

"this one looks like you."

you scratch soonie's chin, the low purring getting louder the longer you do it. minho stares longingly at your eyes with an unreadable expression at the comment. you're not paying any attention to him.

after a while, the cats start to get tired of the two of you. they walk of to the end of the couch, now ignoring you and minho. you fold your arms and relaxing into the back of the couch, falling into a deep and comfortable silence that would be sorely missed.

"why do you hate me?" you say abruptly. the curiosity finally won, anxiety gnawing at your every fiber of your being. it was finally starting to be peaceful between you two and actually talking like normal people, your sudden comment might've affected it's chances of becoming true.

his head whips towards your direction in what you assume to be disbelief, furrowing his eyebrows. "since when did i hate you?"

you struggle to not scoff at his blatant charade, "minho, you have it out for me." this was strange and ridiculous. was he really being serious? how could he not be aware of the months of months of his incessant attitude towards you, and only you.

you remind yourself to be calm, to be civil. but he continues to feign ignorance. it was starting to get difficult.

"you don't treat me like the others, you constantly make my life harder by teasing me, and you dump your own paperwork on me. only me. the only time you talked to me normally was just a few minutes ago." your voice rising with exasperation.

"what did i do?" voice ultimately faltering, tired.

"i-..." minho refuses to meet your eyes, offering no solace.

instantly feeling vulnerable by your little outburst and by the lack of response on his end, you hug and bury the plush pillow for comfort. you wanted to go home. you wanted to go home and pretend this conversation did not happen. confrontation wasn't your strong suit.

after a long while of silence, he at last utters a low, "i'm so sorry."

"that was very, very stupid of me." minho's eyes are now trained on the hardwood floor, unable to even glance at you.

"what? the paperwork?" you scoff, "no, not just that. all of it."

you furrow your brows at him, "i just find you really really cute when you're mad." he continues. you stare at him, incredulousness and anger painting your features. before you could give him a piece of your mind, he speaks.

"and i realized i didn't know how to actually approach you normally without the teasing." he purses his lips, the cup on the table long forgotten. minho is staring up the celling now, still refusing to look to your direction.

"would you also believe me if i said i was jealous?"

you don't know what to say in return, heavily processing what he just said. what was happening? your mouth runs dry, confusion knocking the wind out of you.

"of your friend." he says, emphasizing the last part. you try to rack your brain of who he was referring to.

"jeongin?" you tilt your head. he says nothing, confirming the assumption. "i overheard him talking to his friends, bragging about how he was gonna take you out to this restaurant that he wants to drag you to." you couldn't possibly think of a reason why he would be jealous, you and jeongin are just friends. and why was he jealous in the first place?

"why are you so worked up about it? he's just a friend, minho."

"i'm not even sure myself," minho shakes his head in exasperation and turns to you. "but i like you, y/n."

standing there, paralyzed at his unexpected confession. minho likes you? he was giving you crap all year round, and yet he likes you? you shoot him a perplexed look, "wait, what?"

"let me get this straight," you hug your legs, trying to decipher what he was saying. "so your plan was to annoy the hell out of me, dump your paperwork seeing that you don't want me hanging out with jeongin because...you like me?"

"well, now it sounds stupid when you put it like that." he huffs, crossing his arms and pouting cutely.

deafening silence falls between you two, unable to say anything meaningful without stuttering and fumbling through your words. you just sat there, not really saying anything and staring at the floor. realizing that you probably don't feel the same, he sighs. its about time he went back to bed too.

"it's late. you should probably get some-"

before you knew it you felt your pulse roaring in your ears, grabbing his wrist and stopping him from standing up. you were going to regret it if you let him go.

"i like you too."

a magnetic pull causes you both to inch closer together, wordlessly gazing into each others eyes. you make the first move to lean into him, slowly placing an experimental peck on the side of his lips. you unsurely place your hands on his chest, "is this okay?"

his eyes flickering down to your lips and then back to your eyes. he licks his lips, still staring intensely- lovingly at you. he softly grins, tucking a lock of hair behind your ears and returns the kiss on your lips.

eyelids fluttering shut, you feel him press against you with much enthusiasm, deepening the kiss. you cup his cheeks as a reply, roughly pulling him towards you.

you already forgot about the rain outside.

he hoists you up his lap, a hand on your waist as he trails desperate kisses on your neck. minho pays his attention back to your lips, sloppy and open mouthed, saliva stringing from your mouths. urgency and eagerness was reflected in the way you both tangle your arms around each other, touching and caressing every part that you could reach.

all of the unresolved tension was slowly slipping away, replaced by desire.

a sudden meow breaks the two of you out of your trance. the green eyes of soonie stares up at the two of you, sitting quietly and their tail swishing side to side.

you loosen your arms around his neck, you two bursting out in laughter at the interruption.

"do you want to maybe take this to my room?" minho asks, placing a thumb on your lips. you didn't need to think twice.

-

your head hit his plush pillow, the cold and crisp linen feeling heavenly against your hot and flushed skin. shuffling up to the headboard, you watch minho with hazy eyes as he inches towards your form and props his knee on the edge of the bed.

he smirks as he sinks down on the mattress, hovering over your feverish body. minho sneaks a hand behind your back, grabbing you by the hips and flipping you over so effortlessly to the top as if you weighed nothing.

"now, where were we?" he murmurs into the column of your neck, his hot breath sending tingling and electrifying shivers down your spine. you respond by trailing your hands all over his clothed chest, wanting to get the offending article of clothing off.

he chuckles and grabs your wrists, halting you from doing so. minho kisses the inside of your wrist, a teasing smile dawns on his face. you look at him with desperate, pleading eyes, wanting to have him already.

minho adjusts his tight hold on you, biting his plush lips in anticipation. with you now towering over his figure, you lean down to capture the lips that you had been fantasizing about all evening and bury your hands into his hair. the kiss was wet and messy, your tongues sloppily and desperately swallowing each other's moans. a trail of saliva strings from both of your lips.

it was starting to get too hot for your liking. you cease your movements for a second to remove minho’s borrowed shirt from your body. minho’s eyes shamelessly rake over your chest, his finger leisurely trailing the middle of your breasts. you let out a low chuckle, finally unclasping the hook of your bra. you release a breathy shudder upon feeling something hard poking you from where you sat. grabbing both of his wrists, you eagerly put them up to your tits, you could feel your sensitive nipples harden because of his cold touch. minho starts pinching at the sensitive buds, prolonging his eye contact with you, clearly enjoying your erratic squirming.

you suck in a sharp breath and almost topple over him in pleasure as he takes a nipple into his mouth, hot, warm, and wet. it was overwhelming, having no one touch you like this before. he continues to lap at your hardening bud. minho groans, closing his eyes and further burying his head in your chest. your tits were covered in spit, glistening under the subtle light of his night lamp.

minho, while smothering himself in your chest, takes a moment to hook his arm over you. his skillful hands trail over to the waistband of your jogging pants and pulls it down. you oblige, leaning closer to him and lifting your hips so he wouldn’t have to leave your tits. you jump in surprise once you feel a light teasing smack on your now semi exposed ass, only covered by thin panties. it elicits a small moan from you, pulling his head closer. you lightly pet his head and thread your hands in his hair affectionately as he continues his sucking, feeling a coiling sensation from your core. 

but before you could cum, he detaches from your breasts, leaving his lips glistening with his own spit and his breath raggedy. a sly grin that you have come to love and hate graces his face upon seeing you whimper. the lack of stimulation makes you deflate, heaving frustratedly at his relentless teasing.

the familiar throbbing heat from your pussy suddenly gives you an idea. his hungry gaze watches you in curiosity. the bulge you were currently sitting on now immediately taking all of your attention. you do an experimental hump on it, hoping to relieve the aching heat from your cunt. minho's hands fly to your hips, groaning at the sensation.

"all this time, you made me think that you hated me-" you moan out, the fabric of his pants providing just the right amount of resistance. "when really you liked me?"

he stifles his moans by biting his bottom lip, his pants surely soaked through now.

"i did say i liked seeing you mad." minho manages to grunt out, licking his lips. you almost reel in disbelief but you keep your composure. 

"you're confusing." another thrust. 

"and i'm still mad at you." you huff out. hips now wildly humping against every ridge and curve of his cock. the sight of him makes you delirious, even more so that you’re humping against him.

"i-i'll make it up to you," he murmurs lowly, hissing the more times you buck up against him. "fu-fuck..."

despite the way that you were using him, it does nothing to quell the horniness you were feeling, in fact, it even spurs you on further. the wet patch from your panties soak and slowly transfer on to the front of his pants, your own wetness spreading messily every time you grind on his delicious dick, the ridges providing the needed friction that you've been so desperately craving. minho watches you, your tits bouncing up and down- he feels like drooling. "i love it when you use me." he finally breathes out, hands still on your hips, his nails making crescents on your skin. and finally, you cum, his words sending you over the edge.

it tremors through your body, white hot cum leaks out from your panties and you can’t seem to hold yourself up any longer, collapsing on his broad chest. you clench your eyes shut in shyness, suddenly embarrassed from using minho so blatantly. he coos and pats your head in comfort, almost like how he pets his cats.

planning to make it up to him and eat his words, you sit up and shuffle down his hips. you admire the wet patch that stains his front, mouth watering. this surprises him, watching you with tantalizing eyes. you make a move to grab at his waistband, pulling it down slowly. he hisses out in pleasure as the waistband runs over his still clothed dick. minho’s boxers were thoroughly wet, you could see a dark patch on the front where you sat on him and where precum leaked out. you lift up a hand to experimentally give his bulge a tight little squeeze, him letting out a little shudder response.

it hardens even more under your touch- so you decide to tease him to test the waters even further, running your fingers over and over his tent causing him to hiss out, sending you a warning look. taking this as a sign, you lift the waistband of his boxers and stare at his eyes while doing so. it springs up immediately after freeing it from its confines. his long and fat cock stands tall, the tip a deep red, and the veins prominently running along the sides. the sight makes your mouth water in anticipation. you place a thumb on his cockhead, running slow circles on his slit causing it to drool heavily on your hand.

his cat like mouth parts in ecstasy once you start teasing the underside of his length with your hand and licking the oozing liquid up. minho’s hips start thrusting at the sensation, forcing you to hold him down. it was admittedly hard to do so, his thick thighs almost the size of your head but you still managed to restrain him from rutting wildly. the groan that leaves his lips sound is absolutely nothing short of sinful when you finally put your mouth on him. every desperate huff from him leaves you light headed, wishing you could record and replay it over and over again. when couldn’t fit all of him, you resorted to pumping the remaining of the shaft were you couldn’t reach. you egg him on even further by running a hand over his abs, seeing how his thighs and abdomen tense up. 

you look up through your lashes to watch minho unravel. his eyes were screwed shut, focusing on the stimulation. while it bobs messily in your mouth, you try to pay special attention to his hot and heavy balls, rubbing it back and forth in the palm of your hand, hoping to get him to cum. minho closes his eyes shut again and tenses his thighs, finally cumming. his hands travel down to grasp at his length, taking it over yours, spurting his essence everywhere. minho finishes with a loud relieved groan, slapping his dick lazily against your cheek which you greedily lapped at. 

“that might be the best head i’ve ever had, bunny.” he bites his lips, his voice light and airy. you quickly sit up from your position and gawked at him, suddenly feeling bashful at his apparent pet name for you. 

minho gives you a mischievous cat like grin in return, feeling absolutely delighted at your expression. he begins to lightly graze your leg, leaving tentative touches and gentle pecks along the stretch of your lower limb. lifting your right leg up, you stop minho from inching any closer towards you by putting your foot on his chest.

"y/n..."

you pretend to think for a moment, stretching this out for as long as possible. he would just have to wait since he had yet to make up for being so mean to you. a little fun also wouldn’t hurt, right? no, you were quite wrong. 

minho again grabs your ankle albeit more roughly this time and continues to place chaste kisses with more passion this time, clearly adamant about giving your legs and thighs hickeys. at long last, minho slides the wet and abused fabric off you, the panty is thoroughly soaked and it’s material sticking and clinging to your core.

he hooks ur leg over his shoulder, urging to part your legs apart and spreading them obscenely open. staring intensely into your eyes, minho starts teasing your core with feather light touches. “you like this?” he says his mischievous grin, continuing his ministrations. you offer him no response as he traces figures and shapes on your wet pussy that has you seeing stars. his fingers now erratically sliding up and down your folds. you almost sob at his nonchalant teasing, eyes clenching shut and begging him to put something in.

something about observing his veiny hand treading lightly just the outside of your lower lips leads you to tuck your face into your hands, the sight was like straight out of porn. “no, no. hands up bunny.” minho takes a hold of your wrists, putting them effortlessly above your head. 

“you have to look.”

his free hand drags along your legs to pull them apart and starts lowering his chiseled face down to your core. his nose just close enough to feel the small exhaling puffs of hot air on your pussy, causing it to twitch in suspense. the brunette sneaks a peak at your trembling figure before diving right in, the first contact of his tongue on your cunt was searing hot, instantly making jolt out in shock and cry out. minho takes this as a sign to hold down your hips, pressing, flattening, and letting his tongue rampant against you all while avoiding your clit. he hums at the taste, huffing and delving further into your pussy, eating you out with such intensity, placing open mouthed sloppy kisses. he spits to make your pussy wetter so he could languidly and erratically make out with your cunt. 

you throw your head back into the heaps of pillows behind you as he starts to pay attention to your clit, softly biting the bundle of nerves. minho then moves to swipe his index up at the large amount of cum and spit trickling from your core, using it as lube for his fingers. he gently prods his index in your entrance all while still licking you up. his long fingers, deliciously stretching your hole, deeper than all those nights you've tried to do so yourself. the bliss you were feeling was overwhelming. minho croaks out a little ‘hah, hah, hah…” every time he would come up for breath, completely drunk off your musky and intoxicating scent. you also don’t miss how he subtly humps the bed sheets he was lying under either. you began to arch your back upon hearing his desperate sounds, your arousal spurting on his face.   

minho looks like a cat who got the cream, his pupils blown wide open and wetness trickling down the side of his mouth. he lets go of your hands after you were finished, the numb arm falling on your forehead as you catch your breath. he stands up to re-adjust your form on the bed, pulling you closer to his pelvis.

minho stares at your eyes, asking silently for permission. you look up at him with a toothy- fucked out grin. 

the feelings that you couldn't place earlier was now clear, you wanted him.

minho reaches a hand over your face, caressing your flushed cheeks. he wordlessly leans to tenderly place a kiss onto your forehead and on your lips. you reciprocate lovingly, capturing his lips once again. minho without warning, pushes his long and girthy dick into you, the abrupt intrusion making you sob out. the bulbous head of his cock rubs deliciously against your gummy walls, you swore you could feel it in your throat.

“there we go. there we go…”

minho sets a rough pace, his hips thrusting against your pelvic bone. “ah-ah!”

toned and skillful arms cage you in, forcing you to look deep into his dark pools. "you better keep quiet, or else the whole house will hear you." that for some reason makes your cunt even wetter, weeping more than you thought was possible. the sole idea of getting caught with their precious son doing such lewd acts, it seems sacrilegious and absolutely sinful.

he once again reaches for your hardened nipple, tweaking and pinching the bud between his thumb and index. the bed was now creaking with how fast minho was going, you silently prayed that no one in the house suspects anything. the thought mortifies you.

minho leans against your figure and nuzzles up on your chest, looking up at you with an oh so innocent grin while he continues to pound your cunt. his movements start to stutter once he feels your walls clench around him. your mind begins to feel like mush but you still try to make an effort to suppress your groans of pleasure. a strangled sound between a moan and a whine leaves your throat once he hits that one particular spot in you.

“keep quiet, little kitty.”

you start squirming uncontrollably at the huskiness of his voice, not having experienced an intense orgasm like this before. “cum, you can do it.” your rutting hips stop to convulse for a moment, feeling your orgasm rip through the ends of your nerves. leaning back on his chest, you struggle to catch your breath, heaving from the aftermath of your orgasm.

fogginess still clouding your vision, you caught a small glimpse of minho to notice that he still hadn’t pulled out, his hands circling your waist gently. you unintentionally clench on his cock, yep he was still hard, very hard. minho sets his eyes on you, and gives you that look. oh no, you knew that look. the same one that he uses around the office to persuade a higher up to heed to his request. you nibble on your lower lip in excitement.

“one more, you can do one more right?” he coos, lifting your legs and his hips starting his monstrous once pace again. you double over in overstimulation, crying out in pleasure. his breath hitches after a particularly hard thrust, choosing to muffle his own cries by shoving his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your exhilarating scent. you respond by coyly playing with the hair on his nape, hoping that it would ground you to reality.

minho then sneaks a hand from below you and hugs your figure, pulling you impossibly closer. he swallows your moans, kissing you feverishly and running his hands wildly all throughout. it was so urgent, so intense, like he’s finding a way to meld your bodies together, his erratic and messy thrusts reflecting that.

your fingers clutch his thick bed sheets, euphoria piercing your body every time he drives another rough thrust into you. the lewd noises coming from the two of you echos and bounces off the walls, the conversation tomorrow morning was going to be so humiliating and awkward at the dining table.   

you can’t hold it in any longer, and by the looks of it, neither can he. minho cums with a loud groan, spurting inside you. "goooood kitty." minho rasps out. you gape at the warmness, causing you to finish as well. minho reaches his hand downwards to spread your combined release, spreading it messily. it drips out of you obscenely as he pulls out.

you were positively flushed. he was too, sweat still glistening on the wide expanse of his chest and forehead. minho brushes your hair back affectionately before plopping down tiredly next to you. you turn to him, wanting to admire his fucked out features but he looks occupied and staring into space.

“what's the matter?” 

"i really am sorry about the misunderstanding. i feel terrible that i made you feel like that. and i do really like you. wasn't lying about that." minho sighs out, closing his eyes for a moment and then faces you. “i want to start over, properly this time.”

"apology accepted. and yeah of course." you say, quite happy with how this whole misunderstanding turned out. "i really like you too." he kisses the top of your head, making you wrap an arm around him to cuddle.

"now you'll just have to figure out how to reject the girl beside your desk. she wants to ask you out."

"maybe we can start by just making out in front of her."

[rinniessance]

DADDY'S FAVORITE GIRL ༊*·˚ - step dad!gojo x fem!reader

going away for college, the last thing you expected to come back to in the summer is a new step-dad. and you do not like the dangerous glint in his eyes every time he looks at you.

꒰ warnings: nsfw - dark content - mdni .ᐟ.ᐟ non-curse au. step dad!gojo, stepcest, age difference (reader is implied to be 21, gojo is in his late 30s), dubcon, gaslighting, manipulation, cheating, heavy daddy kink, so many pet names (babygirl, pretty, doll, princess etc.), slight dacraphyllia, slight overstimulation, breeding kink, unprotected sex, virginity loss, corruption kink. plot is kinda messy 'cause i was rushing to get to the smut, sowwy ໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১ // word count: 5.1k ꒱ ꒰ notes: i am freely being my most disgusting self, thank you for supporting my little insane brain .ᐟ.ᐟ꒱

going away for college, the last thing you expected to come back to during summer break is a new step-dad. ever since your parents divorced when you were 14, your mom has been single – your teenage years, she dedicated herself to you, protecting you from your scumbag father, focusing on your future. you even agreed to delay your college admittance until you were 20, taking two gap years after your high school to stay at your hometown with her. your mom has the worst case of separation anxiety – which is why maybe you should’ve been more concerned when she gradually stopped texting you as the days went on. you assumed the best – maybe she found a hobby, maybe she reconnected with old friends, maybe she finally realized you are an adult and stopped babying you every waking moment. what you did not expect is for her to get married.

these are the thoughts running through you head as you stand in the middle of your living room, fresh out the airport, gawking at the man sleeping on the couch, and wonder how the fuck that happened. you would’ve honestly screamed and thought this was a squatter, or a robber, if not for all the wedding pictures obnoxiously decorating almost every available surface (god, how many photos do you need?). you try not to think too much about it – the flight was 6 hours, you barely got any sleep sitting to the smelliest man on the planet, and you just want to take a shower and go to bed. just as you start walking off, the front door swings open.

“oh my god, sweetheart, you’re home!” your mom’s voice booms through the quiet room resonating like a thunderclap in the middle of a still field. she runs to you, immediately pulling you into a hug which you happily return. you’re genuinely delighted to see her, albeit feeling a little weirded out by a man she decided to bring home. your mother looks over to the couch, man’s sleeping figure not moving once, and sighs with exasperation. “i assume he didn’t pick you up?”

“no but it’s okay…” you whisper quietly and gesture towards the figure on the couch with your head, “about that, though…”

“yeah, honey, i know, i am sorry i didn’t tell you. everything has been happening so quickly, i haven’t even had time to process it myself!” she squealed like a school girl. “his name is satoru gojo and we met at the charity event i went to six months ago.”

“since when do you attend charity events?” you ask, quirking the brow upwards.

“oh, i didn’t know what to do with myself ever since you moved out so i’ve been trying anything and everything. and look, the results have been phenomenal!” she giggled, frustration she had towards her husband about not picking you up melting away in front of your eyes. god, he really had her wrapped around his finger.

“okay, well, i am kind of tired so i wanted to go to bed. is it okay if we talk about this tomorrow?”

your mom suddenly looks down at her feet, a little embarrassed. what did she do.

“yes, about that… that room was sitting unutilized the whole time you were away so satoru and i thought it would be a good idea to remake it into a home office, kind of. your bed is still in there though! so you can sleep in the room no problem.”

“mom, what the fuck…” you whine. not only your room with all your memories and all your personality was gone and demolished, you now have to sleep in the room that was most likely used by him. “home office” my ass, you thought – your mom would not need it in a million years, and by the way she’s avoiding your gaze in shame, it was definitely not her idea.

“i’m sorry baby, but you’ve been away and…”

you interrupt her with a wave of your hand.

“whatever, i’m too tired to think about it. i’ll take a shower and go to bed, i don’t wanna deal with him until tomorrow,” you sigh with frustration and walk off into your home office, dropping your things on the floor.

what you don’t see as you walk off is the dangerous glint in satoru’s eyes as he listens to every bits of your conversation. you said the last sentence with so much poison, he thinks it might’ve struck him dead. gojo knows it will be difficult to get on your good side now but he likes to play these games on hard mode.

oh, you will be so much fun to break.

gojo satoru is a patient man – when he really wants something, he is content to wait until he gets it. that being the main reason why he approaches you slowly. it’s the next day after you arrive that he has a chance to introduce himself properly.

you leave the room after having the best night’s sleep – you really didn’t mind waking up in the office today, you must’ve been too tired to think straight and threw a fit yesterday. you make a mental note to apologize to your mom later. as you turn into the kitchen, you’re met with the view you wish did not have such a strong effect on you – your step-dad, freshly out of the shower, grey sweatpants low riding on his hips, is preparing what seems to be breakfast.

you’re so fucked.

you try to shake off the feeling of arousal washing over you. you may not have had a chance to have any sexual experiences yet, but you’re not that much of a virgin not to know when you’re feeling horny. you just wish it wasn’t due to the incredibly hot step-dad. the left-over frustration from previous night bubbles up like over spilled champagne and you decide to keep your distance. anger helps you keep yourself grounded, and you maneuver around the man to make breakfast, but you see that he prepared it for you already.

“oh, thank you,” you say quietly as he extends the plate to you.

“you’re very welcome, sweetheart.”

the nickname sends a shiver down your spine.

gojo turns to face you and gives you his breathtaking smile. you want to choke on your toast.

“i wanted to apologize for not picking you up yesterday. your mom told me so much about you, and i was excited to meet her ‘favorite girl’,” his eyes spark with a dangerous glint at the nickname, making you shrink into yourself, “but my work held me up, and then i think i went for a quick nap and… uh… ended up falling asleep,” he says with a light chuckle.

“that’s okay, i didn’t really mind the train ride,” you respond with visible discomfort,

he now stands next to you by the counter, his body heat palpable, melting over you like a scorching son. gojo’s all-teeth smile is gorgeous, frustratingly enough, but it makes your skin crawl: like a prey walking into the carefully designed trap, you can feel your gut asking you to run. it makes sense your mom fell for him so easily.

“will you let me make up for it? let’s go our for a dinner, i’m sure your mom would be delighted to hear we’re trying to get along.”

“i don’t know, i haven’t seen my friends in some time, i think i’ll be hanging out with them for a while,” you shuffle from leg to leg, trying to move away

“that’s okay, we have a whole summer ahead.”

for some reason it felt more like a threat than a promise.

you smile politely back, not knowing what to say, rushing to finish your breakfast. the image of your step-dad, half-naked in your family kitchen talking to you about his plans with you for the whole summer should be weird – it’s difficult to find it weird when the said step-dad is criminally hot, unfortunately.

“i think i’ll go now, thanks for the breakfast,” gojo’s gives you a smile so sweet, it somehow triggers a toothache, and waves you off. since yesterday, he’s been making you feel extremely on edge for no apparent reason, it’s driving you a little insane.

when you come back home that evening, you are greeted by both your mom and satoru with the dinner ready. she babbles about how great of a cook he is, and that she can’t wait until you try it. you politely decline citing that you’re full and quickly leave for your room – satoru’s blue eyes were looking at you with almost an animalistic stare, and you hated that you liked it.

gojo thought things were going well with you – he’s given you the space you need in the first two weeks after you arrived. your mom was overjoyed seeing how deeply satoru already cared about you – making sure you eat in the morning, not letting you go to bed without a meal, always checking on you throughout the day, keeping you safe. you, however, thought it was… weird, if anything, that he was all around you this intensely.

“oh, honey, that’s just how he shows that he cares. he was like that with me as well,” your mom tells you one of the nights when you bring it up. it worries you how easily she takes his side now and wonder if something else is going on.

satoru picks you up when you stay out too late, to the wee hour of the night when the subways stop running; he makes sure you have your nights with your mom, when he doesn’t intrude on your backyard conversations and only adores you pretty features from his second-floor window; he learns what movies and music and tv you like, trying to decipher the person that is you.

he’s been putting all this effort to get to know your every step – then why the fuck does he find you one night you kissing some random boy on your driveway?

you said you were going out today and no pickup was needed – now it makes sense why.

gojo satoru is a patient man. but even his patience can start running thin, trickling like water through cracks in the fingers. hourglass of his kindness has been half full for a while now – it’s about time the sand runs out.

you think a boy like him can give you what satoru can? just you wait and see.

kitchen is uncharacteristically quiet when you walk in. it’s the next morning, and usually by now, satoru would be making breakfast for you. his job is still unknown – you are not sure if he was suddenly called in but the feeling of happy solitude falls over you, even if for a moment.

your mom is gone at least for two weeks for work, you’re dreading the moment you have to be left alone with your step-dad. the look in his eyes yesterday was dangerous, a predator appraising its victim before sinking its teeth in, and you’re happy megumi was able to leave quickly after walking you home. surprisingly, gojo didn’t say you a word when you walked into the house, silently sitting in front of the tv like he didn’t just spy through the window on your kiss with the boy.

air in the room was heavy with tension – you knew satoru was avoiding looking your way, jaw clenched, hands balled into fists. instinctively, you wanted to break the silence, say something to discharge the electricity jumping through the atoms of your stuffy living room air, but ultimately decided against it. you have nothing to say to a man, and it’s not like you needed to justify your actions in front of him anyways. you quickly retreated into the office and avoided him until you fell asleep.

when you woke up to an empty apartment not even fifteen minutes ago, you felt relief. walking into the kitchen and confirming your presence alone, you even felt happy. then what is this weird feeling, almost as if you are missing something, nagging at you? you thought of going out today but now a strange desire to stay at home washes over.

you make breakfast for the first time since you came home (gojo didn’t skip a single day, you have no idea how he kept up with that), and you chastise yourself for feeling weird about cooking for yourself; and you chastise yourself again when your mind lingers on the thoughts of a certain white-haired man; and again when you look at your phone, convincing yourself it’s a bad idea to text him. god, you feel so stupid. didn’t you want him to stop being so unsettlingly sweet and dotting around you all the time?

conflicted by your irrationality once again, you frustratingly take your plate and sit down on the couch. flipping through the netlifx previews, you land on something to distract your mind by. you settle on some true crime documentary and let the horrors on the screen consume you, abandoning for a moment the thoughts plaguing your head.

you’ve been glued to the screen for at least two hours before you heard the jiggle of the keys. like an eager puppy, you waited for gojo to come inside and greet you like he would every day – only for him to completely ignore your presence, beelining straight for the kitchen. turning your head back to the tv, you try your best not to pay any attention to the uncharacteristic behavior from satoru’s end.

“i will be in the home office the whole day, don’t enter.”

before you can respond anything back, your step-dad is already walking off without sparing you a second glance. is he still upset from yesterday? you didn’t think kissing megumi would be that much of a deal. your nervously play with the hem of the blanket, show playing on tv long forgotten, contemplating what you should do next. why are you bothered by his silence this much anyways?

rethinking your earlier choice, you send a quick text to your friend asking to meet you for drinks. maybe right now gojo needs space, or whatever, and leaving him alone is the best next thing right now. you knock at the door of the home office.

“sorry, i am going out now and need to quickly change.”

not even 5 seconds pass before the door is swung open by a man that’s been occupying too much of your mental space today.

“be quick,” is the only response you get before he leaves the room and closes the door behind him. you’re perplexed by this sudden change in behavior yet again. throwing on the first decent outfit you can find, you let gojo know that you’re done and will be home later; hum is the only acknowledgment you get before he disappears in the office.

exiling all the thoughts of satoru gojo from your head, you leave your house, hoping tomorrow will put all the pieces of the puzzle back together.

yet the next day comes, and you still wake up to no warmth from satoru – it felt as if he built a wall between the two of you in one night’s span, impossible to be breached. should you talk to him? should you apologize? and apologize for what? you didn’t do anything wrong, did you? ignoring the gnawing feeling inside once more, you retreat to the living room, sulking on the couch until the end of the day, clawing onto the hope gojo of tomorrow will acknowledge your existence.

“did i do something wrong?”

you stand in the doorway to gojo’s office, arms crossed over your chest. he lazily turns his head your way as if giving you even a second of his time is too much of a bother – the look he sends you is burning through your core, making you pathetically weak and wet.

“no,” he starts slowly, “do you think you did something wrong?”

“i don’t know! that’s why i’m asking. you’ve been ignoring me for the past week, and it’s getting weird.”

“i thought i’d leave you alone, it seems you’re capable of having fun on your own.”

satoru is looking back to his screen now, and you scrunch your eyebrows, frustrated by the riddles he’s throwing your way. walking inside the room, your close the door on instinct and take wide steps to stand in front of him.

“stop answering me like this, we’re not playing a charade. what do you mean?” the demand in your voice is clear, and it twists something inside satoru – his gaze falls on you again yet this time it’s dark, taunting, dangerous, with a hint of chaos. it scares and excites you.

gojo suddenly stands up, and pushes you into his desk until you’re sitting on it. he is tall – your mom basically married a giant – and you try to curl into yourself to escape his malicious eyes.

“what, i thought you wanted me to leave your alone? you want my attention now all of a sudden?” he respond with the question of his own in a mocking tone.

“i never said i wanted you to ignore me…” you answer meekly, yelping slightly as your back hits his desk – you suddenly realize there is nowhere to run now.

“really? we’ve been together in a house for almost a month now, and yet you showed no interest in getting to know me.”

“’m sorry…” you cannot think of anything else to say. gojo moves even closer, and is now towering over you – it makes you embarrassingly horny.

“show me how sorry you are.”

before you can respond, he is caging your body with his and capturing your lips in a kiss, and you freeze – all of this is so wrong, you cannot bring yourself to start moving your mouth against his. gojo’s tongue coerces its way inside, exploring the undiscovered paths, his teeth biting your still lips. closing your eyes, you whimper and try to push him away but he only catches your wrists with his one hand, while the other plays with the hem of your shorts. a gasp escapes your lips, and you push yourself further into the desk, squirming under gojo’s body.

“what, you don’t like it? i thought my little girl wanted daddy’s attention?” he torments you, voice condescending and thick with mockery. all you can muster is a pathetic mewl, words lost somewhere inside your throat, and dig your fingers into the edge of your desk as your step-dad forces his digits inside your panties, lightly brushing against your clit.

“god, you’re already so wet, so filthy,” he whispers between the heated kisses as the pads of his fingers keep teasing your pussy. “tell me, babygirl, are you still a virgin? gotta know how to treat you.”

“y-yes…”

“well, am i just not the luckiest?” gojo chuckles darkly, spreading your legs with his thigh. unoccupied hand goes to grip your hip while the fingers on the other are still working your clit, sliding the digits between your puffy lips, teasing your hole. every time he circles around the entrance and mocks by pushing his finger just slightly inside, the moan builds up in your throat, and you’re too embarrassed to let it out.

“common, baby, your daddy wants to hear you, don’t hide your pretty voice from me.”

gojo is infuriatingly good with his fingers – you could never bring yourself this much pleasure from playing with your clit, and your defiance starts melting away as you find yourself bucking your hips into his hand, whining pitifully. the man completely removes your shorts and underwear, shoving the latter into his pocket – something to remember this moment by.

“god, such a pretty pussy, i can’t believe you’ve been hiding it from me. take off your shirt so i can see all of you, princess.”

immense desire pools between your legs, hunger and lust evident in satoru’s cerulean eyes, now hidden by dilated pupils, and you’re surrendering yourself to him – want makes you delirious, completely erasing your sense of right and wrong. you remove the top, nipples perked and waiting. gojo looks at you in wonder and disbelief – all of that for him? his hand went to squeeze your boob almost on an instinct, rolling the nipple between the pads of his fingers, while sucking on another with his mouth. you drop your head back, losing yourself to the intense pleasure your step-dad’s giving you. seeing as you’re distracted by him playing with your tits, he takes this as his chance to shove two of his fingers inside.

a strangled moan leaves your lips, your hands gripping man’s shoulders.

“ahhh, that hurts, satoru.”

“nah-uh, that’s not what i want to hear you calling me,” he straightens himself and starts scissoring you with his digits. the initial intrusion is painful, you can feel your virgin walls stretching to accommodate for how he’s dragging the fingers in and out, yet the burn is woefully delightful, and you’re getting lost again.

“’m sorry daddy.”

gojo only chuckles – god, you were easier than he expected, so well-behaved and pliable under him.

“that’s right, let daddy take good care of you.”

he speeds up the pace, curling his slender, pretty fingers, brushing the spots you were never able to reach with your own. wet, soggy sounds fill the entirety of the room, air already stuffy with smell of sex as he continues to finger-fuck your pussy. gojo could feel his cock twitching in his pants, he wanted to take you right there and then, but he was determined to make you cum on his digits first – it prompts him to attach his lips to your neck, sucking on the sensitive spot below your jawline, marking you as his.

your mewling turns louder, breathing is getting labored, and it seems your hips have a mind of their own now as they are bucking into satoru’s movements, fucking yourself how you need it. something akin to orgasm starts building up in your tummy – it has never felt this all-consuming, you wonder if you’ve been touching yourself wrong all this time.

“daddy, please don’t – ah! – stop,” is everything you can say in a measly attempt to ask him to speed up. his thumb finds your neglected clit, rubbing tight circles around your bundle of nerves, and picks up the pace, cunt now clenching even tighter around his two fingers, and gojo groans thinking how you’d feel around his aching dick. he adds a third finger – it’s angled so perfectly assault your special spongy spot, it turns your brain into a mush.

gojo pinches your nipple, kissing you to swallow all the lewd moans to himself.

“is my princess close?”

“yes daddy, ‘m so close.”

“common, cum all over my fingers, baby.”

these words finally push you over the edge – your climax washes over you like a cold morning shower, leaving you trembling in gojo’s hold. your legs are trying to close to stop the man from continuing his abuse on your twitching pussy but he is too lost in the feeling of your walls constricting around his fingers to allow you to do that. he fucks you through your orgasm, bringing you to the realm of overstimulation.

“ahh, daddy, please, it hurts now,” you whine with teary voice, beads of salty water gathering in the corners of your eyes.

“shhhh, daddy knows best, yeah? let me feel you a little longer.”

gojo keeps his pace until you’re clawing at his arm, trying to pull away your pussy from his fingers. he grabs you by the back of your head, bruising your lips with the intensity of his kiss – you’re sure he draws blood by how he bites your lower lip, licking the messy aftermath. you’re still whining and mewling, trails of tears finally flowing down your face, and he’s sure he’s never seen anything hotter as he licks the salty tracks.

“you’ve done so good, babygirl, i think you’re ready for the main gift,” satoru says and finally withdraws his fingers. the emptiness is welcoming yet disappointing, and you groan. gojo quickly unbuckles his pants and shoves them down, alongside his boxer briefs, and you almost choke on your spit when you see how well-endowed he is. you don’t have a lot to compare it to but you think his cock is beautiful – it's long and slender, and uncut, prominent vein running all the way from the base to just underside of his head, and you get an immeasurable desire to run your tongue along it.

“is my pretty doll drooling jus’ at the sight of my dick?” he mockingly asks you, making you turn your gaze away. gojo chuckles again, and grabs you by your chin, pulling your head down.

“no looking away, darling, i want you to see how i take your virginity.”

with no other option, you keep your gaze peeled downwards, to where gojo strokes himself couple of times before lining himself up with your leaking hole. despite all the preparation and your previous orgasm, you’re still incredibly tight and satoru groans as he starts pushing himself inside. you can see his smooth cockhead bullying his way into you, stretching your greedy walls – man feels you pulsating around him, and that makes him twitch.

“fuck, princess, you’re so tight, feels so good.”

gojo finally sinks all the way in, your cervix being met in a kiss by a swollen tip, and you moan, sound almost pornographic. your step-dad doesn’t let you adjust before he pulls out almost all the way before sliding back in – he doesn’t go easy on you for your first time, setting up a brutal pace, not caring if you’re ready to take him fully yet. it stings, and you have to hold yourself on gojo’s shoulder’s as he starts fucking into you. his hands are on your hips, guiding them to meet his thrusts.

“daddy please, ‘ts too much,” you cry out but satoru is all too lost in how your gummy walls perfectly hug his swollen cock. he doesn’t respond, shutting you up by forcing his tongue into his mouth yet again, sucking on every piece of available flesh. slowly, the tension in your body melts away and gives way to a new kind of pressure – the one building up in your tummy. you’re shocked at how fast your body is able to start getting on the road to blissful ecstasy again but you’re not complaining.

“shit, are you getting close already, babygirl? i can feel your pretty pussy squeezing me again.”

“yes, sorry daddy.”

“there is nothing to be sorry about, just means your daddy’s doing a good job,” he says with a grin, keeping up the pace, rutting into your sloppy cunt. queefing sounds and slapping of skin on skin make you blush furiously yet you can’t take away your gaze from where satoru keeps burying himself inside you.

the girth of gojo’s cock is deadly – not only he’s able to reach the spongy spot almost immediately, making white spots dancing across your vision, kaleidoscope of pleasure lighting up your every nerve ending, he is also bruising your cervix just with enough pressure to make you twitch in delight. his pubic bone grinds against your puffy clit and it’s setting up fireworks against your skin, hot molten lava igniting your whole being.

your moaning becomes uncontrollable as satoru’s fucking you in an animalistic pace – he keeps splitting you open, the spread of legs is slowly growing uncomfortable.

“look how good you’re taking me, being such a good girl for me,” he’s babbling, edging himself too – he wants to feel you spasming around his cock, he cannot let himself cum before that. “gonna feel so good cumming inside, pretty. give you a cute little brother or sister, huh? what do you think? i bet you’ll look so gorgeous being pregnant with my baby.”

“no, daddy, you can’t do that…”

“hm, why? just imagine, you walking around, with my child inside your belly, all cute and swollen for me, tits full of milk. wouldn’t you want that?”

you hiccup a sob as gojo keeps dragging his heavy cock in and out of you, the vein you saw before pressing against your walls deliciously, and you feel your toes start to curl as your body chases after the second orgasm. you dig your nails into his biceps, certain to leave half moon marks on his porcelain skin, and bite your lip. in turn, he is pressing his fingers against the plum skin of your hips, marking you with bruises to remind you of this tomorrow.

“shit, i haven’t fucked your cunny for that long yet it’s already perfectly snuggled around me. i’m training it fast, huh? i’m gonna teach it to fit only me,” you can hear the grin in his voice as he says that.

gojo feels your walls tighten around him – he can see you’re teetering on the edge of climax, whining and moaning under the man, letting him completely use you – so he picks up the speed, assaulting your abused pussy. it doesn’t take longer than that for the tension in your tummy to snap, and you’re wantonly crying out satoru’s name.

“fuck, dollface, you’re squeezing me so perfectly right now. want to milk me for all i’ve got?”

you’re cock drunk, unable to respond to him, hoping your mewling will be enough for the man to see he fucked you stupid. he is not showing signs of slowing down – you can only continue whining as satoru chases after his own pleasure. he pistons his hips couple of times more, and you can feel him throbbing inside as he shoots creamy ropes of cum inside you, painting your womb white. the ring of mixed fluids at the bottom of his cock drives him insane, and he continues fucking his cum into you.

“shit baby, can’t waste a single drop now, can we.”

you’re letting out a quiet sob, pleasure too overwhelming and almost feverish, still unable to find your voice. when he deems it satisfactory that his seed is all warm inside you, gojo finally pulls out and kisses the top of your head.

“i’d say this was a good practice run, what do you say? your mom only comes back in a week, i’ll make you my personal cumdump until then.”

you snap your head up at his words, the smile playing on your step-dad’s face borderline sinister. you think it’s supposed to make you scared, then why is your pussy already twitching around nothing?

“yes daddy, anything for you.”

[cakelitter]

Kiss It Better

Older! Leon x Fem! Reader

⋆·˚ ༘ * ୨ৎ ⋆·˚ ༘ *

warnings: daddy kink, p in v, oral (f receive), breeding kink, spanking, dirty talking, established relationship

words: 3.3k

a/n: hi hi!! no summary for this one cause... idk, a surprise? Reader is attention deprived, but I'd always be demanding more if di Leon was my bf like hello? (never shutting up about him) anw hope you enjoy!!

⋆·˚ ༘ * ୨ৎ ⋆·˚ ༘ *

Your boyfriend is mad at you.

And how does he decide to punish you? In the cruelest way possible, a way that he knows you’re not strong enough to handle.

Ignoring you.

Robbing you from his attention and validation, treating you like how you’d probably get treated on a daily basis with a guy your age.  

He has never been the type to give you attitude, or even raise his voice, but that does not mean that you go unscathed when you mess up. Right now, he is living his life like he normally does, well his life before he met you apparently. No pet names, no kisses, no “I love you”, not even looking at what you’re talking about and just replying with the most unenthusiastic hum he can muster up at literally everything you say.

“Daddy, look at this cute dog.”

“Hm.”

“How was work?”

“Hm.”

“I almost got ran over by a truck on the highway.”

“Hm.”

It’s pissing you off, and that’s exactly why he’s doing it. Figured out which buttons to push to get on your nerves, and is actively pushing every single one of them. You curl up on his side, wrapping your arm around his neck and place your head on his shoulder. And in return his eyes remained glued to the TV.

You’re going to cry, rip your hair out, and throw yourself off the balcony.

Worst part is that you actually apologized, not once, not twice, but three fucking times, and yet, it all falls to deaf ears. Why is he acting like you kicked homeless puppies or set an orphanage on fire?

Daddy is supposed to be forgiving, and he always has been; pulling you into a hug after each argument, kissing your face and all over your body till you feel better. But apparently daddy is under new management now, following a new set of policies that are getting in the way of your dire need for his attention.

The first day you realized that he’s ignoring you, you’d talk to him and he won’t respond, and if he did it was short and dry answers. Treating you like a persistent fly that just won’t leave him alone, the smile on his lips that was always present when he looked at you is now hid behind his cold gaze.

You tried cuddling, cracking a few jokes, and even started a conversation that you just ended up having with yourself. All of those strategies were met with the same result, nothing. It’s like someone took the man your loved and replaced him with a brick wall, devoid from any capabilities of forming emotional connections or any sort of bond for that matter.

On day two, you tried to make it harder for him to ignore you. Wearing the skimpiest clothes around the house, putting on his shirt with nothing underneath and even went the extra mile of spraying yourself with his perfume. You practically threw yourself over his lap, nuzzling into him and peppering kisses all over his rough stubble.

Nothing.

Actually, he did say something. “You’re blocking the TV.”  

Felt like a slap to the face, you stare at him for a bit hoping that he acknowledges your existence. Again, nothing. His dick is half hard beneath you, aching for your wet heat, and instead of making you ride his dick till you’re crying, he remains still. So now not only is he ignoring you, he’s ignoring his cock as well.

Fine then, the shirt is now off, you are sleeping in your shared bed fully naked and bare like the day you popped out into this world. Figured since Leon is stubborn, maybe he just had a high ego and is too embarrassed to break whatever promise he made to himself to ignore your pathetic attempts of winning him back.

He’ll walk in the room, find you basically giving him an invitation to touch you, waiting patiently in case he changed his mind, and fall right into your trap. A fool proof plan…

The number of times you’ve gotten clowned are getting embarrassing at this point.

Not only did he not do anything, he didn’t do as much as touch you the whole night. Sleeping on his side of the bed and leaving you in the same position you fell asleep in. The arms that would wrap around you during the night are missing, same goes to the hot breath that would fan out on the nape of your neck as you drift off to sleep. Again, cruel old man behavior.

And so, today marks day three without attention. You’ve lost your appetite, lost smell in your left arm, eyelid keeps twitching, haven’t been sleeping well, and you’ve become much irritable. This is getting out of hand; this man has no mercy for your soul. He might as well just shoot you in the leg instead and you’d accept that any day over what he’s doing right now.

You’ve considered just getting on your knees, intertwining your hands together and begging him to talk to you again. Usually, you are never this desperate for a man to talk to you, except for him. Leon has showered you with love every day since the two of you got together, his best and only girl, the apple of his eye, the sole reason he keeps going. You’ve gotten so accustomed to being his baby that it has become an innate need.

In the midst of your desperate attempts, you reach plan C. If it doesn’t work you’ll just give up and actually start acting like a normal fucking person for once, but god forbid things need to reach that point.

This time you don’t say a word to him, ignoring him the way he’s ignoring you. No good morning, no pleading, nothing.

You hop in the shower and then begin to get ready to go out. Your hair is done with extra effort today, and makeup is on point. Not sure if the outfit you’re wearing could be even classified as “clothes”. Cleavage on display, and ass almost hanging out of the miniskirt you have on.

It’s probably illegal to walk out dressed like that, a hazard to public safety. You might as well wear lingerie and call it a day; but believe it or not, that’s what you’re aiming for.

You can see Leon’s eyes look up from his laptop momentarily as you walk past him to go grab something from the other room, but just as you expected he minds his own business, going back to whatever he was doing.

That’s until you see his figure walk into your shared bedroom, leaning back on the door frame, watching you add some final touches to your makeup through the reflection of your vanity. You pretend like you didn’t see him, directing all your focus onto lining your lips.

“Where you going?” Ah, there it is, the first proper sentence he’s said in the past three days.  An achievement that surely deserves a celebration.

 This is what parents must feel like when their child speaks their first word. The child being a man in his late thirties and twice your size, but you digress. With your eyes remaining glued to your lips, you speak coldly. “Out.”

“Out where?”

“There’s this new club my friend wants us to check out together.”

“Which friend?” The look plastered on his face is hilarious; his eyes moving back and forth between yours and your poor excuse of a skirt. He seems worried, more for himself than for you, watching his faux confidence crumble in front of him.

“Won’t be gone for long, don’t worry.” You reply, closing your lip gloss and putting it back in your makeup bag while rubbing your lips together.

“I didn’t ask if you were going to be late or not, I asked which friend.” This tough demeanor doesn’t suit him, he’s clearly out of his element. Fixing his posture, he crosses his arms waiting for you to respond. “Does it matter, Leon?”

You dropped the bomb, letting his name slip out your lips instead of the D-word feels weird, borderline painful, but it had to be done. He goes quiet, your eyes too scared to look back at him through the mirror which has been serving as a way of communication between the two of you.

Can’t remember the last time you addressed him with his name, took you no longer than two weeks to start babbling daddy; his name long forgotten and dust collected in the back of your mind. He liked it, a name only you get to call him by, a trigger you pull causing him to immediately slip into the protective mental space, a space only reserved for you.

“Leon?”

You’re going to shit your pants this actually not even funny.

“Um, isn’t that your name?” Grabbing your purse, you give yourself a one final look over before walking towards the door. Your legs feel wobbly, never the type to start any of these kinds of petty situations. Usually all you have to do is flutter your lashes at him and he immediately gives you whatever you want, this time however he brought this onto himself.

Walking past him, you can feel his eyes burning into the back of your scalp, his energy feeling heavy. You feign confidence, walking slow, posture straight and hips swaying from side to side. Truthfully, you are fighting the urge to just book it and run as far as these heels can take you (not that far) before he does whatever is running through his mind.

You don’t even get to make it two steps away from the door before a hand yanks you back into the room, and throws you over his shoulder.

“Leon, I’m already late, put me down!” A loud smack echoes through the room as a stinging pain overtakes your senses. You yelp out, blood rushing over to the red handprint on your ass, heat spreading on the area.

Your back hits the plush mattress of the bed and within seconds he’s on top of you. His hand grabs one of your thighs spreading them wider as the other goes for your neck. Crashing his lips against yours, a groan escapes your lips, as his hips thrust against your core, hardened dick rubbing against your panty clad cunt.

“Oh yeah, I’m sure that ‘friend’ of yours would be pissed.” His breath feels hot against your lips with each word that leaves his mouth. “What did I tell you about lying, baby?”

Should’ve known that lying doesn’t work on him, never did and never will. Has you memorized by heart, starting from your actions, reactions, and every thought that crosses your mind.

Reality is, there is no friend, and there is no new club. You just wanted to get a reaction out of him, and making up a whole scenario was the only option you had left. “I’m sorry.”

His hand lands on your ass once again with a loud slap, your body jolts in pain as you bite your lip to suppress a whine. “Sorry what?”

“I’m sorry daddy.”

“Atta girl.” He coos, his hand rubbing against the burning skin, rewarding you with a sweet kiss. “See that wasn’t so hard, was it?” The cold air hits your nipples as he drags your top down, revealing your breasts too him. He gropes one, moving over and giving the stiff peak a firm pinch. “Why’d you lie sweetheart?”

Him and those fucking questions, can’t the interrogation wait till he fucked you? His hips continue rubbing against yours, the gusset of your panties is soaked with your arousal. “Wanted daddy’s attention.”

“Of course you did.” He chuckles lowly, eyes focused on your tits as he plays with them. A smile flashes across your lips, maybe your plan did work after all, not fully the way you intended it to; but it worked nonetheless.

His hands are on you, he’s speaking again, and his cock in near reach. Maybe life’s not so bad after all.

“I wouldn’t call this a win, sweetheart; think I might just play with these tits and leave you like this.” The smile that was once present on your glossy lips disappears, your heart drops at the possibility of him leaving you to deal with the aching between your thighs, again. It’s been three long rough days without his dick, he can’t be doing this to you.

“No, no, no please daddy, I’m sorry.” You shake your head from side to side, knots forming between your brows, hoping that your pleading is enough to convince him.

“Was actually going to apologize for being so mean to you lately, but after seeing you act like this… I don’t know, baby.”  You whine, head falling back down on the mattress below.

Frustrated, tears begin to brim in your eyes as your hands reach over and grab his muscular forearm. “I’m so sorry, daddy. I promise I won’t do it again.”

His eyes stare into yours, he stays quiet for a moment before his eyes soften. Dropping down, he places a kiss on your forehead, his thumb caressing the side of your cheek. “Pretty girl, I’m sorry too, shouldn’t have been so harsh with you.”

He presses another soft peck on your cheek, smiling at you warmly. Your heart begins to thump faster, your sadness dissipating with each passing moment. He’s back, you can’t tell of you feel good because the two of you made up, or because his hard cock is still rubbing against your wet heat.

“I need you.” you whisper, rubbing against his hand like a kitten. Chuckling, he nods and kisses you this time on the lips and it feels ten times sweeter than normal. Rubbing your sides, his hand slithers down to your clothed clit, rubbing soft circles, causing your back to arch.

“Think it’s about time to makeup it up for you, sweetheart.” You hum in agreement, capturing your bottom lip in a bite, and spreading your thighs even wider, inviting him to continue. His lips connect to the tender skin on your neck, kissing and biting down on it, your hands tangling between his soft locks and closing your eyes in pleasure.

Moving back, he admires his work momentarily before dropping down to his knees at the foot of the bed. Unzipping your skirt, he pulls the fabric down before tossing it somewhere behind him along with your soaked panties. Calloused hands snake the inside of your thighs, gentle caresses along with some gropes here and there.

His fingers spread your lips open, in awe at the view in front of him, your arousal evident and dipping down from your core like a waterfall, down to the sheets below. “Missed you too, baby. Daddy missed you so much.”

Those words are not for you, but for your cunt, addressing it like it’s his. An open-mouthed kiss gets placed on your clit, his blue eyes staring deeply into yours as he does so. The scene on its own is enough to make you cum.

Teasing you, he places a few more on your thighs; eyes not leaving yours for a minute. He rubs his cheek against the soft skin, the stubbled chin feeling prickly. Giving it the love and affection that it missed out on.

You wait patiently, letting him enjoy and take his time, basking in the heart warming feeling of it all. Like always, good behavior never goes unnoticed, and so he rewards you by pulling the hood of your clit back, and sucking on the sensitive bundle of nerves, a satisfied groan vibrating through it amplifying the pleasure.

His skilled tongue makes out with your pussy, licking and fucking itself into you. Your moans fill the room, gripping the covers below you for dear life. Feeling your orgasm around the corner, but as soon as you notice his hips subconsciously thrusting into the footboard of the bed below, groans coming out of his busy lips, the knot in your stomach snaps immediately, causing your thighs to squeeze around his head as he holds your hips in place.

Placing your foot on his shoulder, you pull away from your core, the uncomfortable sensation of overstimulation taking over your senses. He moves back, stubble glistening in the mixture of your fluids and his spit.

He looks into your half-lidded eyes for a moment, his hand rubbing your thigh affectionately before kissing the inside of it. “So pretty, such a pretty girl.”

Your heart flutters, getting high on each love filled word he says. Grabbing his hand in yours, you pull him up towards you, connecting your lips in a kiss much more tender than he ones before. Lust and desire dissipating, replaced with the warm feeling of adoration. He pets your hair, leaving a final peck on your nose, causing you to giggle in response.

The mood however shifts again when you feel the imprint of his cock through his sweatpants; the familiar aching between your legs ignites once more, begging for him. “Daddy.”

“Right here.”

“Want you inside” He captures your bottom lip into a deeper kiss, his hands assisting yours in taking his pants off. Breaking the kiss, he fully removes them, revealing his thick cock to your desire filled eyes; the flushed pink tip, and the dollop of sticky precum begin to drip down the side of it.

He wraps his fist around it, pumping himself a few times, earning a sharp inhale out of the sensation. The head bumps against your clit, slapping against it a few times before guiding it down to your entrance. The two of you moan at the stretch, his fingers digging into the plush of your thighs. “So tight, sweetheart. Fucking meant for this dick.”

Your eyes flutter close, trying to compose yourself before you feel him begin to move. You can feel every inch and every vein inside your velvety walls. The aroma of sex over takes your senses as his thrusts begin to pick up speed.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, his fingers intertwine with yours as he slams into you, deep and speedy thrusts causing the bed to creak beneath your masses. “Take it, baby. Take it so daddy can fuck you full of his cum.”

Your walls pulsate around him, your hand squeezing his. “Want it.”

“Fuck, might knock you up sweetheart. Make you a mommy as an apology.” Your back arches, his voice bouncing off the walls inside your mind. You nod, biting down on your bottom lip, head empty and pussy gripping his length.

“Like that? Mark you as mine forever, pretty tight pussy all mine.” You wail, gripping onto his shoulders tightly, leaning back your head in attempts to stop yourself from being too loud. “Gonna keep you here all night, make sure that this sweet cunt takes it.”

Pleasure blinds your vision as you let go, your cum coating his dick as he begins to chase his own high. Your head lolls emptily to the side as he continues to fuck into you relentlessly, the head board hitting the wall behind it. Your tits bounce with each thrust, the image of you getting pumped full of Leon’s cum still evident in your mind.

His hips shudder as he releases inside of you, hot and sticky fluid accompanied by some curses and words of praise, earning a satisfied hum from you. Thrusting in a few more times, he admires the sight beneath him, distributing your fluids evenly.

He pulls out, flopping down next to you, as his arm wraps around your body, pulling your closer to his chest. Rough hands pet your hair, as he rests his chin on your temple, keeping your body warm next to his.

The two of you sit in silence momentarily trying to catch your breath. Your eyelids feel heavy, body completely worn out and satisfied as you start slipping away into a much-needed worry free rest, hearing your lover whisper something into your hair.

“Sorry for being mean, sweetheart. Daddy loves you.”

⋆·˚ ༘ * ୨ৎ ⋆·˚ ༘ *

divider by: @/floriseu

[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.

[teyamsgrl]

you've been caught, babygirl ✧ jake sully

❗️MDNI ❗️

this one is longer than my others but idk what to say HE JUST MAKES ME FERAL MAAAAAAN 🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️ - part two!!!

°˖➴ warnings: fem omatikaya reader (best friends with agedup!kiri), implied infidelity, very sub!reader, dilf!jake, dom!jake, obvi age gap, masturbation, sorta cocky!jake, daddy kink duh, nipple play, oral m receiving, rough sex, DIRTY TALK - sevin: pretty

kiri sully was your best friend. you spent almost every minute of the day together. you first became friends as children but ultimately bonded over your shared interests and tsahik practice. now both in your mid twenties, you two are inseparable. since you’ve become an adult, there has been something looming everytime you are in the sully’s tent and in the presence of toruk makto himself. despite knowing how wrong it is, you cannot stop your eyes from drifting to and staying on jake, millions of thoughts running through your mind about him as a partner but more significantly, how he is in bed. it engulfs your mind constantly, the thought of him dragging you away to pound you or his hands pushing your mouth further down his massive cock. he was undeniably sexy and hard to remove from your mind.

one night when you're unable to sleep, you decide to take a walk through the forest, hoping to clear your head of the dirty thoughts encroaching. you get deep enough in the forest and hit a small pond, deciding to rest on the nearby rock. you hoist yourself on top of the rock, sighing as you look up to night sky. your hands fall to your thighs, fingers tracing your glowing freckles. you sigh as your finger inches closer to your loincloth which is guarding your dripping and pulsating pussy. you run your finger over the wet spot, instantly rolling your hips upon contact. "fuck it.." you mumble, slipping off your loincloth and laying it down beside you on the rock. you spread your legs, fingers trailing to your clit. you gasp, slowly rubbing circles on it. you shut your eyes at the feeling, moving your fingers faster along what is your now throbbing clit. you bring your fingers lower, entering two immediately into your hole. "oh- jake.." you subconsciously moaned his name into the air, something you did often when masturbating. all you could think of was him. him. him. him.

speaking of him, jake was also unable to fall into a slumber tonight. he quietly escaped his family's tent, initially planning to take a ride on his ikran, but decided a walk would maybe be better. little did he know a walk would be a wonderful decision. he figured he would walk to the nearby pond, stick his feet in the water and try to relax. as he got in closer proximity with the pond, he could hear some faint moans... and then his name. he sauntered over as quietly as possible, peering through the trees to spot you. legs spread, two fingers deep and moaning his name. he smirks to himself, concocting a plan in just seconds.

just as you throw your head back and your moans become more intense, you are startled by a single sentence: "you've been caught, babygirl". your eyes shoot open at the familiar voice, knowing exactly who would be standing in front of you. you scramble to collect your breaths and loincloth, a purple blush flooding your cheeks as this was quite possibly your worst nightmare. "i-, i-" you begin to stutter, avoiding eye contact out of pure shock. "no need to be shy, sevin" you feel his fingers grab your chin, tilting it up and forcing you to look into his eyes, a darker shade of amber compared to normal. "do you normally moan my name when you do this? when you have your fingers deep in your pussy?" he taunts, grabbing said fingers and bringing them to his mouth to taste you. he hums at the taste, pulling them out and smirking at your expression, desperate yet so silent. "gonna use your words and talk to me?" he tilts his head in curiosity, awaiting your response. "jake, this is wrong-" his cocky chuckle cuts you off, "is it? i mean, you were the one fingering yourself while thinking of me... so that is a pretty hypocritical thing to say" he leans closer, breath grazing your lips.

"i know you want to babygirl, do it" he whispers before you collide your lips against his, a heated and passionate kiss forming. his hands reach to remove your top, tits becoming exposed to the evening air. you gasp as the cool breeze hardens your nipples, and gasp louder when his large hands grope them and flick at your nipples. he pulls away from the kiss, causing a whimper to fall from your now swollen lips. "what is it, princess? you like when daddy plays with your nipples?" he pinches them, watching your eyes shut out of pleasure. "ah ah- don't look away from daddy now, keep your eyes on me" you re-open your eyes, hands trailing up to his biceps. "do you see what you do to me, baby?" his eyes glance down to his erection under his loincloth before observing how you lick your lips.

"come suck daddy's cock" he steps back for you to jump off the rock, switching so he is leaning against it now. you kneel, grabbing the waistband of his loincloth and pulling it down to reveal his large cock. your eyes widen slightly, your imagination not even coming close to the real thing. it was so hard, calling your name. you couldn't fathom the fact that you were actually in this scenario outside of your mind. you lick the tip, already leaking precum. you purr at the salty taste, gazing up at jake's face. his stare is direct and lustful, mouth agape slightly. his one hand presses into the rock while the other becomes situated at the back of your head. "that's it, show daddy what you think of while you fuck yourself" you whine and nod, mouth enveloping his tip. you begin to suck, slowly moving further down his shaft. you bob your head up and down consistently on him, his moans gaining volume. his eyes meet yours again, his head then getting thrown back. "those eyes- i see the way you look at me all the time, dying to get fucked" he chuckles softly, using his hand on your head to push you all the way down and hold you there. you choke lightly, moaning around him. he groans and bites his lip, watching your eyes water. "such a slut for me, huh?" he pulls you off, watching you gasp for air. "again.." you whimper, spit dripping from your chin. "yeah? you want more?" he pushes you down again, eyes boring into yours once again. "you're such a good slut for daddy" he moans and pulls you off again then pulls you to stand up.

he pulls your front flush against his, his frame towering over yours. you grip his shoulders, his hands roaming to your ass and placing a hard spank on your ass cheek. you whine, hips jerking against his hard cock. "gonna mark this ass with my handprint" he growls, spanking you again, again and again. you whine continuously, basking in the pleasurable tingle coming off of your ass. "should i fuck you now, sevin? hm?" he keeps a solid grip on your already sore ass cheeks, head tilted down to address you. "y-yes, please..." he tsks, "that's not how you ask for cock babygirl". you whimper under his gaze before speaking, "please daddy, i've never wanted something more, please fuck me and use me, please daddy i'm your good slut.. take me.." the sentence leaves your mouth as a whine, chest heaving from adrenaline and anticipation. "that's better, darling. on your back, lie on the ground and lift those legs for me" he gestures to the grass, watching you attentively. your brain is already foggy, taking a moment to process his instructions. "don't make me punish you, on the ground now" he says sternly, and you rush to settle yourself on the grass, holding your legs up by the back of your thighs.

jake hovers above you, stroking his stiff cock in his large hand. "daddy~" you mewl, barely being able to wait at this point. "patience.." he drops to his knees, hands spreading your legs open. "how many times have you imagined this?" he whispers, kissing along your neck. "so many times...", he hums and sucks on your sweet spot, leaving a deep purple mark. "well it's gonna be better than you ever fucking thought it would be" he whispers, throwing your legs on his shoulders and lining his cock up with your hole. his cockiness made him even hotter. he pushes in all the way, stuffing you full with his cock. you moan loudly, already arching at the sensation. "fuck yes..." he breathes, pulling out and starting to thrust. it was hard and fast from the get-go, no mercy being given. "oh my- daddy" you moan, hands digging into the grass. he groans and thrusts deeper, "you're such a dirty girl, letting your best friend's dad use your pussy". you nod as your brain fog increases, mind completely boggled at the events. he chuckles watching your eyes roll back, face fucked out. "you like this cock, huh? you love daddy's cock, don't you?" he moans as your pussy clenches around him, "yes, i fucking-" you breathe heavily, "i love my daddy's cock". your pussy clenches again, urging him to fuck you even further into oblivion as he groans. "yeah, i'm your daddy, girl.. you're mine". a fluttering begins inside you, eyes rolling again. "o-oh fuck, can i- can i cum?" you ask in a low whimper, totally submissive to the man above you. "yes yes, soak my cock" he moans as he watches your back fully arch off the forest floor, cum flowing out of you along with a string of profanities. "good girl- fuck.. you want daddy to fill you with his cum? hm? want his cum leaking out of your hole all day tomorrow?" he questions, grasp on your legs tightening as he feels his orgasm approaching. "i need it! yes!" you squeal, pussy clenching at the mere thought. "i'm cumming- oh y/n.." your name spilled from his mouth as his cum filled your pussy straight to the brim. he groans loudly, catching his breath before placing your legs back to the ground gently and leaning over you. "you okay, darling?" he strokes your cheek before you giggle softly, "more than okay, shit" you giggle more, kissing him deeply. "i always knew you weren't that innocent" he whispers, helping you sit up.

the next day you entered the sully's tent to collect kiri for your daily tsahik trainings, smiling at her brothers. "y/n- HEY what is that?" she lowers her voice to a whisper, pointing at the prominent mark at the side of your neck. your eyes flicker over to jake who is smirking to himself as he cleans his gun. "o-oh, you know me, bumped into a branch again while walking at night" you fake chuckle, replaying the feeling of jake's lips in your head. she laughs "you have to be more careful! anyways, let's go" she begins to leads you both out of the tent. you look over your shoulder and watch jake's eyes travel from your ass to meet your own. he winks, causing a heat to course through your body. he might just be the death of you.

[hwanghyunjinenthusiast]

[22:45]

AN: Maybe I should actually challenge myself to write something with Josh being a genuinely nice/good guy lmao. Also, I finished and edited this while sleepy sooo.

General tags and warnings: Joshua Hong x Fem! Reader, roommates AU, enemies to enemies who fuck and cheating is brought up but, no actual cheating occurs.

Smut tags and warnings: Sadistic Dom! Joshua, masochist sub! Reader, edging (f. receiving), face slapping (f. receiving), Reader cries a bit, Daddy kink, thigh riding, degradation (f. receiving), humiliation (f. receiving), choking (f. receiving), Josh has a cheating kink sort of and dirty talk.

I will block you if you are a minor and/or have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.

You're late. You know you've been running late for some time now. The momentary vibrations you hear from your phone on the coffee table lets you know that your friends are likely wondering where you are. You can practically see Mingyu's frustrated face in your mind. 

“I'm sorry, am I boring you?” 

Joshua's sarcastic tone snaps you out of thoughts of your friends and all of the alcohol you're missing out on. A long anticipated night of catching up interrupted by your aggravating roommate and your inability to say no to him. 

“Shu–Shut up,” you hiss, digging your manicured nails into his broad shoulders. His responding chuckle lets you know that he couldn't care less about your little retaliation tactic. The large hand on your ass remains firm, forcing you to rock yourself on his dress pant covered thigh. The same thigh he's been edging you with for god knows how long. It's covered in your wetness. The evidence that you don't quite hate Joshua as much as you'd hoped. He doesn't seem bothered in the slightest that you're likely ruining his too expensive pants. His attention focused on making you ruin the panties he hasn't let you take off yet. 

“What?” He starts, flexing his thigh and delighting in the way you gasp and chase the more tangible friction it offers, “Are we going to pretend you don't get off to my voice now?” He asks, lidded eyes never leaving your face. Determined to drink in as many of your fucked out expressions as he can. 

“I don't–” 

A sharper gasp leaves your bruised lips when you feel the familiar smack of his hand on your cheek. It stings. Tears welling in your eyes while your pussy is forced to clench and unclench painfully around nothing and dribble more of your arousal onto him. 

The knot in the pit of your gut tightens when that same hand grabs your face, forcing you to meet his stormy gaze, “I thought you knew better than to lie to me,” he coos condescendingly, his thumb wiping away the few tears that spill from your eyes. Fuck. This is always the worst part. The juxtaposition. The pain radiating from your cheek coupled with the gentle way he touches your face makes your head spin and your clit throb. 

“I–I'm sorry,” you whimper out once the words find you. Grasping at his pristine button down while your hips chase the barest bits of friction his thigh offers. You can see his smile clear as day even through your teary eyes. If he wasn't such an asshole, you'd think it was cute. However, you learned a long time ago that nothing about Joshua is cute. Your nails dig into his shirt when he presses into your freshly slapped cheek, eyes glinting when you shudder on him and grind your pussy harder against his thigh. 

“I'm sorry what?” 

Embarrassment burns hot in your gut and, the shame mixed with the pain pushes you so close to cumming that you can taste it if you try hard enough. 

“Come on, are you really going to get all shy on me now?” He asks with a raise of his eyebrow, an expression that would look incredibly stupid on anyone else in this situation. You feel his blunt nails dig into the thickest part of your ass, halting your movements and you've never wanted to cry from frustration more. That would just get him off though. “You do know I can feel the way you're soaking and humping my thigh like a bitch in heat, right? We don't have to play this game.” He finishes, relaxing against your shared couch and waiting for you to just say it. 

You've said it before. You know you like it. Maybe he'll even let you finally cum if you do. The thought more than enough to send your walls fluttering and your heart hammering in your chest. 

“I'm sorry, Daddy.” 

His grip on your face grows harsh and he drags you into a messy kiss while his other hand relaxes and lets you continue riding his thigh. “See,” he pants against your mouth, his eyes heavy with want, “Was that so hard?” 

‘Yes. Yes, it was’ you want to snark back but, you know better. You know he wouldn't think twice about leaving you like this for days and not letting you cum until you're banging at his door and are forced to face his obnoxiously smug expression. 

“N–No, Daddy,” you pant, the tangled mess of tension in the pit of your stomach growing taut with every drag of your clit on him and, the way his fingers map their way down your face. 

“See, it's so easy when you shut the fuck up and do what I tell you to,” the sweetness in his tone makes your head spin, worsening the haze in your mind. Which isn't helped by his fingers wrapping themselves around your neck and applying pressure. You're pretty sure your eyes roll into the back of your head and your movements grow more desperate, more pathetic. 

“No cumming yet,” he orders into your ear, his other hand appreciatively kneading your ass. Despite your best efforts, a whine of frustration leaves your swollen lips and the glint in his eyes returns. 

“Are you complaining?” He drawls, pressing down harder and delighting in the way you quiver on his thigh and attempt to steady yourself with his broad chest.

“N–No, Daddy,” you rush out because you really don't know how much more of this you can take. You're so wet and swollen and, everything hurts. 

“Good,” he responds. “Maybe I should edge you for another hour,” the thought makes tears well up in your eyes and your stomach drop in a way that isn't wholly unpleasant, “Send you wet and aching to your little boyfriend,” he muses into your ear, thumbing your jugular. 

“He–He's not m–my boy ah friend,” you respond in frustration, hoping the image of your friend that pops up in your mind vanishes quickly. You'd rather not think about him right now. 

“You sure about that? The way he trails after you like a lost puppy would say otherwise.” 

“Ch–Cheol doesn't do th–that,” you huff, the knife in your gut twisting when he nips at your earlobe as you maintain a pace that doesn't send you careening over the edge before he permits you to. 

“You can't be that naïve,” he says with a smile, “He practically looks at you with hearts in his eyes. He'd be so crushed to see his precious girl getting wet from a few slaps and making a mess on my thigh,” he continues with faux sympathy for Seungcheol. He doesn't give you a moment to think about the idea of Seungcheol having feelings for you. Joshua has always been fond of pushing you just to see how you break. “I bet he'd treat you so nicely. Make love to you in missionary while whispering sweet nothing in your ear about how much he loves you and how pretty you are,” he whispers, “but you don't want that right? That's why you keep crawling back to Daddy. You want someone who'll treat you like the slut you are. Who'll choke you while you cry on his cock. Who'll make you call him Daddy knowing it makes you feel embarrassed. Who'll fuck you nice and hard until you're sore and leaking with cum.” 

You fucking hate him.

You hate the way your mind grows hazier with every gravelly word he whispers into your ear. You hate the way your pussy clamps down fiercely around nothing. You hate the way that you're so close and you need to fist his shirt in your hands just to help ground yourself and not cum because he hasn't said you can yet.  Air rushes to your brain almost too quickly for you to handle. His hand drifting from your throat to the apex of your thighs. You choke on a jumbled mess of ‘Daddy’ and ‘fuck’ when his thick fingers drag themselves along your ruined panties, “I have a much better idea. I'll send you to him with your pussy filled with my cum.”

Reblogs are greatly appreciated.

Do not repost, edit, copy and/or translate my work. I do not give you my permission to do so, nor will you ever receive it.

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Carpe Noctem 34/End

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, gaslighting, manipulation, violence, blood, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (short!reader)

Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

You sit in the idling car, holding your hands up to the heater as it blasts. You glance up at the house, anxious. Should you go check on him? Or maybe… you look at the keys. You can just drive away. Alone.

Too late for all that. Just as your mind wanders down the country roads, Lloyd appears in the doorway. He tramps across the porch and bounds down the steps, his shoes kicking up dirt as he struts towards the car. 

He opens the door and swings himself in with a grunt. His knuckles are purple and swollen, his upper sleeve stained with even more blood than before. You tut and reach to touch the reddened fabric.

“I’m fine,” he insists as he shrugs you off, “don’t worry, sweet cheeks, you’ll get your hands on me eventually.”

You recoil and roll your eyes. He adjusts the mirror and his eyes narrow past it. You follow him as smoke seeps out through the open doorway. You frown and reach for the car door. The locks clunk into place.

“Baby cakes, you got a big heart but those people don’t deserve your pity,” he shifts into gear and hits the gas, reversing with a sharp veer that has you pressed against the door. “We’re done here.”

“Wait, Lloyd, what did you do?”

“I saved your sweet ass. I’m not gonna lie and say it wasn’t imperative to me. Can’t let that jiggle go to waste, you know?” He snickers at the road as he steers away from the smoking country house.

You crane to see behind you, a glimmer of orange in the left window before you’re too far away to make out much of anything. You feel a tap on your thigh and sit straight as Lloyd’s hand rests there. He squeezes and gives a growl.

“Get your belt on, sweetheart,” he girds, “last thing I need is you flying through the windshield after I went to all that trouble.”

You gulp and click the belt into place. You can’t help but agree with that sentiment.

“Where are we going?” You ask.

He laughs again as he steers casually with one hand, his foot heavy on the pedal, “oh, you don’t have to worry about that.” He rubs your thigh, letting his hand slip between them, “we both just saw what happens when you take care of yourself, huh?” He squeezes and hums, “I’m not that soft dicked cop or that mummy’s boy farmer,” he taunts, “you belong with me, mimi… you belong to me.”

You stare at his hand then lift your eyes to the road. You peer over at the streaking landscape and shudder. Compared to the alternative, to Johnny or Cole, he’s not the worst you could do. Besides, with him, you don’t have much of a choice. You’re pretty sure you’re more than just a fling now, you’re an accessory to murder.

🌙

The adrenaline drains from you and has you slumped in your seat, snoring against the door as you forget the world whipping by you. You dream of the farmhouse and Beverly’s scissors. You awake with a start as the soothing motion slowly and you blink at the night.

Lloyd turns into a driveway, rolling up to the dark house. You grumble and shift in your seat, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. He shuts the car off and sits in the blackness.

“You awake, sugar tits?” He asks.

“Yeah,” you croak. “Where are we?”

“The only thing you needa know about where we are is that you’re safe. Stay close to me and you always will be.”

He undoes his seat belt and you do the same. He unlocks the doors and you let yourself out, stiffly standing as you rub your lower back. You turn to look at the neighbourhood lit with cones of light pouring from tall poles. You’ve never been here before. You must be far from home.

What home?

You follow Lloyd’s shadowy figure towards the front door. He stops to key a code into a number pad and it flashes green. He pushes inside and flips on the light. You shuffle in after him, rubbing the kink in your neck. He sighs and shuts the door as it locks automatically.

“Is… this your house?”

“One of many,” he intones, “didn’t I mention that before?”

You frown and peer around, “no…”

He chuckles, “no? Don’t know how that didn’t come up. I guess I didn’t take you for a gold digger.”

“I… I’m not,” you face him, appalled by the suggestion.

“Relax, I’m not saying you are, I’m just saying, you never asked.”

You clamp your lips and shake your head. He plants a hand on the wall and slips off his shoes, groaning as he wiggles his toes. You don’t have any shoes, your feet are cold and dirty. You stand on the mat, unsure of what comes next.

“So… what now?” You ask, “are we hiding?”

“Hiding? I told you, I got friends on the force,” he scoffs as he faces you and brings his hand up under your chin, “I’ll tell you what now. You’re gonna fix me up, the way you do, and I know it gets you all worked up, so after, we’re going to christen this place. Every single room.”

“Lloyd,” you utter as he backs you up to the wall.

“Well, we don’t need to do those in that order,” he purrs, “you can sit on my face first.”

Your eyes round and you tisk, “please.”

“Please… what? I’m all yours, mimi. Tell me what, and I’ll gladly lick it.”

“Must you?” You sneer.

“Which hole, mommy?” He teases.

You jab his ribs and he grunts, “I hate when you call me that.”

“Oh, I know, but I love it when you get mad,” he smirks. “Mimi,” his tone deepens and his expression turns dire, “I don’t think you get it. You don’t understand what you do to me.”

You arch a brow and tilt your head defiantly, “no, you don’t understand everything you’ve done to me.”

“Christ sakes, I just massacred a family for you,” he growls as he steps closer, leaning in to hover his lips over yours, “can’t you see I’m fucking crazy for you?”

You search his eyes for what, you don’t know. You know he’s nuts, he doesn’t have to tell you that. He also doesn’t have to say that you’re stuck with him because of that very affliction. Honestly, he’s close to tolerable when he doesn’t say anything at all.

He pulls you to him, smothering any resistance you might muster. He kisses you greedily, holding you against him, wrapping you up in his arms. He has you locked in; trapped in his grasp and his house and his life.

The bristle of his mustache tickles your nose, a symptom of his very being, the one little thing that ruins the moment.

[hauntedhokage]

a welcome confession

Priest!Nanami Kento/Fem!Reader and some Yuuji Itadori/Fem!Reader (some Sukuna/Fem!Reader)

act i of a lamb's devotion | act ii not posted | act iii: salvation | ao3 series

summary: an introduction to the town’s new priest and an evening with your best friend bring about the most interesting confessional you think you will ever experience. 

word count: 4.3k

warnings: MDNI, alternate universe - no jujutsu, sex in an alleyway, use of “good girl”, “little one”, “little lamb”, unprotected sex, hair pulling, Sukuna talks a bit, priest kink, blasphemy up the ass, improper use of prayer and a confessional booth, description of sexual acts, male masturbation, mentions of a small age gap (around sevenish years, reader is in her early-mid 20’s and Nanami is in his early thirties), mentions of demons, reader has both parents, 

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A new face in town was a big deal. Your return to town was also a big deal, which made you grateful for the new priest who pulled the attention away from you and onto him. You felt for the guy, but you also couldn’t be bothered too much because your mother was very concerned with how you’d find a suitable partner now that you were back in the small town and your father wanted you to use your education to get a better job than just bar tending at the local dive.

The new priest gave them something else to talk about when you stopped by for breakfast, and that was just fine. 

“Oh, honey, you just have to come with us to Mass. Father Kento delivers a wonderful sermon.” Your mother had said, gently patting your hand in her own way of telling you that she missed you going to church with her. Your father had only looked at you before drinking more of his coffee, and you’d sighed before agreeing. But you knew that to take the sacrament you’d need to go to confession, and that has you going to the church on your way to the bar one evening. 

It looked the same as it did before you’d left, but you supposed churches never change. Maybe got fresh coats of paint, pews replaced as they reached their end of life, but never a true overhaul. Not the church. There was still the dent in the wall from where your middle school boyfriend had fallen headfirst while trying to act drunk off the communion wine. Some things don’t change - churches were one of those things.

“Good evening.” The greeting has you turning, adjusting the way the strap of your bag sits on your shoulder and you almost choke on air when you see the man who had to be Father Kento. Priests weren’t supposed to be handsome; how could they guide their congregation to resist temptation if they themselves were the temptation? Maybe this was a test? Did you already fail?

“Uh, h-hi- hello. You must be Father Kento?”

“I am,” he nods, resting a hand on his hip as you take a step closer. “And who might you be, little lamb?”

And you introduce yourself, taking the hand he extends in a firm handshake as you explain who your parents were to provide more recognition. It clicks, and there’s additional recognition in his face that tells you that he’d been given a heads up about you - or at least told that your mother would love to see you in the church again. She was very open about how she felt, never anything truly negative but she wanted the best for you and thought you’d find that in the light of the Lord.

“Is there something I can help you with?”

“I was wondering when you held confessionals, Father. Before they were on Saturdays in the early evening, has that changed?”

“No, I still hold confessionals at that time. I also try to hold confessionals before the youth group starts on Wednesdays, but you can always stop by whenever you’d like. God’s house is always open.”

“Yeah, I need to confess before Sunday. If I can’t take the sacrament the town will crucify me, so…” you trail off, knowing that what you said was likely the worst thing you could say to a priest besides confessing that you wanted to climb him like a tree. You needed to leave, plain and simple, before you ended up making a total ass of yourself in front of the hot priest. “But, uh, I’ve gotta run to work. Thank you for talking with me for a moment, and welcome to town, Father.”

“God be with you little one. I’ll see you soon.”

“Thank you, Father.”

The bar you spent your evenings at was small. You wouldn’t call it a dive, it was just the only real option that wasn’t the strip club on the other side of your small town or drinking at home. You were told that business picked up when word got around that you were working there, as your father’s friends and some others you’d grown up with were curious as to what the hell you were doing back here. If they asked, you were just feeling homesick and wanted to make sure your grandmother’s house didn’t go uninhabited (since you knew your mother wouldn’t sell it).

It was easy work, you liked it. 

“Hey, pretty lady.”

And then there was Yuuji. Your childhood best friend, the boy you’d on-off dated through high school, your adult best friend and the only person you know who fully understands how you feel about being back in town. He was your favorite person, always stopping into the bar to say hi and have a drink - always tipping nicely even though you put the cash back into his wallet after your shift. Right now there wasn’t anything serious between you, but the sex was incredible now that you’d separated for university and come back with other experiences. If you thought hard enough about it, you could probably see yourself falling into the small town curse and marrying him. That was just how things worked around here. 

“Hi, Yuuji. How was the shop today?”

“Busy,” he laughs, accepting the glass of water you hand him with a grateful smile. “But Mother’s Day is around the corner, y’know.”

“Yeah, which reminds me-”

“I saved an arrangement for you. I know you said you were working on your thesis all day.”

“Yeah,” you mumble with a sigh, leaning forward against the counter as he does. “You wanna come over tonight?”

“You know I do. But I wanna do something with you tonight.”

“Do what?” 

He leans in closer, gesturing for you to do the same. You comply, leaning forward so that you were basically laying on the bar so he could properly get close to your ear to whisper, “I wanna fuck you in the back alley.”

“Yuuji,” you whisper back, gently swatting his arm when he lets out a small laugh. “You’re so bad. What if someone sees?”

“Who’s gonna be snooping around by the dumpster at one in the morning? I’ve been thinking about you all day and I don’t wanna wait until we get to a house.”

And you don’t stop him after your shift, grateful for the way he catches on when you lock the front door of the bar first before going between the bar and the bank next door to get to the back door to lock it. The keys are still in your hand when he’s got you pressed against the cold brick wall, his kiss bordering on frantic as his hands travel your body to the button of your jeans. 

“Wanna fuck you from behind so I don’t have to take these off all the way, you gonna let me?”

Of course you would. There were logistical reasons why it’d be the best way, but you can’t think clearly enough to list them after he’s got you turned against the wall and your pants down around your thighs. When did Yuuji get so fast?

“You’re already soaked, girl,” he groans, teeth grazing against your jawline. “Don’t have time to finger you, just need to get inside you.”

And you don’t complain when you feel the blunt tip of his cock graze your clit before dragging back along your slit until he’s teasing your entrance. Only for a moment, then he’s pushing inside while his fingers dig into the soft flesh at your hips. His pace is bruising from the start, everything about the way his body touches yours rough and consuming.

“Don’t ruin that pretty face on the brick, I’d never forgive you.”

If that was a concern, he’d offer something to protect your skin since Yuuji was always so sweet - even when he was impatient. But you supposed that maybe the environment and potential for exposure had him on edge to the point where he wasn’t thinking clearly. Not that you had much time to think for yourself, as the immediate quick pace he set did well to clear any consideration for his behavior as his hips knocked into your ass with bruising force. You’re trying your best to keep quiet, but the few muffled moans that snuck out from behind your hand were enough to have one of those large hands grab the back of your neck much like a kitten would be grabbed for corrective actions.

“Keep quiet,” he hisses in your ear, his voice low and warning of impending danger. “Don’t want anyone finding us, do we?”

You can only shake your head, earning a “good girl” growled into your ear that has your knees weaker than they already were and him chuckling at the desperate whimper you let out when his hand moves from your hip to play with your clit. 

“Come for me like the little slut you are, and I’ll fill you like you want so badly.”

You don’t fully remember how you got home. You’d basically blacked out after the second round in the alley, returned to coherency as your back hit your mattress with Yuuji easily climbing onto you while removing the rest of his clothes. It was everything you wanted, what you were convinced you needed, so you’d never complain when he bit down hard enough to break skin or dug his fingernails in deep enough to draw blood - you’d never complain when Yuuji let himself go. It was nice that he trusted you enough to allow himself to relax with you. 

You didn’t really appreciate how mean he could get sometimes, but he was always so sweet to you outside of sex that you supposed it could be forgiven. People said things they didn’t totally mean when they got lost in the moment, perhaps it was just that? You wouldn’t want to make him feel bad, which you knew would happen should it get mentioned, so you were just going to leave it alone until he said something truly hurtful. No harm, no foul - right? 

“Hey, pretty girl.” Yuuji murmurs, voice still heavy with sleep and his hand carefully rubbing your side.

“Hi Yuuji,” you whisper, catching his hand to hold in your own and bringing it to rest against your chest. He was warmer than he had been the night before, more cuddly and like his normal self. What had happened last night? “Doin’ okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. You okay?”

“Yeah. Little sore but that’s normal after a night with you.” 

“Want me to kiss it better?”

“No, you’re good, but can we lay here for a minute?” You feel small asking him something like that despite him being in your bed in your house. Maybe it was how cold he seemed last night before getting you into bed for another round, or that dark glint in his eye that you know you saw when you looked back at him in the alley. But he tells you that he wants to be with you for as long as he can, adjusts how you laid in his arms and presses his forehead into your neck and you’re feeling that warmth again that makes you feel the opposite of small. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I just feel bad that you’re hurting because of me. I honestly feel like I blacked out during it,” he mumbles into your shoulder, gently peppering your skin with kisses. “Like I was there, but watching and not actually doing. It was good though?”

“It was great and you’ve got nothing to feel bad about, but let’s not make a habit out of fucking in alleyways.”

“But it was hot, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you murmur into your pillow, truly content to simply lie there with his warmth at your back. Any uneasiness you’d had about his behavior from the night before has dissipated, the sweetness emanating from him doing a great job of eliminating any bad feelings about him. 

“It’s really nice having you back.” He comments after a moment of quiet, something that had you humming softly as you considered that. It was nice to see him, but you’d hoped for more for both of you. More than this small town and living in the houses your grandparents bought. Bartending while trying to find something better that actually used the degree you worked so hard for while he ran a flower shop - you always thought that the two of you would leave and never come back. Maybe find each other again, but not here. 

“Still not sure if I share that sentiment, Yuuji,” you whisper, giving his arm a gentle squeeze as you feel him kiss your neck. His lips linger, and you can feel his breath against your skin as he waits for you to continue your thought. “I feel so small here, y’know? Like, I felt small out there too but it wasn’t suffocating like it can be when you’re here.”

“No, I get it. Out there you can do anything, be anyone. Here you’re just the same kid you always were, and you don’t really get to grow up until the people who made you a child leave in some way or another.”

He absolutely understands, and it’s relieving to have somebody else who knew what you were feeling about being back in your hometown. Like you; Yuuji had also gotten out and explored, went to university and had a life that wasn’t this small town. 

And just like you, he’d been sucked back in. 

He never talked about the true reason, just said his grandpa needed him and then he stayed. Too much here that he’d inherited that needed to be managed, like the flower shop, and he couldn’t leave it all or else that would be disgracing his grandpa’s last wishes. That was how he always was, though. Self sacrificing until the end. 

You’d heard from some mutual friends who went to the same school as him that Yuuji had gotten really sick, knocked out of commission for at least a week and then he disappeared for a while. It was only when he’d posted on social media about his grandfather’s passing that anybody knew where he really was. But he wouldn’t talk about it, and any questioning of what happened just had him shrugging it off as being unimportant. He was fine now, that was what mattered.

But maybe he wasn’t fine? You can’t help but think back to the way his mood shifted so quickly last night; how the man who laid in your bed until he had to go open his shop was a completely different person than the man who fucked you in an alley. Something had clearly happened, and you’re afraid to ask him just what it was that he was trying to hide from you. 

The church is quiet when you enter. One of the older women your grandmother had been friends with was leaving as you were heading up the front steps, stopping to tell you how nice it was to see you back at the church and in town again, then leaving you with a kiss on your cheek and a promise to pray for you. Typical for that generation of women in town, and you dreaded the day your mother and her circle evolved into touchy old ladies who were very open about their opinions of the younger ones. 

You hoped you missed that part of becoming an old lady. 

Your grateful that the church is empty, glad that there is nobody around to witness you entering a confessional booth for the first time in years. Grateful that you would only have an audience of one (spiritually two?) on this afternoon. 

Two knocks are placed against the wood surface of the door, the wood a new, darker version of what once had stood there and missing the various dents and scratch marks from decades of use. Even the seat in the booth had been replaced, the aging cracked bench replaced with a cushion should you want to sit rather than kneel. 

You choose to kneel, performing the sign of the cross as you take a deep breath to settle your nerves. 

“Bless me father, for I have sinned. It has been…” fuck, how long had it been since you last confessed? Your freshman year of college and maybe just a month or so in? “A few years, I guess, since my last confession.”

“May I ask why?”

“I confessed once in college, tried to involve myself with the church groups on campus but they were rather radical. Their beliefs didn’t align with what I had been taught, and the priest at the chapel by the school did not feel welcoming to me.”

He hums, and you think you see him nod through the divider in the window that separated your side of the confessional from his. 

“Anyway, I’d like to confess that I have not been actively attending church over the past few years, and have been committing many sinful acts.”

And you tell him everything you could recall, every detail that weighed heavy on your shoulders since returning back to this small town. How you spent more time with a bottle in your hand than a bible, how you let yourself fall victim to many temptations - the biggest ones being lust, gluttony, and sloth. How you partied heavily, often found yourself waking up next to strangers and knew you’d had sex with them. How you didn’t care, and wanted to continue having premarital sex because you enjoyed it. 

You even tell him about Yuuji. You weren’t planning on it, but the words tumble out of your mouth without any true restraint. 

“You’re close with your friend?”

“He’s the only person who gets me,” you reply, looking up from your hands with hope that you’d get to see Father Kento’s face as he listened to you. “I don’t think I’d ever be able to resist temptation when it’s related to him. Even last night, he wanted to do something different and as risky as it was I went with it. Because it was him, y’know?”

“Tell me about it, please.” That…he wasn’t asking for details of your sex life with Yuuji. There was no was a priest would desire details like that. It’s an absurd request. “The only way I can truly absolve you is to know what the true temptation is. Please, let me help you.”

He must have noticed the way you paused. You should have left, you know that you should leave and tell your parents that this new priest was weird and they should stop going to this church. A ton of churches streamed their sermons online, they could do that instead. You could avoid confessionals all together, and get away from this man. 

Those are all things you should have done. 

Instead you confess your latest sin: having sex in an alleyway with Yuuji. And Father Kento wanted details, so you spare none; telling him everything about the event that you could recall while trying to ignore the sound of his increasingly labored breaths that followed the rustling of some of his clothes on the other side of the divider. 

You tell him about how rough Yuuji had been, how much you enjoyed it despite it being a little scary. How he carried you home after giving you a couple of the most mind blowing orgasms and filling you with his cum, only to peel your clothes off in your bedroom for a softer yet still cold second round. 

But you can’t ignore your suspicions about what is happening on the other side of the confessional booth. 

“…Father?”

“Yes?”

“What are you doing?”

“Preparing to give you absolution, little lamb.” Absolution didn’t come with a belt buckle being undone, last you checked. “Do you have any more sins to confess?”

“No, but I fear for sins I may commit later.”

“I’ll protect you from them.” He sounds so certain despite the strain in his voice. Your eyes strain to get a better view of how he was preparing your absolution, but you know penance must come first. “God has spoken to me. He has shown me just how important you are, entrusted me with your road to the heavens.”

You’re not sure how much of this you can believe, but you’re too enamored by the thought of performing such a less act with a priest in the confessional booth to care. This was more than just a scandal, this was excommunication in progress should you be caught in the act. More than that, you’d both likely be banished from the town for this.

But worst of all - you were so turned on it was almost painful to be robbed of the sight of the attractive priest.

Was he big? He had to be, considering the size of the man himself. But was he bigger than Yuuji? Thicker? Was it possible he had any experience despite the vow of celibacy you knew priests had to take? There were so many questions bouncing around in your head that you couldn’t focus on just one, but you’re relieved that you don’t have to when he starts talking again. 

“Your penance, little lamb, is to abstain from those sins. Abstain and pray to our Father God that he may see your willingness to walk the path of his light.”

“Thank you, Father,” you whisper, watching as the light is blocked out by his imposing frame as he stands. His hand is moving at a quick pace, and you can see much better when he moves the wooden screen that was providing minimal anonymity for your confessional. 

“Pray the Act of Contrition for me, and I will give you your absolution.”

You’re practically leaning through the window, wanting to be closer to him and his already weeping cock as you whisper, “Oh, my God.”

How were you supposed to pray a promise to abstain from sinful acts when you got to see a cock like that? Even in the dim lighting you could see it perfectly, looking proud as his hand glided along it to further simulate. Just a taste of that red flushed head would likely have you reeling with all efforts towards this confession wasted. Did you need God’s plan when Father Kento’s cock was practically in your face?

“Continue your prayer.” 

“I am heartily sorry for having offended thee, and I detest all of my sins because of thy punishments,” you continue, but your heart is not in the prayer because now the priest is fucking into his fist and you can’t help but wish it was your mouth he was fucking into. You’d pray your heart out if it meant that you’d be rewarded with a taste of him. “But most of all, because they offend their, my god, who are deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve with the help of thy grace to sin no more and to avoid the near occasion of sin. Amen.”

“Amen,” he echoes, and your mouth falls open when the most sultry of groans leaves him. He had to be beautiful when he was about to cum, you’re sure his cheeks flushed and his lips parted so he could breathe properly. “Are you ready to be cleansed of your sins that you came to confess today?”

“Yes, Father, as long as you deem me worthy.” You aren’t expecting him to lower himself to your level, but you’re pleased to see his face in front of yours. He truly was very handsome, and you smile when he leans in to place a gentle kiss to your forehead. To feel such intimacy with a supposed holy man who you’d only spoken to once before your confession felt absurd, but there was something very different about Father Kento. It was like he saw right through you, you were sure he did, and you weren’t complaining about it. 

“God will always find you worthy,” he breathes, using his thumb to gently coax your mouth open. His thumb presses against your tongue, and you feel only slightly self conscious when you feel like he’s scrutinizing something before he requests that you leave your mouth open before he stands again and leaves you to watch with an open mouth as he pumps his cock to completion and allow the ropes of warm cum to hit your face and tongue. 

You’re swallowing what had come into your mouth when he kneels before you again, this time his hand coming to rest atop your head as he cracks the faintest of smiles at you. 

“When you feel temptation, little one, you come to me. My job is to help you fight the temptation and resist evil.”

“But don’t you have to maintain celibacy?” You supposed that was probably a stupid question, considering what had just happened and the evidence of the event that was still splattered across your face. But it was still a valid question, considering he was a priest and everything you knew about the priesthood went against the last twenty minutes you’d shared with him in this confessional booth. 

“Sweet lamb, this is not an act of pleasure. It is an act of God.” 

“Of course,” you murmur, closing your eyes as he brings the handkerchief he’d pulled from his pocket to carefully wipe his cum from your face. “He’s entrusted you with his plan.”

“He has, and I intend to ensure that you’re protected as he’s requested of me.” He was an interesting priest, that was for sure, but his brand of protection was something you’d happily indulge in. He would allow himself to become your temptation, which might have defeated the purpose, but maybe the intimacy of a holy man was different than anybody else? You’re not sure, and you don’t think to ask the question aloud out of fear that he’d think it was a stupid question - you’d asked enough of those today.

“May I ask you something, lamb?”

“Anything, Father.”

“Do you know anything about something called Sukuna?” 

[pricegouge]

Price but he’s ignoring you as you ride his cock like your life depends on it. Just…going through his paperwork like he’s unbothered that you’re gripping his cock like a vice

i changed it to him taking a phone call for horny related reasons

cw: amab reader. maybe a tiny little bit of a sissy kink if you squint. clit and cunt are used for genitals, though no gendered terms for reader themself. chastity device/cumming untouched. very brief daddy kink. yeah.

The worst part about it is you were fucking close. Between the angle and the way he pistoned up in to you, or the way his strong grip on your hips held you down against him, he was hitting that spot only he ever seemed able to reach just right, everytime, and you'd been on the verge of cumming all over him when his phone rang.

"John," you'd hissed when he reached for it, trying to swat at his hand. He'd just tutted at you, told you to be quiet like a good toy as he accepted the call, cock still burried to the hilt within you.

You play nice until you gather it's Laswell and pout when you realize it could take a while, though the way John never flags is encouraging. You let his grumbling wash over you for a bit, disinterested, and keep yourself entertained by stroking your hands over his hairy belly, trying to make the best of this unexpected intermission by using it to appreciate him - how handsome he is, how soft he's getting in his old age. It works until it doesn't, your wandering hands only serving to turn you on even more. So you can't be blamed when your hips give an experimental grind, swallowing him down impossibly deeper.

John grunts, gives you that patronizing look from under his bushy brow. He takes advantage of Kate's long-winded instructions on the other end to mouth one word at you - behave - before his gruff voice returns, confirming through the phone that he understands whatever it is she was saying.

Unlike him, you're not in such a listening mood.

When your pace picks up, John spares you exactly one disappointed frown, a single shake of his head, and then he's relaxing into his seat, free hand falling away from you to plant his elbows on his arm rests, sighing in frustration or annoyance or both as he tilts his face toward the ceiling, listening to Kate prattle on in silence, the working of his jaw the only indication he's thinking anything at all.

It's frustrating work. Without John's help, you can't mimick the strong, deep strokes he'd been fucking you with and your irritation only grows, even as you lean back, planting your hands on his desk to guide his cock toward your front wall, grinding your hips just right to make the bulbous head of him work against that spot that usually has your eyes crossing. It works here, too, forcing stuttered little gasps out of your mouth as you try to keep quiet (John doesn't seem to care about your noises, but you do - the tought of looking Kate in the eye next time you see her knowing full well she's heard what you sound like when you get off a mortifying prospect), but still it's not enough, not when you can't tug your clit for the cage he's had you locked in since morning.

Your hands find purchase on his arm rests first, the one hand covering his and attempting to gain his attention by squeezing the back of his meaty fist as you continue to ride him shallowly, working yourself back up. John just shakes you off, your hand skittering up his burly arm until you can plant it on his wide shoulder, your other gripping the forearm of the hand which cradles his phone before sliding to his bicep. He's still dressed, the thick material of his shirt stiff between your fingers because he'd been too eager, before. This touch he seems to accept, or at least doesn't care enough about to break his concentration as he continues to chat with Laswell. Suits you fine, his strong body perfect to lean against as you heave yourself off him, slamming back down with as much force as you can generate despite your knees being crammed up on his hips, his frame too wide for you to properly straddle him in this chair.

You finally get a reaction from him when you climb off, change position, turn around to straddle his wideset knees and grip his cock tight, stroking just to hear him grunt into the phone before lowering yourself onto him, cunt slick with more than just lube from the feel of it and all you need to carry on, the knowledge you're having an effect on him.

It's much easier to get a proper rhythm like this, your hips slamming down onto his when you lean back against him, hands braced on his armrests. John doesn't shake your grip this time, lets you grip his meaty wrist as you you use him, lets your head tilt back onto his shoulder. Briefly, you worry Kate can hear your panting, and then John you catch John's own stuttered breaths in your ear and you stop worrying altogether, too busy chasing the small huffs he lets slip when your cunt squeezes him like a vice - the only indication you're having an effect on him at all and yet still enough to drive you mad, a desperate little thing for his approval.

So when a proper moan escapes you - tiny but there, undeniable - and John's cock twitches within you, his facade breaking just enough you can feel it, you're done, cum leaking from your useless little untouched clit and spilling over the edges of your cage as you wind yourself down, cunt trying to milk John's cock for all it's worth despite his continued disinterest.

It's when you're slumped forward against the desk again, too sensitive and strung out to bother extracting yourself quite yet that you finally hear John sign off, the quiet chirp of the line disconnecting as he leans forward to place it on the desk next to you. He stays there a moment, cuddled close, the buttons of his shirt digging into your back while his heavy palms reacquaint themselves with your hips, fingers digging in as he regains his forgotten grip on you, cock twitching within your abused cunt.

"Done already, love? Selfish little thing, you. Daddy's turn. "

[sunsents]

neteyam sully hcs - how he teases you (M)

headcannons about Neteyam teasing little shit sully. I've been craving to write this because I just KNOW he's so annoying and smug when he wants to be.

➵ pairing: agedup!neteyam x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

➵ warnings: this gets spicy towards the end so be warned. also, neteyams annoying asf, so be warned again.

DON’T REPOST MY WORK

Neteyam has a knack for romantics. He's seen plenty of his parents' very public displays of affection that make the entire herd say  "eewwww". At the ripe age of 37, Jake constantly pines over his wife and Neytiri is no better. 

The fact that the married couple has enough kids to form a goddamn baseball team is enough proof on its own. (And yes, Jake is painfully aware of this fact and is itching to introduce the sport to the poor na'vi children.)

Neteyam also has a way with words. In fact, he's so good with them that he can wax poetic about your bowel movements and you'd swoon nonetheless.

"Neteyam, are you drunk?" you'd ask after a particularly rowdy festival.

"No, I'm a poet." he'd tell you, drunk off his ass.

Cue the guy saying whatever comes to mind and trying to make it sound beautiful. "Oh, ____, Why, _____. Every move of your unaware knife stabs my heart. Your hands drip rewards of the sweetest juices a man dare crave." when you’re literally trying to cut fruit, or some shit like this. (idk im no poet use your imagination.)

Worst of all, it works. This man is mighty aware of how embarrassed and shy you get when he intricately weaves words just so he can see you blush and swat at him. He takes pleasure in your angry little tone in some weird, fucked up way. 

Which ends up with him developing a little...kink, if you will. He loves teasing. And in a condescending way too. 

He used to consider himself good-natured - didn't take pleasure in the humiliation of others, surely. His parents' relationship should have taught him well. And it did...but he just can't stop teasing you.

Perhaps it was your strangled voice telling him to cut it out, or the tint of your cheeks complimenting you oh so delightfully. He adored your reactions and coaxing them out was such fun. 

With this devilish smirk that could fluster anyone, (or so you'd tell yourself because you aren't weak...okay, maybe you are. but only for him.) he tells you how red you've become. He'd scissor his hands and squeeze your cheek between the two digits, "You're just so easy to mess with, my love."

This led to his teasing gaining an edge. And as he grew confident, he also got mean. His teases degraded you here and there but he was just so condescending; talking down at you as the prince of Omaticaya. Stuff like. “Oh, yawnetu. You’re always falling at my feet. Should I hold your hand?” when you trip and fall (because he made you trip and fall by looking extra good that day, and also ‘forgetting’ to put on pants. in your kelku, of course. or outside in the forest if you’re into that, you weirdo.)

 “Look at you, getting that fruit all over your mouth. Can’t even eat properly without my help.” when you eat particularly messily. 

“It’s cute that you think you can win these fights.” when you try to snap back. 

When he takes things particularly far, you get angry. Because damn, he's just so annoying sometimes. Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine the Olo’eyktan in training to be so smug and condescending. At first, he was all gentlemanly and teeth-rotting sweet. He’d encourage you, whisper sweet nothings in your ear, and be so freaking kind that it’d make you want to cry. 

When your mate got too comfortable, however, things went down. "Can you pass me the f-

"Only if you kiss me,"

"At what point do you become mature?"

"When you kiss me,"

"God, I hate you."

"Your pussy wasn't exactly screaming I hate you Neteyam this morning, but maybe that's just me."

He’s still sweet, of course. This man has no bad bone in his body, it’s true. He loves you so much that he can’t help but poke fun at your antics, and makes sure you know it’s all fun and games. When it’s fun and game time though, he’s ruthless. 

And he's so proud of himself too. Puffing out his chest smugly and prancing around, boasting his confidence. You just want to wipe that sly smirk off his face - but you can't. It falls on deaf ears when Neteyam jokingly personalizes a better-than-thou attitude

"Oh, do I annoy you?” he would ask you after watching you groan and roll your eyes. “Not more than usual,” you would tell him, and he would just smirk, striding towards you and pulling you into a fat kiss. 

Of course, these shenanigans follow him into the bedroom.

Lo'ak is evidently more like Jake when it comes to teasing. But Neteyam? Eywa have mercy on your poor soul. He's a mix of Neytiri, Jake, and perhaps Tsu'tey combined. (he's alive, argue with the wall.) The epitome of pure sex and the reincarnation of Asmodeus himself.

His tone is sweet yet condescending, smoothly purring into your ear while making fun of how easy it was to make your cunt ache with needy desire.

He would demand you finger yourself right in front of his prying eyes, then coo at you when you couldn't cum no matter how hard you tried. It was pathetic really, how diligently your fingers worked on your poor clit. But to no avail.

Neteyam would feast on the view like it was his meal for the week. With blown-out eyes and feral flicks of his tail, he would tease you all the while. Stuff like, "Let's see those fingers work harder. Oh come on, now you're just messing with me. There's no way you think that's what it takes to make you cum.

"I can’t concentrate when you look at me like that.” 

“Well, you should be concentrating on me instead,…maybe learn a few things.” he drawls, circling the head of his cock with a groan while imagining he’s rubbing your swollen clit.

And you'd try your best to remember how he made you cum. But no matter what, you just couldn't copy the way Neteyam spit on your clit to ease the ache or the way he strokes the nerves so gently with a finger. Only the clit, of course - because he's going to tease you, and teasing you involves edging the shit out of you until your eyes water and you can't help but beg.

The fact that you’re so accustomed to his fingers and cock was a little embarrassing. They had become proviso for you to cum. 

"You can't make yourself cum? How pathetic. Did I fuck you too good that it made you incompetent, or do you just like me too much?"

Neteyam always basks in his torture. He'd watch your hips buck wildly while begging and crying for him to fuck you right. He'd just sit there with wide legs, palming his hard cock and squeezing his balls ever so slightly at your pained mewls. Arms spread, head thrown back, he'd just observe you with additional snarky comments if he felt like it.

"Come on, you can do it. Oh, you got it, yes, there we g-...oh. What a pity."

[theunholybastard]

Kinktober: October 5th - Objectification (Papa Emeritus I x Gender - Neutral!Reader)

Tags: Dom!Primo, Ghoul!Reader, Abuse Of Power, Dub-Con, Objectification, Degradation, Pet-Play, Humiliation, Evil Primo, References To Piss Kink, Age-Gap, Deepthroating, Quickie, Fingering, Orgasm Denial, Spit, Facial, No Aftercare, First Person POV

It's not easy being the least favorite Ghoul of Papa Emeritus the First. Hell, it's not like he respects you if you're his favorite Ghoul, either. And yet, I still try so hard to please him, to no avail. No matter what I do, I can't seem to get anything right. Everything I do only ends up bringing more contempt and anger towards me.

And today has been the worst day. I say that every day I have to work with Primo, but today I mean it. One thing after another seemed to keep going wrong, and of course, I was the one that took the blame. It seemed like I couldn't go five minutes without being screamed at and degraded by that old sack of shit.

"Stupid Ghoul! Can't you do anything right?!" He would bark in my direction so often, I was so close to snapping. I wanted to yell back, tell him if he wants things done his way, he should shut up and do it himself. But no, all day I managed to hold my tongue. Until I couldn't.

It was so small. It was so stupid. I was asked (or rather, demanded) to grab him coffee before the show, and I screwed up his order. An honest mistake, but one that he would not let go unpunished. He took one sip, made a sour face, and spat it out dramatically at my feet. My face went red in embarrassment as the other Ghouls turned their heads towards the scene. Primo always seemed to have a thing for public humiliation.

"You fool, how did you manage to fuck this up?!" He scolds. I hear a few Ghouls snickering, and the combination of being laughed at by my peers, and the feel of Primos hot breath hitting my face as he screams directly in my ear, only makes me grind my teeth in anger. "This is scalding! Are you trying to kill me?!"

"That wasn't my intention, but maybe I should." The words come out of my mouth so quickly, I barely realize I said it. Once I realized I said that out loud, I slapped my hand over my mouth, seeing my life flash before my eyes. Primo goes silent for a moment, and his eyes glaze over with a white-hot rage I've never seen before. I'm so dead.

"...Mi scusi?" Primo mutters lowly, his voice laced with barely concealed venom. The room is so quiet, all I can hear is my heart beating rapidly, pounding in my ears. "N-nothing, Papa." My voice quivers, eyes wide like a deer in headlights, cautiously watching his every move.

Unexpectedly... He smiles. A cruel, crooked smile that only further terrified me. He turns to the other Ghouls in the room. "Out." Is all he says. They all scramble out without question, a few of them exchanging sympathetic glances with me, silently wishing me luck. I gulp, now completely alone with him, for him to punish me however he wishes. Oh Satanas, I hope he doesn't fucking piss on me. Again.

He approaches me, painfully slow. All I can do is stand there, frozen in fear. Running at this point would just make my punishment worse. He clears his throat. "Do you think that is any way to speak to your Papa, stupido cucciolo? Do you think it's acceptable, sassing me like that?" He scowls, talking down to me in an unsettlingly soft voice, similar to how someone would speak while scolding an animal.

"I- I'm so sorry, Papa. I don't know what came over me. I- I didn't mean it-" I stutter nervously, my hands already clammy and trembling. He cuts me off with a finger over my lips. I knew for my own safety, I should probably shut my mouth.

"Ahhh, of course! It's an accident, you didn't mean it. You always find some sort of excuse for your misbehavior. It's never your fault, is it?" He chides sarcastically. "That little mouth of yours loves to get you in trouble. Maybe it's time it gets put to good use..."

Before I can question what he means, he grabs me by the shoulders and pushes me down on my knees, needing little to no effort to do so since my legs were already weak and wobbly. He moves his robes to the side, not wearing anything underneath and exposing himself. I gasp, quickly backing up at the sight. His length was impressive, even for being flaccid, and thick enough to just barely fit in my mouth. I wonder how it would feel in...

"P-Papa, I don't think I should... I- I shouldn't..." I sputter worriedly, all of a sudden deciding professionalism is one of my virtues. Maybe sucking off my shitty boss whose more than twice my age isn't the best move. He scoffs.

"Disobeying my orders once again, are we?" He tsks. "The amount of times you messed up today... I ought to fire you right now. Hell, I should send you back to The Pit myself. But here I am, generously offering you a way to earn your forgiveness. Take it, pet." He growls. I swallow the huge lump in my throat, looking up at him hesitantly. His gaze is cold and unforgiving, completely devoid of compassion. He really means it, doesn't he? Well... If this is the only way to keep my job...

I slowly open my mouth, jaw quivering. I shut my eyes tight. Here goes nothing. He at least had the decency to guide his cock into my mouth for me, but unfortunately, he didn't have the patience to let me take my time with it. He thrusts harshly into my mouth, his soft cock hitting the back of my throat and his pubic hair tickling my nose once I reach the base. I gag, my throat instinctively trying to force him out, but he holds my head in place, not letting me move an inch from my spot.

He lets out a groan of relief. I feel his dick twitch in my throat, already starting to grow and harden. At least one of us is enjoying this. He grips my hair excruciatingly tight with his slender fingers, moving my head up and down on his cock. I already feel the tears sliding down my cheeks as he forces me to choke against him helplessly.

"Finalmente, something you're good at." He grunts, growing to full hardness. "Maybe this should be your new job, hm? Since you're useless at everything else. You want to be your Papas little pet? Satanas, t-that's a good pup..." Fuck, his words are disgusting, degrading, vile. I shouldn't like this. This shouldn't be making my body react this way. This is humiliating, and yet, the hottest thing I've ever experienced at the same time.

I moan around his cock, unable to stop myself. Primo chuckles wickedly, looking down at my red, tear-stained face. "Do you like this, pet?" He smirks down at me, looking absolutely sinister, which only arouses me further. Damn, I got issues. "Maybe if you please me thoroughly, I'll let you have a little bit of pleasure. Would you like that, cucciolo?"

"Mhmph-!" I hum around his length excitedly at the thought of receiving any sort of stimulation. His breathing grows heavier, his eyes fluttering shut. He looks oddly beautiful while he's completely blissed out like this, that for a brief moment, I almost forget how cruel he is. His cock kicks, and he pulls himself out of my mouth, releasing his hot seed all over my face.

I go to wipe the cum off my face, but he quickly snatches my wrist, tutting in warning. "Did I give you permission to clean yourself, pet?" He hisses. I fight the urge to roll my eyes, and shake my head. "Now ask nicely, cucciolo..."

"M-may I please clean my face, Papa...?" I whimper softly, giving him my best pleading eyes in hopes he will respect my request. He smirks, his eyes twinkling evily as he leans over me. He spat, his spit and cum now mixing together and running down my face. "No, you may not." He answers.

He fixes his robes and begins to walk away, leaving me on the ground, covered in his filth. "W-wait!" I exclaim, flustered and sexually frustrated. "You said you would d-do something for me, too!" He laughs.

"I said I might, silly Ghoul." He snickers. Oh, this motherfucker. I whine desperately, nearly in tears once again. "P-please!" I plead, all of my self-respect gone in a moment of desperation. "Please, Papa... I- I'll do anything." He clicks his tongue, thinking for a moment. My heart drops when I hear a knock on the door.

"Papa!" I hear another Ghoul call from the other side of the door. "We're on stage in five!" I gulp. Primo rolls his eyes and shoos the Ghoul away, turning back to me with a mischievous glint in his gaze.

"I will please you, little pet; on one condition." He states. My ears perk up, nodding readily. "From now on, you will obey my orders. No more talking back, no more fuck ups. I don't want to see any more disobedience from you. If you cannot cum in five minutes, you will not cum at all, and you will not complain. Understood?" I nod obediently, too horny to care about the rules he listed that I will 100% break within a week.

"Bravo cucciolo. Now come over here." I go to stand up, but he snaps at me in disapproval. "Ah, ah... crawl." He rumbles. I felt a pit in my stomach as I get on my hands and knees, half- wishing the ground would just swallow me whole. I crawl towards him like a dog, the floor beneath me cold and uncomfortable, only furthering my degradation. He nods in sadistic satisfaction.

He commands me to rise and bend over the table beside him. I obey, and with ruthless dedication, he yanks off my trousers, letting them hang around my ankles. I hear him shuffle behind me, spitting on his hand and running his cold, slick fingers over my entrance. He slides them inside with ease, making me let out a choked moan.

"Quiet." He orders angrily. I bite my lip to silence myself as he continues his assault with his fingers, but he moves them with such skill that it makes it nearly impossible to remain quiet. The tips of his fingers hit the spot repeatedly with ease, his other hand wrapping around my mouth to ensure as little noise as possible to escape my lips.

I got so close, so close I could almost taste the ecstasy on the tip of my tongue. But my worst nightmare came true when I heard yet another knock on the door. "Papa! It's time, we gotta go!" A Ghoul calls out. Primo sighs, seeming almost as disappointed as me, and pulls out his fingers, obscenely licking them clean.

"Fix yourself and join us on stage, Ghoul." He says coldly, putting on his mitre and heading towards the door. "Papa..." I whine, earning me a light slap. "What did I say, stupido cucciolo? No complaints..." He grufs, annoyed. I frown frustratedly and nod, pulling up my pants and grabbing my mask in shame.

While we move to the stage, none of the audience or my fellow Ghouls are aware of the dried cum covering my face underneath the mask. But as Primo shoots me a wink before he starts to sing, and the other Ghouls exchange confused glances, my throat runs dry in worry that maybe they all suspect what just occurred. And honestly? That just makes me hornier.

-

[elvisabutler]

show off

fandom: elvis 2022 | elvis presley rating: m pairing: elvis presley ( big daddy flavor ) x female reader word count: 2100 you didn't see any other word count. warnings: cockwarming! p in v sex ( unprotected ). public play. mildly excessive baby talk. use of buntyn and nungen and princess as nicknames. mild embarrassment kink? author’s note: welcome to day 11 of ally’s wet hot smut summer, public play with big daddy elvis presley x reader. sorry this took a minute, i've been incredibly exhausted lately and so it's made finishing things a bit of an adventure. quick notes for this fic, this is a sort of au, in that i placed it in a mythical place where elvis doesn't die in 77 and is free of his vegas residency in the 70s. so maybe call it a nebulous 78 to 80? reader is implied to have been with him for years and you can read it as having an age difference but it's in my head as not having one. basically this is secretly a reader version of quiet on the set's future and i'm not sorry for it. beyond that if y'all have left me a comment on any of my fics or anything i'm going to get back to them. when i tell you i've been exhausted it's been a lot. without further ado, i hope y'all like this. also pick if you want austin elvis or real elvis the end.

There's something funny about how Elvis would prefer the two of you to be private. There is something truly and genuinely hilarious to you about the fact that he preferred the two of you to be private. His argument has always been that the happiest he ever is in his life is during those private moments with the people he loves. You always argue that he can't show you off like you know he wants to if you're being private and yet he'll flash that little twinkle in his eye and ignore your protests. So much of his life isn't private but the love he has for you— the love between the two of you is supposed to be private. An oasis for him to relax in as much as he does in Hawai‘i.

Despite all of this you know so very well how much he cares for you and how much he loves you. And if you were being entirely honest, the privacy makes the times he does want to show you off all the more special. Indeed it makes the times he does feel like delightful surprises.

Maybe that's why you had agreed to come play poker with him and the boys. It's been a long time since you've enjoyed that sort of thing and you've missed it. Truthfully it's been a while since Elvis has even been in Vegas, memories of how he almost was stuck in a revolving door of engagements here cluttering his mind and giving him a nightmare or two. So having him enjoying time with friends and you seems like a perfect recipe for a night. Of course, you should know better by now, know how Elvis always has something up his sleeve. A playful little trick he can play with that glint in his eye.

"Where's my chair, Mr. Presley?" You ask, not bothering with his nickname or his first name. There always was something fun about how he acted a bit like an admonished schoolboy when you called him Mr. Presley. "Can't very well play poker if I don't have a chair."

Elvis looks at you and gives you that sly smile you know so very well by now as he pats his lap, thigh jiggling just a tad as he does. There's that glint in his eyes that spells trouble of the best and worst kind. "Ya got a chair right here, Princess. Nice 'n plush too."

You'd think after all these years and after seeing his body through so many changes that you wouldn't be affected by the jiggle of his thigh and the open v of his legs. Yet, you're a woman who knows what she wants and you're the woman he put a ring on all those years ago. Most of the things he does get you more hot under the collar than they have any right to. This is one of those things. You feel your pussy clench around nothing and despite yourself you rub your thighs together even as you're standing.

"Are we playing as a team, then? Us against the boys?" The questions roll off your lips with an ease and familiarity only you manage when it comes to him. "Otherwise I think you'd be able to cheat."

As you speak, you've started to walk closer to him and finally find yourself at arm's length. Elvis wastes no time in grabbing your arm and pulling you flush against his lap, his thighs cushioning your behind and his cock stirring ever so slightly under his stomach. A gasp leaves your lips unexpectedly.

His arm wraps around your waist, making sure you don't move too much while he talks. "My wife accusin' me of cheatin' at cards. I could take ya thinkin' I'd step out on ya but I would never cheat at poker."

The soft rumble of a laugh courses through your body and has you following suit as you shift in his lap. "I let you step out and you let me as a present. But I know you're a sore loser who can't focus when I'm here."

You turn your head just slightly, watching as Elvis's eyes practically dance with mirth. He's mercurial as all get out when he wants to be but he can take some good-natured teasing when it comes from you. It's why you've worked well all these years.

"Now honey, my yittle nungen, I know you're still smartin' from that game ya lost against me 'bout a week ago but that ain't no reason to be tellin' lies about my sportsmanship."

A defense is on the tip of your tongue when you feel Elvis's warm hand against your thigh, slipping under your dress that you decided to wear today. That warmth does away with the words in such a quick fashion that you find yourself biting your lip to keep from sighing. "Elvis."

You say his name in a feather soft whisper as his friends start to trickle into the room. You've been in a situation like this before, when you were younger and somehow just as randy as you were now but Elvis hadn't done something like this in ages. He hadn't even thought to tease you like this in ages.

As if he isn't paying attention, he merely hums at your whisper of his name and uses his arm to maneuver your crotch against his cock, the flowing fabric of your dress hiding his actions from prying eyes. You don't know when or how he managed to free his cock from the confines of his pants and yet he has. That hand that innocently is burning against your thigh has crept up to your panties and with the ease of someone who knows your body like the back of their hand, he moves them just enough to the side to slide inside of you.

"Goddamn. Didn't expect ya to be so wet. Was hopin' but— Lord almighty, ya gonna stain my pants if ya move." Ironically you choose just that moment to move, attempting to get off of him for a moment before his grip on your waist stops you. "Nungen, you be a good girl for yer Buntyn and stay put. Can't have 'em seein' Lil Elvis, now can we?"

You feel the heat of mild embarrassment and excitement flush through your body as a shiver racks it. A shake of your head is the only answer you can manage for a moment. "You want me to sit like this for the whole game, baby?"

Elvis nuzzles his lips against your neck, his eyes taking in his friends pulling out their seats and sitting down, none the wiser to what was happening in his lap. They wave at you and you, ever the courteous host wave back and even smile, saying hello as Elvis mumbles words into your neck. He doesn't need to greet everyone, not while he's buried inside of you, his cock leaking precum like he's ready to fuck you on the table instead of just letting you sit on his cock. Besides, they know better than to disturb him when the two of you are wrapped up in one another.

The chair isn't close enough to the table and you move to drag it a little closer, or drag both you and Elvis a little closer only to have what feels like the world's loudest squelch come from between your thighs. No one looks at the pair of you as if they heard it but to Elvis and you it might as well have been a shout. You let out a shaky breath as you shift to try and make yourself comfortable. Elvis's legs open up just a bit more to make sure you're where you need to be, even as he thrusts just a tad. "Gotta stay still. Gonna, if ya move— I might just take ya on this table, damn the game."

You can't help but swallow at the idea, your mouth filling with saliva at the mere idea of being flipped thrown onto the table, pussy exposed to people you and him call friends. It's primal and practically voyeuristic and the sort of thing both you and Elvis aren't incredibly fond of with your relationship and yet. Yet it fills you with such arousal you feel it actually dampening his pants as the game starts.

Elvis isn't the worst of poker players but in combination with you, he's nigh unstoppable. Of course, maybe that's because everyone else's eyes are on you, wondering why you haven't moved to the empty chair next to Elvis. Jerry— who's there on a surprise visit is closest to the two of you and raises an eyebrow as he looks at his cards and then at you. You clench around Elvis's cock in a bit of worry.

"Is it a little warm in here?" A simple question to everyone but from the way he's staring both of you down it's not meant to be one. Both you and Elvis open your mouth before you kiss Elvis to stop whatever one liner is about to leave his lips.

"With how cold he keeps it in here? The only reason I don't need a jacket is because of his body heat," you practically titter out a laugh, the fear of being caught heightening your arousal even further. You feel your clit throbbing as everyone laughs at your joke.

Jerry rolls his eyes and shakes his head looking down at your lap. Still, the game is going nicely, with Elvis winning more hands than not and you trying to grab at a free hand to get some form of relief. After what feels like an eternity Elvis finally has his hand move between your legs, his calloused fingers brushing up against your aching little clit.

"Haven't teased ya like this in years, have I, Princess?" Elvis murmurs against your ear, feeling your vagina clench around him. "Haven't shown everyone how good ya are for me for a long time, have I? Haven't made 'em realize why I couldn't forget 'bout ya."

Your answer is a hum caused by you biting your lip to keep the cry that threatens to escape your lips at the pressure of his fingers against you. It's not enough for Elvis though, he knows you can control yourself better than he ever can. "Darlin' use ya words."

"It's been too long," you choke out the words, one of your hands moving to grip his meaty thigh and the other to grip at the table. You can feel your walls fluttering around Elvis, feel your body tensing up as it chasing something you know he won't give you in public. The face you make when he pulls an orgasm from you is one that's strictly between the two of you. Yet you're so wound up that you fear you'll be leaning over the table for support as soon as he says the word. In an attempt to alleviate something, anything you try and bounce only to have him nip at your ear.

"Ask me nicely, Nungen. Ask me nicely. Give 'em their game and their show. Remind 'em I caught ya jus' the same as ya caught me." His voice is more of a grunt as he slides a set of chips into the pot wordlessly. "Show 'em what I get in bed every night. What 'm wakin' up to every night 'less ya let me stray. Show 'em what I see after I've eaten my dessert.

Despite the way you're biting your lips so hard they're practically bleeding a noise that sounds like a scream forces its way out of your lungs and mouth as you clench around Elvis. You feel a gush that you only identify with times you've been played with so much by Elvis that you make a mess of every sheet you have. His pants are ruined but they'd be anyway from how you feel a warm rush of his cum follow yours. Through the grace of God himself you don't fall onto the table, instead stabilizing yourself using Elvis's thigh and somehow his lap in general. Your breath takes a few minutes to even out, even as everyone watches you and Elvis panting as if you've run a marathon. There's a knowing look that crosses everyone's face but everyone is too scared to speak until finally you smile and smooth out your dress as if you plan on standing up.

"This is why you're losing boys, you can't pay attention the game."

You make no effort to get off of Elvis's lap.

taglist: @ab4eva , @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @precious-little-scoundrel, @eliseinmemphis, @prompted-wordsmith, @missmaywemeetagain, @lookingforrainbows, @araxw, @thatbanditqueen, @ellie-24, @austinbutlersgirl67, @heartbrake-hotel, @ccab, @18lkpeters, @slutforsomegoodlettuce, @dkayfixates, @kendralavon7 @chasingwildflowers, @notstefaniepresley, @wanderingelvis, @kxnnxy, @powerofelvis, @stylespresleyhearted @be-my-ally, @mooodyblue, @pixiedustcosmos, @jessicarcates, @amydarcimarie, @flwrs4aust @myradiaz, @adaydreamaway08, @arabellalightning505, @doll-elvis guarantee i'm missing someone. i tried the end. also i clearly added this originally. also you want to be added just ask me. i keep forgetting people or losing people in these and just it's a mess.

[somesprucetrees]

Taking a moment to share my omega!Bakugou gif from way back. He’s getting fat so he can get bred full of healthy pups 😌

You’d think Kirishima would be the one to go pup-crazy, but in fact, it’s Bakugou.

alpha!Kirishima x omega!Bakugou

Omegaverse, breeding kink, weight gain, lots of sex, Bakugou getting pudgy and pupped, eventual mpreg

Male omegas have a harder time getting pregnant than female omegas, or even female betas. Fuck, even female alphas have a better shot at it than him. But Bakugou wants a family with pups. Viscerally wants dumb fat little babies waddling around his house, growing up big and strong and loved. God their pups… they don’t even exist yet but he’s already protective as fuck over them. They should be here with them.

Having a higher body fat percentage is one of the many traits correlated to male omegas successfully conceiving and carrying pups to term. And Bakugou is lean and mean. Plus, he has always had short, intense heats for an omega his age, a trait that works against him on the fertility front.

Kirishima accepts him no matter what, pups or no. Because of course he fuckin’ does. So Bakugou sets up their appointments. Their numbers are ok-ish. They come up with a plan. But what it boils down to is this:

Bakugou has gotta get some fat on him.

Being a little heavier (“fluffier” as Kiri puts it) will also lengthen out his heats from 3 to maybe 5 days. It’ll also protect against the worst of the weight loss that comes with male omegas being sick for the first 3 months.

He’s done all the research. They’ve met with a nutritionist and 3 doctors. They’ve come up with a plan. Kirishima is still in the “we shouldn’t push it” and “if it happens, it happens” camp because parenthood means putting hero work on hiatus. It’s something they’re both hesitant to do. Plus, Bakugou’s body will undergo a lot of stress; he’ll be forever changed. But Bakugou reminds him of every scar and villain fight that changed him, that changed them both. This isn’t that different. This a battle he wants to win.

So, they get down to it.

Kirishima goes on rut suppressants while they both focus on softening up Bakugou. It’s…painfully slow going at first. He’s powerful and strong, got the metabolism of a damn freight train. But gains are made. The inches and the pounds slowly start to stick to his muscular frame. Every gain feels like a cause for celebration! But it’s a lot of eating…

The plan is 40 pounds. And honestly, it’s not that much. It’s insurance. But once he finally (finally!) hits the 15 pound mark, it’s like a switch gets flipped. Not only does Bakugou’s appetite increase, but his metabolism finally starts to slow. And then the inches really start to show! Bakugou’s so damn proud of himself. Before he realizes it, he’s got 30 pounds of jiggling, soft flesh on his middle that wasn’t there a few months ago. It’s so… unlike the rest of him. Sure, his ass rounded out a bit, and his arms softened a little. But the belly he’s sporting now looks like mochi.

And it’s driving both him and his alpha wild. Why? Well, not only is it super fun to touch, to grab, to shake and pat, but it represents Bakugou’s growing fertility. He feels good like this. Plus, his alpha is so easy to tease. He can laze around, just rubbing and jiggling his belly, and suddenly a couple hundred calories worth of snacks just magically appears. It’s hard for Kiri to hide how much he loves what this is doing to Bakugou’s body. He can’t keep his hands off his omega’s perfect, softening belly. He’s gonna put pups there someday. And Bakugou can’t keep his hands off his belly either. The jiggle is just really nice, ok? When he’s pupped, it’s not gonna be all soft and comfy, and he knows that. But for now, it’s easier to imagine what being knocked up is gonna be like.

Bakugou’s first heat with the extra weight is insane. Kiri’s still on the suppressants as a pregnancy prevention; any pregnancy before Bakugou’s body is ready may not make it. They’d rather not risk it. But damn does Bakugou miss his alpha’s knot. Without his rut, Kiri can just barely keep up with his absolutely frantic, mess of an omega. He’s begging for more! Another round, another snack, more of everything.

The fact that Bakugou is an omega is public knowledge. And male omega’s gaining weight can only mean one thing. All around them, he’s suddenly doted on wherever he goes. By fans, his parents, their friends, random shop owners, everyone. Which, frankly, he hates because he only wants Kiri to spoil him. But how can he push away all the amazing treats? Those extra calories are necessary to get his body ready! So he takes what he’s offered, eating thousands of calories a day and getting softer.

40 pounds comes and goes. Kiri goes off his suppressants, and Bakugou has gained a respectable 55 pounds when Kiri goes into rut. Of course his omega responds and his heat starts the next day. Almost perfect coordination! They’re the best at this baby-making thing! It’s the most intense cycle they’ve ever shared, and Bakugou is certain he’s thoroughly bred by the end. He spent most of his heat face down in their bed being ravaged, spending more time being split open on Kiri’s cock than not. And his body handles it for 5 whole days.

The first cycle doesn’t bring any pups. But they’re not discouraged. It’s to be expected! It takes a couple of cycles even for couples with the highest chances!

What isn’t expected is that Bakugou’s weight continues to climb. And climb.

If you want more, lemme know!

[rageagainstmymachine]

Kinktober 2023 | Edward Richtofen/ F! Reader | Fic 6

Uniform Kink

Words: 3,362

Tags: Ultimis Richtofen, perceived Nazism, Nazi uniform, unwanted uniform kink

"This has got to be the worst place we've been." You groan, letting your head roll to the other shoulder, a heavy sigh showing your great displeasure. You were in some swampy marsh somewhere in japan, you think. It was a lot like the one you went to early on in your travels, the one right after than German insane asylum.

"You say that every time we go somewhere new." Richtofen hummed, his hands busy fiddling with some strange contraption. He happily whistled some tune, obviously not the least bit concerned with your unhappiness.

"Because every time we go somewhere new its worse than the last."

"What about the moon? The moon was fun! It was the moon!"

"I hated the moon. There was no air and that fucking weird cosmonaut was chasing us."

"That what made it fun! Well, that und how the blood und guts splattered farther with the gravity und such." He waved his hand dismissively.

You groaned again, your head rolling back over. You just watched as Edward fiddled with whatever he was fucking with, examining his features. His face was pale, almost grey and had dark circles around his eyes. You were all very tired, but Edward always seemed the most tired, despite being the most energetic. You had no idea how he did it, you wondered if he was on some sort of drug. Pervatin, maybe. That could explain a lot.

"You know, a picture would last longer. Just be sure to get mein good side, ja? What am I saying? Every side is mein good side."

You felt your face heat up at the realization you had been caught staring and averted your eyes. "Spaced out."

"Awh, and here I was thinking you were admiring my handsome face und perfect body."

You couldn't deny he was handsome. Hell, he was gorgeous. He was tall and slim, but he had muscle, even at his age. How old was he anyways? Fifty? He looked fifty. Not to mention that his uniform hugged him in all the right places, his broad shoulders and small waist...

Stop it! That uniform is monstrous! It represents everything that's wrong with the world! It represented fascism! It's ugly and you should hate it! You shouldn't be fantasizing about the way the fabric stretched over his broad shoulders or how perfectly his belt hugged his slim waist...

"I can practically see you thinking. Think any harder und you might explode." He teased, standing and approaching you. You couldn't help but watch his hips sway as he approached, or the way his long legs strode towards you. "I wonder what you could be thinking of to cause such a reaction..."

He stopped directly in front of you, smirking down at you. It was unnerving when he did this. You stood up, a subconscious reaction as nervousness began to creep up your spine.

"It must be quite exciting." He hummed, getting impossibly closer. You had to crane your neck to look up at him. He was so close you could feel the heat radiating off him. 

He is coming on to you. Not that you're surprised. He has been suggestive to you in the past. Well, suggestive to everyone actually. Even a few zombies. Inanimate objects too... he was a weird man.

You hated the fact his seduction attempt was working. You could feel yourself becoming flustered. His uniform was so close. If you reached out, you could touch it. You wanted to touch it. To touch him.

You were ashamed of yourself.

He chuckled softly, leaning over and pressing a hand against the wall next to you, his body only inches away. You could hear your heart beating in your ears, as well as his breathing. "Oh, I think I know." He said lowly, his accent heavy, tone husky. "You want to fuck the enemy, don't you?"

Your breath hitched and you felt a shiver run down your spine. His eyes were lidded, a smirk tugging at his thin lips.

"You want to devour the big, bad German. And I do mean big in... multiple ways." He whispered the last part in your ear, making you let out a little gasp. Your hands found his lapels, torn between pushing him away and yanking him closer. When he didn't receive an answer, he clicked his tongue, bringing his hand up to grab a fistful of your hair. He tugged on it to force you to look at him. "Oh, you are much too prideful."

He crashed his lips into yours. You let out a muffled moan, kissing him back hungrily. This was a very bad idea. He was insane, this was his own twisted game, this was treason... But God, it was hot. It was right in all the wrong ways.

Richtofen kissed roughly, hungrily, desperately. It was messy, and you could taste the bitter iron of blood, you didn't care enough to ask yourself why. His teeth pulled and bit at your bottom lip, causing you to groan. The heat was building in your core, pooling low in your abdomen.

Your hands ran along the fabric of his coat, trailing across the embellishments on his lapels. You could barely even focus on the kiss as you touched the belts across his chest. Your movements froze when you touched something cold and sharp. Fingertips danced from one point to another, your eyes fluttering open and downwards as you realized you were touching his iron cross.

Your mind wandered to what he did to receive that metal. Did he fight in the Great War? It would make sense with his age. You couldn't be sure but you don't think you see a swastika on it, it had to be a Great War iron cross. Was he this insane back then as well? Why were you just now thinking about it?

He sensed your distraction and pulled away, fast enough to see where your eye line was. He peered down and grinned, finally noticing your hand on his medal. "You must be wondering how I got this, huh? Imagining all the ways one soldier can receive one." He said, his voice dropping an octave lower.

You couldn't help the fear appearing in your eyes as his tone became serious. It was terrifying when he was serious. He searched your face for a few seconds before his smirk returned, his tongue flicking out to lick his dry lips."Don't look so terrified, I was a field medic in the Great War"

"How the hell does a field medic get one?" You finally found your voice again, the confusion forcing your words out.

He laughed, a sound that sent shivers down your spine, whether it was in excitement or fear you didn't know. "Perhaps it's best to keep that a secret." He purred, leaning in close again, his lips ghosting over yours. "Just make sure those American hands of yours stay off the medal, ja? You can look all you want, though. It's more than obvious you have a thing for it…und the rest of mein uniform."

You swallowed thickly, looking away in shame. Damn.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of." Edward chuckled darkly. "In fact, I've heard before that women go nuts for a man in uni-"

"Just shut up and kiss me again, Richtofen." You groaned, grabbing his lapels and tugging him closer, crashing your lips together once more. He hummed into the kiss, his hands gripping your hips, squeezing them firmly. He unabashedly rutted his hips into yours, his growing bulge pressing against you.

He pulled away from you, leaving you wanting and needy. God, so stupidly needy. He put distance between the two of you, and you almost asked why, but soon he was smoothing down his uniform, giving you a playful twirl.

"Tell me, fraulein, what do you like about it?" He questioned. "The fabric is a bit rough und tight, the belts are always digging into me, but if you find it appealing, who am I to judge?"

"Richtofen..." You warned.

"Do tell, I'm curious." He mused. He had that grin, that stupid fucking grin that made your blood boil. He knew exactly what he was doing to you. He was teasing you and loving every second of it. He was getting off on your frustration and embarrassment.

It's the way the coat sits well on your broad shoulders, tapers down to your slutty little waist! It makes you look taller too especially with the cap, it commands authority. It's because your pants make your ass look so damn good. And the boots look ready to step on me. And god, how I want you to step on me. That white button up and tie combo makes you look professional and sane, yet you aren’t professional and nowhere near close to sane. It’s the Luger attached to your hip, ready to be pulled out and used, the belts just begging to be gripped, and whatever the hell is on your other hip! Is it a bag? And dear god, it’s the iron cross you wear. I can’t even imagine what you’ve done to receive it, I just know I want you pressed against me so hard, it leaves an indent against my breast. 

Your head spun as you admitted this all to yourself in rapid fire. If you didn’t run it through your mind, as much as you didn’t want to, you knew you would blurt it out. You had to get a hold of yourself.

Edward seemed to enjoy the silence, watching your face intently, waiting for you to give an answer. The only sign of his patience wearing thin was the tapping of his foot.

"You just look good in it, okay?" You tell him, giving him an inch. But he wasn't satisfied with that, he wanted the whole mile. You should know to never try to appease a German. Look what happened to Czechoslovakia.

He snickers, shaking his head. "Come now, Fraulein. You can do better than that." He purrs.

You huffed, chewing on your lip before glancing back to him, your resolve crumbling as you took in his gorgeous appearance."God, it's hot. Okay? It's super fucking hot."

His smirk widened, but he continued to prod.. "Why? Why is it so hot?"

"Because it shows off your broad shoulders and slim waist, and makes your ass look great… You're just a prick, but I want you inside me." You spat out, crossing your arms. "Happy now?"

"Ohohoho I'm very happy." He chuckled, removing the straps that crossed his torso. He set the satchel he carried aside, unclipping his holster and setting his weapon on the table. The way he didn't remove anything else signaled he had no intentions of removing his uniform tonight. He knew what he was doing. He still stood a ways from you, seemingly waiting for you to do or say something. You were too aroused to play these games. You relented to his wants.

"Are you going to fuck me or not, Richtofen?" You growled hoping to sound annoyed and not as needy as you felt.

"I might if you ask nicely." He cooed.

You clenched your fists.

"Please, Richtofen." You said, through gritted teeth. "Fuck me."

He grinned, stepping over to you. His hand caressed your cheek, before his fingers wrapped around your throat. You couldn't stop the moan that escaped your lips, or the way your hips rolled. You could feel his length press into you and it was heavenly. He leaned in, his nose brushing against yours. "Say that again, but this time, less formal."

"Edward, please fuck me." You whispered, and he let out a guttural growl. He released your throat and gripped the backs of your thighs, lifting you and pressing you into the wall. You let out a little yelp of surprise, your legs instinctively wrapping around him. He captured your lips, his hands wandering, kneading your flesh; pinching and grabbing. his hands were just as eccentric as the rest of him.

He didn't waste time, carrying you away from the wall to the windowsill, setting you down to begin removing your pants. You kicked off your boots as you let him, watching as he tugged down the clothing. He took your panties with them, leaving you completely bare from the waist down. You felt the urge to cover yourself, but his hungry gaze and the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips quelled that. He was quick with his own pants, tugging them down his slim hips, freeing his cock. He wasn't here for romance, or foreplay, but neither were you.

He was quick to slot himself between your legs to line himself up, pressing his length into you in one smooth motion. You hissed at the stretch, his earlier remark about big things wasn't a lie.. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you moaned out his name. He wasn't gentle. He gave you no time to adjust. He began pounding into you immediately, a brutal pace, his hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise.

"I'm just a militarized Kraut for you to get off to, ja?" He hissed in your ear. His breath was warm, accent thicker than before, "Is that all I am to you? Just a uniform und a cock to satisfy that cunt of yours?"

"F-fuck, Richtofen."

"You think of me as a Nazi, yet here I am being your personal sex toy." He purred. His hips snapped against yours, his thrusts rough and quick, hitting that one spot. The one spot that made your back arch. He chuckled, his eyes half lidded and full of lust. "Where are you democratized morals now?"

"Fuck, I hate you."

"No, no, Fraulein. The word you are looking for is love." He grinned, his eyes dark. You felt a shiver run down your spine. He was scary, and yet somehow that excited you.

His thrusts were getting sloppy, his breath ragged. You were close, so close, you just needed a little more. He must have noticed, his hand reaching between the two of you to rub circles around your clit. The added stimulation sent you over the edge. Your back arched and you threw your head back as you came, a strangled moan of his name escaping your lips.

You could feel him shudder against you, a long groan escaping his lips as your walls squeezed around him tightly. He stilled inside of you, his grip on your hips bruising. He was quiet for a moment, and you opened your eyes to find his own staring into yours. They were lidded and full of want and need. He got too close to the edge, and he didn't want to cum just yet. You could feel him throbbing inside of you, and it wasn't long before he started moving again. He was relentless, his thrusts deep and rough, his fingers digging into your hips. "I'm not nearly done with you yet."

"Give me a moment." You breathed, but he wasn't having any of it.

"Oh, fraulein. You'll take what I give you und I'll continue until I am finished."

He fucked like a man starved, his thrusts hungry and greedy. You were still sensitive, and every thrust against your g spot was a wave of overstimulation. You whined and begged for his mercy, but he would give none.

"You'll cum again for me, und then I'll consider stopping."

You cried out, clinging to him desperately, trying to find anything to ground you, anything to take away the intensity. It was too much, yet not enough. "Edward..."

"If you don't shut your mouth, I'm going to shut it for you, Schlampe." He hissed.

You couldn't stop the whimpers if you wanted to. It was too much.

Richtofen growled, seemingly fed up with your noises. Your clit got a much needed break as he removed his hand to paw at his chest. He wrapped his glove clad fingers around his Iron Cross and quickly yanked it off, pressing the medal to your lips. "Bite."

You opened your mouth and his fingers pushed the Iron Cross in. The taste of the iron filled your mouth and you moaned. He resumed rubbing your clit, the feeling of biting down hard on the cross was enough to ground you - your whines were significantly decreased. 

The way that Edward looked at you with a deeper stare made you wonder if he was getting off to watching you bite the medal he got all those years ago.

His thrusts continued to be hard and fast, but you could feel him becoming more and more erratic. The hand on your hip tightened, and his breath became heavier.

"You better cum before I do, otherwise you are in for a long night." He hissed, his thrusts slowing a bit. His hand picked up its speed on your clit, causing a moan to escape past the medal.

It was too much. The feeling of metal between your teeth, the way Edward was looking at you, the fact that he was wearing his uniform. The way he fucked you without mercy. It was all too much, and soon enough you were coming. Your body trembled, your eyes crossing as stars littered your vision. Your legs clamped around his waist as your cunt spasmed again, milking his cock.

He didn't last much longer, the feeling of your cunt squeezing him bringing him over the edge. A strangled moan escaped his lips as he spilled his seed into you, thrusts shallow and uneven. He stayed there, his breathing labored and his heart pounding as he continued to lazily pump his cock into you until he had nothing left to give.

The muscles in your jaw failed as your mouth quivered open, the Iron cross falling on your chest. It was coated in saliva and blood, which made Richtofen's cock twitch inside of you. He grabbed it, not bothering to wipe it off before pinning it back on his coat.

He slipped out of you, and you couldn't stop the whimper that left your lips. You could feel his cum dripping onto the windowsill. Richtofen didn't seem to care though, as he went about redressing himself. He was nice enough to throw you your clothes, and you took the hint. You didn't bother with panties, slipping your pants back on.

He didn't look at you. His hands were quick to fix his coat and uniform, smoothing out any wrinkles. He grabbed his hat and straightened it on his head, looking as polished as ever. Once he was finished, he finally looked back at you. His eyes held a warmth and rawness that looked terrifying on him.

"I'm not actually a Nazi, you know." He finally spoke.

You stared at him, eyes travelling down to the very obvious Nazi uniform.

He seemed to notice this and let out a snort, his gaze flicking downward. "Ja, ja. I know. But I didn't really have a choice in the matter. It's all rather complicated; Group 935, monetary needs, Maxis making promises to... certain parties. Which I strongly opposed, mind you."

"But-"

"It's a lot more complex than simply being a Nazi, fraulein. Besides, do I really look like the type to be a Nazi? "

"Absolutely you do." You say bluntly.

"I'm hurt." He gasped. "Und after I went through the trouble of telling you the truth. It was quite painful too - so much emotional torment." He feigned offense, putting a hand over his chest. "I may be an insane scientist, but that's all I am, I swear."

You could help the smile that found your lips. You tried to look away fast enough to hide it, but he saw it clear as day.

"There we go, I knew there was a smile under there." He smiled, his eyes soft. "Now, let's do this again soon, ja? Aber, I am a proper boy, you'll need to buy me dinner first before you seduce me, next time."

You laughed, shaking your head. You turned and left before you tried to stay longer, leaving Edward to chuckle at the door.

"Till next time, fraulein."

~

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[meadowmousey]

hi im gonna vent about my non existent sex life to my 3 followers now.

I’m in a ltr with an older man (i know) and it’s pretty cool for the most part except for the fact that i never get fucked lmao. it was pretty frequent and fun for the first like 8 months and now I’m lucky to get any like once a month. We got sick in winter 2022/2023, he had a terrible reaction psychologically. At first I understood bc like. We were REALLY sick. And then we got better. And I would try to initiate something and he would just give me the “maybe later” or “another day” stuff, and I wouldn’t ask again for like a week or so. And then I started doing a little amateur adult content as a side hustle, and he would take the pictures and stuff for me. So I would try to get a lil spicy. And he would turn me down. And I don’t know how to describe how absolutely shit it feels to have someone taking lewd pictures of you and them be completely turned off. Ouch. I started doing the pictures/videos alone and I would send him the best ones. He’d sometimes save them but usually I would get some half assed response. So I just stopped bc it made me feel gross. I’m like terminally horny as a person. I could fuck like 3x a day and still go again. I haven’t been able to get a “round two” since like August of 2022. He also presented himself when we first getting to know each other as super kinky and experimental. And he was at first. But it’s so vanilla since we got sick. Like, two positions and barely any variety. We bought some toys and rope and stuff. One of them we haven’t even used. Well, I have but it was alone. He told me, when I was first starting to really have my feelings hurt about his lack of sexual interest, that he has a hard time seeing me as both his life partner and as someone he can do kink with. And that really hurt. Like really bad. Like sure, the ppl he dated before he didn’t love (or the 1 night stands) the way he loves me. So how does it make sense that he gave them all the vulnerability and trust that kink involves but I can’t have that?? And then he says that we’re different, we’re better than most people because we don’t need to have a relationship based off sex. Homeboy if we did, the relationship would have withered and died ages ago. I’m a human being in my 20’s, I’m fucking horny!! I don’t understand why he thinks that it’s fair for him to have gotten to hook up and do all the fun stuff with other people, and now it’s just over for him forever. What about me? What about what I need? Like, I already feel like the once a month boring ass 30 minutes I get is a chore for him. I don’t want him to do anything he doesn’t feel comfortable with. It’s just really hurtful and unfair. I know he doesn’t wanna do an open relationship and I don’t either, but at this point I am so sexually frustrated. I feel embarrassed for wanting sex. I feel like he sees me as some kind of pure and untouchable thing, which makes no sense. I’ve always been up front about being really sexual, and kinky , and open, and unconventional. It’s like he refuses to see a whole entire side of me, except very superficially when we do get sexual. And even then I can tell he’s not really that enthusiastic, it seems like he’s on a mission to make both of us cum as quickly as possible. It’s not even fun anymore and I just feel so self conscious and shitty. It really fucking sucks not even being 25 with a dead bedroom. I’ve been trying to curb my sexual appetite as much as I can but at this point I’m gonna start chewing my fucking fingers off. The worst part is I know I’m not ugly. I know if most people had the chance they would happily get into bed with me. So why is it that the person who DOES get to, doesn’t even want it anymore?? I know he could have his pick of anybody as well. We were so compatible and so much happier when we were having sex more. Now I’m so full of resentment that I have a hard time connecting with him at all. I hate that I feel like this but I’m having to squash such big feelings 24/7. Ugh. Anyway.