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joonsmagicshop · 3 months ago

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Sundress Season

Summary: The heat of the summer means you are suddenly only wearing sundresses. Short, tight, impossibly cute dresses that make Jungkook feel things. When he decides to jerk off before a beach day with you little does he know you would accidently walk in...and like what you see.

Paring: Jungkook/Reader

Word Count: 6.2K

Rating: M/18+ because smut

Tags: porn with slight plot, secret crush, friends to lovers, Jungkook is down bad, fantasizing, male masturbation, accidental voyeurism, handjob, blowjob, fingering, penetrative sex with protection, POV switch between him and reader, dirty talk, he calls her good girl at one point, slight fluff at the end, Namjoon mention cause he is my bias

Authors Note: okay so. I was about to take a nap and this idea popped into my head and I JUMPED out of bed to write it! It has been hot as hell all summer long and honestly unpopular opinion but I am ready for fall. Was gonna save this for Jungkook's birthday but oh well!

Also this was loosely inspired by a One Direction fic I read over ten years ago. While the fic is gone it is definitely not forgotten

Jungkook was someone who liked the summer months.

He liked the longer brighter days, the food eaten from a barbeque, bonfires with friends, and all the fun events that happen over the summer.

It was prime time for everyone to get out and do things before the harsh dull winter arrived.

However, this summer was different because by the time August rolled around Jungkook was just….over it.

He chalked it up to a lot of things.

The fact he didn’t get a proper haircut before the summer started, so he spent the whole time with a hair tie around his wrist to tie his hair back from his sweaty neck.

The fact he had a song coming out at the end of August that he still wasn’t completely sure about so he spent most of his days either working on it in his studio or from the comfort of his own home.

Or maybe it was the fact almost all summer long the weather had been very hot and very humid, making his clothes stick to his skin the second he walked out the door and making it almost impossible to actually enjoy going out and doing anything.

Jungkook sighed as he crossed another day off his calendar that hung on the wall in his home office counting down the days until August was over.

Sure the start of September was his birthday and he was excited for that but he was mostly getting excited about the prospect of cooler weather and no more daunting deadlines hanging over his head like an angry raincloud.

As his best friend, you could tell Jungkook wasn’t enjoying this summer. His usual free-spirited nature seemed to be crushed by the weight of his work and also the humidity, which seemed to linger no matter how many summer rainstorms blew through.

So you had texted him a week ago asking if he wanted to have a beach day with you today.

You assured him all he had to do was drive and grab beach umbrellas and you would take care of the rest for him, making the food and grabbing a cooler full of drinks.

Jungkook was ecstatic at the idea and made sure to work extra hard this past week to give himself a day off to spend with you.

However, that did pose another problem for Jungkook as he left his home office to head back to his bedroom to make sure his beach bag was packed.

Sunscreen, towel, extra towel in case, his goggles for when he swam, his phone, a book Namjoon had told him he should read even though it had been three months since it had been loaned out to Jungkook and he still had not even opened it, a notebook and a pen in case a song idea came to him, headphones, sunglasses and lastly some of his favorite chips he was packing just in case.

While he was all packed and ready to go, there was still a big problem he was dealing with.

How was he supposed to deal with being around you while you were dressed in one of your many sundresses?

Somewhere online had dubbed it a “sundress summer” due to the humidity and the trend took off instantly. It seemed like everywhere he went girls were wearing these short cute sundresses because in their words it was too hot to wear pants.

You usually were not a trend follower as you opted to choose your own style but this was a trend you could get behind, and soon enough Jungkook found you wearing sundresses almost every day.

Soft blue ones with little bows on the straps, bright red ones with white flowers, and even some strapless ones that nearly made his eyes pop out of his head at the sight.

He genuinely didn’t think he would survive this summer if you kept up with this, especially since most of the sundresses were short and had a habit of billowing in the breeze making you grab the skirt and giggle.

The other big problem was you had no idea the turmoil Jungkook had been in all summer long.

You both were friends, growing up across the street from each other and hanging out almost every day. You went to the same grade school, and the same high school, and were inseparable. You supported his dreams of being an idol and he supported your goals and dreams too.

You had no idea that this was the summer that everything changed for him. When he realized that you were not just his best friend, but also a charismatic stunning woman who he started to gain a crush on.

Jungkook tried his best to keep the crush to himself. He didn’t want to lose you as a friend and it would be devastating to get rejected by you so he figured he would just keep it hidden and keep being your friend.

He would try his best not to scowl anytime a man came up to you and offered to buy you a drink. He would pretend it didn’t hurt when you would kiss strangers at the club wrapping your fingers through their hair and moaning against their lips.

He hated that when you dropped a guy because of whatever reason, his heart would do a little victory dance in his chest and he would try to look like a supportive friend and not a desperate loser who just wanted you to feel the same way about him as he did about you.

There were times though, when Jungkook was sure you felt….something.

How your eyes would linger when he took off his shirt. How you would always ask him to roll up his sleeve so you could look at the array of tattoos he had, how angry you got when that girl he really liked ghosted him a year ago.

There were times when he would also catch you staring at his lips. Just a quick downward flick of your eyes and in a blink it was gone.

But Jungkook noticed.

And he often wondered what would happen if he leaned in and kissed you.

Would he have read the entire situation wrong? Or would you kiss him back?

Jungkook shakes his head to rid him of these thoughts as he scoops everything up and puts it in his beach bag muttering to himself how he is being silly about this whole thing.

He is your friend.

And that’s that.

His phone vibrates on his dresser startling him, as he zips the bag closed and grabs it.

You: I have all the goods we need! I’m so excited for our beach day Kookie. Text me when you want me to head over. Might take a bit because of Saturday traffic.

Jungkook smiles at your pet name for him even though you have used it a million times and he quickly texts you back letting you know he was ready and you could come over whenever.

Jungkook’s vehicle had more storage space so you were going to drive to his place and he was going to drive to the beach. Plus his car had a sunroof which you absolutely adored and you often put your hands above your head like you were on a rollercoaster to feel the wind between your fingers.

It made him smile every time and made his heart pound in his chest.

Those were the moments of pure bliss where he felt his heart would burst out of his chest at all the feelings he had for you.

Feelings he was still trying to desperately hide.

Namjoon of course found out one night when Jungkook had one too many drinks and spilled his guts about it. Namjoon was patient with Jungkook as he told the entire story, how the crush came out of nowhere, and how he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t lose you. He wouldn’t lose you.

As always Namjoon was the voice of reason and told Jungkook just to talk to you about it and Jungkook shot that idea down right away.

Namjoon promised to keep his mouth shut until Jungkook was ready to tell you himself which Jungkook vowed he would never… ever do. Your friendship was very important. He would take this secret with him to the grave.

With nothing else to do until you arrived, Jungkook shucked his beach bag off his bed and laid down.

He threw an arm over his face and let out a frustrated groan.

How the hell was he supposed to survive having a beach day with you? You were so beautiful. So sexy in your little sundresses, seeing you in a bathing suit would destroy him.

His mind wandered to last week when you met him for a lunch break you forced him to have because he was working so hard that he started skipping meals.

You showed up to his studio with food in hand and a little black sundress with small white and pink flowers scattered all over it.

The straps were so tiny and delicate and tied together with small pink bows and Jungkook couldn’t help but stare, as you brushed past him to put the food on the small coffee table he kept in his studio.

As you leaned down the dress climbed higher up your body, exposing more of your legs and the apex of your thighs to his hungry gaze and he couldn’t help it.

The blood rushed to his cock so quickly he felt dizzy as he scrambled to sit on the couch before you noticed he popped a boner because of you in that damn sundress.

You didn’t seem to notice as you sat next to him and chatted about your day as you ate alongside him.

Jungkook tried to focus on what you were saying, he really did, but his eyes kept trailing down to your thighs and how tanned they looked due to all the time you spent outside.

What he wouldn’t give to pull that dress up higher and expose more of yourself to him. What would you do if he got his fingers between those legs? How would you sound moaning out his name as he plunges a finger inside?

Back in the present time Jungkook groaned and squeezed his eyes shut.

He could hardly hear the sounds of the lawnmower outside, or the kids screaming down the block as blood was pounding in his ears and he looked down with a grimace as he was hard in his swim trunks.

Achingly hard.

Just the memory of you in that dress alone made his cock fill rapidly and the bulge was evident as his cock stretched the material.

Now was not the time to pop a boner as you were going to be showing up soon but he felt like if he didn’t take care of it now it would never go down so he slowly lifted his hips to shuck off his swim shorts throwing them somewhere on the floor and freeing his aching cock.

His cock sat hard and heavy on his stomach as the head of it was a flushed red color. Jungkook took his time tracing his tattooed hand down his body, shivering when the air conditioning turned on, turning his nipples hard as he finally made his way to his cock.

He circled his cock which twitched in his hand and he got to work.

He threw his head back and imagined what would happen if he did lift your dress higher that day.

How you would stare at him all wide-eyed and shocked as he exposed your pussy. How you would be wet and throbbing for him. He would of course ask for permission before touching you and you would admit you’ve wanted this for ages.

Jumgkook sped up his movements on his cock, flicking his wrist over the cockhead and smearing his precum down his heated shaft. He always got so messy and wet when he imagined you and the glide felt amazing.

In his mind’s eye, you were grabbing his arm for support as his other hand explored your pussy. He would part your pussy lips so gently and you would be soaked for him. You would arch up into his fingers and beg for his touch as he would finally coat his finger in your wetness.

He would pop it into his mouth and taste you as you would whine and beg him for more.

The taste of you would explode on his tongue and he knew the second it touched his tongue it was over for him. He would never want to taste anyone else but you.

Jungkook sped up his movements once again as his muscles started to strain. He was getting close as his thumb flicked over his cockhead sending jolts of pleasure down his spine.

He would lay you back on the couch in his studio and fuck you open with one finger. You would be so wet for him, so needy for him. Your dress hiked up to expose yourself, one strap falling off your shoulder as you whine out his name.

Jungkook tightens his grip on his cock and begins to fuck up into his fist. His head is thrown back and his dark hair is a mess on his pillow. He bites his bottom lip to keep from whining your name out loud. His cock is throbbing in his hand, hot and hard and so desperate to release all over his twitching stomach.

He wants to make you cum apart all over his fingers. He wants to tease you, taste you, fill you up with his cock, and make you moan his name.

His hand speeds up as his hips fuck his cock wildly up into his hand.

Sweat is starting to form on his brow and he is close, so close he can feel his muscles tighten and his balls draw up. His cock is a sticky mess as he is leaking so much precum the glide is impeccable and the wet sounds are obscene.

“Y/N.” He groans unable to keep his noises contained as the muscles on his arms are bulging as he rubs his hand across his frenulum collecting the mess there to slide it down his shaft.

Jungkook can feel the beginning of his orgasm as he cries out your name and tightens his hand around his shaft jerking his cock quickly as the pressure builds.

He is right there.

His balls tighten, and he can feel his shaft contracting and spasming. His heart rate is rapid and the hair on his arms stands up.

“Kook?” He hears a soft small voice call and his eyes snap open as panic seizes his body. He released his cock to grab a pillow to cover himself as his head whips around to see you standing there in one of your sundresses looking horrified.

Holy fuck.

“Y/N!” He cries out, shoving the pillow over his cock which is still thrumming with need and twitching painfully as his orgasm is still just right there but you are also standing....right there.

He sits up against the headboard and puts a hand over his racing heart as he stares at you wide-eyed in absolute horror.

He was jerking off to you. His best friend. Moaning your name. And you walked in on him caught in the act.

Holy fuck he was so fucked.

“I-texted you to let you know I was here but you didn’t answer. I remembered where you keep the spare key so I-l-Let myself in.” You stammered unable to look away as Jungkook wished the bed and floor would swallow him hole.

You had driven over so excited to see Jungkook today and you even wore your best sundress just for him.

The pale blue one with the small bow in between the built-in cups.

You made sure to get all his favorite foods and snacks as you knew he had been working himself to death and you wanted to treat him.

He didn’t answer your knocks or your texts so you figured maybe he had his music on too loud once again and didn’t hear you.

You put the key in the door and were met with utter silence, which was a little weird but you figured he was in the back getting the umbrellas or something so you made your way through his apartment until you heard a noise.

A soft grunt that had you worried. Maybe he hurt himself? Maybe he was sick?

You flew to his bedroom and there he was.

All sprawled out on the bed with his shorts discarded on the floor. He was still wearing his white tee shirt and had his head thrown back against his pillows with his legs spread wide exposing himself to you.

You knew you should leave, you knew this was a private moment but you couldn’t help but stare as he worked his cock with his hand.

He was big and even from where you stood you could see how wet his cock was and how slick he sounded when he jerked it.

You knew you should step away, maybe stand outside until it was over but you were rooted to the spot as you watched his hips arch up and the filthiest moans leave his pink parted lips.

And when he moaned your name

Dear god when he moaned your name you felt your own arousal pool in your bikini shorts as you gripped the door for support.

Jungkook moaning your name.

He was fantasizing about you

He was the most gorgeous man you had ever met and he chose to fantasize about you when he jerked off.

The whole thing felt unreal.

“I-I- You… you weren’t supposed to-I didn’t mean for you to- fuck.” Jungkook stuttered as you put your bag down on the floor and entered his room.

His large dark eyes widened when you made your way to the bed and you could see his fingers flexing on the decorative pillow he threw over his lap to cover himself.

“I-fuck- I’m so sorry you probably h-h-ate me and think I’m a pervert- I-I can-explain.” He stammers cheeks flushed with the prettiest blush you had ever seen.

Jungkook continued to stammer out apologies as you stared down at him in shock. His hair was a sweaty mess on his forehead and his chest was heaving. You could see his muscles straining through the white material of his shirt and his hand held the pillow firmly over his cock.

Was he still hard?

Was he still horny?

Was he actually jerking off to you?

“Y/N please say something. Please.” He begs in a small voice as your eyes finally meet his and he looks in anguish over the whole thing.

“Were you…jerking off….to me?” You ask in awe as he flushes further and sits up higher on the bed.

His teeth bite into his lower lip as you sit softly on the edge of the bed.

“I-I can-I-” He stammers.

“Yes or No Jungkook?” You ask firmly.

His eyes widen and he nods. He hangs his head in shame and you feel your pussy throb.

Jungkook, your best friend, the guy you have had a crush on since high school was hot and bothered because of you.

It made you beam in excitement.

“Show me.” You say boldly as his eyes snap to yours and widen in shock.

“I-Uh- W-What?” He says.

“I want to see you finish. Or help you finish. Show me, Koo?” You plead as his tongue comes out to lick at his lip and the tension in the room is thick like the humidity outside.

“You don’t hate me? Or think I’m creepy? You’re not going to yell at me?” He says doe eyes wide as his hand twitches on the pillow again.

“Of course not. Masturbation is normal. I’m honored you’re even thinking of me in the first place.” You say as you slowly run your hand down his forearm.

“I died. I must have died or hit my head cause there is no way this is real. Holy fuck.” He mutters as you giggle and Jungkook can feel his cock, which had gone immediately soft at being caught, start to thicken behind the pillow.

“This is real. And I gotta admit. It’s hot as fuck you think of me when you touch yourself.” You admit as he blinks shyly at you.

“Can’t help it. These sundresses…fuck.” He says fingering the fabric of your dress before running a shaky hand through his long hair.

“Show me, Koo? Please.” You beg and he nods slowly as his teeth bite into his lower lip harshly.

“Don’t bite your lip Koo you’re gonna make yourself bleed.” You whisper as he lets out a breathy nervous laugh.

“Can’t help it. ‘m nervous.” He admits.

“No need to be nervous. It’s just me.”

“That’s the problem. The girl I’m fantasizing about is right in front of me wanting to see me jerk off. I’m so pent up I’m scared I’m gonna bust a nut all over this pillow.” He whimpers as you giggle.

“Then you better get to work. Show me? Please, Koo? Wanna see up close.”

He nods and removes the pillow baring his half-hard cock to you.

You gasp when you see it and Jungook covers his eyes in embarassment.

Even half-hard his cock is beautiful. The head is flushed a pretty pink color and there is a vein running up it that makes your mouth water.

“So pretty Koo.” You praise, as he removes his hands and stares at you in awe.

He slowly takes his cock in his hand and begins to jerk it. You watch as the flushed head disappears between his fist and how he takes his time with himself, flicking his wrist occasionally making pretty beads of precum leak out the slit.

It doesn’t take long for him to get to full hardness and he lets go of his cock to show you how it smacks against his stomach.

He is rock hard and leaking and the vein that winds up his cock is a lot more prominent now as the head of his cock is now a pretty flushed red color and shiny, so shiny.

“Fuck Koo you are so big.” You whimper as without warning you wrap your hand around his cock and his hips arch up into your touch as a broken moan spills from his lips.

“Can I?” You ask with a quirk of your eyebrow as he nods frantically and you snicker.

You take your time with him jerking him the way you saw him do to himself. You flick your wrist when you get to the top and you use your thumb to smear the precum over the head of his cock and his slit. He is so velvety and warm under your touch you let out a soft whine as you jerk him.

Jungkook is a mess below you. His chest is heaving, his muscles are straining and he is trying his best to hold back and not cum the second you get your hands on him.

“F-Fuck I hate to say this b-but ‘m close.” He whines in panic.

“Can you hold back a little longer so I can taste you?” You ask innocently as he bites his bottom lip and closes his eyes trying to take deep breaths and stop the incessant throbbing of his cock. His denied orgasm from earlier was making him needy and he needed to calm himself down before he made a mess all over your fist.

You lean down and slowly give the head of his cock kitten licks. Jungkook moans above you and you grin as you finally take him into your mouth.

Your mouth is hot and wet and everything Jungkook had ever wanted as you suck him down, bobbing your head and humming around him, causing vibrations to run up his shaft.

With your other hand, you jerk him, picking up speed as you suck him off and when your tongue flicks over his frenulum Jungkook is a goner.

He croaks out your name and holds back your hair as he cums down your throat. No warning could have pulled you off his cock as you swallow everything he has to give, slowing your strokes and milking his cock for all that he has.

“S-Sensitive. Fuck.” He whines out as you pull off and open your mouth to show him proudly that you swallowed it all.

“You are trying to kill me. Holy fuck.” He breathes out as you giggle and curl up next to him, lacing your fingers together and waiting for him to come down from his high.

You can feel the uncomfortable wetness between your thighs but you don’t worry about that now as you bury your face in his chest and listen to his breathing settle.

“I’m dead. Like I’m actually dead. No way that happened.” He pondered as you giggle and pinch his side

“Ouch! What was that for!” He cries out as you sit up and smirk at him.

“Dead people can’t feel pinches. You are very much alive.” You say smiling down at him as sits crisscrossed on the bed and stares at you.

“You-You jerked me off.” He says

“I did.” You reply with a smug smile.

“I- I imagined I was fingering you and suddenly you were here…jerking me off.” He wonders aloud.

“Mm, you fingering me. That’s hot,” you say feeling your pussy throb.

“But we were friends aren’t we?” He asks in a small timid voice.

“Friends can jerk each other off. Though... I would like to be more than friends.” You reply feeling your heart racing in your chest.

“Like…fuck buddies?” He replies as his tongue comes out to lick at his lips and you can’t help but laugh.

“I was thinking we could go on a date.”

His eyes bulge and his cheeks turn a beautiful dusty pink.

“I’ve liked you for years now Koo. I didn’t think you felt the same but walking in on you… moaning my name…. Fuck.” You say running a hand through your hair.

Jungkook doesn’t respond.

And for a breath, you are worried you read the whole thing wrong and fucked this friendship up.

But then he leans forward, tangles his hands in your hair, and kisses you.

And you kiss him right back.

The kiss is passionate and wild. You press your lips hard into his and pour out all those days and weeks and months of looking at him and wishing he was yours. Jungkook moans against your mouth which gives you access to swipe your tongue along his lower lip as he groans.

“Fuc-Fuck I feel the same way.” He mutters against you as he flips you over with ease and has you pinned to the bed.

You giggle when you look up and see him overtop of you, his eyes wide with disbelief and his lips red and swollen.

He swoops in and kisses you again as you run your hands down his strong back and arch up into his touch. His lips move with yours and you boldly wrap your legs around his back to push his crotch into yours making him grunt against your mouth.

“Let me make you feel good.” He groans as you nod.

Jungkook fixes the pillows behind your head and gets to work peppering kisses on your cheeks and down your neck causing you to arch up into his touch and moan.

You are beyond needy at this point and when he tugs at the straps of your dress to kiss at your shoulders you moan out his name and flutter your eyes closed.

His lips feel like heaven and when he finally had enough kissing he kneels above you and you open your eyes.

“I never thought this day would come. You in a sundress, laying in my bed. Fuck I’m the luckiest guy alive.” He says as you smile up at him with adoration.

Jungkook’s warm hands come to rest on your thighs and he slowly and carefully lifts up your dress to expose your body to him.

His eyes widen when he takes in the black bathing suit bottoms you picked out which are modest enough for the beach but have two tantalizing ties at the sides holding the material together.

“Thank god I got you in my bed. It would have been so difficult seeing you in these bottoms without getting hard.” He admits as his hand toys with the ties and when he finally unties them both and pulls the fabric off of your body you are panting below him.

You snicker when you see his cock bobbing between his legs at the sight of you and he wraps a hand around himself to stroke his cock to ease some of the ache.

“Hey, you already got your turn!” You tease as he releases his cock and grins sheepishly at you.

“May I?” He asks and you nod, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth as his fingers part your folds and he swears under his breath.

“Fucking soaked for me. Just like I imagined.”

He gathers your wetness and brings it up to your clit as he rubs you in slow circles causing you to arch off the bed and whine out his name.

Jungkook continues to circle your clit agonizingly slow and he snickers when you beg him for more.

“How are we going to have sex and make it to the beach if you're going this slow.” You say as his eyes widen and his movements halt.

“Koo.” You whine as you grab at his wrist to get him to do something…anything.

“You want to have sex?” He asks shyly as you stare down at him.

“I’d like to. Only if you want to though. I’m okay with this too.” You admit as you see his cock twitching between his legs again.

“I want to have sex with you.” He says as he pulls you in for another rough kiss and his hands return to your pussy with enthusiasm.

“Can I slip a finger inside? Gotta prep you for my cock.” He growls against your lips as you nod and he gathers more wetness on his middle finger before slipping it inside your tight wet heat.

You cry out his name and grab onto his bicep as he thrusts his finger in and out of your body. He wastes no time adding another finger and the stretch makes you whine but he is careful and takes his time until you are moaning again and begging him to move.

He scissors his fingers causing you to flutter your eyes closed and arch up into his touch. Your whole body is on fire and when he curls his fingers you feel every muscle in your body start to tense as you grind down on them desperate for more.

You blindly reach down for his cock which is now standing hard and proud and when you circle it Jungkook hisses and uses his free hand to swat yours away.

You open your eyes to frown at him but he curls his fingers up inside you again and you are seeing stars.

“I’ll cum if you jerk me off Y/N. I swear this is so hot I’m so fucking hard right now. Don’t wanna cum around your fist.” he explains as you grin.

“Then fuck me and cum inside me instead.” You offer as he removes his fingers and you open your eyes in time to see him pop them in his mouth.

You gasp as he licks your slick off his fingers moaning at the taste and your pussy throbs impatiently as he takes his time.

“Koo please.” You beg as he finally gets his fingers clean and he hops off the bed to retrieve a condom.

You watch as he rips open the packet and rolls the condom down his length. He strokes himself and whimpers, which makes you smile to know he is just as desperate as you are

“How do you want it?” He asks hovering above you, lips inches from your own.

“Doesn’t matter just want you.”

He carefully drags your body to the end of the bed and you giggle when he opens your legs and wraps them around his torso.

You stare up at him as he takes his time to tie back his hair.

“Koo. Don’t tease.” You whine impatiently as he finally gets his hair tied back and he grabs the base of his cock to position himself at your wet folds.

“I’m gonna be honest with you. I don’t know how long I’m gonna last.” He admits as he teases your slit with his cockhead soaking it in your wetness and you whine out in impatience.

“I don’t care about you lasting. Just fuck me already before I do it myself.” You beg as he finally slips his cockhead inside and in one smooth thrust he buries himself as deep inside of you as he can go.

You squeeze your eyes shut and wince at the stretch and Jungkook leans down to press soft kisses to your forehead and cheeks.

“Doing so well for me. Deep breaths now. So fucking tight around my cock. You are so wet for me. Fuck you feel heavenly.” He praises as he shallowly thrusts inside of you letting your body adjust to his girth and giving you all the time you need.

“Baby, are you already throbbing around me?” He teases as you open your eyes to playfully smack his arm and he shoots you his classic bunny smile.

“Sh-Shut up.” You plead as he begins to give you harder and deeper thrusts and your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He feels so good inside of you. The way his cock drags against your walls has you crying out his name and when he starts to really thrust deep you swear you can feel him in your stomach.

“Fu-Fuck Koo. Feel so good.” You cry out as he holds your legs steady and thrusts his cock inside you, arching his hips so he can hit your G-spot with every thrust.

“Wh-Why are you so good at this what the fuck?” You grit out as he chuckles above you and pushes your legs higher so he can hit deeper inside of you.

“Are you a-actually mad at me for being good at sex?” He taunts you as you decide to get back at him by squeezing his cock with your walls which makes him grunt and fuck you harder and faster.

“No, I’m m-mad we waited so long to do this. Fuck.”

Jungkook picks up speed on his thrusts all the while you are powerless on the bed as you take what he gives you. You claw at the bedspread and moan his name as you feel the coil of pleasure get tighter in your stomach and by the way Jungkook is thrusting you know he is close too.

“C-Close. Koo. Please. M-More.” You beg not even able to make a coherent sentence but lucky for you Jungkook knows what you mean as he brings a free hand down to rub at your clit and you cry out his name and grind down on his cock desperately trying to meet his thrusts and chase your ever building high.

Your whole body is on fire, everything is strung tight and you can feel your pussy start to spasm around his cock.

“C-Close.” You cry out in warning as he thrusts into you with such force it pushes you up the bed.

“Cum for me Y/N. Cum around my cock. Be a good girl and cum for me.” He demands and you lose it.

You arch up and close your eyes as you shout out his name and cum hard around his cock. You feel your walls clamp around him as Jungkok groans and throws his head back cumming hard into the condom as your walls keep his cock from thrusting inside of you.

Waves of pleasure roll off you both as Jungook releases your legs and slumps down over top of you keeping his cock inside until you are done riding out your high.

The only sounds in the room are both of your heavy breathing as he finally slips out and leaves to go get cleaned up.

You feel weightless as you lay on the bed and press a hand to your heart as you try to even out your breathing.

Jungkook comes back with water and a warm towel and takes his time opening your legs and cleaning you up as you stare at the ceiling in a post-sex haze.

He lays down beside you and you curl up into his chest as he strokes your hair and praises you for how well you did.

There is a welcome ache between your legs from how roughly he fucked you but you find you don’t mind too much as he wraps his arms around you caging you against his chest.

“That was incredible.” He says as you finally open your eyes to look at him.

His hair was coming out of its bun and tendrils were falling in front of his eyes. You reach up to push them away and smile. He was so handsome.

“That was very incredible holy shit we shouldn’t have waited so long.” You say as you both hear a noise outside and look up to see the sky had grown dark and a heavy rain was coming down.

“Oh shit.” You giggle as you both sit up and stare at the rainstorm outside.

“Guess no beach day for us.” He says smoothing down your hair as you lean in to kiss him softly.

“How about a movie day instead? I still brought snacks and drinks.” You say as he nods and carries you off the bed to the living room and you giggle the entire way.

Permanent taglist

@caught-in-the-afterglow

@hearteyes4hobi

@m00njinnie

@stayonmars

@marihoneywk

@mustbeaweasleyginger

@xmspurple7x

@taekritimin123

@lerasi

@dejaariana

#Jeon Jungkook #Jungkook #Jungkook fic #Jungkook smut #Jungkook/reader smut #bts fic #bts smut #bangtan

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katiedido2 · 2 years ago

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I wear sunscreen religiously (it's the only thing I'm religious about) because I'm very pale and prone to turning boiled lobster red, which is painful, unattractive, and comes with the inevitable peeling.

I became more religious about it after I read in 2019 that dermatologists in the US & UK were seeing an increase in skin cancer on people's ears from the time they spend in their cars, commuting to/from work. Idk about you, but I'm not keen on having a piece of my ear removed by something that could've been prevented.

I'm genuinely curious, I don't wear sunscreen unless I'm gonna be in the sun all day or I just put some on my tattoos

Also like throw in the tags what you call it because I know it's one of those things that changes depending on where you grew up

#wear sunscreen #save an ear #or nose #or your eyelid #also helps reduce signs of aging #if thats important to you

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dabisbratz · 1 year ago

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𝒮𝒲𝐸𝐸𝒯 𝒯𝒪𝒪𝒯𝐻 — shouta aizawa x male reader

w.c: 12.4k

warning: dbf!shouta, age gap, (sho in his early 40s, reader is 23), bottom!reader, daddy kink, breeding kink, dirty talk, feminization, mentions of gettin ‘knocked up’ regardless of anatomy, sneaking around, creampie, unprotected sex ( wear condoms ! ), praise/degradation, brat!reader, jealousy, mutual teasing, reader has an oral fixation, improper use of lollipops, mentions of exhibitionism, blowjobs, cumming untouched/hands free orgasm, ‘ taboo ’

sonny says..: not proof read, msorry !! did lotsa jumpin around while writin this. . . n five months later !! she’s all done !! ໒꒰ྀི⸝⸝T ˘ T⸝⸝꒱ྀི১ ♡ m’a lil rusty, forgive me !!

You’re back home for the summer.

Well— not entirely. You’re back at your family’s summer house for the season. Gifted from your grandparents, it teeters at the beginning of a beach, crystal sands and clear, blue waters that stretch out into the horizon. You’ve been looking forward to it since you’d graduated, even if it did come with a set of overbearing parents and a sinful amount of sunscreen.

The air is hot and thick, sticking uncomfortably to your skin through the windshield as you watch an everlasting stretch of greenery and trees pass you by. The road has stretched on for miles, every upcoming exit and street sign blending into one as each hour passes by. You’ve got the company of staticky radio stations and news outlets, spewing something nonsensical about sports, politics, car insurance. . . But it’s the trip you enjoy more than the destination. Traffic and all, you prefer it over the muggy air and parental scolding. Though, the beach is nice. . .

“You’re sure you’re taking the right route?” It’s your mother speaking, her voice crackling through the speakers of your car. You’re sure she’d smack you upside the head for the aggressive roll of your eyes in her. . . general direction, but she’s not exactly within eye-contact distance. Not for another five minutes, anyway.

“I’ve been doing this for years,” You have— it’s true. Though you’re only twenty-two, you’d driven this distance since you’d left for college. There’s a sound akin to the sucking of teeth through the radio, and you have half the mind to turn around and restart your road-trip all over again.

“Why’s there so much attitude in your voice?” Her cheerful, smiley voice suddenly sounds much more shrill, to your chagrin. You thrum your fingers along the leather of the steering wheel, biting back a long, drawn out groan.

“There isn’t any,” Gravel crackles under the weight of your rubber-tire car, snapping and popping into the air as it makes a smooth halt into the driveway. Shifting gears to park, the radio switches off with the twist of your keys. And, perhaps with more force than necessary, you’re slamming the door to your car and face to face with your mother. Her phone is still in hand, eyebrows pinched at the thought of her very own son hanging up on her. “. . . attitude, Ma.”

She hugs you with a squeal, ushering you up the stairs to your childhood ‘home.’ It’s almost exactly like you’d left it— save for a few recent porch decorations and repainted walls. You hope the years have been kind to it, with the irregular weather and constant pipe problems. Floorboards creak under your weight, welcoming you home after a few long years of studies. There’s an everlasting stream of bubbly speech behind you, your mom speaking, but there’s already so much to take in.

The air is fresh and salty, hints of beachy winds flowing upstream through the doorway. It smells like home, and looks like it too, as you situate your small duffel bag by the stairs that lead to the bedrooms. Your room. You hadn’t packed much— there was still a dresser overflowing with old clothes in your bedroom, after all. And now that you think about it, you should probably change into something more fitting for the weather.

“I know you just got here,” The sound of ice swirling against glass catches your attention, and you turn to face your mother. “But could you bring these out to your father?” She’s holding a tray of decorative glasses— or at least, you’d always thought they were— full of oblong ice and freshly squeezed lemonade. The glasses are stocky enough to adorn lollipops— one each, which are probably sickeningly sour. Topped with tiny, colorful umbrellas and intricate swirling straws. It’s almost like she’s trying to impress someone, with the way she’s put so much effort into the drink’s presentation.

Your lips curl to form a playful ‘no’, a boyish smile pulling at your cheeks when she huffs— as if she already knows what you’re about to do. So you shake your head instead, stealing the tray with one hand, “Let me change first.”

In hindsight, wearing clothes about. . four years too small wasn’t a great idea. The shorts that once fit you perfectly— before your growth spurt— are now much too short, like they’ve been tossed around in the laundry one too many times. You feel almost naked, moving the pink hem down with the shake of your legs.

Your mother insists they look just fine, a dramatic downturn to her lips as she rambles on and on about how fast her boy has grown up. Still, as you walk through the sliding glass doors parallel to the open patio, the sunlight bathing your legs does nothing but make you feel stuck under a rapidly growing spotlight.

It all clicks as you walk outside— the detailed drinks, the smell of barbecue and fresh coal. There is someone she’s trying to impress, someone other than your father. Maybe both of them. On a good day.

Wiping the bead of sweat from your brow, your eyes squint at the man in front of you. Around your dad’s age— maybe slightly younger, he stands at a whopping six foot something. There’s age in his face, and worry between his brows as if he’d spent most of his youth grimacing. His hair is long and black like charcoal, save for a few streaks of gray and a salt and pepper ensemble of stubble littering his chin and jaw. Two scars— forming a cross of sorts, one beneath his right eye, horizontal and thin. But the other is much longer, starting below his brow and ending at his cheekbone. It draws your eyes to a milky gray iris— heavily contrasting against the natural black-brown of his left one. It’s pretty, cloudy and almost pearlescent.

His silhouette— tall and thick, with broad shoulders that travel on and on as he crosses thick biceps over his thick chest. He’s standing in the way of the sun, and yet, it peeks through his long hair in small, short leaks. And, surprisingly, his waist is small in his black tank top. If you feel hot he must be scorching, draped in black— down to the beaded bracelet adorning his wrist. His hands— they’re big, maybe enough to cover the entirety of your face, curled into loose fists at his biceps.

And— right, you’re here to help, not gawk. But you can’t help it, shifting your weight from one leg to another as his intimidating gaze slowly sweeps you over. He’s like sex on legs, and if you can squint enough to get the sun out your eyes, you swear you can see the imprint of his cock through his black shorts.

“Uh,” You blink dumbly after introducing yourself, and suddenly the tray you’re holding is weightless. “Ma made these. I’m supposed to help. . . or something. . .”

“Or something.” The man echoes, but it’s quiet and you barely catch it. His voice is deep, way deeper than your own, rumbling in your ears and smooth like butter. Almost husky, with a dark edge to it as flames roar in his face. But it makes your father laugh, hearty and jubilant as he bounces over to where you stand. He gives you a small pat on the back as a greeting, ushering out a small, “son.”

The heat emitting off the grill is enough to make a grown man cry, but neither of you wince when you walk by it. Cold glasses of lemonade are handed out, fingers imprinted on cold condensation painting the surfaces of each glass as they’re passed around— one for you, one for your dad, another for him. You watch rivulets of water drip from his fingertips, down his wrist, past the collection of veins adorning his forearm.

“Mr. Aizawa,” There’s a beat of silence, but it’s quickly filled once you’ve been introduced. “World’s cruelest teacher.”

“Shouta Aizawa.” Is all he says, a correction of sorts, voice grumbly as his fingertips brush against your knuckles. Your eyes flicker down to where he’d touched you, his skin warm and inviting despite the roughness of his palms. You see now, that he’s accompanying your father, occasionally taking over when he walks back into the house every. . . five minutes or so.

“An old friend of mine, we go way back.” Your parents have an odd habit of rambling, it seems, because you and the handsome stranger make exasperated eye contact as your dad begins to reminisce on old memories. “You met him a few times— remember? He’ll be staying with us, so be respectful, you hear me?” His gaze seems to dip for a moment, down your lips and straight to the extra exposed skin of your thighs, then settle back to the ocean before you can comment.

But those five minutes must start now, because after a firm squeeze to your shoulder your father heads inside, leaving you alone with his. . . friend. He’s awfully quiet, busying himself as the patio door slides shut— occasionally sighing as he wipes away the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. It’s obvious you’re staring, maybe a bit too hard, but he’s the best scene around, really. Even with the beach right behind him.

And maybe it’s wrong to think this way— but he’s hot. Old enough to be your dad and then some, sure, but it doesn’t make him any less attractive. He almost makes you nervous, the slow blink of his eyes as he pays you no mind.

“So you’re staying with us, huh?” You eye the juicy meat he’s been flipping for the last five minutes, golden brown and sizzling in the heat. It’s rather thick, soon to be lazily flattened by the tongs he's holding and— you can’t help but wonder. . . Is he good with his hands?

“Don’t make a habit of asking strange old men questions like that.” It’s not entirely clear if he’s serious or not, but he’s certainly assertive. Like a firm, guiding hand placed at the nape of your neck. Your eyebrows pinch in confusion, but before you can ask what he means, it clicks. You’d said it out loud, let it float into the air like an everyday, casual question. But Aizawa doesn’t seem exactly bothered, more passive (if anything), as he takes a swig of the fruity, sour concoction.

“You’re not strange.” Is what you conclude, slamming the tray down hard enough to rattle its contents, and the man notes your lack of regard. Even with a slight spill you don’t bother to clean, you’re already turning to walk off the patio and dig your toes into the hot sand before it can be mentioned— but not without plucking a lemon coated lollipop free from its icy enclosure of glass. There’s an arrangement of seashells hidden beneath the coarse mounds of the glimmering seaside. Different sizes and colors, different textures and shapes. Where some would scrape the soles of your feet, others would glide across them. But as a kid you’d liked the search for tiny crabs much more than the search for shells. Though you’re much older now, you’re not afraid to say you miss it.

“But I’m old?” Aizawa says, not too far behind you from where he stands. There’s a light glint of dry humor in his voice that sends butterflies down your throat and straight into your stomach.

“Yeah. Old enough.” Your small laughter is sweet, dancing in the air in a way that has Shouta nearly pressing his palm flat into the skillet— just to check if his heart is still beating. What do you mean by that, anyway?

There’s a divot where the tightness of your shorts dip into your skin, pressing against the plush skin of your ass whenever you bend over. Even as you’re upright, Shouta can’t stand to look for too long— you’re a real, proper, honest and genuine distraction. Yet here he is, watching you move around on your hands and knees, ass taut and round— shorts tight enough to show off the cute bulge of your balls from behind. And now that he’s really looking, it’s obvious you’re not wearing anything underneath.

He shakes his head, grunting to himself as he peels processed cheese free from its plastic packaging. You just met, that’s not right, you’re simply just minding your own.

“Ugh!” You share a groan, and for completely different reasons. Aizawa can’t help but watch you scramble in the sand, presumably after whatever sea-creature that had the pleasure to pinch you right on the finger. But you seem happy once it’s retrieved, stuck in the seclusion of its tiny shell as you hold it in your palm. From what he can see, you’re not much of a brat at all. Maybe your parents are just too hard on you. He’s always known them to be dramatics.

Still, he has half the mind to drag you over by your ankle, or maybe to press your handsome face into the sand while he fucks you from behind. Ever since you’d brought out that damned lemonade— tugging on the hem of the fabric as if you’d suddenly grown conscious of just how short they were— he’d been hard. And now he has to listen to you grunt and groan over the smallest of injuries. . . His best friend’s son, his presumed pride and joy.

He’s fucked.

From where he stands, slightly elevated, he can see the bulge of the sweet protruding from your cheeks, stuck afore your teeth. Cute, as it swishes from side to side, stuck in your mouth as your occupied fingers caress the diaphanous shell in the palm of your hand. Your lips move, puckered, around the sucker, curled and glossy with molten sugar— it’s hard to make out exactly what words your mouth forms, yet Shouta doesn’t think he’d be able to listen anyway.

Turns out the creature was a hermit crab.

Shouta learns this at dinner, the day’s hard work shared on plastic platters and glass

bottles in the middle of the beach. There’s a roaring flame between the four of you, it casts golden embers along your skin every so often, crackling into the air. Cicadas chirp with the night’s welcome, loud and joyful in retaliation to the silent, serene fireflies and settling ocean.

You’re all sipping on beers, some more than others, but it’s enough to loosen everyone up. Even Shouta, whose eyes look lidded with sleep the more he drinks. He’s not incoherent, he never is. If anything he’s observant. For one, you have an awful habit of holding onto this evening’s lollipop, it seems, as you have it situated between your fingers like a cigarette. Sometimes your grip around it tightens, like when your mother wraps her hand around his bicep, squeezing the flesh in small, sporadic rounds. And though neither of you want to say it, let alone think it— you’re jealous. That’s the second thing.

Even with Shouta’s knee brushing against your own, you can’t help it. He’s so warm, muscly legs pressed against your own in a manner that’s almost electrifying. You want it all to yourself, to suffocate in his heat and capable hands.

You zone out of the conversation, blinking at the fire with reserved eyes until a thick screwer pokes at the flesh of your shoulder, leaving behind a tiny dimple. Jet black hair invades your vision for a moment, smelling of faint seasalt and warm cologne, until you turn, “What?”

“You want chocolate on your marshmallow, right?” Your mother asks for him, squeezing a transparent bag of thick, soft marshmallows. It’s tossed to you in a flash, to which you catch, but not before stealing a glance at the man beside you. His jaw sets, poking out from the mass of stubble. Like she’d stolen a precious moment away.

“Right,” You mumble, stabbing the skewer through the excessive amount of sugar. The stick hovers above the fire, the sweet melting to a crisp, flaky brown. Sticky and gooey, it slowly begins to lose its form. Through all the conversation you can’t help but glance at the older man to your left, taking in the glow of yellow and orange caressing his tan skin. His silhouette is bold and broad, legs spread wide as he sits on a thick log. What was once brown turns a deep, dark charcoal. “Oh, shit! Fuck. I meant shoot, sorry.”

You’re not supposed to swear in front of your parents— Aizawa’s paternal intuition picks that up. But shoving the marshmallow into your mouth, even as it has yet to cool down, he doesn’t quite get. Either way, your expression. . . it’s sickeningly cute. It’s cute to watch you fumble. With lips pursed into a tight line, cheeks bitten and eyebrows pinched with apology despite how obviously uncomfortable you are with the piping, burnt sugar spreading along your tongue.

His heart could almost burst.

“You’re fine, kid.” Shouta’s voice is a gentle whisper, airy like the waves brushing against the shore. With his eyes caught on the sticky white lingering on your cheek, he's desperately aware you’re not a kid. The way you move and speak, the way you carry yourself. The way you suck on lollipops like they’re something else. He’s never been one for dirty jokes or subtle innuendos but. . . yeah, this is doing something to him. His fingers twitch with want, the desire to wipe it away and rub his thumb along your lips. He should really get it together.

And maybe the fact that he’s more worried about your parents being in the way than the fact that they’re your parents proves that.

But they’re pretty preoccupied, lost in conversation neither of you are exactly interested in. Whirling his own marshmallow, chocolate melts down its fluffy outside. It’s steaming, hot and fluffy after twirling around the fire. Looking at it now, it looks comically small in his large hands, much bigger than your own. His lips part, cool air leaving the ‘o’ shaped mold of his mouth as he blows on it with a low, “Here.”

There they go again, mouth open as your pink tongue covers your row of bottom teeth, Shouta doesn’t let go of the skewer despite the light squeezes you press along his knuckles. Instead he holds on tighter, lifting and reaching until the desert melts in your mouth and sticks to your lips. Messy on purpose, your heart plummets into your tummy when dark eyes watch marshmallow fluff pull away from between your teeth. Hungry, starving.

“I can do it myself.” You mumble, wondering if the heat prickling your skin is from the brush of his fingers against your own or the wilting fire.

“Can you?” His expression is tired and flat, but his voice tilts with blooming amusement. It’s odd, the way you’re so quick to shut him down. You almost respond more openly when you hear sneaky comments or listen to gossip— ‘that boy just doesn’t know what to stop,’ ‘why’s he such a smartass?’ — spoken about you directly by you.

“Yeah,” There’s a shine in your eye that isn’t just a product of the glowing fire. Mischievous, almost. “I don’t break that easily.”

Shouta could definitely take your dad in a fight. It’s the first thing that pops into mind as the two of you stand in the dark, dimly lit kitchen. Your parents had gone off to bed almost an hour ago, and with the clock approaching half past midnight, it leaves you two alone. So, yes, he’s considering who would win in a brawl because he can’t stop staring at his best friend’s son and his pretty, kissable lips.

They’re sheen with spit, your pink tongue licking them over as you scrub away yesterday’s dirt from the kitchen counter. It’s a noncommittal motion, your arms wiping suds and heavy contents of water along the granite surface. Yet you seem absolutely dead-set on getting that one stain. The stain that has your ass brushing against his side, bare skin rippling the harder, lazier, you scrub. Not that there’s even a stain to clean.

Yep. He’s fucked.

You suppose he should be focusing on the dishes— not that there’s much of those either— but his attention strays.

It carries him through the motion of leaning over, his body practically draping your own as you bend at the waist. Black hair again, wisps of it, lightly pressed against your back as he leans down, lips by the shell of your ear and an arm trapping you in. His cock is pressed right against the swell of your ass, and he may have to consider slipping it between his waistband.

“I think you got it.”

“Oh, really?” Your hips are moving again, side to side as you scrub shapes into nothing. “Double check for me?”

A low groan sounds behind you, big hands at your thighs that squeeze enough to have the plush skin bruised and tender in the morning. His hand travels, snaking up your thighs to meet the silky skin of your ass. Spread nicely with the way you’re bent over, warmth radiating off each globe as his thick pointer finger loops around the thin layer of pink cotton pressing against your balls.

It’d be so easy, perfect access to slip his thick cock into the warm, tight walls of your hole and pound you against the counter. You could sit on his dick for the whole day, drooling and dumb the more the head kisses your prostate again and again and again. Your Daddy could fuck you on your dad’s favorite sofa, make it squeal and whine under the weight of him filling your fucked-out and used cunt over and over.

Dark pupils blow wide as he pulls the fabric away, watching your hole flutter around nothing. He coos, sweet and deep. Just give him a minute, he’ll give you everything you need. Everything and more, until you’re a braindead fucktoy with glassy eyes and sticky, dripping holes. Until—

You’ve slipped past his arm, twisting as your growling stomach makes itself known. You inhale a quivering breath through your nose, eyes wide and expecting and waiting. His best friend’s son, wriggling and writhing under his palms, handsome face twisting as pearly teeth bite at your stout bottom lip.

He’s almost frustrated with himself, voice flat and distant when you puff out your cheeks. Forget a distraction— you’re a real, honest brat. “You’re still hungry.”

“I’m a growing man, Sho.” It’s almost consequential how your voice cracks, breathy and teetering the edge of a whine as he releases his grip on your body. Light from the fridge illuminates your silhouette in a yellow, halo-adjacent glow, and once again Shouta is staring a little too hard at his best friend’s son as he bends forward at the waist.

Aizawa weighs the juxtaposition between the middle of that sentence for a moment before his breath catches in your throat. Sho. You’d called him by a nickname, ten times sweeter than the candied fruit (grapes, are they?) you’re now sinking your teeth into. You’ve grown alright, and the proof stands hard, throbbing, and pressing against your shorts once you’ve returned to face him. It’s obvious your ploy with the fruit was just something to keep your mind off cumming in your cute, soft shorts— but he’d honestly have preferred to see that.

“I can see that.”

Rough palms press into your jaw— firm, but not aggressive, until fingers close and clasp at your cheeks. A dissolving layer of baby fat at your cheeks spills between his stern fingers, and you blink as the older man turns your face from left to right, then reverse. Seems he’s got a nasty habit of looking you over, breaking you down— bare bones. You still have enough room to chew, teeth grinding on the crystallized sugar with a hard and resounding crunch.

There’s always something in your mouth.

Dark eyes flicker to the lump appearing and disappearing in your throat as you swallow, sweet sugar dotting your lips, “You’re hard.”

“Yeah,” It earns a dark chuckle, though there’s not much light humor in it, “So are you.” His lips curl as he releases his grip, slow and lingering.

“Usually,” your gaze drops to his lips. “When two men,” Then up to his deep, dark eyes as you press against him, chest to chest. His cock twitches against the heat of your body, you can imagine it now— thick and pretty, curved upward with a sticky head and throbbing, heavy veins. “Make eachother. . . hard, they—”

A door slams upstairs, the air going still as your breath catches in your throat. As if that single disturbance has stolen all the oxygen in the world, your body goes rigid and stiff, and the sound of tired steps make their way descending down wooden stairs. The candied grapes are swapped for thick fingers, with light peppers of hair at the knuckles, and you can’t help but suck the seasalt right off.

“Behave.” He takes a single step back, dripping with indubitable authority that makes you feel light and airy. Ready to bend at his will with lazy eyelids and hazy eyes. It’s not a question, not a suggestion— it’s a demand.

“You’re still up,” Your father, shameless as he walks by the two of you with barely any coverings, makes a sleepy gesture in your general direction as he opens the fridge. “Both of you, huh?” He sounds faintly out of breath, and his skin sheen. The mental implications make you cringe, taking a step toward the characteristically nonchalant man who’d just stepped away from you.

Shouta’s eyes narrow.

“Don’t tell me I’m being replaced!” He’s always been a loud man, your father, but it seems tonight his one-too-many beers have finally caught up to him. It’s just a joke, the both of you know it, but you can’t help the prickle of heat poking at your throat. You’re pulled in by the back of your head, your father’s hand pressed against your hair as he holds you in a firm side-hug, “Rather Mr. Aizawa be your old man?”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Your smile is wide and tantalizing, heavy and dripping with something that has yet to be named. “Are you a good Daddy, Mr. Aizawa?”

Then, his eye twitches, “When I want to be.”

Your laugh is instantaneous and loud, an awkward thing that stretches into deep silence. There’s a lot of things you’d like Mr. Aizawa to be— rough, gentle, sweet, and mean. But your dad? It’s laughable, and couldn’t be farther from the truth. And sure, maybe the title you'd like to use on him sounds similar, but they’re most definitely not the same. If only he knew.

“I’m sure you’re the best,” He watches you smile, opposite ends of your mouth pulling at your cheeks in a motion that doesn’t quite meet your eyes— but it’s convincing enough. “Better than your other friends, right Dad?”

Shouta is avoiding you.

You know it, you can tell! He’s always gone nowadays— a couple weeks into your vacation and you can only count a mere handful of the times you remember seeing him. You’ve barely talked, barely stole a few glances here and there— he may as well have disappeared. He’s out somewhere, somewhere that involves your father, and the ocean, and his generously sized deck-boat. You don’t want to say it, but you know you’re the reason why. You’ve gone a bit overboard, perhaps, with the flirting. Ever since that night— even before then, it’d become a natural habit of yours to call the man Daddy.

And, now, he’s grown even closer to your parents because of it. Whenever you come down for breakfast they’ve already finished, leaving your plate in the microwave— as if you’d want cold, limp eggs and soggy, get charred bacon. You want to scream, really. There’s your mother, who leaves lingering touches and bats her eyelashes like some sort of schoolgirl. You feel almost evil for the rage that sears your blood— even more so when your first thought is she’s pushing fifty.

Then there’s your father. Who is and always will be, not if you can help it, closer to Shouta than you ever will be. They drink together a lot, the guest more in moderation, but it still hurts to see them laugh about old times— over, and over, and over again. Even when you’re the topic of conversation, despite your presence being completely ignored, it hurts. You’re right here.

So you mope, lounging around in your swim trunks. Your skin sticks to every surface, humid and thick as your mother complains to you about getting some sun, stepping out the house, then something about how you need to fix the look on your face. She says the warm rays on your skin will do you some good, the salty water of the sea against your body will toughen up your bones and loosen your muscles. But there’s really only one thing on your mind.

It trickles into about an hour and a half when Mr. Aizawa finally comes back. Your father too, you suppose, with flushed cheeks that only sake can replicate. It’s once you’ve been pulled outside and forced to stand in wet, thick sand that washes away from your feet with every sweep of the shore— that they return. Once the sun has begun to set, yet still bright enough to have your brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, they return.

“There’s my boy!” No one’s boy, actually. Your father shouts with an intoxicated wave, and the grimace on Shouta’s face is hidden behind his whipping hair as he slows the boat to a stop.

Or at least, you think so. It’s hard to see with the sun in your eyes, yellow and orange flakes of the gold star percolating your vision.

It dances along the surface of the ocean, pretty and shimmering the closer you step, the further you go, until you’re submerged in water from your knees—down. There’s a shout, something akin to a ‘catch!’, and you have barely any time to react to the ball that’s flying to you with an oddly precise amount of speed and velocity. You gasp, whipping your head back to catch the ball between two sea-soaked hands.

“What the hell?!” Your hands sting, pretty eyes blinking back at the two silhouettes in your vicinity. Mainly at Aizawa, who hasn’t even acknowledged you, let alone looked away from the resplendent horizon. And what’s so good about that? Of all things to look at— you’re right here! You don’t leave with the setting sun, nor do you only ever arrive with the rising one. You’re a constant, and you know you don’t hurt to look at.

So you throw the ball back, all your force behind it with a smug look on your face until it smacks Shouta in the leg— right in the center of his calf with a horrifying thump of a sound.

“Fuck,” You shout in horror, despite it all. Despite the desire to maul him the last few weeks, rushing forward into the water with the cutest tremor to your brows. “Fuck, okay, shit, my bad!”

And it seems you can’t move fast enough to wade through the rippling waves, where schools of tiny, nipping fish and textured shells had twirled and danced about through the currents of pellucid water. But Shouta seems just fine, almost as if he’d forgotten how to react to the feeling of getting punted with a ball at full force. He picks it up, waves it in his large palm, and throws it back. You can hear it tear through the air, just as it smacks you in the shoulder with so much force you don’t register it at first.

Numbness spreads along your arm, eyes blinking up at the older man who laughs. It’s quiet yet hearty, and not at all a pretty sound. It’s more contagious if anything, a wheeze of sorts, but your lips still curl into a petty frown regardless. You can make out a huff of “Your face!” broken up with laughter, biting back on his tongue.

“I’m not laughing.” You grumble, rubbing at your shoulder with faux diligence.

There’s an eerie smile on his face, enough to send shivers down your spine as water drapes your face and drips down your body— boat engine revving with ferocity as the men float off into the boarding dock— Aizawa’s presence arrives just as fast as it leaves.

You’re left to your devices, gawking as you process the last few minutes— his smile, your brattiness and stupidity, the way you’d only just noticed his prosthetic leg— at the mention you can feel miscellaneous fish brush against your own, scales shining through the transparent waters. You can’t help but smile too, wiping it away with the back of your water-draped forearm. Fuck.

It’s only been a month and you’re smitten. He’d left you in favor of your father again, and all you can do is giggle about it.

There’s not much you know about the man— now that you think about it. There’s been a brief drunken mention of him having kids of his own, a little girl, you think. Maybe a son? Despite his affliction for quiet, Aizawa looks as though there’s more he wants to say. To share, to tell. Your father must know it all, seeing as they grew up together, and part of you can’t help but feel a bit jealous.

Hmph.

“What’re you sulking for?” His voice has broken you out of a daydream, turning your body to look him in the eyes. The man of the hour— Shouta. You almost hate how quick you are to melt under his gaze, squaring your shoulders with the stability of poorly glued popsicle sticks.“That ball bounce off your head, too?”

“I’m not sulking.” You watch him walk around the perimeter of the shore, slow and calculating, with his hands balled up in the fabric of his black t-shirt. He pulls it overhead, tummy contracting and biceps rippling— it still manages to catch you by surprise, how much muscle he’s hiding under his baggy clothes. Your brain sets off a symphony of ooh’s and ahh’s, unable to tear your gaze from the light rise and fall of his chest.

Your eyes trail back up, past the bend of his collarbones, up the display of stubble on his throat— he’s staring right at you.

“Uh — I wasn’t. . anyway. . What’re you looking at?”

His lips twitch, briefly pressed together before relaxing as he steps into the cold water. He’s slow, hair rippling just as smooth as the ocean, the further he moves forward. And, despite that, he slowly curls a finger to and fro, as if he’s talking to a small kitten. “C’mere.”

You’re frowning when you trudge forward, hesitance in your step. “Mr. Aizawa,” you grumble, still something of a cute little sound, using the prefix your father introduced him with. Something about it makes Shouta’s frame stiffen— the title, or maybe the pettiness behind it. It’s not like you call him that when you’re in a particularly good mood. “You didn’t seem to want me around earlier.”

“Quiet,” He tuts, clicking his tongue as if he knows the game you’re playing. But despite the curt, clean-cut execution of his tone, his thumb finds your cheek with the same gentleness as a spring breeze. “Your parents were always around earlier.”

Oh.

You play off your surprise well enough, swatting his hand away with a deep grunt. Sure, it feels good. His hands on your skin— such rough palms that cover your body — but you’re not desperate. Not entirely, not even when he fixes the twist of your face with a quick look to your furrowed brows. You settle for a sigh, grumbling, “They don’t have shit to do with me.”

“You’re, what, twenty-five—“

“Twenty three.” You interject, almost proud you can correct him. Rivulets of water trail down your arms, and his gaze seems to follow its motion.

“Twenty three,” He echoes with something of a breathless sigh tilting his voice. For a moment you think it’s the interruption— he’ll work on it later. Maybe he’s been struck by just how much younger you really are. “They have everything to do with you. You’re still their kid, I doubt they’d be enthusiastic about leaving you alone with an older man. A stranger, at that.”

“But they did,” You look around, as if to prove your point. Shouta’s never been one for dramatics, let alone those fueled by snappy attitudes and rolling eyes, but it looks cute on you. Maybe even cuter if it were accompanied by tears. “They left us alone. . . Half naked. . . At a beach. . . Alone..”

“I get it. We’re alone,” Shouta’s voice has always been so deep, rumbly and tired and smooth in your ears but even more so when he’s irritated. “Drop the attitude.” It’s different in a way. Leaves no room for argument, though you still feel the overwhelming need to stomp your foot and keep on pressing. You can’t help the shudder, nor the goosebumps crawling up your thighs. It’s just so fun to push his buttons, to watch his passive face twist for a split second as he processes your words.

It’s not exactly hard when he allows it. Shouta lets you push until your heart’s content, only reprimanding you with a glance or cleared throat— and it’s almost eerie. You can’t help but feel

like you should be anticipating something, even as you stand flush against his thick body in lukewarm ocean water and he looks at you with contentment.

Then it occurs to you. . . He’s letting it build up.

“And you’re not a stranger, Mr. Aizawa.” Obviously you’re softening the blows, so he watches you step forward, arms crossed over his thick, plush chest. You’re just so cute, brushing past his overwhelming seriousness with a smile— albeit sly. He can’t stay mad forever. It’s not fair, how cute you are, with lips stretched out and teeth on display, with the apples of your cheeks rising, and the cutest little twinkle in your eye. He wants to kiss you. . . He wants to kiss you so bad it’s starting to hurt.

Especially when you lean forward, sunlight bouncing off the ocean surface and across your body— painting you in pretty, golden slivers of glow. Across your face, your chest, your stomach, your thighs. It’s been a while since he’s felt his skin against your own. Since he’s run his large, calloused hands along your body.

“What happened to ‘Daddy’?” He asks, absentmindedly.

“What?” You break his trance, looking down at yourself with a hint of something Shouta can’t quite place. Uncertainty, perhaps? Vulnerability, maybe. It’s odd, you usually prance around so confidently. You wear the tiniest— tightest— clothes known to man, have the smartest mouth, egg him on day in and day out.

That’s not it. You look smug. You’re playing him for a damn fool.

“Nothing.” Aizawa sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s wrong— it’s cliché, maybe even taboo. He wants to wipe that look off your face. He wants to kiss his best friend’s son stupid. The man he’d just shared parenting advice to, the man he’d spent years upon years of highschool, college, divorces, with. It’d been so innocent when he’d visit— maybe he should’ve never stopped. Maybe he shouldn’t have come back to see you in full bloom, so handsome and lithe and sweet.

“ ‘Nothing,’ ” You echo, snarky as you mimic the flat, detached tone of Shouta’s voice. If you weren’t sulking before you definitely are now, readying yourself to push past him like some spoiled brat who was just denied their favorite candy after being caught trying to steal it nonetheless. So He holds onto your bicep, squeezing the flesh as it flexes with your feeble attempt at struggling.

“Are you done yet? Or do you need a minute to calm down?” He shifts his weight, voice calm and level as he holds you still despite the straining. Not a single hair on him is out of place, his tranquility almost alarming.

“Let go, old man!” He has to ignore the rush of adrenaline the back and forth gives him— the way he has an incessant urge to squeeze your jaw just a bit tighter.

“Hey,” You watch his lips curl to coo, a tone somewhat akin to a parent shushing a fussy child. Your face is turned to face him directly, “How many times do I have to talk to you?” Then impossibly close as his warm breath pans over the expanse of your face, “What’d I say about the attitude?”

“I don’t care what you say about it.” Your face is squished against his palm as you go to squirm your way out of his hold, but with the way his head angles down toward your face— you can barely get the words to sound convincing. There’s a giggle in your voice, like you think his frustration is amusing.“You like it, don’t you? Forget strange, you’re dirty!”

He’s the only thing keeping you upright, eyes narrowed and lidded, “Stop fuckin’ playing with me, little boy.”

“Dad never lets me drive the boat,” Though the man can sense your whining from miles away, it still manages to catch him off guard. Shouta quirks a brow in questioning, hand hovering a polite foot away from your calf as you stand to walk along the wading boat floor. “Destroyed his last one when I was a kid,” (He doesn’t have to know you were actually nineteen when you did.) You speak in a tone that makes him think just maybe you consider it more your father’s fault than your own. “This one’s nicer anyway.”

“That’s wasteful.” Aizawa bites the inside of his cheek, brows furrowed into a familiar line. Had one of his kids done that it’d be a completely different story. Surely one they wouldn’t be proud of telling either. Through the corner of his eye he watches you dig into the cooler, scrabbling past the beer bottles and iced hennessy, to pull out an ice cream.

“To you,” You spare him a glance before finally plopping down in the passenger’s seat with much more force than necessary— especially when sitting on a boat. “I did him a favor.”

The cooler did a poor job— your ice cream is already melted and soft once it’s unwrapped. Thick, velvety cream that you lap up with your tongue dribbles down your knuckles. He should find it gross, but your pretty eyes flickering upward to meet his own as you take one long, slow lick up each bend of your fingers has done the complete opposite. Fuck. It’s hot— your sticky fingers and messy lips, your pinched brows and tiny, pleased whines.

If only it were his cock.

Shouta’s thick. Much thicker than your ice cream, he’s sure you’d feel a good stretch to your lips if you wrapped them around the head of his cock. You’d probably whine about how hard you have to try, how heavy it is on your tongue— how much it’s stuffing you full when it hasn’t even slid down your throat yet. You’d cry too, maybe, with drool slicking your chin and coating his dick in a pretty, shiny layer of thick saliva.

“Want some?” You lean uncomfortably forward, though your legs are over the arms of your seat and draped across Shouta’s lap. Already close, Shouta can smell the oreo on your tongue and vanilla cream by the corner of your lips. “You’re staring pretty hard.”

“Sit up,” The deflection is an answer in itself, yet the dark-haired man can’t find a reason to look away. “Before you hurt yourself.”

Instead, you take his wrist, thick and decorated with a long vein, to fiddle with his fingers. They’re long— healthy, strong, clipped haphazardly— big. He watches you split his fingers apart, lacing your free hand with his own— and though he remains with all five fingers up, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel the urge to close them around your much smaller ones. Shouta clears his throat while you hum, lapping at your ice cream before pressing your lips against his knuckles, “Want you to hurt me instead.”

“Hush,” There’s a sharp intake of breath, dark lashes fluttering as multicolored eyes glance past your shoulder. It’s evident he wants to say more— in the way he shifts his weight to lean outward. “You hardly know me.”

Your foot nudges his upper thigh, pressing into the firm skin as the boat moves further toward the horizon. It feels more secluded that way.. Private, even. As if there’s only the two of you left on the dreamy island. Your face looks a bit exasperated, like you’ve never had to work so hard in your life, and he has to admit it— it’s cute.

“I know you grew up with my dad,” He ignores the venom behind your tongue as you mention your father, letting out a low hum of confirmation. “I know you have two kids— adopted, right?”

“Hitoshi and Eri.” He interjects, voice soft and fond. You’d never noticed it before, but now you’re acutely aware of the gentle presence of breeze and rippling waters. Shouta’s relaxed face is much sweeter, still creased with age but not quite as deep. The cute, pinched dips between his brows are gone, but you know how to bring it back.

“Lucky. Wish you were my Daddy instead,” Aizawa isn’t sure which word he’s more hung up on, nor how it's so easy for you to completely twist his words— but as much as it rushes to his cock, gets him twitching in his pants and throbbing all the way down his heavy shaft— he doesn’t like it. You talk entirely too much. With lips much too sweet and sheen with cream. With a tongue that flicks and presses against your teeth when you smile. With a pretty voice he could listen to, all day. Something that’d sound better through choking and gagging—ragged and crackly and used. Your lashes flutter, soft and gentle against your cheek. “How old is Hitoshi? My age? If he takes after you, then. . .You’re just—“

“Listen to me,” Perhaps it’s not very characteristic of him, but he just can’t stop. Shouta moves without thinking, pressing his fingers into your cheeks until your lips are puckered. “For as long as I’m here,” he offers a squeeze. “For as long as your father is here,” then another, “Turn. It. Off.”

Your face melts into something floaty and distant, the smirk melting right off your face into something much more preferable. His thumb is so close, so close to your pretty lips. You blink once— twice, even— before regressing back into a grin, lips pressing against his long fingers. Fucking brat.

“I’ll just have to hit up Hitoshi sometime, then.”

The persistent comment nearly knocks him over, straight off the boat and plummeting into the cerulean depths of the sea. Instead, Shouta finds it better to step on the gas. . . To ignore the prickling heat in his blood, to ignore the easy taptaptap-ing of your fingers against the screen of your phone. It’s so easy for you to say anything around him— like a deliberate disregard for his reaction. His fingers thrum against the tiller, then wrap around its leather exterior to squeeze, and he doesn’t miss (not even for a second) the glance you give him through the corner of your eye.

The silence is almost painful. The motor speaks for you, loud and rushed and heavy. Aizawa’s jaw sets, clenched at each chiseled edge. His eyebrows furrow deep, angry, and his lips remain tightly shut. You can’t help but stare, watching his hair whip in the wind, dreamy and mellifluous. Not a moment of eye contact is shared, and you feel yourself slinking back into the white leather of your chair for the first time this evening.

Come the wooden dock just adjacent to the shoreline, Shouta’s throwing away wrappers (they’re all yours) and unbuckling his seatbelt. Your arms cross, a pout heavy in your lips as your eyes flutter closed. . Almost as if you being unable to see him makes him unable to see you.

“C’mon, baby.” You both miss the nickname, and despite the tension, it feels so natural dripping from his tongue.

Still, you whine. Mind occupied by your nearly offset tantrum prior to getting back at the dock. “I’m staying outside.”

“You’ll get heatstroke.” Shouta sighs, stepping back to lift you into his arms not even a moment later. You consider it ironic, for a moment, he always wears black despite the scorching heat. Bent at the waist as he leans over the open inside of the boat to unbuckle your seatbelt, his face remains stoic as your arms flail and fly to push him away. Your pretty face morphs into a nasty scowl, grumbles and mumbles toppling from your lips— you’re embarrassed.

He sets you down on the creaking wood, hands placed steady at your waist and shoulder to keep you upright— in your feeble attempt at escapism, your last result was simply going limp.

You just won’t budge, standing planted at the end of the dock despite the tugs to your biceps, forearm— hands, wrists. Your last attempt at pushing him away ends up in stumbles, nearly tripping over your own feet as you stomp down the polished dock, eyes hardening with the contact of deep, dark pools in Aizawa’s irises.

You were holding hands.

It’s been days. You haven’t left your room in days. At first, Shouta doesn’t worry. He doesn’t think twice about it, doesn’t question why you don’t come downstairs. When he asks your parents about it it’s always the same thing— ‘That’s just how he is when he doesn’t get his way,’ or ‘He’ll come around.’ The more he asks, the mode suspicion, More questions, mostly wondering why he’s so enamored by their son— even if he had been closer to you when you were younger. But that was long ago, and you hardly remember.

And that isn’t even it.

He starts to worry, to feel bad, on day six. Not a single sound that even points to your presence. No creaking floorboards, no music playing from your old, antique and overpriced record player, no sounds of muffled laughter. It makes him feel out of his skin, like a bystander watching the inhabitants of this very beach house go about their day like nothing is wrong. But this wrong, so very wrong—

He wants you. His boy, his brat, his best friend’s son. It’s wrong and it’s taboo, but so help him, he yearns.

His feet had carried himself upstairs before his mind could, following after you a good half-hour later. You heard him on his way in, the shuffle of his slipper-clad feet from the outside of your door. Still, you’d made no effort to move, no effort to free yourself from the cocoon of your childhood blankets, no effort to open the door despite his gentle knocking.

“You ready to talk yet?” He was willing to brush it all aside. The pushing, the persistent flirting, the slight disregard for his feelings, the mentions of his son. Really, he was jealous. Maybe it’s unsavory for him to admit, maybe he shouldn’t think of his son as competition. And he knows, of course, there’s nothing there— he’s only ever competing with himself. He just can’t help it.

Maybe he’s a bit spoiled too.

“I don’t like being ignored.” Your voice was small, but he could still hear it through the door. He heard it all, every implication. His sweet boy, his spoiled brat. You froze, just briefly, before he let himself in. The door creaked slowly with its open and close, a gentle click of the lock as the air grew thick.

Your old bed is small and creaky. Almost as much as the underused floorboards, your old bedroom screams with just as much personality as it does neglect. There’s tiny figurines, posters, awards, memorabilia— but it’s all too clean. Even if it has collected dust, not a thing is out of place. Pristine. There’s a few scattered photos— awkward haircuts, familial pets, the works. . Unapologetically you, maybe when you were just a tad bit more naive— but you nonetheless. It even smells like you, just with a hint of sea salt and warm, summer-y vanilla. Shouta wants to bury his nose in it.

“None of my fancy college boyfriends liked it here, Maybe ‘Toshi would.” You shift your weight as Shouta sits at the edge of your bed, the springy mattress creaking ever so slightly. There’s something left unsaid between the small string of words— and it’s sour. Twists on Shouta’s tongue, like he’s bitten into old bread, and it’s not just the mention of past boyfriends. Sure, that’s not exactly what he’d call this. . . relationship, but it’s not like it’d feel wrong. And he’d certainly feel bitter if his son were in his shoes. “Guess my sheets weren’t silky enough. Can tell you what was, th—”

“I like it.” It’s simple. The admission— simple and sweet, like it’s obvious. Shouta watches your lips part for a moment, just to close again, like a fish out of water. You look so small when you’re caught off guard, glancing to the side and shifting your weight onto your palms as you sit in the comfy middle of your bed. He knows what you’re doing— redirecting the conversation by flirting (it does get his heart beating, he’ll admit it)— and it makes you seem softer, almost.

He watches you sniffle for a moment, a quiet sound as you shift your knees with exuberating coyness. Your eyebrows furrow, cheeks puffed into a pout because, “That's it? You just ‘ like ’ it?”

He’ll give it to you, you never give up. He’d been warned, he was skeptical, and he’s been proven wrong. And, in the brunette’s head, you’d tallied over three strikes. Perhaps he was being too lenient. And now, Shouta, the weak man that he is, simply wants to indulge.

“What else would I say?”

“That it’s nice,” You cock your head to the side. “That you’ve never seen a room so nice. Which m’sure is true, anyway. . Are you low income, Sho? I can’t imagine what it’s like being a single father of two— or one, since Hitoshi moved out forever ago.”

The older man takes a breath through his nose, and out through his mouth. Pretty irises flicker down to meet the rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. Then, like the tidal wave of emotion has washed away back into shore, his voice is level as he speaks, “You spoke to him.”

“You ignored me,” You say it as if it’s obvious, simple, that if you can’t have Shouta you’ll have to settle for the next best thing. And though it’s not entirely true, you only really stalked his social media to learn more about his father, you don’t think your heart can stomach seeing pride swell in Aizawa’s chest. “Wanted your attention, Daddy.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath through his teeth, cold air rattling the bones as he watches you stare up at him. Your eyes look softer, boyish, wider at this angle. His pink tongue darts over his equally pink lips, “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“Show me.”

“Shh, sh, sh,” Shouta’s cock slips down your throat with a low grunt, the slippery walls clench around the fat head of his cock. Just as he imagined it, cutting off pretty whines and gasps, head bobbing back and forth— like you can’t tell whether it’s too much or too little. There’s a slight burn— the stretch of his thick, sticky cock nestled against your throat— but it feels good, heavy and throbbing in a way that makes your brain shut off so quickly you drool. It sticks to his shaft and slides down his balls, painting your chin in a syrupy-sweet layer of saliva, but you’re too far gone to wipe it away. Such a good boy.

He must’ve said it aloud, because there you are nodding, lazily bobbing your head as he grinds in and out of your mouth. There’s a loud, sticky sound coming from your throat, squelching and soaked, obscene in a way that makes you whimper around your heavy mouthful of cock. He’s quick to correct himself— you only ever seem to behave when you’re stuffed with his dick, and he can’t have you thinking your behavior is acceptable. With a grunt, deep and velvety, Aizawa pushes deeper into your mouth until you gag— tight throat convulsing and quivering around his shaft.

You slurp loudly, choking and gasping as you struggle to pull back. His balls hit your chin, heavy and sticky and so fucking good as tears stream down your face. You’re starting to get into it now, making a mess of yourself as you stick out your tongue to lick along the prominent vein on the underside of his cock, eyes focused on the rings of saliva holding you together. Shouta pulls out to let you breathe, his cock quickly liding upupup your throat and past your lips until all you can do is whine and lean forward, lips wet with spit as you chase after what you’ve been wanting for the past month.

“Stop fuckin’ moving. Let Daddy use your throat, wanna hear you cry on it,” The bulge of his fat cock shows in your throat, in and out, in and out, in and out.

You want to whine, to beat your fists against his thighs, and kick your feet— it’s all so much. He has you by the hair, big hand pulling and tugging, lifting you on and off his cock like a warm, tight fleshlight. You fail to bite back a growl, though it emits more as a cute, pathetic sound, glassy eyes focused on his cock being shoved down your hot, wet throat. It’s so easy to press your lips against the darkness of his pubes, to smear pre along your pouty lips and cheeks. His cock jumps in your mouth, thick and long and curved, leaking at the tip.

It’s hard to adjust to the stretch, sputtering and gagging with such cute, greedy sounds. You’re getting ahead of yourself, eager, tongue lapping at the achy underside of his dick, pressed against his balls. And, with a gasp, Shouta pulls out, huffs and unintelligible groans filling the air. The blushing head of his cock taps against your cheek. Once, twice, again and again. “C’mere.”

And yet, despite all that bark, your eyes barely make contact with the ones above you. Instead they trace the pulse of his shaft, how heavy his cock hangs between his legs, how it makes his long fingers almost smaller in comparison. The way pre dribbles from the tip, sticky and warm and oh, so inviting. It’s as if he can read your mind, knows how badly you miss the weight of his thick cock stretching your throat, “You can do better than that," and you almost can't believe it.

Better? Your eyes flicker to the saliva dripping from your chin, suddenly aware of the slick pre smeared across your pretty cheeks and the heavy pants leaving your lips. What gets better than this? You let him use your throat like a new fleshlight, cried on his cock and muffled the sounds in his pubes. Ignored the aching of your own cock just to focus on his own, absentmindedly bucking your hips into nothing, even if it made you look like a pathetic puppy. Fine— you can show him better. You can break him first.

You blink rapidly, tears clumped in your pretty eyelashes, lips parting to, indubitably, sass the older man. “What, need help gettin’ it up? Fuck you, can do it m—”

Prideful boy. Shouta will have to fix that.

“— I wasn’t asking.” You really fucked up now, eyes wide as you’re lifted up by your throat and manhandled into Shouta’s strong arms. He smells good, and just as strong, as your face is pressed into his chest and your tiny, tiny shorts are pushed past your thighs. The air is cold, it spreads goosebumps along your skin, and you’re sure Shouta can feel them along his palm as he grabs handfuls of your ass. He ignores your off guard ‘Hey! I wasn’t done!’, ignores the squirm of your waist, ignores your poor, weeping cock.

Being the smooth, calculated man that he is, you’d expect Aizawa to put a rhythm and pace to his spankings. But no, there’s nothing for you to latch onto but the bundles of his hair as he hands out sporadic, random, and hard smacks along each globe of your ass. There is no back and forth, no favoring one over the other— it’s just where he wants, when he wants. If he wants to watch your thighs convulse and jiggle beneath his heavy palm he will, and if he wants to smack your hands away from his wrists as you tug and tug— he will.

Shouta groans when you let out a particularly pathetic cry, biting your lip and whimpering into his warm skin. You can feel his big hands part your cheeks, squeezing the skin until it spills over each finger and your ass has turned tender and sensitive. He coos, feeling you squirm and wriggle against his hold, “S’it too much? Daddy’s poor baby.”

It shouldn’t sound so sweet coming from his lips, even when it’s condescending and rough, even when he’s cracking his palm down again and again despite your kicks and squeals.

But it does.

“Da—ddy. . !” your voice quivers, hips rocking to an uncoordinated tune. So little contact and yet it feels like so much, his hot palms against your warm skin. . . The tears rolling down your darling face. . . The way your cock throbs against your tummy, your mouth aches with emptiness, your hole twitches beneath the weight of his fingers. The thought makes you want to whine all over again, body squirming and trembling as he holds and kneads the flesh of your ass.

“Quiet. I should shove my fingers down your throat to shut you up,” Shouta murmurs, so unnecessarily mean, kissing the dampness of your forehead before his hand cracks down against your plush ass three, four, five more times. You try to keep up your resolve, pretty legs trembling and knuckles clenching— but it’s just so hard. Being a brat is easy— it’s fun— you’ll give up a few tears, cry and pout, get your way. Easy. So you won’t break and give him what he wants. He’ll have to work for it, get a taste of his own mean, mean medicine.

Delayed gratification.

Wet llips open to speak, something smug and almost smart, but it’s reduced to a wet moan. You feel it—fingers spreading apart the globes of your ass, and more cracking down between them, on your empty, pretty little hole. For a moment your brain slips out of your body, thoughts static and turned to mush, fuzzy and convulsing where you lay. You process the sound of hushing, the feeling of wetness, the sound of slick spit against your skin. . . Thick, merciless fingers rubbing and tapping and sliding against you.

“Oh, god,” You sob, eyes fluttering shut and eyebrows pinching the second more pressure builds and— oh, a finger slips inside. “Fingers— that’s, oh god..” Inching in slowly, rubbing against your velvety walls and so fucking slick you’re beginning to see stars. Whatever you had your mind set on earlier flies straight out the window, your brain short circuits as your sopping hole flutters around his fingers, sucking them in.

“Fuck, baby, look at you clench on Daddy’s fingers. Want Daddy to finger-fuck this cute little cunt silly?” If you could see his face you’re sure he’d be smiling— an eerie thing, eyes trained on his fingers getting sucked back into you. Such a needy boy. “C’mon, say it. Tell Daddy you want his big fingers in your sweet, greedy little pussy.”

You can’t help it, hole throbbing rhythmically along his long fingers, squelching and gushing with stickiness. The swell of your ass ripples as you wiggle your hips, rising and falling to grindgrindgrind. “Fuck me already, c’mon, old man.”

“That what your little ‘boyfriends’ do?” Your lip quivers— he hadn't even flinched at the sass— and instead used your own words against you. “Oh, baby. They didn’t give that little boycunt the attention he needed, hm? That why you throw so many tantrums?”

Your hand finds his wrist, fingers wrapping around thick and strong limp just enough to get his hand moving, trying to guide him deeper, faster, harder. He should reward bratty behavior, but the words spill from his mouth almost immediately, “That’s it, just needed something to fill you up, nice and full.”

It’s ironic— he says it just before pulling out his soaked fingers. And, at your nightstand, opens the drawer to retrieve lube. You watch him pause, eyes scanning the contents of the drawer until his lips quirk downward. Lollipop wrappers. An ungodly amount— you really went on a hunger strike because he ignored you? For six whole days?

“What am I gonna do with you.” He sighs, but grabs a sucker regardless, tearing open its pretty, pastel blue packaging to reveal its red, shiny hard candy. He pops the treat into his mouth, holds it on the right side with his teeth, and squirts a generous amount of lube over the globes of your ass. His hands slip and slide as he guides it around, watches it dribble down your thighs and relishes in the way your hole opens up for him, soaked and sticky.

Your eyebrows pinch, hips wiggling as he pulls the lollipop free from his mouth and directs it against your own, “Suck,” He murmurs, but it’s forced past your lips before you can process the demand. Here come more tears, burning your nose as you hiccup out a tiny, overwhelmed, “Daddy?”

“It’s okay, I’m here,” He coos, circling the pad of his thumb along the rim of your hole. Even as your feet instinctively kick, there’s no reaction from him, just a pleased hum. “Keep sucking, atta boy.”

His thumb feels like a lot, makes you squeal and shiver as he presses it inside, and something hot and wet accompanies it. That's good, the heat of his tongue licking and sucking at your throbbing rim, bubbly spit dribbling down his chin and caught in his stubble. One hand is focused on fucking your boyhole raw, till your brain goes numb and you’re incoherent. His palm presses into the small of your ass, tongue working hard until your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, and your mouth flies open in a silent scream. He takes the opportunity to snatch the lollipop back, keeps his tongue pressed against your walls until—

He trails the glossy sphere of the candy down to your sloppy little hole, nudging and prodding until he slowly works the lollipop inside. “You can take it,” He growls, eyes trained on your fucked-out face. He can feel it, the tightening of your balls, the way your hole aches and pulses with the treat inside you. “That’s it, sweet thing. Wanna make this pussy cum, give it t’me. Let Daddy have it..”

He murmurs, and suddenly, instead of the treat that he’s popping back into his mouth, there’s the head of his perfectly thick, so big, cock pressing against your slick, thoroughly fucked-out hole and—

Oh.

“Sweet.”

You sob into nothing, back arching and spongy walls clinging down on Shouta’s cock as it’s worked inch by inch into you and— you can’t fucking believe it. You fought for so long, put on a bratty attitude and stomped your feet. Why would you ever push Shouta and his cock away for so long? Your breaths are short. Tiny little gasps as his large hands grip your ankles, spreading your legs open to get a better view of the thick dick pumping you full. Your pretty little hole, sheen with spit and lube, exposed and on display for him and his cock. And, yeah, this is everything you’ve ever wanted and more. . . You want him to break you.

“You’re— fuck, you’re so gross, Daddy,” Shouta grits his teeth, “Ohh, havin’ your best friend’s son on your fat cock, fuckin’ my pussy so full. . !” You’re straight up babbling, cross-eyed as each thrust knocks coherent thoughts out your brain. A real, proper slut, desperately humping upupup to fuck yourself on his dick. With this position— knees to your ears and holes on display, you barely have the control to move— but it’s cute to watch you try anyway.

“Shut up and take it,” He rasps, voice deep and scratchy in a harsh whisper as his hips snap back and forth. “Don’t want mommy and daddy to hear their son calling someone else daddy, do you?”

“Daddy— Daddy, my pussy—“ You’re babbling, it’s all you can do since Shouta is all force with his thrusts; takes what he needs, feeds you his cock good and so, so deep. Over and over, you let out broken whines, desperate for it, looking down as best you can to watch your own cock bob and jump against your tummy, thighs sticky with spit and lube. You can hear the sound of your slutty, pathetic moans, the wet plaplaplap of skin, lube trailing and frothing between your bodies as Shouta fucks into you. You can’t stop twitching— your legs, your hole, your cock.

“This is Daddy’s pussy,” He corrects, angling his hips just right, the heat of his cock pressing against every special spot you’ve got. Every bundle of nerves, every silky, spongy wall you’ve got wrapped around him. “Just like that,” You’re gagging for it, pouty lips parting with open-mouthed pants as he continues to watch your hole tighten around his thick, veiny cock. He has to swallow down his own drool, reaching deeper into you, your body jerking back as he pounds, and pounds, and pounds. You may not be a good boy, but you’re a damn good slut.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh. . .” Your breath is caught in your throat, and if you could, you’d scream, your body tensing as your cock throbs and bounces, cum spraying across your bare chest — stickiness shooting out your spent cock until you’re twitching, handsfree and body set ablaze. Shouta shows no signs of stopping, instead keeping his cock inside you as he flips you around, eyes narrowed. He fucks you through it, watching more cum squirt from your cock, leaky hole milking him for all he’s got.

“Dumb sluts love cock, baby. S’that what you are?” His voice is a low purr, pressing your face into the mattress, watching your ass fall back onto his cock until he feels himself aching hard, hard enough to start cumming inside you.

“Yeah, mhmm,” You drool into your pillow, absentmindedly fucking yourself back onto him. You’re desperate to chase after it, the searing spiral of pressure growing in your stomach, tight hole bearing down on his cock. “Daddy’s slut, s’me!” For a minute you think you’ve passed out, everything going dark as you ride out his hard thrusts, offering tiny movements of your own, up and down to satiate the erratic spasming of your hole, to feel his balls slap against your thighs.

“Good sluts take Daddy’s cum,” Your eyes, so glassy and empty, is what gets him, groaning loud as he pumps a load inside you. “Take it, boy. Let Daddy knock you up.” It’s messy, and downright pornographic watching his cum leak out of you, just for him to fuck it back in with the head of his dick. Shouta’s cum starts to kiss your insides and spurt straight onto that small bundle of nerves— fuck, it’s so deep. His thrusts are erratic and sloppy, thick rope after thick rope frothing around his shaft as he fucks it deeper inside. You never want it to stop, not the groaning or moaning, not the filthy sounds, not the cum filling up your hole till you can’t move.

He ignores your needy, overstimulated whines when he pulls out completely, his spent cock hanging heavy between his thighs. Even when you’re limp and boneless, body trembling violently, you want more.

“Da— Da—ddy,” You sob, eyes squeezed shut as strong arms pull you up and into even stronger thighs. Sitting on his lap now, Shouta coos hums, basks in the sight of his pretty boy’s afterglow.

“Daddy’s here. I’m here, I got you.” He whispers into your shoulder, and that’s all you need to hear. The thought of his best friend melts away— you’re more than that. You’re not just his best friend’s son. . .

You’re Shouta’s boy.

Summer is coming to an end.

There’s a seasonal chill in the air and it’s getting dark in the early afternoon. The beach has switched its course, currents changing direction and fish disappearing from the shoreline. The weather is turning, branches are starting to grow bare and bloom in color, the wind picks up, and the clouds have yet to dissipate into the sky. . Shouta helps you pack, grumbles when you press chaste kisses against his skin the whole time— shuts down the stomps of your feet while you whine, “I don’t wanna leave.”

“Spring break,” Is all Shouta says, his mismatched eyes downcast in a way that highlights his long, pretty eyelashes. Then, voice barely audible, he whispers, “I don’t want you to, either.”

Your body visibly straightens, giddiness painting your boyish face as you smile wide and big. The older man almost regrets saying it, huffing with you lean impossible close to hug him tight. “Will you call me?”

“Whenever you want,” He says, as if it’s the most simple thing in the world. You watch as he throws your large bag of lollipops into your carry-on backpack, but not before plucking a treat free from the others. “You know I will.”

And that’s all you need to hear.

7K notes · View notes

lqvesoph · 8 months ago

Text

She’s WHOSE daughter??? || LN4

gif by @quadrantslandonorris

lando norris x webber!reader

summary: During a trip to Daniel’s farm house, you find an unexpected visitor standing in your best friend’s backyard

part 1 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

masterlist | taglist

Part 2

"So glad you could make it!", Danny called and wrapped you into a hug as soon as he opened the front door. "You know I love it here!", you laughed and stepped into his home in Perth, Australia.

It was Monday before the Australian Grand Prix and Daniel had invited you to spend a few days at his farm before flying across the country to Melbourne.

You spotted an unfamiliar pair of shoes next to Daniel‘s million others but didn’t think much of it. Maybe he bought another pair.

"Daniel, tell me again where the- oh hi", you heard a familiar british accent, one that you have missed over the last three long weeks since Bahrain and turned around to find a dripping wet and shirtless Lando in the glass door that led out to the backyard. His curls were dripping shining droplets of water onto his defined and tanned chest from which you couldn’t teat your eyes away.

"The towels are in the drawer, mate", Daniel spoke, snapping you out of your trance. "Thanks", Lando mumbled but didn’t move from his place.

You all stood there in silence for a few seconds before you cleared your throat. "I… uh- I-I‘ll go to my room", you stuttered, taking the suitcase and quickly making your way up the marble stairs.

"Why didn’t you tell me she was coming?", you heard Lando hiss. "Why would you have wanted me to?", Daniel asked nonchalant, and you knew you shouldn’t eavesdrop but you couldn’t help it, wanting to know Lando‘s response. "I- I don’t know", he stuttered defensively before tapping over to the drawer to get himself a towel.

Truth was, his small crush on you grew over the last couple of weeks. He followed your every move on Instagram and Twitter, even scrolling down to pictures from 2016, finding a few of you and baby Oscar during his Formula 3 career or little you in Daniel‘s Red Bull from 2017. He‘s probably memorized your highlights at this point.

Adding to that he asked Pietra for her advice on your best songs and your discography has been on repeat for three weeks straight.

You put your suitcase next to your bed and plopped down on it, only now noticing your racing heart.

During your deep dive through Lando’s Instagram account, you obviously had seen a few pictures of him shirtless, the one from Bahrain being the set of pictures you were hung up on the most, even saving one of them. But jeez… none of those pictures did the live picture justice!

You opened your eyes and took a deep breath before rummaging around your suitcase to find the black bikini you had packed for your trip.

You put it on and took your towel, phone and sunglasses and made your way downstairs. Lando and Daniel sat by the pool on two sun beds, playing some sort of card game. Both were shirtless and had matching bucket hats on their curls. You chuckled at the sight and placed your towel on the third sun bed.

Lando looked up from the game and subtly looked you over, his eyes lingering at your pushed up breast, that were barely covered by the tight black bikini top, a little longer than appropriate but you couldn’t find yourself caring. The opposite actually, the little hesitation brought a smirk to your face.

You lay down on your stomach on the sun bed and closed your eyes. "If I fall asleep, please put some sunscreen on my back in an hour or two", you mumbled, getting a hum from both boys next to you.

You couldn’t even begin to explain how much you have missed the Australian sun.

*~**~*

You didn’t even notice you fell asleep until you were woken up by a pair of warm hands rubbing your back. Guess the flight has been more exhausting than you thought.

You lifted your head up slightly, still a little dazed from the sleep. "Heyy, good morning", a soft british accent spoke over you.

Lando.

Then you started noticing a few other things around you. For example your hair that was wrapped in a loose bun, one that you definitely didn’t do yourself.

"I put your hair up so it wouldn’t stick on the sunscreen", he said, almost as if he had read your thoughts. "Thanks", you mumbled, then you frowned. "How did you-"

"I have two younger sisters, so I know a little about hair styles", Lando chuckled and kneaded your shoulders while rubbing in the sunscreen. The small action made you groan a little. "Feels good", you muttered.

"I can tell", he spoke and you could hear the smirk on his face, so you kicked your leg up to hit his back. "Owh", he let out and broke out in laughter after. You couldn’t help but join in as well and pushed yourself up on your elbows to look around you.

You noticed the missing sunglasses on your face when squinting to see against the setting sun but quickly found them on the table next to you.

"Daniel is getting the grill ready and Heidi has just arrived a few minutes ago", Lando told you and you turned your head to meet his eyes. But got quickly distracted by his tanned chest. Your eyes flickering down and stayed there for a second longer than necessary, before looking back up into his green eyes and only now realizing how close your faces were to each other.

His gaze flickered down to your lips before finding your eyes again.

"Hey dipshit, dinner is almost ready!", Daniel called from the path between the pool section and the little hut with a fire place. "We’ll be there in a second!", Lando called back, not tearing his eyes away from yours.

Your eyes darted down to his plumb lips. "We probably should…", you whispered, letting your sentence uncompleted. Lando nodded but still kept his gaze you. "Yeah, we probably should", he agreed.

The two of you kept each other gaze for a few seconds longer before looking down at the same time and clearing your throats. You grabbed your black shorts and quickly put them over your bikini bottoms, feeling your heart beating fast in your chest and a small throbbing in your lower region. A quick stolen glance at Lando told you, your interaction also left its mark on him.

He cleared his throat another time before standing up and grabbing a baby blue loose dress shirt to put over his shoulders, leaving the buttons undone.

Together you made your way over to the fireplace, where you found Heidi and Daniel next to a bluetooth box that played relaxing music.

"Hey, honey!!", Heidi called and immediately came over to hug you. You smiled and wrapped your arms around the girl who has been like an older sister to you for the longest time.

"It’s so good to see you again!", she smiled and pushed a few strands of hair behind your ear. "Your hair has gotten so long!" You laughed and sat down at the set table.

Daniel looked at Lando with a knowing smirk, whereupon Lando rammed his elbow into the older guy’s ribs.

*~**~*

As the night came, the temperatures got chilly, even in Australia. You shivered a little even if the fire spent a little warmth.

"You cold?", Lando muttered, leaning over the armrest of his chair. You looked over at him, getting lost for a second in the way half of his face was light up by the fire light.

You hummed and wrapped your arms tighter around yourself.

"Take my hoodie", he suggested, pulling the lavender colored hoodie from his chair. "Thanks", you smiled.

From the corner of your eyes you saw how Daniel gave you a rather knowing glance but you chose to ignore it.

That was until he didn’t give you another option.

"Y/n, you wanna come and help me inside?", he asked but it sounded more like a demand. You nodded and stood up from your seat before following Daniel inside.

All while Lando’s eyes never left you.

Daniel was waiting for you by the kitchen counter. "What are you doing?", he wanted to know. You shrugged, knowing exactly what he was talking about.

"He’s cute", you simply replied.

"You know I love you like my little sister but Lando’s one of my best mates. And I already know that he’s got quite the crush on you, it’s fairly obvious so I gotta make sure that this is coming from your side as well and isn’t some sort of joke flirting", the australian explained.

You crossed your arms in front of your chest. "It’s not, I really do think he’s cute", you nodded.

"Does he know who your dad is?", Daniel pressed further, knowing this was some sort of make-or-break question to you.

Given the history of boyfriends you’ve had and loads of your early ones, always dating you for your father, you’ve started to not tell people about your father. Not until you were sure, they were here for you.

Your silence gave Daniel his answer.

"If you like him, why didn’t you then?", he wanted to know. "Because I want to get to know him before! I met him once three weeks ago, do you expect me to just go like "Hi, I’m Y/n, nice to meet you. By the way I’m Mark Webber’s daughter"?? I haven’t exactly spent a lot of time with him", you muttered.

"Just… don’t lead him on. I haven’t seen him this nervous over a girl in a long time", Daniel sighed and opened his arms. "C’mere."

*~**~*

Even though the night got very late, you were up incredibly early the next day, still having to adjust to the eastern australian timezone.

As quietly as possible you walked down the stairs to the kitchen, wearing a pair of jogging shorts and Lando’s hoodie from the previous night which was incredibly comfortable and even smelled like him.

You grabbed yourself a glass of water and sat down crisscrossed on a patio chair.

The morning was still a little fresh, the sun just barely leaking out from the horizon.

"Bit early, isn’t it?", a british accent spoke from behind you. You smiled before turning around to meet Lando’s sleepy eyes.

He stood in the doorway, long gray joggers and a black hoodie, similar to the one you were wearing. His curls were a mess on top of his head as he ruffled through them.

"I could say the same to you", you countered, making the boy smile. "I couldn’t sleep, still adjusting to the timezone", he told you, sitting down on the chair next to you.

You nodded in agreement. "Me too."

For a moment you sat in silence, both looking at the sunrise in front of you.

"You wanna go for a walk at the beach?", Lando suggested after a few minutes, looking over at you.

You considered your options for a second but didn’t see a reason not to, so you nodded and stood up.

You put your glass on the table and your phone in the hoodie pocket.

Together you took the small path that directly led from Daniel’s backyard to the beach.

"Nice hoodie by the way", Lando smirked, tugging at your sleeves. "Thanks, some random guy gave it to me last night", you replied with a giggle. "And you just take stuff from random dudes?", Lando faked a shocked tone. "Nah, only if they are cute", you smiled, making Lando go a little shy as he looked down with a smile.

When the you reached the beach, you stopped in your tracks. Closing your eyes and enjoying the breeze of the ocean.

"I’ve missed this", you muttered, taking a deep breath before opening your eyes to find Lando looking at you. "Los Angeles just isn’t quite the same."

"You said you grew up between LA and Canberra", Lando stated, whereupon you nodded. "How did you meet Oscar then? Because as far as I know he’s spent most of his teens in England. Or Daniel, who’s from the other side of the country", he asked.

"Well, Daniel I met through Red Bull. My dad used to work for them", you replied, careful as not to reveal too much. "At base?"

"Something like this, yeah."

"He’s been like an older brother to me for the longest time but Oscar being closer to me in age, resulted in us turning out like twins", you chuckled.

Lando felt a sting of jealousy when you talked about his teammate like that, knowing he had close to zero rights to feel this way but still.

"Anyway, I met him in the paddock a few years ago and we’ve been friends ever since", you concluded.

"And you’ve been into racing because of your dad?", he asked. You nodded but didn’t clarify further but instead grabbed his hand and dragged him to the ocean.

"Cmon, let’s go in", you called. "Go in??", Lando protested but let you drag him closer to the water. "It’s Australia, it’s warm", you giggled and kicked off your shoes off your feet. You let go of Lando’s hand and entered the water ankle-deep.

You looked back to see Lando taking off his shoes as well as his hoodie, leaving him in a white shirt. Then he carefully tapped the water before walking to you.

"Nice, huh?", you smiled against the rising sun, closing your eyes for a second.

Cold water splashing your back made you scream and open them again. You turned around to find Lando with a devilish grin looking at you. "Lando!!", you called and splashed the water back at him.

In only a few seconds it turned into a water war, both your clothes turning darker from the water splashes on them. Your eyes stopped at Lando’s torso, the water turning his white shirt see through. And you weren’t ashamed to admit that his defined abs distracted you just more than a little bit.

Lando used your little moment of distraction to launch himself at you and throw both of you down into the water completely. You gasped for air, his arms still wrapped around your body and you hair falling in wet strands on your face.

"Idiot!", you called, pushing your hair back to see Lando grin at you. His adorable smile, paired with the wetness of his curls made you smile as well. You put your hand on his neck, slowly pulling him closer to you.

A drop of water falling from his opened lips, mesmerizing you completely. Lando’s eyes searched yours, asking for permission to go ahead. You glance back down to his lips before nodding slightly.

Only seconds later, his lips touched yours in a gentle kiss. Your fingers went through his wet hair and pulled at the end.

His lips on yours felt like fire, and you wanted more.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, his hand holding your thigh as his other squeezed your waist. His lips slowly traveled along your jaw, making you lean your head to the side to give him more space.

You let out a little moan when he gently sucked on the spot under your ear and felt his lips curl into a smirk. Lando pulled back to look at you, your fingers stroking his neck.

You giggled slightly and leaned your forehead against his, closing your eyes for a second.

This is what happiness feels like, you thought.

📍Perth, Australia

tagged: landonorris, danielricciardo, heidiberger

yn.adams: Perth for the week

comments:

landonorris: Oh, what a pretty sunrise

> yn.adams: U think?

danielricciardo: When was that first picture taken???

> yn.adams: Today morning at about 5:30am while u were peacefully sleeping

> fan: Wait so if Daniel didn’t take that picture does that mean it was Lando???

oscarpiastri: 🤨

> fan: Oscar’s NOT a fan of this new friendship LMAO

fan: The boyfriend vibes are MAJOR on that last picture

fan: Since when are her and Lando friends???

fan: Okay but Yn and Lando would be crazy!!

> fan: I ship it, 100%

load more comments…

📍Perth, Australia

tagged: yn.adams

landonorris: She can sing and drive

comments:

yn.adams: 2:1 for me, u can only drive

> landonorris: 🥲

> fan: LMAOOO Yn roasting Lando hahahahh

oscarpiastri: yn.adams TEXT ME NOW!!

> fan: Poor guy’s feeling left out fr

fan: Is this a soft launch mr. norriz?

> fan: wdym "soft" HE TAGGED HER!!!

fan: The sunrise…

> fan: Nah u guys don’t understand the significance of that sunrise!!

fan: Lando and Yn posting pictures of sunrises… A picture of Yn that Daniel didn’t take…

> fan: New paddock couple alert??

fan: Lando letting someone else drive and playing passenger princess???

fan: Who even is she?

fan: Does she even know what F1 is?

> fan: LMAOO

load more comments…

taglist

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#lando norris #f1 #mclaren #oscar piastri #daniel ricciardo #mark webber #ln4 #quadrant #landoscar #dando #landan #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagine #lando norris one shot #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine

2K notes · View notes

bratzbrat · 20 days ago

Text

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　𝐌𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥

𝐀 𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢 𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭!

✘pairing: Katsuki Bakugo ✘ fem!reader.

✘cw: harassment! jealousy!

Katsuki Bakugo, who is protective of the people he cares about, stepping in without hesitation if someone crosses a line. He doesn't think you can't handle it—he just believes no one gets to mess with what's his.

"oh, forgot the sunscreen." you muttered, before making your way back to your bags. after scattering almost all the contents inside, you found it! and turned to head back toward Katsuki, who was already inside the pool. you sighed and mentally facepalmed, and some rando guy stepped in your path, blocking your way.

"hey, beautiful," he grinned, clearly not caring that you were trying to get past him. "what's a girl like you doing over here all alone?"

you raised a brow, unimpressed. "I'm not alone."

he smirked, undeterred. "awww. you're not seriously gonna play hard to get, are ya'?" and three other guys walked out from behind him, like some sort of magic trick.

you rolled your eyes, "No, I'm gonna play 'leave me the fuck alone.' " and quipped, crossing your arms over your chest.

"c'mon baby, save us the trouble." the shortest guy flirted. and you had to physically swallow a puke you felt bubbling up.

"um-ew..." you scoffed, with your face twisting in disgust as you covered your mouth.

but they clearly didn't get the memo. "feisty, huh? we like that," the one on the left chuckled, leaning in closer. "how about we—"

"Oi."

the single, sharp word made them freeze in their tracks. as they turned around, you looked over to see Katsuki stomping toward you, eyes narrowed and his bare chest glistening with pool water. his intense glare, locked on the guys in front of you.

Katsuki came up beside you, slipping an arm around your waist and yanking you into his side. "got a problem?" he growled, his grip firm and unyielding.

they glanced between the two of you, seemingly unsure at first, then the puny one smirked. "relax, man. we're just talking."

"doesn't look like she wants to talk," Katsuki shot back, menacingly as he pulled you closer, his fingers digging into your side in a subtle show of dominance.

the other guy, joined in, leaning casually against the pool fence. "man, we were just having a little fun. no need to get all worked up."

Katsuki scoffed, his eyes looking like if they would burst with irritation. "you wanna keep runnin' ya' mouth?" he challenged, stepping forward, pulling you behind him protectively. his arms flexed as he tightened his hands into fists, and you could feel the tension radiating from him.

mr. puny, clearly trying to act tough in front of his friends, chuckled and cracked his knuckles. "hold it big guy, there's four of us and only one a'you," he sneered.

Katsuki smirked, the kind of smirk that sent shivers down your spine. "you idiots really don't know who you're dealing with." you reveled in his feral state.

before you could blink, the cockiest of the group charged at him. Katsuki however, didn't hesitate for a second, his grip on you softening as he gently shoved you toward a lounge chair. "stay there," he ordered, his voice calm yet firm.

a poolside server appeared beside you, offering a drink. coincidence. with a raised brow, you took it, sipping casually as the first guy swung at Katsuki—only for him to dodge effortlessly and slam a fist into the his gut, sending him sprawling to the ground.

the second guy rushed forward, but your boyfriend was faster. he blocked the punch and threw him into the pool with one arm. the other two hesitated, clearly rethinking their decision to mess with him, but Katsuki didn't give them the chance. he tackled one of them to the ground, his muscles rippling as he pinned him down, while the last one scrambled to escape.

you watched the whole scene unfold from your chair, drink in hand, admiring his muscles as they flexed when he moved. he made quick work of the group. his back muscles crawling with each movement and breath. you couldn't help but smirk to yourself—your boyfriend was handling these idiots like it was nothing and without the use of his quirk too.

within a few minutes, it was over. Katsuki stood tall and proud, glaring down at the beaten guys as they tried to get up and run away, bruised and humiliated. he dusted off his hands, then turned toward you, his expression softening slightly as he walked back over.

"you good?" he asked, his tone gruff, with a little concern.

"mhm," you smiled, holding up the sunscreen. "now that that's out of the way, sit down and let me take care of you."

he huffed, sitting down next to you with a scowl that didn't quite reach his eyes. you squeezed a generous amount of sunscreen into your hands, gently rubbing it across his broad shoulders and down his arms. his muscles tensed under your touch, but you felt him relax as you worked your way down his back.

"try not to pick anymore fights, okay," you teased, leaning close to kiss his cheek.

"Tch. they started it," he muttered, but there was a faint smirk on his lips.

once you finished, the two of you leaned back, relaxing in the sun. you took his hand in yours and intertwined your fingers, as you basked in the peaceful aftermath.

"thanks for the show," you grinned, giving his hand a playful squeeze.

he rolled his eyes but squeezed back, a faint blush creeping across his cheek. "Shut up."

headcanon things... enjoy👍

19 whole people decided to follow me?? thanksss!!! 💋

also read tough skinned now on wattpad!

©𝐵𝑙𝑢♡

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kenyummy · 6 months ago

Text

BEACH DAY — BLUE LOCK

SYNOPSIS: as a manager during the nel, a well-deserved rest was needed. what better way to rest than a fun day in the hot summer air, in a bikini, at the beach?

note: this was originally a special for 100k reads on my wattpad book found (which u should SO read btw #shamelesspromo) but to avoid confusion i edited out a lot of mentions of the manager characters who were included in this short! i really hope you all enjoy!

wc: 6.2k

TODAY

is a completely regular day of fun outings. Shidou had (in)formally organised a beach trip, something you decided would be a good idea. The NEL has been stressful on all of you, whether it be you and the other managers, the players, or even coaches—taking a good day off seemed to be a good idea.

So, you were heading to the beach.

The place where women can wear skimpy bikinis without being called promiscuous names (it would happen anyway—but in a perfect world everybody would mind their own business) and the place where strange men (some of those men may happen to be named Otoya and Aiku) would check out the local fauna dressed in said skimpy bikinis.

It was a fun day of splashing around in the waves, ignoring all problems present in your life, and unwinding in the grainy sand. You miss it. That is why, even though you're sure this will happen to end up in disaster, you agreed.

So, this is what got you in this predicament now—thirty minutes before you had to get there with a ten minute trip driving—that was all that was left for you to remember everything.

Swimming outfit. A change of clothes. Sandals that won't trap sand. What else...

You ponder as you stare down at your duffel bag, filled with everything you need. Money—food stalls at the beach were always ridiculously expensive for no apparent reason, Floaties—you never know when somebody might just need some abrupt saving. Towels—plenty of towels, A robe—you'll probably be a little chilly when you get out of the water.

Apart from the obvious essentials like hair ties, deodorant, sunscreen, keys and whatever other odd things you need whenever you go out—you think you're good to go.

You take a good look at your swimsuit. You haven't worn it in a while. A simple black two-piece with each front piece of fabric being held together with two silver rings—it's a little smaller than you would've liked, but you don't own any other kind, so you decide to just go with it.

You roll up your towel nicely and tuck it into your bag, then zip it up. You stare down at the fat duffel bag that is practically bursting at the seams. You are ready to take on the final boss—the beach.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡

You stand in front of the mirror in the bathroom, pulling at the tight elastic band of your bikini. It digs into your skin slightly. Hissing through your teeth—you decide it's nothing, and quickly make your way outside.

With your bag under your arm, you walk out and look around. Two of the other manager girls said they'd saved a spot underneath a bright purple umbrella. It takes little effort to spot it in all its neon glory.

They both sit atop a beach towel, with odd things like sunscreen, keys, and waterproof mascara all scattered around them. You wave a little before you sit down on a part of the towel, taking in the sight of the beautiful beach.

Children running around, adults chasing after them—some guy was even getting told off in the middle of the waves for losing his swim trunks. All in all, the beach was positively bursting with rich energy.

You missed this. You haven't felt this calm in a good while. Dealing with all those rowdy boys vying for your attention—it took a toll on you.

Too bad this peace would not last for too long.

Your phone dings. You pick it up and press on the notification—it's a snap from Shidou. You hesitantly click on the picture and it's a closeup of his left eye—but in the background, you can see the side of the building you had just changed inside, and a shirtless Otoya is trying to kick at somebody.

You don't even have the chance to properly react when a loud yell interrupts your thoughts. You snap your head towards the sound so fast your neck aches—the source was Rin on the floor while, even though a second ago a phone should've been in his hand, Shidou is jumping him.

A smart, sassy quip and loud groans erupts from both you and the other manager girls—you slap your phone down and squeeze your face in your hands.

Perhaps this is the start of doomsday, you think as the overly massive group starts making their way towards you and your blaring purple target of a neon umbrella.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡

"[name]!!" Bachira crashes into you—with the way he knocks you both to the sandy ground, he should be playing rugby instead of soccer—and rubs his cheek against yours like a loving cat. "I'm so excited to see you again! You never come by our stratum!!"

He's flat on top of you and the stares you're receiving start to grow uncomfortable. You push back at his chest but he simply opts to sneak his arms around your shoulders, "Bachira...!! Let me... get up..."

It takes the brute force of Barou King Shoei to remove his figure from latching onto yours. With a twitching brow and eyes that could stab daggers into Bachira—a small laugh unintentionally escapes your lips when he talks, "You're all sandy, you disgusting bug. If you get all that sand on the towel, I'll seriously kill you."

Bachira is being held up by the scruff of his water suit like a cat. He dangles in the air and flings himself at Barou next—"Fight me, king!"

"YOU—!!!"

Ignoring the upcoming brawl on the ground, you step over the two and you find your way towards...

"Hello, Isagi."

Your voice seems to make him jump—his eyes widen in surprise at the sight of your face and he looks far too nervous to be speaking to you. "O—Oh... Hello, [name]...! It's good to see you again..."

He's trembling and making such intense eye contact that you wonder if he's okay. His fists are clenched hard beside his body and you think he might just about have a heart attack. "Are you... okay?"

He answers a little too quickly, "Yes! I'm fine, haha, why would you worry about me? I'm totally good! Best I've ever been! Why would you ask? I look okay, right? Well, I gotta go now! I'll see you later, [name]!"

He runs off like he's a high school girl who's just had her first conversation with her senior crush. I can't tell if he's insecure about how he looks or worried about being disrespectful to me.

Maybe it's a mix of both. Isagi is on the slimmer side, compared to guys like Barou. Even though I know he's not, he looks like he's on steroids.

And Isagi's always been worried about being disrespectful to you—worried about overstepping boundaries and making you uncomfortable—at least when he's in his usual, clear state of mind. There's no telling what he's thinking when he stares down at you late at night after a good game with that overconfident, egotistical smirk.

Anyways—he's rushed away by now, and you're just standing here looking all stupid. Oh well. At least you're not alone for too long, because your attention is quickly stolen away by a certain trio.

Karasu, Otoya, and Yukimiya all come up to you—only one bothers to wave or even smile (there's no surprise he's a model—he's seriously gorgeous, you note when glancing down at his torso).

"Hey." The sneaky ninja is not so sneaky anymore, because he doesn't even try and disguise the way he's staring at your chest. He gives you a thumbs up, to which you scowl, "Lookin' good."

"Get your eyes off my chest."

"Sicko." Karasu shakes his head with a disappointed expression. You deadpan.

"You too, stupid crow."

"Did your mothers not teach you respect?" Yukimiya clicks his tongue—eyes fluttering closed as he shakes his head. He soon turns his head towards you and he actually does make eye contact with you—a step above his two friends. "It's nice to see you, [name]. You look very nice. Ignore these two."

You promptly ignore the offended looks shot at the model—you opt to just stare, perhaps a little too dreamily (but you couldn't care less, really), and smile back, "It's nice to see you too, Yukki. Thank you, you look handsome today, too. I was planning on ignoring those two, anyways."

"Woah, that is seriously hurtful." Karasu places a hand over his bare chest where his heart would be. "Too bad I don't care."

You roll your eyes. "Of course you don't, stupid crow."

"Would you stop calling me that?"

"Would you stop staring at my boobs?"

He pauses. "Point taken."

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡

Having Nagi cling to you during your time at Blue Lock is pretty hard already. Believe it or not, he's 6'2, and believe it or not, having a grown 6'2 man hanging off your side makes it pretty hard to get around.

Having a shirtless, messy-haired Nagi plant himself right on top of you and having his face smushed against the top of your chest is a little worse.

You can feel a burning stare at the back of your head. You're not sure if the stare Reo is giving you is directed at you or the snow-haired boy. (Perhaps it is both and he's just conflicted—you would understand).

"Nagi..." You push back at his head and slowly intertwine your fingers in the white locks. They're softer than you imagined, but the ends are unmistakably dead. You should cut it for him later. "Go swim or something."

You are disappointed (yet, not the slightest bit surprised) when he promptly shakes his head no and proceeds to dig his nose even deeper into your exposed skin. His voice is slightly muffled, but still plausibly understandable, "Nuh-uh. Dun' wanna."

Your eyes twitch. Perhaps you have been spoiling him a little too much—so much so he refuses to leave you be.

"'Cause I didn't wanna go, but then mmmm... uh—Reo told me you were gonna come... and it wouldn't be too much of a hassle if you stayed with me. Hadn't seen you in so long. Missed you."

Right. You forgot he told you that before, too. Perhaps you had been a bit too doting on Nagi—he's clingy-er than you remember. Or perhaps it had been similar to that saying, distance makes the heart grow fonder.

A loud shriek (it sounds far too girly to have come out of Nagi's mouth, but go figure) alerts you and you see Nagi has been grabbed backwards into a headlock by Barou King Shoei. Perhaps he had turned away from the villainous side since your last meeting with him, because right now, he's saved you twice, like a hero.

Nagi doesn't even fight the King's death grip—he flops like a dead fish and it looks rather funny seeing it so closely. Nagi is taller, yet much lankier than Barou, who looks like a bodybuilder compared to the lazy snowhead.

"You're kicking sand all over the towel, Mr Hassleman." Barou snarls and jerks Nagi's head back. The boy doesn't react other than wearing his little :x face. "Go swim it off. Now."

Nagi does not make any visible effort to move. Barou still holds him like a ragdoll in his grip when he turns to look at you—you laugh a little and move your sunhat out of your eyes. "Hi, Barou. It's nice to see that you came. I didn't think you'd like the beach."

He looks a lot different with his hair down, you note. But in a good way. Fallen beneath his shoulders—you wonder why he does not wear it this way more often. He still holds his signature forever pissed-off expression, "What the hell is that supposed to mean? You think I'm incapable of having fun?"

You pause, with a small grin. "Yeah, kinda."

He gives you a deadpan expression. "You're the same as always, you shit manager."

"I thought our relationship had progressed to the point we'd gotten past these mean names." You place a hand over your chest, a cheeky smile on your lips with a faux-hurt expression. You didn't usually joke around like this—it wasn't really your thing—but he was just far too easy of a target to tease. "I'm hurt, King."

He cocks a brow—you see Nagi trying to wriggle around now, and it's good to know he didn't actually die—"Seriously? Didn't think you were the type of person to care."

"Doesn't matter now. You're gonna swim, right?" With a nod of his head, you break away from his sharp stare and give him a small wave with a closed-eye smile. "Well, I'll leave you to it. Oh yeah—by the way, you look good with your hair down. You should do it more often. Anyways, see you later."

You do not catch the half-hearted wave Nagi sends you—which was just him flopping his arm up in the air—nor do you catch the look Barou throws over his shoulder at you, "... Not too bad yourself."

He says, but you do not catch it.

Nagi stares up at the man with a blank expression, "Who knew you were all sweet on our manager, huh, King?"

The King in question growls like an animal and tosses Nagi into the ocean like a ragdoll, "Shut the fuck up!"

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡

"Beach volleyball?" Chigiri stares with confusion in his bright pink eyes as Kurona sits on Gagamaru's shoulders—setting up the tall net. His hair is tied up in a high ponytail, and his bangs fall over his eyes. "Are you serious?"

His head turns to yours when you shrug, "Why not? Beach volleyball is super fun. It's not like you guys can play soccer on the sand."

Chigiri pauses to think your words over for a second. You give him the most empty stare you can muster before you speak, "You really can't play soccer on the sand, Chigiri."

"Well, still. Are you gonna play?"

You shake your head and spare him a small smile. "No, I think I'll pass on this one. I'd like to see you play, though. You seem like you'd be really good at volleyball."

He gives you a pretty smile and shakes his head. "Oh, I don't know. I wasn't really planning to play either. I was honestly just thinking of sitting down with you and just relaxing."

"Oh, but I really would like to see you play. I bet you'd be better than anybody else out there, Hyoma." Not to be brass or anything, but you like to think you know a good amount about Chigiri—including how to get him to do what you'd like: Fan his ego. Or to put it in better words, praise him. "I think you'd look pretty cool."

You give him the nicest smile you can muster, and you're sure that's what seals the deal. He turns his head away from yours—yet you can practically sense the smirk he now holds—"Well, if you really think so, why not?"

You laugh a little as he walks onto the court, and each side with six players—even if in official beach volleyball, there were only two on each side, this was the most unofficial game you've ever really witnessed.

Otoya and Karasu are jumping on each other's shoulders in an effort to block the spikes—it only ends in the one on top tumbling to the ground and Yukimiya shaking his head in an I'm not mad, just disappointed motion.

Bachira is using his feet to play, kicking the ball up even when his hands were a completely more viable option—you think this is illegal, but who are you to judge—and Shidou is doing the same thing, except he... is hogging the ball. You aren't even sure how you hog the ball in volleyball, but he's managing it.

Rin is the one who manages to get it away from him but it only ends up in another tussle—something you do not bother to stop because one of the manager are already running toward them with a can of hairspray (which, if you were not previously aware, has the same effect as pepper spray if directed into the eyes).

You loll your head back and let out a heavy sigh. This beach day was going better than you had expected—still, your group by far had gained the most traction from how loud you all ended up being. You've gotten countless stink-eyes from old people, especially when Shidou yells out profanities in the vicinity of little children.

You wonder if the police may get called on you all. Maybe you should pretend you're not in their group as a last-ditch effort if it does end up happening.

You are broken out of your thoughts by a small, almost nervous greeting, "Um... hey, [name]."

You look to where the source of the sound came from—you get an eyeful of Isagi's bare torso before you see his face. He's looking off to the side awkwardly as if the mere action of looking at you would be purgatory, and he looks like he doesn't know what to do with his hands so he grips the end of his swimming shorts awkwardly. It's cute.

"Hi, Isagi." You smile. You shuffle over to create a little more room on the towel you are sitting on. You pat the free spot beside you and nudge your head towards him, "Come sit."

Obediently—you didn't expect him to move so fast—he sits beside you. He still looks stiff and nervous, so you ask him what's up. He responds, quickly but much quieter than his usual calm tone, "I was... um... ah, this is so stupid..."

He sucks in a deep breath of air and turns his back towards you. It's a little more built than you imagined. "I was... just gonna ask if you could put sunscreen on my back... I can't reach, and I trust you more than the... others."

You can practically feel the way his face burns up from how his voice cracks and grows more hushed with every word. To save him from the embarrassment, you decide to spare him from teasing words. "Sure. I don't mind. I'm glad you trust me, Isagi."

The words come out a little more sultry than you intended as you test the waters and place your fingertips on his bare shoulders. He shivers. You can feel it.

You spread the sunscreen all over his back—he places his face in his hands as you work your hands a little lower. When your fingertips brush against the waistband of his shorts he has to bite back a small groan. This was utterly humiliating for him—seriously, this was sad.

You're not completely oblivious to this fact, so in a menial act of pity for the poor guy, you try and finish up as quickly as possible—if only to save him from the embarrassment.

It feels far too intimate to be just a friendly gesture. He wonders if you feel that way too. You lightly rest your palms on his tense shoulders when you are done, sitting on your knees and leaning your face near his own, "Done."

He'd be lying if he said his heart didn't skip a beat. He swallows thickly, blunt nails digging into his palms as he shuffles around so he faces you. The words that come out of his mouth are a little shakier than he would've liked, "T... Thanks... [name]."

The smile you have plastered on your face is nothing short of pretty, he thinks. "No problem. You can come to me if you need anything, okay?"

Why do you have to say things like that, [name]?

Isagi gives you a small nod, and practically forces a wavy smile onto his lips. "Yeah... You're really helpful, you know that?"

You laugh. "I know."

The mood between you two is calm and the strange tension from before has dissipated. You're smiling from ear to ear, about to say something—when Isagi's demeanour changes completely. You're not too sure why, but he seems to spot something behind you and his eyes completely shift.

Gone is the meek and shy boy, and in his place is a coy, smiling man. He places a hand on your upper arm—it makes you jolt and look at him in surprise. A second ago, he couldn't even look you in the eye, and now, he was shuffling closer towards you like it was the most natural thing ever.

"Anything, right?" He finally speaks, and he moves his hand up, away from your arm and it lightly traces underneath your jaw. He looks deeply into your eyes, but still keeps glancing behind you. "Can I do this?"

You do not get a chance to ask what this happens to be—although, it does not take a genius to figure it out, and you are no genius—or even spare him an answer before he grabs your hardcover novel and holds it up in front of where the two of your lips meet—covering your kiss from the other players that surround you all.

He doesn't dare take this further than a small kiss—yet, it wouldn't be considered a simple peck either. His hand holds the underside of your jaw lightly and tilts your head up so he can easily feel you and the back of the hard-cover book feels cool against your cheek.

You'd like to believe the reason your cheeks are on fire is from the blaring heat of the sun shining down on you—even though you are underneath the shade of that purple umbrella. His lips taste sweet, like a fruity drink. You think a stall nearby is serving something similar to that.

You can feel his smile against your lips, and he seems to be all too happy to have you like this. He tilts your face forward and your body has to follow—to the point you practically collapse into his lap. It feels much more intimate now that you can feel his bare skin against your own.

Isagi moves his hand down from your jaw down toward your waist, holding you taut against him and letting his fingertips rest in the dip of your back.

You finally end up moving backwards, and your sunhat almost falls off your head—Isagi quickly readjusts it when he pulls away. He gives you a sweet smile—though, it grows more cocky when he glances behind you again—and says, "You really are helpful, [name]."

You blush a little but still retain that same smile when his hands trace down your spine gently, romantically. "I know."

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡

Isagi joins in on the beach volleyball fun with Nagi after Rin and Shidou leave in favour of taking a dip in the sea (you think you hear Shidou saying something about skinny-dipping, and you pray to every god imaginable you heard wrong), so you are left to yourself once more.

You are perfectly content. Your sunhat lay on the towel beside you and your legs are peeked out in the sun—reading your book where you last left off.

Your life is perfectly calm until it is not.

Hands suddenly cover your vision and all you see is darkness. You jerk your head up and are about to say something when a heavily accented voice suddenly rings out throughout your ears, "Guess who?"

You could recognise that voice in your sleep from how often it haunts your dreams. You recognise that voice even before you hear it. You slump down where you sit, letting out a heavy, almost tired sigh. "Kaiser..."

"Ah! How did you guess it so easily, hübsches Mädchen?" He removes the hands blocking your vision and he suddenly plops himself down, right in front of you—of course, his little guard dog is right by his side, sporting his usual guileless expression. "Perhaps you think of me far too often, hm? Also, I told you to call me Michael. We are closer than that, no?"

You shake your head, eyes slightly squinted at him. "I don't know about that. Hello, Ness."

The puppy-dog boy waves his hand at you, clearly delighted. "Hello, [name]!"

Kaiser looks annoyed at this interaction. He scoffs, rolling his electric blue eyes and waving you off mindlessly, lashes fluttering closed, "Whatever. I cannot believe you're just reading at the beach."

You raise a brow. "What's wrong with that?"

He picks up the book by its spine and tosses it nonchalantly on the towel beside you, lips curled downwards into a sneer, "It's terribly dorky. You look like a huge dork."

"You sound like you care about that more than me."

"I don't want my love interest to look like a huge geek. Appearances matter a lot, you know." Yeah, you make that really clear. He abruptly stands up—Ness scrambles to get up as well—and looks down at you, finger curling upwards towards you like he's beckoning you to follow him. "Come on."

You blink with your nose scrunched up. "Excuse me?"

He coughs into a closed fist, looking up at the bright blue sky so he doesn't have to meet your gaze. He still holds a hand out to you, "Come on. Don't keep me waiting."

You're so shocked that you actually find yourself following after him—though, you do not take his outstretched hand and it is left hanging awkwardly. Ness would've taken it.

Your sandals flop on the sand as you walk down the beach, past families and couples and people simply wanting to tan—you follow behind Kaiser in silence while Ness walks beside you. You hope people don't think of you three as a throuple. That would absolutely not be good for your image whatsoever.

You pause as soon as you realise exactly where he is leading you. He's stepped halfway into the water when you halt your movements right before the splash of a wave hits your toes.

"Yeah, no thanks." You abruptly turn on your heel and proceed to try and make a getaway—you don't get too far until Ness grabs your wrist and tugs you backwards. You tumble into him—somehow, he doesn't fall over and only grabs your upper arms in his hands with a frantic expression.

"Please, [name]! Kaiser really wants to swim with you!"

Kaiser hisses through his teeth lowly and stares at Ness like he's just cursed out his mother, "What the hell, Ness?! I never said that!"

The small boy does not make it very subtle when he gasps in shock. Ness slaps his hands over his mouth and shakes his head—his voice is muffled when he speaks, but you can still understand slightly, "I—I never said that! Nobody said that!"

He's so embarrassed the poor boy rushes into the water and disappears beneath the waves. You wonder if he has become one with the sea. In the distance, you can see Kurona and Hiori chilling on a large unicorn floatie—with drinks and colourful straws—that should've only been able to fit one person.

You and Kaiser are now just staring at each other in very much awkward silence. You take a languid step back. "Well... If you don't want to swim..."

Once again, you do not get the chance to dash away because he's grabbed you and pulled you into his grasp before you could even react. You look at him with wide eyes—but you're practically putty in his hands when he bends down and clasps his arms over the back of your thighs, throwing you over his shoulder like a menial sack of potatoes.

Your sandals fall off your feet as soon as you find yourself tucked over him—you let out a very loud, very offended, very embarrassed gasp of shock, "What the hell... ?! Kaiser—put me down! Sick bastard!"

Your words have no visible effect on him. Your head slumps down when you feel him walking, and your hair hangs over your head. You get a good eyeful of his back. He's also more muscular than you imagined. Makes sense why he could even do this. That doesn't mean you're not pissed, though.

You can't see his face, but you can practically envision his signature cocky smirk and how it paints his stupidly handsome features, "I'm all fine, hübsches Mädchen. Are you ready?"

Huh? Ready for what—!!!

You feel so indiscriminately stupid for even asking this question—you should've already known the answer—because you suddenly find yourself collapsing into the water, salt filling each of your senses and the loud noises of children screaming around you fading to muffled nothingness.

You jump up as fast as you can—you're just tall enough so you can stand with your chest above the waves. You start coughing to try and get the small amount of water you happened to swallow out of your system—your hair is now wet with the water and is suddenly heavier, and you're shivering cold.

Kaiser, the asshole he is, is laughing wildly at your expression. You push your hair away from your vision and you receive an earful of his—stupidly charming—laughter. His hands clamp over his mouth in a last-ditch effort to muffle himself, which only makes your face flush hotter with anger and your chest tightens.

You want to yell and scream into his face, but you choose the better way out. You puff your cheeks out and hold your breath as you dive back under, swimming behind him and slamming your foot into the back of his knees so that he tumbles forward, face-first into the water.

You've never felt prouder of yourself.

You bob your head back up and start to laugh wickedly now—it was his turn to look like a drowned rat. When his head comes above water, you can't help the tears of laughter that brim across your waterline when he gives you a deadpan, silently fuming glare.

His wet bangs cling to his face (somehow, it suited him—the mere thought made you feel a little angry, in the way that your stomach started to feel all weird and your heart skipped a beat or two) and his red eyeliner is smeared down his cheek. He pushes his blonde hair back, so that his damp bangs fall over his left eye and his hair is parted strangely to the side.

"Hmph." He looks away from your figure—you have to cling onto his shoulder to stop yourself from falling over, and your chest heaves up and down wildly to breathe. "I don't know what you find so funny."

You look up at him from your slumped position, eyes squinted upwards and you're practically sparkling with joy, "You... you look hilarious! Ahahaha—look at you! I can't—" Your words are cut off by your gasps for air.

Kaiser does not look the least bit impressed. He stares down at where your cheek is planted on the side of his neck, right where the blue rose lies. His hands stabilise you by falling into the small of your back—right where Isagi's fingertips once touched.

You finally regain your composure and move away from how you were practically pressed up against him—your cheeks are starting to hurt from how hard you were smiling, and you now sport a much calmer sort of grin when you stare up at him. "Ah... I'm sorry—don't look so mad—"

He rolls his eyes, which makes you chuckle, hands resting on his shoulders, "Oh come on... don't look at me like that... I'm sorry..." Your tone is far too playful to sound apologetic. He is slightly enjoying the attention you bestow upon him, but the thought makes his head hurt so he chooses not to reflect on it. "Michael..."

Fuck. His name sounds so nice coming out of your mouth.

He still keeps up the annoyed act, however, even when you grin up at him with that stupidly pretty, stupidly knowing look, "Don't be like that... I'm sorry, okay? What do you want me to do to make it up to you?"

The blonde pauses, blinking owlishly and looking down at you. You are still smiling, and he can feel your heart beating loudly in your chest. You almost look dazed, probably from your previous session of full-blown laughter.

His hands still rest lowly on your hips. He moves one and tilts your chin up with his thumb, "Hm." A smirk coils onto his lips and in an instant you can see the happiness that practically radiates off his being. "I think this will suffice, for now."

He leans forward, and suddenly, he is kissing you. Unlike Isagi—he wastes not a second to slip his tongue between your lips and kisses you as deeply and passionately as he can muster—it's so Kaiser, so him that it makes your stomach twist within itself.

His hands run down the side of your body—the places where his rough fingertips meet the skin that you usually cover with clothing make you jolt and goosebumps form on your wet skin.

His bangs tickle your cheek and despite how wet they are, they are soft. His left, tattooed hand finds itself on the side of your stomach and his blunt nails sink into the soft flesh—he grabs at whatever he can get his hands on. It's lowly and desperate and so unbefitting, so uncharacteristic of him—but in this moment, he can hardly find it within himself to care.

The hot sun beams down on you both and it causes your head to grow all hot and fuzzy—Kaiser's natural warm body heat is not helping either. You're feeling so much all at once that your hands unconsciously place themselves on his bare chest in a small attempt to create a sliver of distance between you two.

It does not work. Your torso leaves no room or gap as you're sunken into his arms—it makes him groan into your mouth and god, you almost feel sick to your stomach when you realise your first thought after hearing it is that you really want him to do it again.

You're not underwater anymore, but you might as well be. Every sense is muffled—the children screaming, the cool, glittery water that surrounds your bodies, even the blackness that clouds your closed-lidded vision—all you can feel is him, his tongue in your mouth and his hands running all over the smoothness of your skin.

Suddenly, you feel your lungs aching, and you realise you need air. You try to pull away—but his face follows yours like he's a mindless dog, and you could've laughed at it if you had not been so stripped of oxygen. You need air and yet he's kissing you like you are his air—it's a fact that makes your cheeks flush red hot.

The only option you can think of is the next action you take—you squeeze your hand out of where he presses your chests impossibly close and entangle them within his damp, blonde locks—tugging backwards and forcing him to leave the slightest amount of space between your mouths, so you can gasp for air.

Your hand tugging at Kaiser's long hair, hard, and you hotly panting into his mouth—he'd rather be caught dead than admit this aloud, but it doesn't feel half bad.

Your eyes crack open slightly, and you have to choke down a laugh when staring at his expression. His face is flushed bright red—compared to his usual pale complexion—and his squinted cerulean eyes are clouded with unmistakable desirable passionate lust.

"Scheiße, hübsches Mädchen." He curses lowly, chest rising and falling erratically as he pulls you in even closer—if that were possible. You can feel every ridge and bump of his hard torso against you and the smirk that pulls across his lips makes your heart pound. "You make my heart race."

When your breathing starts to even, he closes the gap between you both once more, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth and biting down—you whine into him and he kisses you softly as some sort of minor apology—you'd never hear the word sorry come out of his lips, after all. His hand dips down to trace up and down your spine, while the other rests below your ass.

He slides his lips away from yours, down your neck and he rests his face in the crook between your neck and shoulders—pressing languid, open-mouthed kisses against the salty skin. His hair falls over his shoulder and trickles into the water like molten honey—it flutters around in the sea and he looks stupidly gorgeous like this.

Now that he's not blocking your vision nor taking over each of your senses, you can see now see the distant figures of your friends all playing together in the sea, including that of Isagi. He's talking together with the others and having fun while you're over here, making out with one of his most hated rivals.

Still, you can't find it within yourself to give it a second thought when his teeth sink into your neck, and his hands tighten around your upper thighs. He lifts his head after you whimper a little and push him back—he follows where your eyes lead and you're sure he also happens to see the head of your dear friend.

The smile that curls across his lips is nothing short of dangerous. "Oh, is that Yoichi? Are you worried about him seeing us?" You do not give him a verbal answer, but the way you look down and the way your lips tremble gives him everything he needs. "How cute. No worries."

He lifts his face and all you can see is him. His hair falls over his shoulder and his bangs tickle your cheek once more. His touch is undeniably soft despite the carnal look he sports in his sharp, angled eyes. "Why don't we give him a show, hübsches Mädchen?"

He whispers so delicately—you do not have the mind to shake your head no, nor do you protest when he slips his tongue between your obediently open lips once more, hands tucked around your hips.

Your heart will not stop pounding. Kaiser smiles at the fact that he is doing this to you. He smiles at the fact you are like mindless putty in his hands, and he smiles at the fact that he can feel bright blue eyes staring holes into him—there's nothing wrong with showing off, right?

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naivegh0ul · 1 year ago

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I need older!Ghost who is completely smitten with you. He knows he shouldn't be obsessing over you like this, considering he's old enough to be your father, but that just makes it even hotter. The taboo nature, your innocence, the fact that he wants to completely ruin you, it's all so arousing.

Ghost sees you one day, in shorts that are way too small for you, and he has to cover his mouth to stop himself from drooling. "God, it should be illegal to look that good." Ghost murmurs to himself as he takes a drag of his cigarette, watching from his back porch as you prance around your garden, laying down a towel on the sun lounger near your pool.

Ghost's eyes widen as he realises what you're doing, and he drops a hand to his crotch, adjusting his erection in his joggers as he watches lay down on the lounger, barely clothed save for your swimwear, and Ghost boldly speaks up.

"Nice day out, isn't it?" Says Ghost, his voice rough as he speaks. He watches you jump, not having noticed he was there, and Ghost smirks. "Sorry, sweetheart, didn't mean to scare you." He coos, his tone seeming apologetic while the teasing smile on his face says otherwise.

"Going for a dip? Or just soaking up the sun?" Ghost asks, feigning curiosity when he only wants to watch your mouth move as you speak, his eyes staring at your luscious lips. Ghost barely notices that you responded, only humming at whatever your answer was.

Like the pervert he is, Ghost immediately looks at your behind as you turn on your front. "Fuckin' hell, look at that arse." He groans quietly, feeling his cock twitch in his joggers.

Ghost palms himself through his pants, grateful for the thick fence on his porch covering up his lewd act, and he greedily takes in the sight of you sunbathing. "Need a hand with the sunscreen, darlin'?" Ghost calls out, suppressing an eager smile.

#older!ghost #gender neutral reader #ghost cod #ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x gender neutral reader #simon riley x gender neutral reader #ghost smut

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leclerc-hs · 8 months ago

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do i wanna know? - cl16

pairing: brother'sbff!charles x gasly!reader summary: in which you consider vacation with your family and brothers friends torture OR you fuck your brother's bff on his yacht warnings: 18+, smut under the cut, badly translated French (pls correct me!), NOT PROOFREAD (if there’s mistakes let me know please!!!!) word count: 3.5k author's note: had so much fun writing this honestly. could honestly picture myself writing more about brother's bff charles. I feel like sneaking around is sooooo fun and makes it hotter. LOL. let me know your thoughts!!! xoxo love u all. ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . ⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

IT HAS BEEN one week of pure torture. At least, that’s how you explained it as you texted your best friend. To which she responded, ‘torture and vacation don’t belong in the same sentence’.

You rolled your eyes, a wry smile playing on your lips as you contemplated her obliviousness. If only she knew! A full week spent in Charles’ company – scratch that – a mostly shirtless Charles, had left your thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind, unable to find their way back to coherence.

“How could you be so stupid! Idiota!” You could hear the constant whining of your mother echoing in your ears, emanating from the dinette area of the yacht. Her complaints were like a relentless assault on your sun-kissed skin. Although “sun-kissed” was an understatement; you were borderline burned but would never dare to admit it.

“Maman, je vais bien!” I’m fine! You retorted, your voice carrying a hint of exasperation. With a sigh, you made your way back towards the bow of the yacht, where a stretch of sunbeds awaited you. Oh, thank heavens. There was absolutely no way you were returning home from this vacation without a good tan. Of course, you applied sunscreen diligently, but the sun was relentless out on the open water.

You collapsed onto the sunbed, feeling the plush cushion yield beneath the weight of your body. The sunglasses perched precariously on the bridge of your nose teetered for a moment before nearly tumbling off, saved only by a quick adjustment of your hand.

For a few moments, it was just you. You and the sun. You and the gentle breeze caressing your heated skin. You and the soothing sound of the calm waters, a tranquil melody that enveloped you in serenity. You were at peace.

The bliss of solitude didn’t last long as you felt a shadow descend upon your body, as if a cloud had suddenly blocked out the sun.

“Mon ange, you are burned.”

Your eyes were shut behind the dark sunglasses, but you didn’t need to open them to know that voice. The voice sent a cascade of butterflies fluttering in your stomach almost instantly. Despite the burn creeping on your cheeks from the sun, a telltale blush threatened to give away the sudden rush of emotions stirring within you.

Slipping the sunglasses up onto your head, using them as a makeshift headband, allowing your eyes to connect with a mesmerizing shade of green. In that moment, time seemed to freeze as you were ensnared by the profound depth of those affectionate, verdant eyes. Green—the color that stirs a vibrant vitality within you, invoking a sense of renewal and energy. Their gaze penetrated your soul, igniting a whirlwind of emotions that swept through you like a gentle breeze through a lush, verdant meadow.

You observed as his gaze transversed your form, starting from your eyes, then descending along the curve of your nose, down to the graceful line of your neck and the delicate contours of your collarbones. His eyes lingered on your breasts for a fraction longer than usual, sending a tingle of awareness coursing through you, before swiftly returning to meet your gaze once more. A small smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, hinting at a silent understanding or amusement.

As his gaze roamed over every curve of your body, you found yourself doing the same, unable to resist his magnetic pull. You seized the chance to drink in the sight of his shirtless body in that fleeting moment. Each droplet of water adhered to his bronzed skin like liquid diamonds, emphasizing every sinew and contour of his body. As he shook his head, droplets cascaded from his tousled locks, creating a mesmerizing dance as they landed on your burning skin, leaving a trail of tingling sensations in their wake. His hand moved through his hair in a fleeting gesture, as if trying to tame the wild strands, adding an irresistible allure to the scene before you.

“Elle est stupide.”

It was as if a bucket of ice was dumped onto your body.

That voice, on the other hand, snapped you right out of the moment, your head whipping in the direction of your brother’s voice. With narrowed eyes and a quick motion, you lifted your middle finger in his direction, breaking the spell of the moment with a playful gesture of annoyance.

“Don’t be an ass, Pierre.” You mumbled softly before sitting up fully, feeling Charles drop down onto the vacant spot beside you. He turned onto his side, resting one arm under his head as he looked at you and your brother bicker. A smile tugged on his lips.

“I’m going to get the sun-tan lotion,” Your brother tossed a towel onto the other vacant spot, before retreating to wherever the lotion was. “Some of us aren’t complete morons.”

“Mon dieu,” In frustration, you grumbled to yourself before flipping over onto your stomach, burying your head into the crevice of your elbows. Your face pressed into the cushion of the sunbed as you sought solace from the annoyance. Out of sight, out of mind.

“Toujours là,” Still here. Charles whispered softly as he leaned closer, his warm breath brushing against the nape of your neck as his finger delicately grazed the curve of your lower back, tracing intricate patterns with feather-light touches. The sensation sent shivers down your spine, a subtle reminder of his presence even though you couldn’t see him. You could almost sense the heat of his gaze penetrating the miniscule fabric tied to your body, leaving an indelible mark on your skin.

You turned your head to face him, still resting on your arms under you. A smirk, that never seemed to leave his face while in your presence, was still pulled onto his lips.

“Tu as l’air bien aujourd’hui.” You look good today.

“Aujourd’hui?” Today?

He nodded slowly, his fingers trailing up your spine until they reached the ties of your string bikini on your back. With a delicate touch, he toyed with the knotted bow, teasingly.

“Et les autres jours?” What about other days?

He rolled his eyes in a playful manner, clicking his tongue to make a ‘tsk’ sound in jest. “Tu es toujours belle.” You’re always beautiful.

He pulled his hands from your warmed skin, just in time for your brother to return, bottles of sun lotion in hand. He tossed one to Charles while demanding you to put some on.

“Putain, j’ai oublié mon telephone,” Fuck, I forgot my phone. And your brother was out of sight yet again.

“Charlie?” You put on your sweetest voice. “Voudrais-tu mettre la lotion?” Will you put the lotion on?

It was an excuse. An excuse to have his hands on you again. Not that you needed an excuse, he wanted to touch you just as badly.

He didn’t verbally respond. Instead, he silently applied the sun-tan lotion to your back, spreading it across different areas with careful strokes of his hands as he leaned over your frame, before gently placing his hands back on you.

His fingers slid across your back in slow movements, as if he wanted to remember what every inch of your skin felt like against his hands. His hands dipped down to your butt, barely covered by the bikini that adorned your body, kneading his fingers into the uncovered skin.

He sucked in a breath as you let out a soft moan from the feeling of his hands on you. The feeling of his hands massaging you.

Soft “oh’s” and “mm’s” escaped from your lips, stirring something deep within Charles. He could feel his self-control slipping away with each little sound you made, intensifying his desire with every breath you took.

He dropped a little pat to your butt, signaling that he was done, with a small cough. All you did was flip over, chest now in front of his direct line of eyesight and waited until he realized what you wanted.

“My front side needs some, no?” You could’ve sworn you heard a groan slip past his lips.

His hands slowly but surely made way back to your skin, trailing along your ribs as he made sure to miss not one inch of your skin with the lotion. His touch was tender, yet purposeful, as he ignited a trail of sensation wherever his fingers grazed. It was as if your skin was itching for more of him, while his fingers burned to touch every inch he could.

And although the air was hot, and the sun was beating down on you both. Your nipples pebbled beneath the thin fabric of your swimsuit, no doubt obvious to Charles, as if you were freezing.

“I’m done,” His voice dropped an octave, but his hands didn’t leave your skin. No, instead he carried his fingers to the small triangles of your white bikini top, daring his thumbs to trace over your pebbled nipples. You ached.

It wasn’t until Pierre reappeared that Charles abruptly withdrew his hands from you, swiftly dropping onto his back on the sunbed and feigning nonchalance as if his hands weren’t just groping you.

“Lando!” you shrieked; your body slung over his shoulder as his arms held onto the back of your thighs firmly. “Pose-moi! Put me down!”

He twirled in circles on the back deck, his movements reckless, bringing him dangerously close to the edge of the water. With a mix of playful exasperation and genuine concern, your arms smacked his back, the impact echoing a mix of amusement and anxiety in the salty air.

“Put you down?” His voice carried a mischievous tone, a hint of devilry hidden. Though you couldn’t see his face, you could practically feel the schemes brewing in his mind, a silent promise of further antics.

“Don’t you da-” Before you could complete your sentence, the momentum carried both you and Lando overboard, plunging into the refreshing embrace of the water. As you emerged, laughter bubbled up, mingling with the gentle lapping of waves against the boat’s hull. With a mischievous grin, you scooped water in your hands, splashing it at Lando’s face, eliciting playful protests and further laughter as he grabbed for your body, pulling you flush against him.

“You still got a thing for him?” Lando’s eyes darted over your shoulder, towards the boat, where an unnoticed Charles was already gazing in your direction, his head cocked as if he was mildly confused and annoyed. Unaware of his presence, you rested your head in the crevice of Lando’s neck, the both of you continuing to frolic in the water, oblivious to the silent exchange occurring just beyond your awareness.

You nodded your head once against his skin, a silent acknowledgment, before lifting it to meet his gaze. In his eyes, you saw a glint of mischief. “What?”

“Should we make him jealous?” His whispered into your ear, keeping your back to the boat, as his eyes stayed locked on whatever was behind you.

You shook your head, “He wouldn’t care.”

“Does him not caring include him looking at me like he’ll strangle me with his bare hands?” He brought his eyes back to you, one arm settling on the back of your neck as your legs wrapped around him.

“Pierre would kill you if he saw us right now.”

He tilted his head back slightly, his laughter resonating between you, causing his bodies to shake with shared amusement. “Pierre is the least of my worries, you muppet,” he chuckled, the sound rich and warm against the backdrop of the lapping waves. His fingers danced through the strands of your wet hair, his voice gentle and comforting. “Just follow my lead, yeah?” His voice carried a hint of excitement, igniting a spark of anticipation within you as you nodded.

When Lando claimed Pierre was the least of his worries, you couldn’t help but wonder how true that statement was. Still, you admired his determination not to let Pierre’s presence hinder his plans. There was a sense of resilience in him, a refusal to be shackled, and you found yourself drawn to that strength of character.

“Qu’est-ce qui se passe?” What’s going on? Pierre pulled you to the side, his tone hushed. “Toi et Lando, c’est sérieux?” Are you and Lando a thing?

You’re not sure what had him questioning you. Maybe it was you wrapped around his body in the water earlier, or the food sharing at lunch, or the inside jokes and laughter on the sunbed together. Whichever it was, he couldn’t sit back without questions.

“Non, mais ça ne te regarde pas si c’était le cas.” No, but it’s not your business if it were. There was a subtle edge in your tone as you purposefully distanced yourself from Pierre, a flicker of defiance in your step as you strode back towards Lando on the sunbed.

“I think he’s coming over here now,” Lando whispered into the shell of your ear. “You know what to do?” He pushed himself up and off the sunbed before claiming aloud he needed some water.

And as if you wanted this your entire life, which you did, you knew exactly what to do. Charles was a few steps from entering the threshold of ‘close proximity’ when you flipped over to your stomach with a yawn.

“That was quick!” You remarked, your head turned, purposefully presenting your back to Charles once more. “Lan, will you untie the string on my back? I can’t reach it, and I don’t want the tan lines from it.” There was a sly undertone in your voice, far from innocent, as you heard a loud cough from behind you and sensed the shadow cast over your body, indicating Charles’ presence.

Although you feigned ignorance, the sensation of Charles’ hands brushing against the skin above the string tie was too distinct to be mistaken for anyone else’s. Each touch carried a familiarity that sent a shiver down your spine, a sensation that could never be replicated by another.

Charles pressed his knee into the cushion of the sunbed, slipping it between your legs as he leaned forward. His body loomed over yours, his fingers knuckles-deep into the cushion with your head nestled in between, effectively hunching over you in an intimate posture. His lips hovered over the shell of your ear.

“Let me be clear,” His voice was gruff. “Ses mains ne te toucheront plus.” His hands will not touch you again.

You almost moaned at his words, but you had to stick to the plan. You turned your head just enough for your eyes to meet with his again. They were narrowed, and a much darker shade of green than earlier.

“And why is that?” It was as if you wanted a death wish.

“Si tu veux que quelqu’un te touche,” If you want someone to touch you. He began, before pausing and trailing one finger down your spine and back up it until his fingers settled on the nape of your neck, “Tu me demandes.” You ask me.

And then he was up and out of sight, as if it was a figment of your imagination.

“Est-ce que j’ai dit que tu pouvais arrêter?” Did I say you could stop? He grunts harshly as his hips rut upwards into you, your walls fluttering around his cock so tightly. You couldn’t form words as a small whimper elicited past your lips. “Hm, mon ange?”

Both of your arms are locked behind your back clenched in one of his tight fists. While his other hand grips your hip bone, controlling your movements. You were completely fucked out, your motions becoming lazy and lacking a pattern.

“C’mon fille douce,” Sweet girl. “Tu te sens tellement bien.” You feel so good. His words were edging you on, your pace increasing as you continued through the burn of your thighs working over his cock.

There was little to no room in the cramped cabin, leaving little room to maneuver, as your knees knocked into the side table earlier. The soft white comforter and few pillows that were once carefully arranged on the bed were haphazardly strewn about, adding to the sense of disorder. With only one light, casting a dim glow, the rest of the cabin remained cloaked in shadows, leaving the figure of him leaning against the makeshift ‘headboard’ which was little more than a wall, visible in the faint light. You could barely remember how you even got in this position. One moment, he was helping you find the spare cooler, the next your bikini bottoms were pushed aside as you straddled him.

“Think you’re so clever, hm?” He muttered, a grunt in between each thrust of his cock into you. “Lando?”

Your head lulled back, as Charles leaned forward to bring his teeth to your uncovered nipples, the triangles of your bikini top pushed to the sides, your breasts bouncing with each lift of your hips.

“It worked, didn’t it?” You smirked as he pulled his mouth off your nipples with a ‘pop’.

“Cherie, should’ve asked sooner.” He whispered, rolling you over so that you were beneath him now, pinned to the mattress. “Would’ve given you this sooner if you just asked.”

His hand now covered your mouth, his fingers occasionally slipping inside of it to feel your tongue, attempting to muffle your small moans.

“Silence, mon ange.”

You both could hear the rhythmic thumping of the music reverberating around the boat, blending with the sounds of laughter and occasional snippets of conversation. Amidst the vibrant ambiance, the occasional outburst of excitement or disagreement from a card game, worked in your favor of them not hearing you.

Your face was flushed red as he pinned you to the mattress, the slam of his hips filling the sound of the room. An occasional tear forming in your eye from the pleasure, from the need to come.

It was quick. One second his hips were slamming into you, the next they slowed, his head turned toward the door as if he could hear something you didn’t. Which he did. Footsteps.

“Charles? Are you down here?” There was a knock on the wooden door, the only boundary between the both of you and your brother. “Sais-tu où est ma sœur?” Do you know where my sister is?

And like the sick, twisted fuckhead Charles was, he continued rutting his hips into you. His pace much slower, but each stroke deeper, more precise. “Answer him,” His voice was so low, only you could hear him. You shook your head but look in his eyes was fierce as he cocked his head. You have no choice.

“I’m laying down,” Your voice quivered, as you tried to not moan in the middle of speaking. Charles dragged the pad of his tumb across his tongue, bringing it down to press against your already soaked clit. “I don’t feel well.” You heard the doorknob turn, but to your luck, it was locked.

“Have you seen Charles?”

“Doing so well for me, Cherie.” Charles whispered into your ear, like he wanted to torture you. “Your sweet little pussy was made for me, hm?”

Yes. Yes it was made for you. Yes, you’ve seen Charles. His cock was inside of you now, his swim shorts weren’t even completely off, neither was yours. That’s how desperate you both were.

“Mon dieu,” You yelped before Charles hand slammed over your mouth in warning, before he flipped you over, your backside now facing him. “No! But if you find him, can you tell him I’m looking for him too?” You figured it was a sly move.

Charles leaned over your back as soon as Pierre’s steps retreated, peppering kisses to your spine, until his mouth was beside your ear. “Such a good girl, hm?” The drive of his hips was world-tilting.

“Squeezing me so tight,” He grunted. “Gonna give it to me?”

Your head nodded repeatedly, your body shaking, with each forceful drive of his hips into you.

“Did you like that, hm?” He continued, “Almost getting caught with my cock deep inside of you?” You were losing your restraint, keeping your moans in was only getting more difficult.

You let out a whine as he continuously stroked your walls just right. You were too far gone to even announce that you were cumming. So, you came on his cock without a warning. But he could tell, just by the flutter of your walls around him and as your body collapsed face first into the mattress, as if you couldn’t hold yourself up anymore.

Your pussy gripped him tightly, and it was so warm, so gooey. “That’s it, mon ange.” He encouraged you as he pulled out, his own orgasm taking over him, releasing onto your backside, careful to not hit your bikini bottoms.

He fell beside you, his chest rising and falling with each breath he took as he met your eyes. “Mon dieu, we should’ve done that sooner.”

You let out a small laugh. Yes, you should’ve.

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc #f1 x reader #f1 imagines #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fic #f1 imagine

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