#at least *21* apples

[boneless-mika]

Doctors truly will be like “Don’t eat fatty foods which include *proceeds to list every food that exists*”

[peacheeeliz]

COMMUNITY

SYNOPSIS ⤏ mark, desperate to talk to the cute girl in his japanese class, forms a study group. who knew that other struggling college students might want to join a study group?

PARING ⤏ nonidol!mark x nonidol!fem reader

GENRE ⤏ smau, written, rom-com, fluff, college au, slowburn, mark is so down bad, but so is y/n eventually

FEATURING ⤏ mark, donghyuck, jaehyun, jungwoo, and johnny from nct 127, julie from kiof, kim jiwoong from zb1, minnie from idle, and allen from cravity (+ mentions of a TON of other idols)

FACECLAIM ⤏ faceclaim for y/n purely for picture purposes!! (@ 0ki0h on ig)

WARNINGS ⤏ swearing, sexual and kys/kms jokes, pls ignore timestamps 💔, mentions of jaehyun being a stoner, a bit of bullying, more to come

PLAYLIST ⤏ at least it was here, the 88 | 200, mark | red wine supernova, chappell roan | i wanna be yours, artic monkeys | dandelion, jaehyun | just for me, pinkpantheress | snap out of it, artic monkeys | urs, niki | right here, keshi | falling in love, cigarettes after sex

STARTED ⤏ 9/21/2024

STATUS ⤏ complete ♡

NOTE ⤏ community is literally my favorite sitcom, so when their tiktoks started popping up on my fyp, i couldn't resist making a smau inspired by it 🥴

PROFILES & CHAPTERS

STUDY GROUP | MEAN GORLS | BIBLE STUDY

prologue. try it bite it lick it spit it

episode 1. community

001. i could literally kiss u

002. i love ur brother too (469 wc)

003. they're not soundproof (1046 wc)

004. what the fuck am i chopped liver (653 wc)

episode 2. fundamentals of accounting

005. seize the day

006. DAY SEIZED (821 wc)

episode 3. psychology of personality

007. the apple of my eye

008. thanks soso much

009. alpha i need you......

episode 4. problems in history

010. WHY NTO

011. GYATT DAMN

012. u told me u kissed him

013. she's so crazzzzzzzy

episode 5. self defense & combatives

014. hyuck :((

015. old barbie movies??

016. friday. three o'clock. right here. (539 wc)

017. the what on friday?

018. beat his ass mark (1039 wc)

episode 6. heating laboratory

019. concrete jungle

020. love at frost sight

021. OHHHH WHAT THE FUCK

episode 7. survey of characteristics

022. FREAKISHLY YOUNG??

023. except ur both stupid

024. (not stupid ☝️)

episode 8. intro to media communication

025. uu feel lile home

026. i wish i waa qith u

027. why does my heart still feel heavy

episode 9. critical thinking

028. we need to talk

029. am i stupid (639 wc)

030. snap out of it

031. my favorite study buddy

episode 10. team sports

032. fuckass burger

033. i gotta piss (1107 wc)

034. zombie by the cranberries (1497 wc)

035. my jellies are tingling... (1073 wc)

036. these kids are so weird,,, (1474 wc)

episode 11. human relations

037. stupid ass friends

038. FYM SADLY??

039. i love you man (1925 wc)

040. meet me at the apateu, apateu

041. my favorite part of the year 🩷

☆©peacheeeliz, 2024

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ taglist is closed!

[jirsungs]

DRUM ME, STUPID! ☆ p.js

pairing: drummer!jisung x fem!reader

drum me, stupid! synopsis: a story about a college student enjoying her life in school perfectly fine, until one of her friends drags the group along to watch their school's band perform. little did she know that day would be marked as the day her whole world turned upside down because of a particular, nonchalant, and difficult drummer boy. a drummer boy who spilled his entire drink on her brand new outfit at a party and never came back.

genre: college au, social media au (some chapters will be written though!), music band au, slight enemies to lovers, unrequited love (for a bit), whole bunch of fluff, angst, mutual pining, silly humor

warnings: explicit language, college partying, alcohol consumption, A LOT of banter between characters including sexual/kys/death jokes of the sort, reader's kind of an ass (in the beginning), jisung ends up being a lover boy once the "nonchalant" wears off, yeonjun flirts like 24/7, overwhelming feelings that the characters can't handle

author's note: hi! since i've always enjoyed reading smaus and always get writers block with full on stories, i decided to make my own :] please excuse my bad knowledge on any of these majors or experiences and none of this reflects the real lives of the kpop idols! this was written solely for entertainment and fun! enjoy!!<3

comment if you wish to be tagged for the story's updates!

profiles #1 ☆ profiles #2

chapters will be added once they're posted!

episode 1: i did NOT agree to this gc name!

episode 2: costumers of ningcreates?!

episode 3: the universe is out to get me

episode 4: p.y.t (pretty young thing) (written)

episode 5: jisung's a coward, we all say in unison

episode 6: the latte lounge incident (written)

episode 7: hating each other era

episode 8: future uncles and aunt

episode 9: apologies & new beginnings

episode 10: what a lover boy!

episode 11: love like the movies (written)

episode 12: super obvious, but still not a confession

episode 13: my wonderwall, at least i hope so (written)

episode 14: she's going ghost mode on me

episode 15: ain't no way a girl got you like this

episode 16: i missed you

episode 17: i missed you (too) (written)

episode 18: finally mine!

episode 19: ningcreates (expanded) fan club

episode 20: she fr got him liking musicals

episode 21: drummer's girlfriend duties

episode 22: i fear yeonjun's loyalty to latte lounge finally paid off

episode 23: first mistake: letting y/n out of your sight wtf

episode 24: you maam caller

episode 25: wym drummer boy has a driver's license??

episode 26: only losers make wishes at 11:11

episode 27: pussy boy stand up

episode 28: no girls allowed at rockway rehearsals! (written)

episode 29: crashed ynsung's date lol

episode 30: ning bag that shit

episode 31: drummed her stupid!

END! started: 06.23.24 finished: 09.03.24

BONUS CHAPTERS:

#1: close to you (written) tba. . .

#2: the not-so-silly apple or orange juice debate tba. . .

#3: finally meeting the parents? tba. . .

© JIRSUNGS. ANY TRANSLATIONS/REPOSTS/PUBLISHES OF MY WORKS ON ANY PLATFORM ARE STRICTLY PROHIBITED! ALL COMMENTS, REBLOGS, LIKES, & FEEDBACK ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED! THANK YOU SO MUCH! I LOVE YOU, MWA! <3

[raestromboli]

𝒢𝒰𝐸𝒮𝒮 𝒲𝐸 𝐵𝒪𝒯𝐻 𝒜𝐼𝒩’𝒯 𝒮𝐻𝐼𝒯!

ᡴꪫ 𓂃 chris finally commits to a relationship! he swears up and down that he’s happy . . . but his girlfriend isn’t the reason why.

cw. ┊ 18+, not proofread, cheater!chris x milf!reader, smut, established relationship but not between reader, cheating, vulgar language, pet name usage, age gap﹙chris is 21, reader is 29﹚, gfs name is eve, persuasion, mild manipulation, cunnilingus﹙he eats it from the back﹚, spanking, backshots, overstimulation, creampie, y’all almost get caught, mdni.

⌗ the age gap between chris and r is not gonna align w the gf bc i feel uncomfy writing chris any younger and i am NOT gonna write the reader as an old ass woman 🤍 hope y’all get it

chris doesn't even have a damn clue on why he’s currently standing in front of his girlfriend’s mom’s residence when he knows his girlfriend isn't even inside the house.

though, all he wants is to see is her mom . . . her fucking mom.

it's kind of ridiculous, he thinks, how he has a crush on his girl's mom and calls her a milf in his head. he feels sick and twisted for even thinking of those lewd and perverted thoughts, but it’s almost addictive. you’re addictive. he really doesn't want to admit it, but chris was obsessed with comparing his girlfriend to you.

your curves, your pretty tits, your waist, your oh so soft thighs, and your lips. oh fuck, your lips. all he could think is . . . why couldn't your daughter take those features?

knocking on the door twice, the door immediately swings open to be met with your doe eyes staring up at him, worry settling in on them, "oh, chris—what’re you doing here, sweetie?" you pout sympathetically, noticing how chris looked so disheveled; hair sticking up in awkward places and little beads of sweat forming on his upper lip, “are you looking for eve?”

chris decides to play innocent, nodding his head and pouting at you.

“‘m so sorry, honey. she just left.” your voice was so smooth and comforting. he could only imagine how you’d sound when you’re getting your back blown out by him.

he raised his brows, pink lips forming into an 'o' as an attempt to look oblivious, " o-oh, shit. my bad." he huffs out a nervous laugh, turning around to begin walking off.

"wait!" you suddenly yelled. if chris didn’t know any better, you might’ve sounded desperate.

he looked so flustered and parched, so the least you could do for the sweet boy was to nurse him back to hydration . . . right? when chris stopped in his tracks, you didn't get to see the wicked smirk on his face before he turned around, meeting your eye.

“yes, ma’am?”

you frowned, "please don’t go back out there. i know you walked over here, poor boy."

fuuuck, you’re so caring. it makes his dick hard.

you widen the front door and chris immediately gives in, grinning and thanking you while heading inside your home. he’s been in your house before, but something about being just the two of you, alone, made everything feel special. just thinking about it made him feel like a perv—he was getting off to it, though.

chris eyes you the whole time.

you make your way into the kitchen, leaning down as you open the fridge door and pull out a pitcher of lemonade. you’re completely oblivious about the two blue eyes that ogle at your tits, or your ass when you bend down. that just makes it funner for chris. you pour the liquid in a tall glass and slid it over to the boy who sat himself down on the kitchen island.

while doing so, you couldn’t help but wonder if he really all this way to your house.

“chris, did you really walk all the way over here? if you wanted to come over, you could’ve called me, sweetie. i would’ve drove you.” chris took a few seconds to answer, a little busy chugging down the refreshment. some of the liquid slipped past his lips and ran down his chin.

his adams apple bobbed as he finished the last of the lemonade, setting the glass down and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "yeah, sorry. i will next time." chris giggles lowly, eyes boring its way into yours.

you smile at him when you both went quiet, “do you, uhm, want me to call eve and tell her you’re here?”

“nah, let it be a surprise.”

you teasingly coo at him, a coy grin playing at your lips when chris meekly shrugs, “she’s so lucky to have you, y’know.”

that makes him smirk, “yeah?”

“yeah.” it’s your turn to act shy, crossing your arms under your chest nervously. you spot chris’ eyes traveling down your chest, but you don’t say anything.

“soooo, you don’t have a man or somethin’ like that?”

“. . a man?”

he shrugs again, but with more confidence. a cocky smirk plays crooked on his lips while he continues, “like, someone you can depend on?”

“i guess not,” you huff out a laugh, “i’ve been too busy raising eve that i’ve never really thought about that.”

oh, but you have.

it’s so wrong, so disgusting and immature of you, but you think about it . . with chris . . . a lot. of course, you just wouldn’t admit it. you pushed those thoughts aside before you could get too carried away.

“damn,” he purses his lips, “you ever get lonely?”

you playfully furrow your brows at chris, “that seems a little inappropriate to ask that about your girlfriend’s mother.”

“is it?” he smirks while sliding his tongue over his bottom lip, “i just wanted to know a little more ‘bout you.”

you notice the atmosphere change in just a second. it makes you nervous.

“what do you wanna know?”

“i dunno . . .” chris then shrugs, maintaining eye contact with you as he walks past you. his hands paw at your waist to move you aside, purposely grinding his bulge against your ass. he hears you suck in a shaky, deep breath and a grin blooms across his face, “would you fuck a younger guy?” he turns the sink faucet on, so he’s unable to hear the shocked gasp that slips past your lips.

“chris! that’s h-highly inappropriate!” your head whips over to your left to stare at chris in bewilderment, eyes widened like saucers and lips parted.

you watch chris turn the faucet off, wiping his wet hands on his jean clad thighs before turning to face you, “sooo, no?”

“i-i can’t answer that—“

“why not?”

he can’t be serious.

you scoff at him, your eyes straining a bit as you try not to stare at the obvious bulge poking from chris’ jeans. he leaned against the sink counter with his arms crossed over each other, looking at you with his eyes darkened with lust.

“please don’t make me say it.” you can’t even muster yourself up to care as you beg chris. you’re just hoping all this was just one of those wet dreams you’ve been having of him lately.

chris knows you won’t say it, so he takes the cake for you, “what eve doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

you feel more lightheaded each step chris takes toward you, the potent smell of his cologne invading your senses. he’s even more prettier close up—your head’s so fuzzy, “i-i can’t do that to her, chris.” you whisper.

“no?” chris’ sympathetic pout seems purely fake when his hard stare on you intimidates you, “you sayin’ you don’t want me?”

“chris . . .” you whimper softly.

“c’mon, say it. you’ll be my good girl, won’t you?”

you can’t believe how a younger man like chris could have so much power over you. his suave voice immediately makes you fold, along with his piercing gaze that leaves you cowering.

two hands wrap around your waist to pin you against the counter, his bulge pressing against your bare thigh.

“i . . i want you.” you managed to spit it out with chris pushing his body impossibly closer to yours, his chest smushing against yours and his breath fanning over your face. he smiles at you, and it almost seems innocent before he leans in and locks his lips with yours.

it’s been so long since you’ve kissed someone, let alone been with a man this close to you. so you expect chris to pull away and sneer at your sloppy motions, but instead he sighs in almost relief against your lips.

chris’ kisses are messy and uncoordinated, but somehow in the best possible way. he sucks on your bottom lip, whining nasally while he lets you explore his mouth. your lips are coated in a glossy sheen with his saliva when he pulls away, panting and staring at you with low eyes—almost like he was high.

“. . . you’d let me fuck you? hm?” he mumbles as his head lowers down to hide himself in your neck, starting to attack the sensitive skin on your pulse point immediately. that action makes you keen and paw at his shoulder.

“uh huh, please.” you whine desperately, your hand rising up to fist chris’ soft hair as he grazes his teeth against the bruise that started glooming on your neck, soothing the sting with a kitty lick. you barely recognize yourself; you’ve become so needy for your daughter’s boyfriend that you can’t even think about any of the consequences. and in some way, it makes the whole situation just seem better.

you don’t know how you’ve landed in this position, nor how you’ve ended up in your bedroom; you, with your face smushed against your pillow and your ass up high, kisses being placed all over your thighs. it’s been ten minutes since chris has had you in this position, soaked panties pooling at your ankles while he teased you everywhere except where you needed him most.

“chris,” you whimpered, lifting your head up to glance over at him from your shoulder, “please.” you both know what you’re begging for, but chris wants to hear it.

he wrapped his hands around your waist to maneuver you closer to his face and spit directly onto your drooling cunt, smirking as you squeal, “what do you want, then? tell me and i’ll give it to ya’.”

it wasn’t a lie that chris brought out the slut in you.

“i want your mouth . . and your fingers.” you whined quietly, pouting while you wave your ass around when the throbbing in your clit started getting unbearable.

your brain cancels out whatever comes out of chris’ mouth next the moment he finally hovers his mouth over your sopping clit, he gently strokes a thumb up and down. opening you up slowly, he creates a single slow lick to make you whimper. it doesn’t take him long to succumb his need as he dives in, tongue lulling out to lick a thick stripe from your clit and to your hole. a groan emits from him as the taste of you spreads throughout his tastebuds. it’s like your pussy was a drug. he’s addicted to you from just one taste.

you could feel his stubble scratch along your thighs as he eats you out with vigor, his chin and the tip of his nose slick when he practically stuffs his face in between your thighs.

“oh m’god!” you squeal against your pillow as chris wraps his plush lips around your puffy nub, sucking on it like a pacifier and humming like you were the best meal he’s ever eaten.

chris finds it so amusing how you responded to his touches. whether it’d be him grazing his hand across yours, or he’d be tongue deep in your pretty pussy. you’re so sensitive and he knows you’re just seconds away from coming undone, but he’s just getting started.

he’s so messy and sloppy with your pussy; letting you coat his face in your essence and groaning lewdly while he shook his head side to side with his tongue flat against your clit. he also lets you shake your ass in his face to grind your weeping cunt the way you subconsciously liked.

“chrisss,” you whined, gasping, “‘m gonna cum.” but he’s already one step ahead, hands holding your thighs done and pulling away to spank your ass.

“nah, you’re gonna hold that shit. i’m not done with you.” and when you start huffing and whining, you get another spank, but on your pussy. a high pitched moan slips past your lips at the sting, cheeks heating up as you hear chris chuckle behind you.

when your daughter’s boyfriend puts his mouth back to work on your needy pussy, your eyes roll to the back of your head and you gasp. why was chris so good at eating you out?

the knot in your lower stomach already starts forming when his lips wrap around your nub once again, thighs shaking around chris’ head as your orgasm quickly approaches.

“oh!—i can’t hold it. i-i gotta cum.” you huff nasally. you wrap your arms around your pillow and hug it tightly against your body, the motions on chris’ tongue gradually getting more calculated. and when he doesn’t respond to you, you take it as a sign to let go.

chris let his tongue circle your clit at a relentless pace before then he felt it; he heard you. a cry of his name. you coated his tongue, muscles clutching as your ass practically shook against his face. you were shaking—your legs couldn't stop twitching. if it weren't for his firm grip on your thighs, you wouldn't have been able to withstand so much.

with a final lick to your sensible core, he drew out a whimper from you. you had to reach out and push his head away when you started getting overstimulated.

it’s been so long since you had a proper orgasm, and you could barely take it. you’re whining under your breath as you try to come up from your high, face shoved into the pillow to avoid chris seeing you so slutted out.

a large hand comes up to cup your butt, squeezing the fat in his palm before letting go to give you a slap. he bites away a smirk when you gasp and look over your shoulder with a glare.

“think i’ll be able to fuck you better than men your age?” you know chris was challenging you, but frustration had been bubbling up inside you ever since his nonstop teasing.

you sneak a small smile at him, “maybe? i’m not sure.” and when you hear the shuffle of his zipper and his belt unbuckling, you couldn’t be too sure that you’d grow to be right.

“yeah, we’ll fuckin’ see ‘bout that.” he mumbles, scoffing out a small laugh as he strokes his leaky cock and huffing under his breath. chris uses his free hand to cup your waist when he thrusts forward to come in contact with your puffy cunt, his pink mushroom tip moving in languid motions over your sore nub. your brows pinch together at the feeling of his heavy dick being hugged in between your folds, so lost in the euphoria that you fail to hear your phone ringing until chris leans away to grab your phone.

“wha—“

a wicked smile forms on his face as he taps you on your shoulder, bringing the screen splayed out as your daughter’s name up to your face. when you lock your eyes with it, you gasp and hurriedly place your palms flat against the bed, shooting up and attempting to grab your phone from chris before he pulled it back from you.

“don’t answer it!” but it’s too late.

“hello? mom?”

your eyes widen as chris snickers quietly behind you.

“o-oh,” you clear your throat, fighting a small moan that dared to slip out when he starts to create soft, chaste kisses near the inside of your neck. you nearly backed your hips up against him, but you knew if you did, you wouldn’t be able to stop, “hi—hi honey.”

“umm,” eve stutters out a laugh, “are you okay?”

your words get caught in your throat when chris reaches down to fist his dick and tap his leaking tip against your drooling pussy, squeezing your eyes shut as you pray that the wet pat pat pat didn’t pick up on the other line.

“‘course i am . . . w-why wouldn’t i be?”

“okayyyy, if you say so,” she snickers once again, “but could you facetime me? i want to show you this top i’d think you lik—“

“no!” and when there’s a long pause, you continue hurriedly, “sorry, baby. i just mean . . i can’t right now.”

“uhh, okay. i’ll just buy it for you some other time.”

“yeah. thanks, honey. i’ll s-see you later, ‘kay?” you tuck your lip between your teeth as chris uses his dick to play with your needy pussy.

“. . . sure? bye m—“

chris ends the call for you, throwing your phone somewhere across your room with a cocky smile.

he chortles, “jesus, you’re bad at lying. just tell your daughter you’re ‘bout to get fucked by her boyfriend.”

you glare at him, immensely bringing your brows into a furrow, “no, i’m not gonna say that. are you crazy?”

“maybe.”

your eyes rolled—yet part of you felt like he wasn’t exactly lying. after all, he could probably be insane. perhaps he was. who would even seduce their girlfriend’s mother anyway . . . ?

to be frank, you couldn’t really care. all you really cared about was getting pleasured—riding out orgasm after orgasm with him, and that’s exactly what you ended up doing for hours on end.

you would find yourself with your ass perked up high in the air, arms folded over each other as chris mercilessly pounds into your sweet pussy, relishing in how you squealed and whined at the pure stretch and length of his cock. you’ve always known he’d be big; those grey sweatpants gave him no mercy on him, but to have him deep inside you, he felt so much more bigger.

“look at you, takin’ my cock like a big girl.” it’s ironic, considering how he’s almost a decade younger than you, but chris really was proud of you. the minute he started sliding the head of his dick near your slick entrance, you were immediately running away and gasping that he wouldn’t fit. but with a little work, he’s got you moaning and all fucked out for him.

chris playfully brings a hand to feel near your tummy, his fingers plucking the fabric of your tanktop and sliding it further, further and further until his thumb brushes against your perky nipples. of course you just happened to not have a bra on.

“c-chris,” you moaned, body shaking and bouncing with every hard thrust your daughter’s boyfriend gave you. it’s so sudden—in just seconds, he’s had you with your back flush to his bare chest, his hand around your throat and your palms flat on your bed to fuck you impossibly deeper. you felt your back arch off his back and it didn’t take long for him to reach that particular spot. once you felt his tip prod against there—way past inside the orifices of your cunt, you let off a sweetened whimper.

“feel good, honey?” chris mocks lowly against your ear, using a hand to cup your bouncing tit and lightly pinch your nipple. he wraps that arm around your torso to keep you steady before his free hand slithers down in between your thighs to catch your clit in his fingers. he rubs soft motion on your sensitive nub and immensely watches your face contort into something pretty and fucked out, “take this dick like a good girl, baby. c’mon, i know you can.” he groans against your ear.

he keeps fucking you like that until your arms give out and you can’t hold yourself up anymore, letting you hide your arms under the pillow and lay your chest flat against the bed. chris leans down to watch your sweet cunt swallow up his cock each time he pulls away, a creamy white ring forming on the thick base. he grabs onto the fat of your ass and smiles in awe as he gawks at the way you fuck yourself back onto him eagerly, your ass clapping against his pelvis noisily.

eyes roll into the depths of your cranium so far back that your vision was pure black. squelch after squelch—it was so erotic, the build up of your incoming release yet again.

it was so slow and tense, you felt your thighs ache and tremble the more you were arched all over for chris; the most sluttiest arch he’s seen in a while.

you found yourself whining out his name as if it was a lewd mantra. over and over again. to chris, though, it was purely music to his ears.

“chris—chris!” you cried out with a squeal, practically a warning before you tense up, hips rapidly twitching as you cum around chris’ dick. white floods your vision when he fucks himself into slower and deeper, letting you ride out your orgasm until you calm down and grow lax against his hold.

god, this was so wrong.

“fuuuck, you’re gonna make me cum.” chris groans as his eyes roll to the back of his head when your hole tightens around his cock. his release vastly approaches and just within seconds, you’re getting filled up to the hilt. your cunt was practically overflowed with such dumps of his cum—you’ve never felt more filled. he shook a little, a hand gripping your ass as you slowly whined your hips to milk him for what he’s worth.

“atta girl.” chris purrs, that same sly smile pressing against his lips as he leans down to kiss you from over your shoulder. his gaze was so hypnotizing. such pools of blue that looked like it had a story to tell . . .

maybe that story is ready for another day though.

thankfully you didn’t get caught.

or did you—you both left your bedroom, you limping down the stairs with chris’ help. but what you don’t realize is how your daughter is already home, sitting down on the couch and busying herself with a movie.

eve spots you both with a smile, you and chris both scrambling apart with bewilderment sketched across your faces. she snickers at you.

“why were you guys upstairs?”

you glance at chris, who somehow had a solemn look on his face, and back at your daughter, “i, uh . . . i was showing him the bathroom.”

“oh . . okay. wellll, i bought you some clothes, i’ll go put them up in your room!” and then she’s getting off the couch, walking up to chris to cup his cheek and place a kiss on his lips. it momentarily brings disgust to you, but you swallow it down when he glances at you.

“you good?” chris chuckles under his breath.

you smile back at him, “. . yeah.”

you don’t know if you’re starting to regret it, or if you want more, but you don’t get more time to think it through when your daughter calls your name from upstairs.

“erm. mom? is this shampoo—? what’s this white stuff on your bed? doesn’t look like shampoo.”

the both of you share the same frozen expression, impish smiles fading before chris nudges you to speak after long seconds passes.

“huh? oh, that’s, uh, mayonnaise. i forgot to clean up after myself.”

eve giggles, “aren’t you allergic to mayonnaise?”

you mentally facepalm, feeling yourself break into a sheepish sweat before you let out a low, “i guess not that brand of mayonnaise.”

“right. riiiight,” your daughter mutters, hearing her footsteps across the floor. it was abrupt, and you felt something fall—adding a followup of her yelling out her boyfriend’s name, “wait a minute . . .” and she glances down near the floor. “aren’t these your boxers, chris?”

[gojos-version]

How scandalous!

Pairings- Y/N x Dad's best friend! Toji Fushiguro

Summary- Your dad’s best friend stays the night and you are too coincidentally! This is part 1. Part 2 can be found here!

Warnings- Size kink, tummy bulge, anal, vibrator used, reader gets fucked in a closet, unprotected sex, breeding and kissing.

Word count- 4k words!!

Proof read- ✅

A/N- HIII yes, I made this filthy why? this is a filthy troupe. anyway, I've finally finished this at 4am giggles. By the way reader is 21 and Tojis around 40. I really enjoyed writing this it got my creativity GOING and my jenis hard. writing this made me tickle my pickle so I hope you enjoy this, and it tickles your pickle too!! :33

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You knock on your dads door. You don't live with him anymore since you got a place of your own, but you still visit when you can. The door opens revealing your dad, his eyes lighten up at the sight of you. “Sweetheart! I haven't seen you in so long!” Your dad brings you in for a tight hug making you laugh, “I know it’s been too long, I've been so busy I'm sorry dad! Is it okay if I stay 2 nights? So we can catch up?”, “Ofcourse, you’re welcome to stay as long as you want!” Your dad lets go of you and moves aside so you can come in. “Oh and by the way, Toji’s coming to stay the night tonight” Your dad adds unexpectedly. What. what. Toji??!! Oh god. Your heart flutters at the thought. You can't lie to yourself growing up. Toji was around alot with your dad, since your mum wasn't around Toji helped your dad out alot with you. 

Ever since you were younger you always had a crush on him. You're 21 now but god you still don't have a boyfriend. Nothing seems appealing about any of them men you’ve been on a talking stage with. You tried to move on from your childish crush. But how could you when he was so goddamn sexy. “O-oh? He’s staying the night? That's surprising I didn't think I'd see him!” You play off cooly, ignoring your thumping heart. 

You put your bag down in your old childhood bedroom and take it all in. nothing changed, everythings still where it used to be. Even the clothes you left here last time you slept over were in the closet. “Y/N! I’m going to the store real quick! Please answer the door if it rings!” Your dad yells out, you let out an “Okay!” and you hear the door shut. You walk out into the living room and sit down watching TV mindlessly. All of a sudden you hear the doorbell ring and you jump onto your feet, looking in the peephole you see him. There he is. Standing with his hands in his pockets and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. His big. Muscular. Shoulder. 

You open the door after calming yourself down. “Long time no see.” you greet him, the tip of your ears go red, thankfully he can't see them because your hair covers them. “Didn't see ya there, doll, ‘t's been a while.” the scar on his lip twitching as he smirks. He takes you in, it's been a good year or two since he's seen you, you're wearing a top and a skirt but god does the top hug your curves and the skirt sitting just right stopping at your mid thigh. His Adam apple bobs as he swallows, “Mhm, it has” You smile curtly. Stepping to the side so he can come in. “Dads gone up to the shops to get something, I'm not sure when he’ll be back.” You continue, fiddling with your fingers. 

“Mm, that's fine, doll” He says, putting his duffel bag on the couch before he continues, “You look pretty, doll since the last time i've seen ya, you've grown a lot.” You feel your cheeks heat up in response, your heart thumping against your chest. Why were you feeling this way? You’re over your childhood crush on him..well you thought so at least. “I-Thank you.. You’re not so bad for an old man.” You play it off in a teasing voice, he lets out a laugh, “Old huh?” He grins, “Yeah, you're pushing 40 old man, be careful you might break your back tying your shoes.” You retort, His eye twitches “Yeah? You seem oddly flustered by this ‘old man’ hm? You think i dont notice you clenching your thighs together, doll?” He steps closer to you with a smirk that makes your little cunt throb with need.

“I-How’d you notice-” You gasp out, “You’re clenching your thighs together like a little slut.” You feel yourself gulp as he moves closer to you, his larger hand cupping your chin, tilting your face up to look into his green orbs.

This is wrong. You shouldn't be so turned on by his simple touch. You shouldnt be wanting to fuck your dads best friend. You shouldnt be craving Toji’s cock deep inside of you right now. His thick thumb thumbs at your bottom lip and without thinking you take his thumb into your mouth and suck on it sensually. Swirling the tip of your tongue around the tip is his thumb, you then move your tongue to the underside of his thumb as you suck hard. Toji grunts out a moan as he takes his thumb out of your mouth. “You little fuckin’ slut.” Is what you hear before he's crashing his lips onto yours. Hard. his tongue dominating your mouth making your back arch towards his body, his hands coming down to cup and squeeze your ass. His tongue greedily swallows the moans coming out of your throat, his tongue exploring the crevices of your mouth making you oh so wet. You were certain you were leaking down your thighs. 

“Jump.” He mutters against your lips, kissing you again and you do as he says, your legs wrapping around his large bulky waist. The scar on his lip rubbing against your mouth made you feel oh so turned on. He carries you to a bedroom. You don't know which bedroom he took you to. But you couldn't care right now. He shoves you on the bed and no he doesnt pull your top off. The man rips it off and throws your bra behind him and when he starts sucking on your breasts you can't help but gasp and moan pathetically. “T-toji-! A-ah!”, “Quiet doll. Needa hear when your dad opens the door so we don't get caught.” he grunts out, his free hand fondling your tit that's not getting his mouth's attention. Your back arches towards him making your tit go somehow further in his mouth. “P-please-!” you don't even know what you're begging for. “Please huh? What are you begging for, sweetheart?” He nibbles on your nipple making your hands fly to his hair and tug harshly on his scalp.

“Need you so baaaadd” You whimper out, grinding your wet little cunt pathetically on his chiselled torso. “Yer so fukin’ desperate, doll. Relax your little cunt.” He grunts out moving to assault your other tit with his tongue. You let out a pathetic whimper, your panties are drenched, your thighs are covered in your own slick from rubbing them together for friction and now Toji’s abdomen is soaked from you pathetically rubbing your cunt on him. Both your nipples drenched with his saliva, he nips his way down to your skirt and panties. “Careful doll. Yer drenching your dads bed. Wouldn't want him to find out about this would we?” He pulls your skirt off leaving you in your drenched panties. 

What. what. We’re not in the spare room or my old bedroom??!! Your heart rate picks up in panic. “T-toji- you didn't go to the spare room or my old room?? Are you crazy?? We need to not do this here or he’ll find out-” He cuts you off with a sharp slap to your clothed cunt. His large thumb presses gently on your clothed clit moving down to your hole he puts more pressure humming in satisfaction as your cunt opens; when all he's done was suck on your now sore boobs.

“Quit yer whining, girl.” He snarls, pushing his thumb into your clothed hole making you whimper harshly. “T-toji- need you- stop teasing. Puhlease!” You look down at him and he smirks. “Don't be a brat and tell me what to do.” He grunts out finally pulling your soaked, dripping panties down and the nasty man shoves it in his pocket. “Hey- my panties-ah!” he cuts you off by licking a stripe on your cunt. “‘M keeping it for later, you dont mind right, doll?” He says before sucking on your clit, his thick fingers circling your hole before he pushes in 2 fingers knuckle deep. You cry out at the sudden intrusion. He starts suckling on your clit as he pumps his fingers in and out of your puckered hole with a loud squelch with every thrust of his fingers. Your fingers grip at his hair tugging him closer to you, and god you moan so loud when the scar on his lip makes contact with you. Your eyes crossed and head back you don't realise he's sinking another finger into you before he starts thrusting 3 fingers in and out of your cunt rhythmically.

“To-oojjiii-! Ah! O-oh my god-! A-ah!” You grip his scalp, your manicured nails massaging him. He moans into your sopping cunt adding to your pleasure. His thick fingers stretch your cunt and you clench around him taking his thick fingers in. The stimulation of his tongue on his clit and his fingers curling to your g spot with every hit made you unexpectedly squirt all over his chin. “I-im shoorryy-!!! Aah!!” You squeal out and he pulls away. He pulls his pants down exposing his thick throbbing cock. 

You gape at his length dripping with precum. It's so big and thick. He jerks his cock making it twitch, “Don’t be so shocked, doll, don't tell me you can't take it, hm?” He teases, he rubs his leaking tip along your folds making you gasp. Resting his heavy length along your hot cunt has you panting. Your lips part around his thick, heavy cock welcoming him to sink inside of you. But he stays there for a bit, both of you panting, “P-please..need to feel you..” You whimper out looking at him with doe eyes. 

“For that ‘m gonna breed you.” That's the last thing you hear before he pushes his thick, long cock inside of you making your hands fly to his shoulders and gripping him with all your might as he sinks inside of you. He sinks in balls deep, his balls slapping against your ass as he’s got his entire cock inside of you. It kisses your cervix oh so perfectly. It's like you were made for him. He pulls his hips back then drives his hip back to hit your cervix, each thrust feels so deep. “A-ah! To-jii- O-oh my god- ah!” you babble mindlessly as he thrusts inside of you, every thrust to the hilt. He drags his cock almost out, tip remaining in your puffy walls then slamming them back to hit your cervix. Again. Again. And again. 

His tall broady frame leans over yours, taking your right leg and pushing it to your chest, his thigh goes over your other leg as a lewd plap! Plap! Plap! Is all you can hear besides your loud squelches your cunt makes. Your body’s tingling all over like electricity zapping all through your veins continuously, his thrusts are the only thing you can feel the pleasure making you cry out with every drag of his hips. His hand snakes down to your tummy where his big cock makes a bulge with every move of his hips. He presses down harshly making you scream out, dumb tears dripping down your face. His other hand lets go of your thigh and rubs harsh infinity circles on your clit making your legs shake at how much stimulation he's giving you.

“Yeah. that's it, girl, take it. Take it you fucking slut.” He grunts out his hips continuously slamming into yours faster and faster and faster. “T-tojii!! I’m coominnggg-a-ah!!” You scream out suddenly squirting all over him. His thighs and abdomen drenched in your wetness. With a grunt he fills you up with so much cum. It practically leaks out even with his cock filling you. All of a sudden as you're both panting you hear the door open, “Y/n! I’m home! Toji, i see your bag!” Your dad yells out announcing his presence and you both freeze. Your blood runs cold. No way. His footsteps around the house, “Hello? Where are you both?”, “Toji..” You whisper to him nervously. “Shit.” He mutters under his breath, Toji picks you up and kicks both of your clothes under the bed and goes in the closet. “Shut the door f’me doll.” He whispers into your ear, his breath fanning over your ear making you clench around his cock. Thankfully your dad had a dark blanket on so it wasn't noticeable and the window open. It worked in your favours surprisingly. 

He leaned his back next to the doors on the wall, your dads clothes right next to you both as your legs were wrapped around his waist, cock still inside of you and your arms wrapped around his neck. Toji starts thrusting harshly suddenly inside of you and you rush to cover your mouth to stop the moans pouring out of your mouth. Tojis hands grip your ass, spreading your cheeks and moving your hips slamming them down onto his cock and he thrusts his cock up into you making you clench your hand harder around your mouth to silence your moans. Toji bites your shoulder to keep himself quiet as well, your eyes flit next to you, the closet doors; they had shutters on them so you could see the bed..and if your dad walked in..but he couldn't see the both of you which was good! Right? It was really hard to stay quiet when Toji’s thick mushroom tip was kissing your womb making your legs shake around him.

Your tits flat against his hard pecs, bouncing up and down when his hips met yours harshly adding to both of your stimulations. “Y/n? Toji? Where are you both??” Your dad then opens the door, walking in and looking around his room, you tap Toji’s shoulder to warn him and if anything his thrusts get harsher. Making you fight so hard to stay quiet. Your dad for a minute looks at the closet, coming closer to it then stopping himself, “Maybe they went for a walk..” He mumbles, walking out and shutting the door sitting on the couch. You could tell by which direction his footsteps were walking and the sound of the TV turning on.

The hand that isn't gripping your mouth grips the back of Toji’s neck as he doesnt stop thrusting into you, your body heats up, the knot in your stomach tightening signalling your release is coming. Your walls clench around his cock basically choking his poor dick. Your hand lets go of your mouth, “T-to-ji! Ah-ah! I’m g-gonna- ah! Ah! Ah!” You rush to cover your mouth again, your slick and his cum from earlier dripping down yours and his legs. Suddenly the elastic band that's your release snaps and you cum hard. Your eyes roll back and shut, you feel like you're above heaven. White pleasure filling your veins as you shake all over.

“S-shit!” He moans out, filling you up with his come, your tummy bulging a bit from how much he filled you up. You're not even finished coming down from your high before his foot kicks the closet door open and he pulls out, putting you on the ground with your ass in the air and chest on the floor. “T-toji- what are you- annghh!” You couldn't even finish talking before he spanks your ass, spreading your cheeks apart. This big thumb goes over your ass hole. “What do ya think, doll? Reckon I can make it fit, hm?” his thumb circles your little hole and you gasp. “W-wait- oh!” He spits on your hole and runs his pointer finger through your soaked folds and sinks his finger into your ass.

You slap your palm on your mouth again as he fingers your ass open, it feels so weird but it felt so good at the same time. You're moaning against your hand, forgetting to put your pressure against your mouth as he fits a 2nd hand in, your ass wet from how much he's spitting on it to lubricate it. “Mm lets see if we can fit another finger, kay doll?”, “H-hurtttss Toj’” you whimper out, you push your cheek further into the ground when he slowly does, bucking your hips towards him. He jerks his cock with his free hand and takes his fingers out. “Ready, doll?”, “Y-yeah..” You brace yourself; ready to feel his member push into you. God you didn't expect it to feel this good. His big fat tip pushes slowly into your ass, spitting occasionally on your hole so it goes in easier. Your hand gripping your face so tightly to avoid screaming out. 

Slowly his entire cock is inside of you to the hilt, his balls against your puffy clit. He starts thrusting sloppily into your ass making your eyes cross. Toji reaches over you grabbing a vibrator? “Hid this here last week when i was over. Knew id fuck the shit out of you when id eventually see ya.” He grunts out as he turns it on to max speed and shoves it into your needy cunt making you drool dumbly on the floor. You try to crawl away from his merciless thrusts but when you try to he drags you back and thrusts so fucking hard you feel the air in your lungs leave.

The vibrator isn't helping you either as it buzzes inside of you, it has a compartment that vibrates your clit too which really doesn't help right now because you feel like squirting everywhere if you even could anymore. “That's it. Take it. Take all of it.” He grunts out his chest against your back, pinning you to the ground not like you could move anyway. Your body feels like it's zapping and on fire, the pleasure too intense. Your free hand that's not covering your mouth scratches at the carpet, your eyes shutting as the knot in your tummy is tightening for the third time and it's not even night. You're panting under your hand, your walls clenching around his cock and the vibrator. 

Suddenly you feel like you're higher than the sky. You're shaking. You can feel Toji’s cum filling up your ass with so much cum again. Your orgasm comes crashing down like a freight train as you squirt all over him again. Making your juices drip off the both of you. “Get dressed. We gotta act like nothing happened, kay doll?” His deep voice rings through your ears and you pout; “You ripped my clothes you brute!” Whisper shouting it and he gives you an innocent look, “Oops, not my fault you wore such a slutty outfit.” He retorts, pulling out of you but keeping the vibrator on low. “W-wait aren't you pulling it out-” “No. keep it in.” He cuts you off and slips his clothes on, leaving the room. What you didn't know was he could control the vibrator with his phone. Oh youre so fucked. But you didn't know that yet.

You slip your skirt on and bra and well.. Your tops.. Ripped. You open the door and tip toe to your childhood bedroom past your dad and now Toji on the couch, you go and look in your bag for some panties. Thank god you always bring extra panties. You slip them on and put on a top, fixing your dishevelled hair and you freeze suddenly. Did the vibrator just go faster? Oh god. You throb putting your hand over your mouth. What the fuck do you do?? You can't slip up around your dad.. 

You clear your throat and walk to the lounge room and greet your dad and Toji. “Oh dad you're home? Hi Toji” You smile, trying to hide the shaking in your voice. Your dad smiles, “Where were you?” “Oh-! I was out front and some lady needed my help with something.” You play off cooly and your dad nods his head, “Ah! That’s good, you’ve always been helping people. Isn't that right, Toji?” “Yeah, she's a good kid.” Toji nods and opens his phone. Oh he better not. You felt the vibrator go on level 3 and your ears heat up. Shit. you chew on your cheek and smile. “Do you want-uh- tea or anything?”, “Sure, sweetheart, Toji do you want anything?” Your dad turns to him and Toji throws you a little smirk making your cheeks flush. “Yeah why not”, “okay” You nod and go to the kitchen, turning the kettle on.

You gasp and cover your mouth as the intensity goes up 1? No 2? F-fuck no. 3. Levels. Your thighs clench together and you're pretty sure Toji’s cum’s still dripping onto your panties. Fuck. you're on level 6 and you feel like exploding. Your hands grip the edge of the counter trying to keep it together, your knuckles turning white. Shit. it turned up again?? This has to be level 7..yet..fuck. No you can't cum. Not now. The tea kettle dings that it's ready and you clench as hard as you can to keep yourself together. You struggle to get both cups and pour the hot water into the mugs. You get tea bags and put them in stirring it, you gasp loudly and cover your mouth. Fuck. level 8 by now. Shit. shit. Shit. its stimulating your clit and your cunt. Fuck. fuck. Fuck.

Maybe you could just cum then give them the tea? Shit no he wouldn't turn it off and you'd be overstimulated. And that makes you come quicker. Fuck what do you do?? Your heart thumps and your body feels hot all over. Shit. y/n. Give them the tea and say you gotta go to the bathroom. Yeah. you can do this. You grab both the mugs shakily and walk to them. Fuck Toji looks so good you wanna jump on him so bad and bounce on his dick. Shit you can't. “Here you g-go its d-done.” You try not to let the shaking get to your voice, “Thank you sweetheart” Your dad chimes, “Thank you, doll” Tojis deep voice rings out.

As you walk away, the level increases again making you jump slightly. Fucking hell you were going to kill Toji. “Where are you going? Spend time with us, ‘ts been a while since i've seen ya kid” Toji says, taking a sip of tea and smirking over at you. “I-i need to go to the bathroom. Then I will.” You then rush out to the bathroom leaning against the back of the door as the level finally hits 10. Shit. your hand covers your mouth and your free hand gropes your tit as you cum. Hard. all in your poor panties. Fuck. fuck the vibrator isnt slowling down either. You slink down and sit on the floor, your legs shaking as you wither in overstimulation. 

The door suddenly pushes open, you slide away from the impact; enough so Toji can step in. his menacing smirks all you can see and fucking hell it makes that knot tighten again in your core. “T-toji..” You let out breathily, “Hmm? Yer so worked up, doll” He picks you up and bends you over the sink, a mirror in front of both of you. He pulls your skirt up and moves your panties to the side. He pulls the vibrator out of you and shuts it off, he then slips his cock out of his sweats and sinks deep into your sloppy cunt. Your hand clamps over your mouth as his hand grips your hair and forces you to watch his hips slam into yours. 

The hand that's not gripping your hair moves to your throat and applies enough pleasure to make the corner of your vision slightly blur. Fuck. you weren't going to make it out alive. The worst part is Toji didn't even lock the door. You were both fucked if your dad gets suspicious and walks in. but right now you couldn't care less when Toji’s tip was bullying your cervix. He pushes your head closer to the mirror and one knee goes on the sink deepening his thrusts making your muffled moans go louder. Your body was tingling so good. All of a sudden the door opens and your dad stands there, mouth agape in shock and Toji stills inside of you.

“We need to fucking talk.”

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Masterlist<3

[leclsrc]

do you want it? ✴︎ cs55

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

word count: 10.5k  

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

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

nsfw warnings under the cut!

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

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

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

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

“Portugal is not boring.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lando whistles. “Rich.”

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can’t you knock?!” You ask, catty.

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry. Wh—sorry, what?” You blink.

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh?”

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

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

“Good?” Carlos asks, smiling a little.

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

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

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

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

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

Something tells him he’s wrong, though.

—

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

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

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

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

“Try fourteen,” you argue. 

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

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

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

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

“I am not a big reader. You?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For what?”

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

He squints. “Beer?”

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

“What’s the problem with beer, hmm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

The implication sends Carlos into a spiral of thought.

“—here’s your spot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Brat,” he responds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

He really shouldn’t. “Sí.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Feel good?

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m cumming—!

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

“I said fuck me.”

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

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

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

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

“Carlos,” you whimper, voice aching.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And if your dad walked in?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You look pretty.”

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

[theemporium]

hi cece!! can i get 2 violet fluffs please, 1 & 21

driver of your choice ;)

-💗

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

21. “What did I do to deserve such a sweet wife?”

.

“Have I told you how much I love you today?”

You shot the boy a look.

“And did I mention you look so pretty today? And every other day? Always?” 

“You done trying to butter me up?” You deadpanned, your arms crossed over your chest and your face remaining blank. 

Max flashed you a sheepish smile, slowly reaching towards you. The sigh of relief when you didn’t smack his hands away was obvious before he locked his arms around you, tugging you closer until it was a proper hug with your head on his chest. 

“I am really sorry,” Max murmured, his cheek laid against the top of your head as you both swayed on the spot. “I didn’t know you had saved those slices of pizza. I’ll buy you ten more if it means you’ll forgive me.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you snorted lightly, pulling back to look at the boy—who still looked so cautious and sheepish—and shake your head. “It’s not the same. Everyone knows pizza tastes better the next day.” 

“It was good,” Max nodded before realising what he had just said. “Uh, I mean, it was absolutely shit and—” 

“You suck,” you huffed as you laid your head back against his chest, trying to hide the small smile that was growing on your lips at his clear panic. “What did I do to deserve such a mean husband?” 

“What did I do to deserve such a sweet wife?” Max retorted, hugging you closer. “Who is hopefully sweet enough to accept my apology pizza and cheesecake from her favourite dessert place?”

You pulled back, something twisting in your chest at his words. “The one in Nice?” 

“It’s the least I could do after I ate your pizza,” Max murmured, lifting his hands to cup your face as his thumbs soothed over the apples of your cheeks. “Plus, the drive is more than worth it if I get to see my girl happy again.” 

You rolled your eyes but you were grinning. “You’re such a sap.” 

“I’ll take sappy husband over mean husband any day,” he retorted, grinning back as you leaned into his touch.

“You’re not a mean husband,” you murmured with a sigh. “Just a husband who is sometimes dumb.”

Max snorted. “Yeah, might need to get my eyes checked. I don’t know how I missed the huge pink sticky note on the pizza box saying not to eat it.” 

You shook your head. “Yeah, but I guess I still love you regardless.”

His face brightened as he leaned down to kiss you. “I guess I still love you too.” 

“Nuh uh,” you placed your hand on his chest, stopping him from moving closer. “You get kissing privileges when you get me my cheesecake, Mr Verstappen.” 

Max frowned a little as he glanced down at his watch. “But the place might be shut before I get there.” 

You smiled, fondly patting his cheek. “Guess it’s a good thing I married the fastest driver in the world then, huh?” 

And Max couldn’t even stop the snorting laugh that left his lips if he tried.

.

[zoropookie]

HOW HATERS DIE (HHD)

YOU WERE under scrutiny of the one and only justsofamous for years and years before finding out who he is. constantly having to question your self-worth was a bigger downhill slope than the time you were begging your friends, crying and pleading, for them to go to a concert with you of an artist they all hated except you. but now that you're pretty much going through the motions of retracing your self esteem and your (extremely ironic) relationship with this guy who harassed you and then picked enough apples to win your heart, you started to consider moving in with him after he offered it enough times. only that, once you actually did...things started falling apart again for the two of you.

former streamer!scaramouche x gn streamer!reader

This is PART TWO of the smau HOW HATERS ARE BORN. If you haven't finished that one, it's recommended you do before reading this.

genre: smau, lovers being lovers, twitch streamer reader, farmer scara, i made reader like a feral rat, comedy, crackfic, romance, some drama, many apples

warnings: lots of swearing, crude and unnecessary jokes, kys/kms jokes, death threats, a lot of things that are spelled wrong, alcohol, excessive partying, irl photos to visualize scenarios but there's none of reader

status: starting soon!

a/n: i never actually thought i'd make a part two to this, and i don't really know what brought me to this point where i needed to pull a 22 jump street. did 21 jump street ever need a sequel itself? anyway, it’s something to give you guys as a thanks, and even if it’s kinda hidden in obscurity, at least it’s out there in the world. :) enjoy!!

♡ prologue || "stop, you are literally ruining my life right now."

chapter one — spork 🍎 ♡ chapter two — 1985

chapter three — the cursed corn maze ♡ chapter four — thug gangster shit

chapter five — the amoeba sisters ♡ chapter six — love is like taxes

chapter seven — it's getting old ♡ chapter eight — the moment of truth

chapter nine — 7 bullets ♡ chapter ten — gg, chat

taglist is open!

[manny-jacinto]

i’m actually grateful for apple tv+ who seems to be able to believe in their tv shows despite ‘low’ ratings.

based on wikipedia, they have 76 ongoing shows (drama + comedy):

- 27 of them were ended but 13 of them had at least 2 seasons which brings us to a 18% cancellation rate after their first season

- 18 of them (23%) were miniseries so their end is justified

- 21 of them are renewed but if if you add the 13 series that had at least 2 seasons, this brings us to a total of 35 shows that were renewed which is a 46% ratio renewal rate

apple tv+ renews half of their shows and i think we should be thankful for them in a time where netflix and amazon cancels 90% of their shows

[toxicanonymity]

Left in Lincoln - Master List (ongoing)

softdark dads' best friend!Joel x virgin f!Reader

mood board by gracieispunk

series masterlist here, a reblog won't stay updated.

official playlist 🍑 bonus playlist by readers PREMISE: After you were orphaned by the outbreak, Bill and Frank raised you, sheltered in their closed community. Now 21+, you're still inexperienced. They leave to get treatment for Frank and ask Joel to look in on you while they're gone. The town begins to creep you out, but Joel is glad to provide comfort, protection, and education. WARNINGS: I8+ Big, girthy age gap. Joel is very dark and toxic but acts sweet with reader. Angst. Loss of virginity. Manipulation. Slow-burn horror: no gore, no violence toward reader, but this story has given people nightmares. NO USE OF Y/N.

Floorplan

PLEASE STOP PUTTING THIS FIC INTO AI. It's been made into chat bots at least 3x since August and they all sucked. It hurts my writing and gives me a mental block. Do not copy, translate, re-upload, use AI on, or make bots of any of my work.

Part 1 - This Protector (3k) - He lowered his voice and said, "Feelin' this against you, knowin' it's there." His hips lifted gently, and it swelled harder against you. "It's s'posed to feel good. Nothin' to be ashamed of"

Part 2 - The Dirty Ground (5k) - “Ever had an orgasm, darlin'?” He slowed his hips to talk. . . . “Only in my sleep," you said.” Good, that’s your body takin’ care of you. It’s good for you. . .Gonna take this belt off, k?”

Part 3 - The Cold, Cold Night (7k) - He looked from your eyes to your mouth and back then murmured, "Nap really all ya want?" "Just wanna be with you," you answered quietly.  His deep voice became nearly a whisper. "Love hearin' that, baby."

Part 4 - Apple Blossom (7.5k) - “Gonna take time ‘fore you’re ready for this,” he said with a roll of his hips. . . You asked, “You want it too, don’t you?” “Course I do, baby,” he panted. “Gotta feel good for both of us, though. Gotta do it right.”

Part 5 - Black Math (8.6k) - “God, if you only knew . . .” There wasn't even a hint of shame in his voice. “We’re almost there, I promise.” He tucked in his shirt and adjusted himself while he was at it. “God damn,” he exhaled.  “Turns me on, thinkin’ about it.” 

Part 6 - As Ugly as He Seems (8.4k) - You would've given anything for Joel to wake up and ravage you. “s’what I mean, baby,” he murmured sleepily into your hair. "Can't trust myself." He groaned softly as his palm brought you tighter against him.  You began to reach behind you, but he intercepted your hand. . .

Part 7 - Forever for her (10k) - [loss of virginity] You looked at his clothes and didn't say anything, but he replied to your silent question with a smile and hushed voice. "no, I don't have to be so dressed..."

I would love to write a part 8 but I've been through a lot in this fandom that people don't see because I don't address it publicly. I don't have an ETA or guarantee, so please don't ask.

-----

Art, etc.

HOT fan art by @bonezone44

Ch 1 mood board by @neverwheremoonchild

Ch 1-6 mood board by gracieispunk

Collage by @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

Chapter-specific posters

Hot ominous edit by swagxgarfunkle tiktok

Haunting edit by @iamasaddie

If yours is missing PLEASE let me know I probably tagged improperly & couldn't find.

[johnbrand]

Call of Duty: Next Potential Chief

With @mrrharper

Inspired by nothing but boredom, Craig booted up his older brother’s console. If he found out that Craig was touching his stuff, his brother would have easily put him in the hospital. The two often fought, being on either end of the masculine spectrum. Craig, the liberal, more effeminate gay, had nothing in common with his conservative, ultra macho douchebag of a brother. Their fights were more or less his older brother shouting slurs at him for being girly, “a pussy” and “a fag," before landing numerous kicks and punches.

The home screen of the console displayed an array of games, most of which were the standard first person shooters. One however caught the short, slim boy’s eyes: Call of Duty: New Potential Chief. He was unfamiliar with any of the COD titles, but this one appeared to be new. At least, that’s what the small “NEW” banner above the icon hinted at. Intrigued, Craig decided to engage, opening the application. It took a while for the game to load, but eventually he was brought to the main menu. 

Complete the Entry Campaign before joining online.

Craig assumed that was reasonable; he would have to endure a tutorial if he wanted to play the game properly. As soon as his finger accepted the prompt, a piercing electric shock paralyzed his entire body. Frozen, Craig now sat completely still as the screen continued forward, ready to engage its program.

Entry Campaign activated, downloading Physicality package…

The screen in front of Craig began to display multiple bars with different characteristics. 

HEIGHT - 68/77 Units

WEIGHT - 152/200 Units

ADIPOSE TISSUE - 16/15%

MUSCULATURE - 23/85%

FEET - 8/15 Units

PHALLUS - 5/9 Units

The standardized inputs confused Craig at first, who although unable to move, still held some consciousness to the situation around him. After the first bones began to crack however, he began to understand the situation a bit more. Fearfully, Craig desperately attempted to move any portion of his body while tendons and ligaments shifted and expanded. As his HEIGHT bar slowly ticked further, Craig could literally hear himself stretching larger and larger, eventually reaching a height of 6’5.

Craig began to plead internally for escape as his muscles proceeded to bloat. His lanky body was quickly evolving, broadening with power. His calves and upper arms swelled, thickening with strength and testosterone. His quads widened, bolstering incredible durability along with his newly-prominent muscle gut. Craig’s seat expanded beneath him, plumping while his hardware opposite upgraded into a juicy 9 inches. Although still paralyzed, Craig’s legs were forcibly separated to accommodate the masculinized bundle, his soles inflating into obscenely large monsters.

Physicality package downloaded. Installing required MASCULINITY data points…

VOCAL HEIGHT - C5/D#4

VOCAL DEPTH - C#3/D2

FACIAL SHAPE - J

FACIAL HAIR - 2/61%

STRENGTH - 21/85%

AGGRESSION - 14/95%

Craig’s head naturally arched back as an emerging Adam’s apple distended from his neck, his vocal chords sculpting an uncommonly deep bass. His jaw was restructured as it jutted forward, stretching his nose and accentuating his brow along with it. A beard quickly grew in to cover the squaring shape, with dark hair flowing through Craig’s pits, down the sternum, across his crotch, and along his arms and legs.

Still fighting for release, Craig felt his inward ambition grow stronger, more offensive. In his mind, he had begun cursing the game, swearing to do unholy things to it and its creator once freed. His language and manner became cruder, brasher, and brutish–akin to his older brother’s demeanor that he had typically admonished. Craig's less analytical behavior distracted him from the the final set of downloads that were being made.

Finalizing Subordination supplements…

INTELLIGENCE QUOTIENT - 145/60 Units

INTERPRETATIVE ANALYSIS - 97/10%

EXECUTIVE SUBORDINATION - 0/100%

Initializing GAMEPLAY package, uploading TF4971-Wolf onto virtual network…

Without realization, Craig’s protests slowly became weaker and less deliberate. His specific remarks began to loosen, his targeted opinions evaporating as the progress bars ticked towards their end quotients. While his aggressive demeanor remained, Craig gradually lost the language he wished to use. Eventually, even his reasoning was wiped away, diluting his directed anger into simplistic barbarism. 

Once his numbers matched the game’s standards, Craig’s brain was completely devoid of any independent thought. His head was cluttered with only the required media truly necessary. Images of loyal men, bulky men, masculine men in specific uniforms established only one precedent. Instructions on how to shoot, when to shoot, and who to shoot became his only scripture. His mind absorbed the gameplay, understanding its commands.

Now unable to process anything but the mission, TF4971-Wolf did not comprehend his teleportation into an online match in the game. He stood at one end of a battleground, surrounded by other men with the same objective. They all wore the same camo utility pants, thick jackets, and beige caps. They held the rifles they were all programmed to easily operate.

TF4971-Wolf did not question who he was, where he was, or even why he was as he proceeded towards the battleground. He was nothing more than a strong, masculine soldier NPC with permanent instructions to follow the COD programming and win the next match.

[pelideswhore]

If the apple of discord was thrown down at the wedding feast of Peleus and Thetis, how did Achilles, their son, fight in the Trojan war? The timeline does not make sense to me unless you just chalk that up to the timing of the Eternal, Deathless Gods but mortals are involved. Like Paris is presumably asked right after the wedding to judge who gets the apple then he picks Aphrodite who has promised him the most beautiful woman. Does she like wait to find out who that is and that causes the delay? The story seems to go that she promises Helen, they kidnap Helen and then the war begins so like that’s a year tops in my mind but how would that give Achilles time to become the teenager he is in the war? Please help. If there is a definitive answer excellent but I also just want theories.

i really love love love this question, cus i’ve thought about it a lot, especially because i consider Paris and Achilles to be around the same age, which, as you said, would make no sense.

sadly, i don’t have a definitive answer, but i do have a theory. it’s quite long though so buckle up.

As you probably know, Aphrodite, Hera and Athena asked Zeus to solve the issue before resorting to Paris. Zeus couldn’t answer and by the timeline of the Gods, many mortal years had passed so Paris would have been born, sent away from the palace and had enough time to grow up at this point. Ares suggests him, the goddesses ask and Paris gets bribed. But he doesn’t take Helen straight away, because he’s still a goatherd at this point.

Before I finish with that, let’s get back to Achilles. One would probably assume that within the first year of Thetis’ and Peleus’ marriage, he was already born, but that’s actually not true. The couple had six sons before Achilles, but they all passed away somehow (which, i like to think, is the reason Thetis is so protective). That means, even if they all died on Day 1 of their life and Thetis conceived the very same day: 9 months x 6 = 54 months aka. 4,5 years. That’s at least 4 and a half years before Achilles was born, but I think I can safely assume it took a little longer. Let’s say 6 years (which btw is still unrealistic and would probably be horrible for Thetis’ health but I digress).

So now, Achilles is born, stuff happens: Achilles meets Phoenix and Patroclus, he gets sent to Chiron, and eventually Scyros etc. Let’s say he’s 17 when that happens. Still a teen, but old enough to get Deidamia pregnant. Realistically, Thetis would only send him away when the threat of the war is imminent, so Helen’s kidnapping happens when Achilles is 17. I tend to say Helen was around 24, Paris was maybe 21. I believe however that the Judgement of Paris happened a couple years before.

Because, consider, Paris picks Aphrodite as a goatherd, but he kidnaps Helen as a prince. So somewhere in between, Cassandra must've found him and brought him back. He then had to get used to royal life, but, more importantly, all the ships had to be ready to go to Sparta. It could've happened in a couple of days, but a couple of years isn't unrealistic either, and it fits the timeline better.

It's a bit all over the place, so here's summary:

0 years: Peleus' and Thetis' wedding, Golden Apple incident (Paris/Achilles not born)

2 years: Paris is born and abandoned.

6 years: Achilles is born.

19 years: The Judgement of Paris happens, Paris is still a goatherd.

23 years: Paris kidnaps Helen, start of the war, Achilles is aged 17

The only time ‘divine timing’ really plays a role is between the wedding the Judgement of Paris. In divine timing 19 years is nothing, just enough time for Zeus and Ares to get involved. Paris would’ve probably already held one or two bullfights at the age of 17 when he is chosen to judge between the goddesses and from then on everything runs pretty smoothly, bearing in mind the 4 years between Aphrodite promising Helen to him and Paris actually kidnapping Helen.

sorry it took so long to post this, had to get my thoughts in check then type it up :D

[kryptznnn]

♛- It's Just Business

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

➸ INTERESTS; -normal au! toji fushiguro x f!reader

➸ BACKGROUND; -just a drabble on toji being one of your fathers closest (and possibly youngest) friends and the two of you just can't seem to leave one another. You both knew it was wrong; you were a college student, and he was damn near pushing mid fourties, even if he tried to convince himself it was just business.

➸ WARNINGS; - wc.1.4k, romantic tension, sexual tension, large age gap (Toji is 43 and reader is 21), smut, p in v, mentions of breeding, kissing, marking, sexual ties, dad's bsf trope, fingering, orgasm f!recieving, secrecy, flirting, subtle touches, romantic and sexual build up, etc.

➸a.i; - omg new drabble, crazy working i know idk whats wrong w me but i had the urge to write this. enjoy!! im also working on my jjk masterlist so that should be out soon, trying to clear my drafts. xoxo.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Toji Fushiguro knew you just as well as you did him, well only through the relations of your dad. The two of them were close as well as you had known, like rushing to give your dad the phone whenever he called kind of close.

Inviting him and his son over to eat dinner with your family kind of close. Birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, all of it, you hadn’t gone a full month without seeing him at least once with your dad. It was common for the two of you however to exchange small conversation, glances, and touches with one another, the tension and flirtatious air between the two of you never going unmissed.

So, it wasn’t any surprise when you had a week off after taking midterms to return home and to find no one there. Only to contact your parents to find out they had an emergency to take care of out of country, leaving you home alone. Well not entirely, your dad had told Toji about it, and he offered to help out, as the last thing your parents wanted was for you to be alone.

Your father was grateful to say the least, repeatedly thanking him for his kindness and even offered to pay him since it was a long period of time. He had done it before, babysitting you when you were within your mid to late teens, this would’ve been easy. A week alone with you gave him chills as he kept a grin plastered on his face. He hadn't liked this side of him, he felt a tad bit like a perv, but it didn't seem like he was the only one trying to grab at the others attention.

His eyes widened at you as you opened the door for him, letting him inside as you were barely dressed properly. Your top was tight in contrast to your bottoms, just barely loose, keeping his eye on your figure as he made his way inside, two bags in hand. The scent of that strong pheromone scented perfume you'd wear had his cock twitch slightly in his pants.

He hated that perfume, and you only wore it whenever you knew he was coming around. He was hooked on it as if it was a drug, and honestly had even masturbated to you before as he caught the scent around his bedroom from your last visit with your family. The top you had worn wasn't helping his case either.

Scratch that, your top was tight how you liked it and he loved it, and you only kept a smirk on your face as you watched him swallow, hard. Keeping pointers on how his Adams apple bobbed up and down when he did.

You greeted him with a smile as you shut the door behind him, locking it quickly. He thought to himself as he took in your outfit before making his way to the guest room he’s been in before. Placing his bags down as you disappeared from behind him.

A crop top he thought, although this one was different, very different. It looked almost like a bikini top the way it squeezed you, as if it was a dry sponge and you were an entire ocean letting it sink in. Maybe it was a bikini top, some kind of new fashion trend with shorter tops and baggy shorts that he was behind on, he hadn’t known.

What he did know is that what you were doing was wrong, the both of you knew it was wrong, frankly you just didn't care. You had always been bold and persistent, so when you saw his entire body react to you mentioning the boys from college and randoms that would try to hit on you when you went out with friends you took it as an opportunity.

It was something he was never able to wrap his head around, how he felt for you was wrong, but he couldn't help what his body craved. He was pushing mid 40's and you were only 21, you were around the same age as his so. Well, not technically, you two shared an age gap for 3 years but the gap between the two of you hadn't compared between Toji's age gap with yours.

He was never short to compliment you and how you dressed. No matter what you wore it seemed to suit you, especially in the way he liked. Your dad had always teased him because he hadn't remarried after his last or even took on dating again, his eyes quickly met yours before he would turn back to your father and just laugh.

He was here because he cared about you and he cared about your father, he was a good friend and wanted to help out in any way possible. He was also being paid to be here, so it couldn't have been that bad and he couldn't complain. Just a simple week with you, he knew he could handle it, it couldn't be that hard.

Only that it was, and that he was too as you teased him, mewling softly as you had a hold of his cock, rubbing the tip against your core, arching your back slowly as it repeatedly hit your clit. You had already been overstimulated prior from him toying with you, fingering you as if you were just a doll, and he laughed at you.

You were laid out flat underneath him, your head perked up as your eyes followed your movements as he watched you. He doesn't even think he can remember how the two of you ended up in this state, both of you fully nude and your hair was draped out across his sheets.

He loved how you looked, and he loved the sounds you were making, only getting louder as he moved your hand to the side and pushed himself inside you. He quickly sunk down onto you, pressing his body weight into you as his arms caged your sides.

He nearly hissed at the feeling of you, his eyes pressed shut, tightly. You were too tight for comfort, or maybe he was getting old and hadn't had action in so long. You felt so good, better than he had imagined, if he hadn't known any better, he would've thought you were a virgin, even though you told him you weren't.

Now he remembers how things came into play; you came into his room to watch a movie. The entire time for nearly an hour the two of you were exchanging glances and subtle touches in places where your hands shouldn't have been. You kissed him, locking your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders, until the situation had escalated to where the two of you were now.

You loved how he pistoled into you; he was fucking you as if he was starving and greedy. It drove you absolutely insane, unable to keep yourself quiet as he spoke dirty to you. You knew this was wrong, fucking around with your dad's close friend, if not best friend, but honestly it felt so good.

"This what you wanted? Wanted your dad's best friend to give you a good fuckin'? Hm?" He teased, whispering in your ear as your moans grew louder, humming and nodding to his phrase in response. You wrapped your legs around him yet again and clung to him like an animal, clinging on for dear life as you whined.

The movie was still playing in the background, but honestly neither of you were paying attention to it, if anything you were louder than the TV. His thrusts hadn't slowed down, he kept the same pace as he nipped and bit at your skin, not satisfied until his jaw had felt a little sore.

"Maybe if you're a good girl for me I'll fill you up. You'd like that wouldn't ya?" He said, his voice gruff and heavy as he grunted into you. You could only babble along, muttering 'yes, yes, yes' over and over again, pleading with him.

This was fine, he still had the situation under control, following his orders. You were well kept, under perfect care, and safe, so technically he wasn't going against your father's wishes, plus you were extra happy so that was a bonus.

It isn't anything personal, just adding on a little tip towards the payment your dad was planning to give him after finishing his 'babysitting'. He just had to keep convincing himself that this was all just business, so he didn't have his emotions or feelings for you thrown into the mix.

Yeah, it's just business.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

✴🕷 please do not copy, plagiarize, edit, or translate any works submitted by me. all works are originated and all other pictures used within those works are online images. thank you!! @kryptznnn

[ectologia]

Okie dokie, hear me out now…

Tomu’ has an incredible pain tolerance, absolutely mind blowing, but his pleasure tolerance?

I bet it’s low when he’s not the one doing the stimulation. He’s too rough with himself, he doesn’t know what moderation or self control even is. He’s also got to be cautious with himself, so when it’s someone else and he relaxes?

Weak as hell. He’s coming in less than a minute. Easily overstimulated but addicted to it just as quickly, all but panting and begging for more even as he’s got tears streaming down his face and his tongue sticking out like a dog. Absolutely pathetic and when you praise him in combination?

He’s so much more than the show lets him be, but he’s still just a 21 year old piece of shit, we forget. He’d be so easy to manipulate in the right hands. Of course, he’s a quick learner, caution needs to be taken because he’s got a ego problem, but you set the temperature just right?

He’d be an adorable submissive.

Hope you’re day is going well♥️ Just throwing out thirsts~ Love seeing your work!

LET IT HAPPEN

TOMURA SHIGARAKI + FEMALE READER

WARNING: OVERSTIMULATION, CHAINS, GENITAL SPANKING, MOMMY FETISH, HANDJOB, FELLATIO, MALE MASTURBATION, SUBBY SHIGGY

He likes it hard and fast, so you give it to him slow.

Slow, soft, feather-light touches, stroking up and down his swollen length while his thin layer of foreskin clicks over his angry, red tip with every rock of your hand.

His toes crease and curl into the sheets below him, his wrists twisting and wringing in the chains strung above his head, nailed to the headboard.

“Fuck sake.. How ‘m I supposed to cum when you’re barely even fuckin’ touching me.”

He growls when this earns him a spank to his big dick, flinching and bobbing against his tensed stomach.

“You have to be patient, Tomura.”

He throws his head back in a fit, huffing and puffing while his hips buck into your palm occasionally. “Can you at least go faster.”

“Who’s in charge right now?”

Crimson-reds narrow at your petite form crouched between his thighs, fisting away at his massive cock.

It’s difficult to be intimated when he’s the one chained up this time.

You decide to up the anti. Your whole arm goes into striding up and down the thick length, stroking and pumping him rapidly. His back straightens and he raises, no longer relaxed.

No longer cocky.

“Ah.. Oh, shit. That’s.. Mmh..”

You raise your head to asses the situation, grinning up at his now frizzy and static locks of Alice blue, lain across his dewy forhead like wispy spider webs. The apples of his cheeks don a pinkish hue, tucked into his shoulder as he attempts to hide his feeble expression.

“Is that good baby boy?”

“Shut the fuck up, you bitch—”

He cries out this time as you slap the chubby head of his dick, sensitive and needy and dribbling with pre-cum.

“It’s mommy.”

He snickers wickedly through grit teeth. “Yeah, like that’s ever gonna happen.” He punctuates his sentence with a snide grin, but you can see the hint of hesitance.

Of fear.

His tongue glides over his teeth as he watches a fat wad of saliva stretch from your lips into the tiny, drooling slit placed at the crest of his cock. The sticky bubbling fluid is smeared all the way down to the plump set of tightened balls hanging by his ass. The moment you hunch to flick at his head with the velvety flat of your tongue, he’s mewling.

“Oh god..”

You hollow your cheeks as you suckle on his tip, suctioning the heavy bulb against the roof of your mouth as he curses and snarls like a beast. His thighs begin to shiver either side of you, quivering and shaking against the stimulation. Your hand slips down to the crease of his ass to mould and massage at his twitching sack, closing your eyes in favour of nursing on his cock and fondling his balls with no distractions, rolling and pinching at the delicate flesh.

“Fuck! Oh my fucking god I’m gonna cum so fucking hard— shit!”

He’s caught off guard by the sudden release of his genitals, snapping his head down to stare wide eyed and frantic. His prick throbs in your palm eagerly as you press a kiss to the stiffened spine.

“What the fuck!” He squirms in his restraints, attacking at the silver links.

He hisses and jolts away after his fat, swollen balls earn a curt spank.

“You have to say please.”

“Are you kidding me?” He shifts against the mattress, his full sack and horny dick bouncing against his taint “Fine.” He rolls his eyes. “Please.”

“Please what?”

He gapes, his brows furrowing in disbelief. “I don’t fucki— I don’t know.”

“What’s my name?”

“Seriously.”

You shrug your shoulders, a giddy smile present on your face. “If you want to cum.”

He scowls, sighing. “... Mommy.” His chin hangs low against his chest as he mumbles.

“Good boy.”

You resume your sucking, milking his cock with your tongue while your warm hands jerk his sensitive ballsack side to side. His wails increase the longer you draw it out, nowhere to go and nothing to cling to in his confines. His feet kick out and shuffle, planting his heels into the dough of your mattress as he thumps his pubic bone up into your nose.

“Mommy! Mommy! Fuck!”

“Mmh?” Your mocking hums vibrate throughout his body, tingling and prickling against his member. You rise, swiping at your slicked up chin with your knuckles. “You wanna cum baby boy?.. Yeah? You wanna cum for mommy?”

He nods, distraught and yearning. His nails chip at the pudgy flesh of his palm as he balls them into fists, hitting and tapping against the wall behind him as he attempts to suppress the watery, bubbling tears collecting above his eye-line from seeping out.

“What do you say?” Your fingers pinch and flick at his fat mushroom-tip, scrubbing the puckered slit against your palm as he whimpers.

“Mommy— Please, Mommy..”

“That’s better..”

The slippery wet muscle of his tongue rolls out of his mouth like a plush carpet, lolling against the harsh cracks of his lips. His noises are barely coherent, reduced to guttural howls and whines.

He’s panting. Up until the moment his dick finally explodes, spurting and spraying sticky white ropes over your hand. He squeals like a pig, flinching as you continue to pump his massive, rock hard cock even after his orgasm. He thrashes about in his restraints, his whole body tense and rigid as you continue to jerk him off, forcing him to cum and cum and cum.

“Mommy! Mommy please! Fuck— enough!” He pleads and begs for you to stop, but the evident rock of his hips tells you he only wants more.

“Fuck! I’m shooting blanks here baby, please!”

Your hand retracts, slowly easing away.

He pants, gasping and heaving as he blinks up at the ceiling. While he catches his breath, you admire the drooping stripes of jizz seeping down his tight balls, throbbing and squeezing and pulsing next to his taught little asshole.

His chin angles forward, carnal eyes squinting at you from between tresses of white locks.

“Are you okay?” You cock your head, spidering a comforting hand up to rub his thigh.

“Let’s do that again.”

[sulumuns-dootah]

21. 10. Gun kink - Amy

    ༺☆༻

⟡ Masterlist ⟡ 

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽Helltober '24☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

A/N: Had a clear vision, blacked out and woke up to find this in my editor. Bone apple teeth ^^

Warnings: Guns (duh), Reader is a bit of a dark dom

    ༺☆༻

Watery pink eyes look up at you, filled with arousal and a bit of fear, from their position below you. Amy would not let anyone have him in such position except for you. If anyone saw him like this, in some dirty back alley in Gehenna, he'd surely threaten them with their life. Too bad he can't talk right now.

Slight whimpers leave the demon's lips as the barrel of your gun slides in and out of them on his velvety tongue. His hands clutch onto his thighs, wishing they were your instead, but he knows that touching you without your approval would make his punishment worse.

“Fuuuuck!” Amy lets out an obstructed moan when your other hand lovingly strokes one of his sensitive horns.

“See, baby? You can be good for me. It just takes some reminding, hm?” the high of your power is getting to you and you're not sure whether to push him more or allow him to make up for his mistake of picking another fight with Sitri.

“P-please... I-I'll be you good boy, just... please!” his hips are desperately trying to make contact with either one of your shoes for at least some friction, but you're making sure to keep your distance.

After finally having pulled the spit-coated gun from Amy's mouth, you can't help but to caress the flushed cheeks covered in scars. How many of those did he cause himself by just being this careless with his peers?

The kneeling demon can't take it anymore and your thighs are in his grasp as he hungrily plants alongside them one open-mouthed kiss after another between deep breaths,”Please... Need you... A-always will... Be g-good...For you...Nngh~...”

His salmon-pink eyes never leave yours as he's begging for any sort of touch or even something to rub against. They don't even leave yours as you run the dripping gun through his hair, making him bite his bottom lip.

The tip of your weapon finds the vulnerable skin under his jaw and slightly digs itself into it, enough to be a reminder that it's there, making the demon's head crane more upward. His hair is at this point fully drenched with his horn fluid, that your hand glides through the strands affectionately.

Then suddenly you yank his hair, fully forcing his head to look towards the sky as you finally step close enough for his hips to make contact with your leg. The demon's eyes prettily roll back from the pleasure of the first drag of his painfully-erect cock against your skin, only separated by the few layers of his clothes.

“Aw, you want to be good boy for me? Maybe you could put that smart mouth of yours to a good use then, hm?”

    ༺☆༻

Shhh... The prompt for tomorrow is Shibari ^^

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

Mrs Barnes-Rogers Writes Masterlist

A Second Chance Is A Better Chance

Marvel AU

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader; Alpha Steve Rogers x Omega reader; Alpha Steve Rogers x Omega Witch reader; eventual Alpha Steve Rogers x Omega witch reader x ?

Theme: A/B/O

Summary: Rejected by your true mate at 21, you’ve given up on the Fates and the Moon Goddesses giving you a second chance. Being a Roamer for the last 9 years, you’re an Omega hardened by the world. You’re safe on your own because of your witchcraft, but it doesn’t stop Alphas and plenty of others sniffing around, especially when you’re an unmated Omega witch, who’s wolf also happens to be white, the rarest kind. You don’t need anyone, but why do you keep coming back to Brookville and why do you keep walking into trouble and helping people that you don’t know but for some strange reason feel like family. And where is that smell of apple pie coming from?

The Fate Of A Fae

Marvel AU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader x Steve Rogers

Theme: Soulmates / Monster/Fantasy AU

Summary: Natasha Romanoff is a meddling, pain in the ass Sprite, who you wrongly thought would leave you alone once you introduced her to your best friend, Darcy. News flash, she doesn’t and she won’t. Not when she thinks you’re a perfect match for two of her best friends. Could she be right? Maybe. Just don’t tell her that.

“Never tell Natasha Romanoff she was right” - Clint Barton

Sometimes Your Soul Family Is The Only Family You Need

Marvel AU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader x Steve Rogers

Theme: Soulmates

Summary: 18 months ago you were a mess but with the help of your close friends you start to rebuild your life. Your soul friendships maybe chaotic but they're your family, just as you're theirs. With one of them about to have a baby, you and your misfit friends are here to visit. But will you stay? And what will the small town think of you having two soulmates and why do you keep finding yourself in the same place as a bunch of hot bikers.

"Sometimes families are assholes, sometimes your soul connections mean far more than family ever can. Sometimes your soul family is the only family you need." - Nurse Maggie

Pretty As A Picture

Marvel

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

Theme: Soulmates

Summary: When Bucky fell from the train, their soulmate was told he was gone. When Steve Rogers disappeared into the ice, their soulmate was again told one her soulmates were gone. But she didn't believe it. Couldn't believe it. Committed to a mental health institute, she dies of a broken heart. That's at least what the hidden S.H.I.E.LD files say, but if that's the case than why is there a photo of her. A photo that shows her side by side two redhaired Avengers.

The Pull Of You

Marvel

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

Theme: Soulmates

Summary: You meet Steve and Bucky on a Tuesday. Steve ignores the soulmate pull, Bucky can't. There's something about you that neither can shake, even when you're wearing one of Clint's tshirts and your unicorn slippers. After weeks of slipping into your bed Bucky decides he can't hold back anymore. He's telling you after the mission, whether Steve is all in or not. When you don't come back from the mission, they are both ready to burn the world down and the team have the matches to help. But is everything as it seems and have they been betrayed by someone on the inside.

Angel

Marvel AU

Pairing: Alpha Steve Rogers x Enhanced Omega Reader x Alpha Bucky Barnes

Theme: A/B/O

Summary: It's different when you're enhanced. Everything is different, every smell, every sound, touch, feelings. The way it's different doesn't make sense unless you are enhanced. Throw in what comes with Alpha and Omega instincts, and the intensity of your presentation is even more than any other. When you find yourself in need of help you can call on the alpha you trust the most, Natasha Romanoff. You just don't expect to find your alphas at the same time. Are you really enough for them? And can you really be the Luna to the Avengers.

"To be loved, to be loved by your mate is everything." - Wanda Maximoff

Our Lost Girl, Our Babydoll Masterlist

Marvel AU

Pairing: Alpha Steve Rogers x Omega Reader x Alpha Bucky Barnes

Theme: A/B/O

Summary: A bookshop and a spilled coffee leads you to Clint. He leads you to Natasha, and you lead them both to your best friend Darcy. They try to introduce you to Bucky and Steve but you're full of excuses and Irish goodbyes. Until Bucky catches your scent on Natasha and he's sliding in your DM's and offering to help pack up Darcy's apartment. Steve wants to give their bookworm the world and your Irish goodbyes won't slip passed him, because his eyes never leave you. But what's giving you the lost look in your eyes?

The Feral Princess Masterlist

Marvel AU

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Theme: Soulmate AU / Medieval / Fantasy / Soulmate Marks

Summary: Bucky and Steve have known they were soulmates since they were children. Fate bringing a then sickly Steve and the future King together. War takes them apart and throws them back together over and over, in and out of each other lives, arms and beds. But something is missing and throughout, they know they are missing their third and final piece. The kingdom is now Bucky's and Steve's, the latter now a leader and no longer a sickly child. Both are war heroes, with the respect of their country and those that surround it. They are a force to be reconned with, admired and respected within the other royal houses. They could have any maiden or princess they wanted, but they don't want just anyone. They want their soulmate. They want their princess. Even if she is known as The Feral Princess.

Fancy a cuppa? My Ko-Fi.