#this happens w almost everything i write tho so like

[tethrras]

deciding to headcanon that the lighthouse makes people feel Calm and Docile and Relaxed to excuse the fact that more of the companions aren't as mad as lucanis that ANY of this is happening

[zukkacore]

Was looking at IYWD as like a refresher on like wtf I say half the time and I’m like aw Porter is almost sweet in this. Like I remember being really stressed out ppl wouldn’t pick up on the tragic subtext and now I’m like. Lol is this. Romantic? And then going into Almost and being like actually. Porter is evil and needs to die

[shdysders]

mistake

pairing: tara carpenter & female reader

summary: in which tara makes a mistake she can't undo

word count: 3.4k

warnings: violence, blood, stabbing, blood & death.

author’s note: feel like my writing is deteriorating, so sorry this might not be the greatest.

When you heard that Mindy and Ethan had been separated from the rest of the group, you immediately knew nothing was going to go according to the plan.

Everything had happened so fast. First accusation news about Sam had streamed on television, then Quinn's bloody corpse had fallen on top of you, then Anika wasn't able to make it across the latter, her bloody hands and Ghostface's shaking had made her slip. You had lost two of your friends in less than fifteen minutes.

You hadn't heard of the killings in Woodsboro until you had met Tara the first day of junior year, but she made sure to tell you everything that had happened the closer the two of you got.

Based on everything you had heard, you understood why Sam was so protective over Tara, the Carpenter sisters had been through more than normal people have in a lifetime.

However, even though you were nothing but nice and understanding towards Sam, she didn't seem to like you.

The first time Tara had brought you home to the apartment, Sam had kept a burning gaze on you for the whole time, like she wanted to burn you alive.

You thought that she would warm up and eventually trust you like she seemed to do with Anika, Quinn and Ethan, but she never did.

And it only got worse once Tara had called you her girlfriend in front of her, a huge disagreement broke out, so big that Sam had sent you out of the apartment.

You never got to know what Sam had said after that, but you did know that the glares you got from Sam only worsened and so did the small comments she would make about you when she thought you didn't hear.

Such as now, when Sam and Tara were walking in front of you, the theater being the destination. You had this gut feeling that Sam was currently talking about you. You just knew she was, even tho you couldn't hear her voice nor did you see her head moving like it normally did when she spoke, you knew.

But your mind changed thoughts when she rapidly turned on her heel, stopping when she was in front of Danny who had been walking closely behind you, alongside Kirby.

"Not you." She said, her voice cracking.

"What?" He answered almost immediately, like he had been expecting it.

"Don't trust anyone remember?" Sam replied.

You watched the scene with worried eyes, what Sam said reminded you way too much of something she had told Tara when she thought you weren't near. "We don't know you.. not really."

His face expression looked hurt, almost taken aback when Sam spoke. "You know me."

"You're not Woodsboro." She spoke quickly, rage lacing her voice.

Tara looked down at her shoes after that was said, her lips finding a home between her teeth. You knew she was scared, because you were as well. You had no idea how things were going to go down, you had never experienced something as brutal like this before.

You were seconds away from putting a comforting hand on her shoulder, before she looked up at you with tears pricking her eyes.

"That goes for you too." She swallows thickly, trying her hardest to look into your eyes.

You furrowed your eyebrows, panic rising through you. "W-what?" Your voice came out as a stutter, not believing what she had just made it's way out of her mouth.

Tara just nodded unsurely, her eyes looked sad and were filled with doubt. You couldn't understand why. If she was sad about it, why would she say it?

"Tara I- you can't be serious." You spoke again, voice growing shakier by the minute.

She knew very well how terrified you were about the situation as it was, and yet she still chose to leave you out of the plan alongside Sam's unknown fuck buddy? If it didn't make you shake out of fear you would've been infuriated.

"You're not Woodsboro." She stated, same thing as her sister but in a different tone, she'd tried to sound calm, but her voice was filled with uncertainty, shaky with worry.

You knew she was right. You weren't Woodsboro. You had never been to the place nor did you knew it existed before Tara came along. But the fact that she didn't trust you enough to know for certain that you weren't Ghostface, made you feel the need to fall apart. Did she really think you would kill your friends? Let alone hurt them?

The thought made your eyes sting, and before you had the chance to wipe the tears away, they fell.

"Tara please I promise I-" You felt embarrassed, being so vulnerable over basically nothing.

All eyes were on you as you tried to keep the tears from falling, you felt ridiculous. But you were terrified.

You couldn't stand the thought of being left alone in this situation. Not only because you were scared of being alone, but also because you had to protect Tara.

Although you knew Sam would do a perfectly fine job of keeping her safe, but you wanted to do it, you had to. You wanted to prove to Sam that you loved Tara almost the same amount as she did, you wanted to prove to Tara she could trust you with her life.

You could see that Tara wanted to give in, tell you that you could come along and that she trusted you with her whole being. Her eyes were filled with regret and doubt. But you could tell that she wasn't going to change her mind anytime soon.

She just watched you, biting her lips hard enough to draw blood. Seeing the look on your face just made her want to squeeze you in a hug hard enough to make you faint.

You looked so scared, and the fact that she knew how scared you were about the whole situation, made everything worse. She had noticed the terrified look on your face that hadn't left since the attack at the apartment, your trembling hands and the layer of tears in your eyes that never fell.

Tara actually thought that you looked more scared than both Sam and her combined.

"Y/n please just stay here." She tried to reason, as if she wanted this. But she did want it. She wanted you to be safe.

You wanted to argue, tell her that you would refuse to come along. But you knew that you wouldn't get anywhere with it, Tara was stubborn, she always got what she wanted somehow. And you didn't want Sam to see you argue with Tara, that certainly wouldn't help you get on better terms with her.

So you gave in, even though you knew Tara's life was at stake. Sam will take care of her, you tried to tell yourself.

You quickly wiped the tears on your cheeks with your hand, even though everybody had already seen them.

Tara's eyes never left your figure as she watched your trembling hands. "Fine." You almost spit, voice cracking with worry.

Tara nodded at that, happy to hear you give in. You didn't pay attention to anybody's reaction other than hers, they didn't seem to matter.

She walked closer to you, placing a kiss on your faintly tear stained cheek. "Be safe." She said, as if she wasn't the one that was about to walk into a situation that she would either leave traumatized or not leave at all.

"Be safe." You repeated, before you watched them all walk away towards the building.

Seeing as Sam turned her head to Tara and whispered 'good call', as they walked away.

But when you turned around to try and make a decent conversation with Danny, he was nowhere in sight. Making even more worry creep in your bones.

***

You had been pacing around in the same place and pattern for 20 minutes without any progress, Danny was gone, and your phone was dead.

The streets where dead and empty.

You had half a mind to just run to the theaters and do the exact opposite of what Tara had instructed you to. But you knew well enough that both of the Carpenter sisters would quite literally murder you if you stepped a foot into their plan.

But eventually the worry and stress got to you, like it always did. You didn't care if you were going to get murdered whether if it were by Tara or Ghostface, if it was for protecting Tara, it was a good reason.

However, before you had the chance to change your mind or consider the other options, a glove-covered hand landed on your face, covering your mouth tightly.

The yelp and screams you tried to make was inaudible, nobody could hear them.

You felt a surge of fear and panic, unable to hear your own scream. The street grew eerily silent as you struggled to break free, your heart pounding in your chest. Rush of intense vulnerability and confusion, as you desperately searched for a way to escape the grasp of the unknown assailant.

But you knew who it was. It was Ghostface.

You tried to kick them with your legs, but none of them seemed to hit. The person was holding a strong grip on your mouth, and the other arm was firmly placed around your waist. You were unable to move out of any of the grips, the person was too strong. And you weren't.

Your panic was making it harder to breath, and you were beginning to feel as if you were about to faint any second.

You tried your best to remove the grip with your hands, gripping hardly on the muscular arms, trying so hard to get them away from you.

The tightened arms had veins all over them, yet another reminder that it was impossible for you to get away.

It was Danny, you tried to tell yourself over the ringing in your ears. It had to be Danny. He had left the second you were alone with him. It had to be him.

Muffled screams and ringing ears were the only noises you could make out. If the person behind you was speaking in a voice changer to you or not, you had no idea.

The panic you felt was replaced with relief when the thought of using your elbow to hit the individual behind you entered your mind.

But you never got the chance to do that.

Seconds before your elbow was about to meet the Ghostface mask, you felt a sharp pain in your lower abdomen.

All of the movements you were making stopped the second you realized what it was.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Seven times you could feel the sharp piece of metal enter and exit your abdomen. A gasp escaped your mouth after every single one of them.

You tried to scream, but nobody was around. Your wide eyes scanned through the street, yet again seeing that nobody was there. It was all empty.

Normally the streets of New York would be filled with drunk teenagers and late night workers, whether it was night or afternoon.

But when the news about the killers got out, everybody stayed inside. Some people didn't even bother to leave for work, and of course no parties. Even the homeless people seemed to have found another place to stay at.

You didn't realize that numbness was spreading through your legs until the potential male had slowly began to loosen the grip he had on your figure.

Before you had time to think, he had completely let go.

Suddenly you felt dizzy, you couldn't feel your feet, you couldn't feel your legs, you couldn't feel anything.

You could barely feel your legs giving up, nor did you feel your body hitting the ground as you tried to cover up the damage that had been made on your lower stomach.

Regardless the sharp pain in your body that almost made it impossible to breathe and the dizziness that got worse every time you moved, you tried to crawl towards the fence that was just centimeters away.

Your hands bloody from trying to add pressure to your wounds made trails on the asphalt.

You couldn’t tell if you had placed your hands on the right place, considering that the stab wounds were all over the place. And you didn't even dare to look down, because you could guarantee that it wouldn't be a pleasant sight.

Your eyes were starting to close by themselves and you were struggling to keep them open.

Everything hurt.

The pressure you were putting on the wounds was now becoming lighter, your hands didn't seem to have any strength left in them.

Tara would be here soon, you thought, desperately.

She would be here soon, everything would be okay; no more Ghostface attacks, no more Sam hating you, and no more unexpected death cases of your friends.

Your mind focused on Tara.

Her brown hair, her beautiful brown eyes, her dimples and her breathtaking smile. Her voice, her touch, and her joyful laugh.

Your eyes closed, and this time you couldn't stop them. The pressure on your wounds was no longer existent. The color in you was gone. You were gone.

Last thought being the girl you wanted to marry.

***

Tara left the building with a lump in her stomach, as big as a bowling ball.

Her body was filled with worry and guilt, but a part of her felt relief. She was relieved that everything was over now. No more Ghostfaces. She was done with them, truly.

Tara couldn't wait to see you. She was going to tell you that the decision she made was right, that she was happy you stayed behind, because you stayed safe.

But when Danny had walked into the theater, tackling all kinds of officer in his way, he was all alone. You weren't there, you didn't come with him.

Danny told them that the two of you had lost sight of each other rather quickly after they'd left, that you probably just needed to be alone and breathe for a moment.

Tara knew that you would be upset with her, for not allowing you to come with them, for not letting you protect her, like you always told her you would, even if it meant dying.

Although she had hoped for you to at least come to see if she made it out alive.

Danny had called the cops and ambulance to arrive at the place as soon as he got the chance. That's why the only thing in Tara's sight was ambulances, police cars and the fire department.

Chad had miraculously made it out alive, same with Mindy and Kirby. And even though that made Tara want to cry out in happy tears, she couldn't let herself feel anything until she had seen you.

Safe and secure. Like you should've been.

Panic began to rise within Tara as minutes passed without any sight of you.

Sam stood beside her, trying to sooth her younger sister with comforting words. But they didn't make anything better for her.

After the whole showdown, the two Carpenter sister's had talked, really talked.

Sam had tried to explain to Tara that she didn't actually hate you, the opposite really. She thought you were lovely and a perfect match for Tara. But she didn't want to take any risks.

She wanted to show you the walls to her trust weren't easy to break. And then she thought that if she acted rude towards you, you would eventually leave; meaning there was no need for Sam to let her guard down and open up to people she didn't know.

But Sam knew how much Tara loved you, she had been listening to her sister's rambling about you everyday.

That's why Sam could feel her heart sinking down her entire being when her eyes met with a stretcher where a body was placed, a morgue sheet on top of it, which was filled with blood.

Sam prayed that it was somebody else. That you had walked somewhere else to breathe just like Danny had assumed.

She felt the need to distract Tara before she had the chance to see it, but it was too late.

She had already seen it.

Tara screamed out your name in a sob, straight away assuming that you were the person underneath the white cover.

The woman who had been pushing the stretcher had stopped, turning around to try and give the man behind her any sort of information about the deceased individual.

Tara's legs moved faster than she could process, Sam following shortly after.

Heart pounding, hands trembling. With a swift of motion, she grabbed the edge of the wrap and pulled it upward, revealing your pale and peaceful face.

The vibrant hues that once painted your face were now gone, leaving behind a pale and ghostly visage. The colors had been drained from you, you no longer looked like yourself.

Tara could feel herself gasp loudly at the sight, turning around with a hand placed on her mouth.

A surge of sickness overwhelmed her. A gut-wrenching sensation, as if her stomach was about to revolt. She felt like she was on the verge of throwing up, basically feeling the acidic liquids rise within her.

It was you. Her girl. Dead. Gone.

Sam had the same reaction to the sight, gasping and putting her hand on her mouth, preventing from letting out any tears or sounds. Chills running down her spine.

Stop it. Pull it together. Tara. Tara needs you. Sam told herself.

Gaze shifting from your body and the bloody sheet upon you to her younger sister, who was sobbing beside her, about to fall down to her knees.

But when Sam put a hand on Tara's shoulder, she stood straighter. "No!" She shot up, voice raspy.

She looked at you again, but this time not caring for the feeling inside of her throat that threatened her. "She's not dead." Tara spoke again, trying to convince herself that you were alive, that she could save you.

"Tara-" Sam tried, but Tara had no interest in listening to her sister.

"Y/n. Baby, look at me." Tara gently brushed her fingertips against your cheeks, but quickly pulled away when she felt the chill that pierced through her body, for they were once a source of warmth and comfort, now distant and cold.

You were always warm.

The tears streamed down Tara's face, leaving even more mascara smudges on her cheeks, falling and leaving marks on her blue shirt. The shirt that you had gotten her.

"Sam, Come on! help me please" She begged for her big sister's help, still hoping that you could be saved.

At that sentence, the woman who had pushed you turned around, she seemed to have heard Tara's pleads and begs, filled with hope, wishing that you were alive. "Oh honey, this girl has been deceased for over an hour...we can't save her."

The woman spoke apologetically and looked at Tara with sorrowed eyes. "I'm so sorry." She ended. Tara was about to scream at the lady, yell at her and tell them to at least try, you weren't gone. There was no way.

But before Tara got the chance to argue, Sam had pulled her into her chest, embracing Tara with a hug. And at that, Tara broke.

The sobs left her mouth faster than she could take them in, she didn't have any space to breathe.

"She's gone." She cried, her tears staining the older woman's shirt. "And I wasn't there to help her." Tara rambled, talking rapidly before the next sob would escape.

Sam didn't know what to say. She just stroke her younger sister's hair, trying to soothe her sobs.

She had never seen Tara this vulnerable and emotionally ruined, not even when she had reunited with Tara at the hospital the previous year.

Tara's body shook violently as each sob left her mouth.

It was a mistake. It was all a mistake.

Tara had been so confident with her decision only minutes before. She thought she had made the right move.

But it turned out to be the biggest mistake of her life.

A mistake she couldn't take back, and had to live with for the rest of her time alive.

[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.

[mingi-s-dimples]

splash of desire - wooyoung

pairing: enemy & teammate!wooyoung x fem!reader

rating: 18+ (filth)

genre: enemies to lovers, filthy smut (mdni ty)

summary: your captain makes you share a room with your death enemy, who also happens to be your teammate.

WC: 3.1k

warnings: non idol au, dystopian (strictland), brat dom!wooyoung x even brattier!reader, cocky!wooyoung, cursing, cussing out, threats (once or twice, death threat once and knife once), size kink, shower sex, overstim, orgasm control, ruined orgasm (twice f), oral (m), foreplay (f & m), blowjob, choking (both by dick and by hand), handjob, hair pulling, pet names ( ), making out, deepthroating, slight dacryphilia, one scene with pleading/begging, completely consensual, unprotected (booo use protection irl!!!), death enemies to lovers, completely unedited & might edit later, totally forgot to mention something.

Author's Note: Enemies to lovers... shower sex AND Wooyoung? give me 14 thank you. I wrote this in ONE DAY... like 4 hours or something? I think it took me longer to actually re edit/write the entire fic rather than initially writing it 😭. My utmost fave part was when Wooyoung said he wouldn't back off if he kissed her !?!??! I'm afraid I'm in love with how I wrote this fic keisjs (I always say this). Anyways, enjoy my fic ! 🫶🏻 (also I'm on the rollll I'm still on vacation LMAO I got really bored.. and horny so, once again, enjoyyy) - wrote this together w my bestie, she chose a plot - i only had the smut in mind upsi - tysm Lis for helping me ajisebs love youuu .

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction & does not represent in any way the reality of the member.

You were apart of ATEEZ, a well known group of outlaws, rebelled against the Strictland Government. They were some.. entities, which distrupted the initial normal world with all of their activities. Hongjoong, your captain, suddenly decided to part the whole team on small groups, of 2 people, because the latest mission almost failed tragically. He thought that it happened because we were too many in the same place. In the end, he chose Wooyoung to team up with you and.. neither of you were happy about it. In fact, you started bickering with both Hongjoong and Wooyoung, because for some reason Hj thought that you's be better off on a mission with Woo. Little did he know that you'd actually kill him even before the mission started if you had the chance.

You looked at Hj in disbelief.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN I AM ON MISSION WITH WOOYOUNG?"

You let out a heavy sigh, giving a piercing stare to Wooyoung.

"WHY HIM, OUT OF ALL PEOPLE? Captain. Please... please... put me on another team.." you said pleading, almost begging Hongjoong, but to no avail.

"Nope, end of discussion. You are going to do as I said. You both have one hour to prepare and pack things. I already made a reservation for a hotel hot too far from here. We gotta stay united but not in the same place, it's too risky."

"Guess we'll need to tolerate each other, y/n. I won't try to kill you, I promise." Wooyoung said, giving you the death stare with a smirk.

Hongjoong left the room, giving you a stare. He tried so hard not to burst out laughing, knowing you were pissed at him for pairing you with Wooyoung.

And here you were, in your own, nice and little room... but private. In 2 hours you were gonna live with your death enemy, which happened to also be your teammate, in the same hotel room. Ironic, isn't it? How much you hated him, his face, his cocky and bratty attitude. Everything about him made you curse at him on a daily basis. But now, you were gonna be closer to him than ever. You didn't even know what to say about it... you were just.. in disbelief.

*2 hours later*

"Oookay guys. Here is your room, you only have one bed tho, we can't afford a bigger room for now. Please don't fight, don't try to kill each other and please, for fucks sake, don't bomb the place. Enjoy your time" Hongjoong said, letting out a small chuckle.

He knew sth you didn't know.

"Okay. Dissappear, please. I don't want to see you this early in the morning." you said to Wooyoung, staring him down. You took a cigarette out of your pocket and lit it, going om the balcony to ease your mood.

"We both know you love me, y/n, don't act like this" He said teasingly, approaching you slowly.

"Fuck you, don't piss me off. Go away! " you said, pushing him away.

"Fine. I'll be in the room if you need me" he whispered.

"Fuck off you bitch" you whisperer, not letting him hear you.

You took your phone out of the pocket and dialed Hongjoong.

"Joong please! I can't live with this brat! We've been in the same room for 3 minutes and we already started bickering! Please change the layout... " you pleaded.

But you didn't hear anything. Instead, he hung up in you, giving you the final answer.

"Oh cmon, you fucker" you said to yourself.

*several minutes later*

You decided to go back in the room after smoking quite a few cigarettes. After all, you were trying to distract yourself from the situation.

But it didn't last long.

"Huh? where the fuck did he go?"

"Well, better for me, I won't see his face for a while. Maybe he's planning to kill me? I wouldn't be surprised"

You later decided to go take a shower to ease your muscles after the mission you had 2 days ago, but to your surprise and horror.. you met Wooyoung's gaze in the hall, right besides the bathroom's door. He was halfway naked, t-shirt on the floor and only in his briefs. You were trying to look away but.. froze. You stared him from head to toe, stopping at his collarbones, then at his waist... his underwear. He was.. packing.

"For fucks sake, Wooyoung! What are you doing?" you finally said, after eye fucking him for a long minute.

"What does it look like I'm doing? Chill, I wanted to take a shower. Unless you wanna join me?" he said laughing, but seeing your flustered face made his gaze darken.

"Oh.. maybe you want to join me after all, judging from your stare, hm?" he said, approaching you.

"Fuck off! Don't you touch me, what the fuck!" you said and slapped him, looking horrified in his eyes at what you just did. You always bickered and fought with him but never in your right mind thought about hitting him.

"Ouu, feisty." he said and slammed your wrists to the wall, right above you.

"The fuck are you doing?!" you said trying to escape his grip but to no avail. He was strong.. and besides being strong you made him mad.

"Oh kitten, I've seen your gaze. You've been eye fucking me for a while, is that right?" he whispered right into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

*click*

He closed the door with his left hand. You had nowhere to go. But... did you want to leave?

"Wooyoung it's not funny, I hate everything about you."

He tilts his head at your words.

"Come again, darling? I didn't quite hear you."

"You're fucking annoying, don't get on my nerves" you said, squirming and trying to get away from his grip. But with every word and every sentence he was saying, your force dissipated and you were starting to give in... maybe you wanted him after all?

You had a window of freedom and took something out of your pocket.

"Ouuu, a knife? Are you trying to perhaps flirt with me?" he said smiling, tightening his grip on your wrists.

"Drop it. I can't guarantee your safety with that shit around me, y/n." he said and took it from your hands.

"Shut the fuck up"

"Make me, love"

You gulped. You never thought that your... death enemy would turn you on but.. here you are, arousal pooling in your panties and trying to keep your composure and not jump on him in that instant. He was staring you down, you could feel how his eyes were eating you right there. He closed the gap between your bodies, you could feel his briefs getting thighter against your thighs.

"Wooyoung.. ? The fuck are you doing?" You said flustered, looking at the bulge forming in front of you.

"Perhaps I want to fuck you or... leave you hanging? Either way... it's so much fun seeing you this flustered... you've never been like this. It makes me go insane" he said, leaning in, hovering his lips over your collarbones.

You didn't try to run away now. You almost fully gave in but... there was still something holding you back. Was he always like this? Was he.. always into you.. like this? All these thoughts were driving you insane as you felt your cunt wetting your jeans. Did you want to give in? Did you want to leave? Your body was telling you something.. while your mind was telling you otherwise. But... you wanted to give in. Truth is... you've always wanted to fuck him. To fuck the cockiness and brattiness out of him. To see him flustered, to find out why he's always been bratty with you and only you.

Though.. he continued before letting you say something.

"You know... the problem is.."

He said as he leaned in, staring at your lips with hunger and thirst.

"If I touch you... or kiss you... I don't think I'll be able to back off."

He said... waiting for the slightest response from you.

"Wooyoung -" you mustered your courage to say, touching his lip with your thumb after he loosened the grip on your hands.

He took that as a yes.

Wooyoung leaned in for a kiss, one of his hands holding your wrists above and the other one on your waist, all touchy.

"To be honest with you, y/n"

He stopped for a moment.

"I've always wanted to do this"

He said as he leaned in for a deeper, sloppier kiss. His hand going down to your ass, trying to feel you up in every way possible.

"I hate you, Wooyoung."

"No. babe. You hate the fact that you actually want me" he said, planting a kiss on your neck.

And that was it.. you were making out with your death enemy. Tongues interlocking, lewd sounds being heard in the whole room. His hands going down to your pants and your hands on his shoulders, he took you in his hands and put you on the washing machine in the bathroom. In the meantime, you could feel his hands all touchy around your waist. He was not that shitty, after all. He was waiting for you to fully give in before making any move that would make you uncomfortable. But as he said... you'd been eye fucking him for a while now.

You unzipped your pants and he took them off. His hands going back to your ass, now tugging at your panties. As soon as he touched your thigh, really close to your cunt, you flinched.

He stopped.

"Hm? why did you stop"

"You flinched. All good w me all over you?"

"Yes."

"Okay, good girl" he said. smiling.

"Fuck you, Wooyoung"

"Oh yes, please." he said and went in for a wild sloppy kiss, biting your lower lip while he took of your panties and bra. You were already bare in fron of him while he still had his briefs on... which you took care of in a second. You first started touching his tip through the cloth, feeling how hard it has gotten these past few moments. He didn't lie, after all. He really wanted to fuck you... judging from all the pre cum leaking through. You tugged at them and took them off only halfway before his cock sprung up out of the enclosed briefs.

You gulped.

"Hm? did you say something, love?"

"Are you... perhaps.. surprised?" he said, chuckling at the view he had. Your hand was resting on his dick, which was halfway out of his underwear. He was right... you were fucking surprised at how big he was.

"N-no" you said flustered. He could see the look on your face. You wanted to fuck him right there.

He left you sitting on the washing machine.

"Where the fuck are you going? Don't piss me off, you started this" you said, staring at him.

"Wait a moment, I'm just gonna do something" and as he finished talking, he turned on the shower.

"Oh, my fucking god." You gasped.

"Wooyoung.." you said but couldn't finish your sentence as he took you in his grip and dropped you off in the shower, the water dripping off your collarbones.

"Didn't you want to take a shower, woman? The fuck you looking at" he said before one of his hands went straight to your neck, receiving a choked whimper from you.

"Ooh, you're a cocky one, hm?" he said as you stopped showing him how much you wanted him.

"You're one to talk, Wooyoung" you said and right after you finished your sentence he pushed you on the wall, your breasts against the wall and your back arched for the man behind you.

"Stay still, babe." he said as he slapped your ass, holding onto it for dear life. He was resting his dick on your folds, rubbing against them for a moment.

"Fucking god.. y/n. I hate how good you feel"

He said as he pushed only his tip in.

"It makes me want to destroy the fuck out of you"

He said as he pushed himself fully into your cunt, receiving a loud moan from you.

"Wooyoung ! " you shouted, trying to hold onto something. He had other plans. He took your hair into a fist and with his other hand he held onto you, bottoming out with every single one of his thrusts. It hurt but oh god... you never thought he'd fuck this good. You were holding on for dear life, the wall slippery from the water running on you and your knees weak.

"I'm not even - oh"

"Sweating yet, babe." You said, stopping in the middle because of one of his thrusts.

"Is that really all you - g-got?" you muffled.

"Hm? You want more, huh? What a needy cunt you have." he said, burying his face into the nape of your neck, still holding on your hair, pulling it back. "Isn't this good to you, darling? Hm?" he said as he slowed down his thrusts, but going deeper as ever.

"Oh - my god" you whimpered, arousal dripping from your folds, as he pulled out for a moment.

"The fuck are you doing" you said annoyed, cause he stopped you from catching your high.

"You said you didn't even sweat so I stopped. I thought you meant I'm not good enough to you"

"You're a damn nuisance, Wooyoung. I can see your dick throbbing. Did you really want to stop?" you said, smiling at the view.

"Not your damn business. Quite a mouth you have, it seems like you need someone to put you in your place" he said as he manhandled you. He turned you around and pushed you on your knees, his cock on your cheek, rubbing on it while his hand was holding your hair.

"Got something to say, y/n? Are you finally.. quiet?" he said, looking down at you.

"Never, you fucker"

"Ohh, bratty. I love it" He said as he pushed his dick in your mouth, feeling it right in the back of your throat, tears swelling in your eyes. His dick was girthy... you could feel how it stretched your mouth so well. This brat also didn't let you adjust to his size. Having no room to breath, you were choking on his tip, but little did he care. He loved seeing you helpess, fucked dumb and being sucked by you.

When he pulled out for a short second you coughed, gasping for air.

"You're.. cute" he said chuckling, stroking your head while you had his dick on your lips.

"You bet" you said and you softly bit his tip, receiving a moan from him.

"Fuck you, y/n. This is how we are, hm? Fuck that hurt" he said, looking down at you, plotting something.

He kneeled and pushed you around. He wanted you to sit on all fours.

"Ass up, babe. On all fours. Turn around, on a side. Now." he said and even before having time to move, he manhandled you how he wanted. You were now sideways on your knees and hands.

"Suck."

And you obeyed. But little did you know he had completely other plans that you were bound to find out as soon as you felt the free hand, the one that wasn't holding your hair, on your spine right down to your ass. He used two of his fingers to spread out your wet, dripping folds. One of it rubbing on your clit, the other one slowly finding it's way in your cunt. He curled his finger inside you, making you arch your back and stop sucking him off. You gasped at the sensation.

"Damn, I never thought you'd be this hot sucking me off like the little whore you are. Wanna cum, hm? I can see it on your face. All flustered up and weak for me" he said, pushing two fingers inside you.

He was right, you were so close to finishing, barely standing on your knees. Your hands were slipping, trying to hold yourself up on his thighs.

"Stop" he said.

"W-what why" you said angrily, looking at him and gasping when he pulled out his fingers, your cunt clenching on nothing.

"You fucker, it's the 2nd time you've fucked with my orgasm. What's your problem, want me to kill you?" you shouted, weak in your knees as soon as he put his hand on your neck.

"Hmm.. maybe I love seeing you so desperate for me. For my dick, for my fingers. But... did you just say you'd.. kill me? Is that right, babe?" he said as he choked you, staring you up and down.

"We'll see about that. Get up and face me. Now." he said, waiting for you to obey.

He then lifted you up right on his dick, placing your hands on his shoulders. One of his hand was holding you from below and with one he was leaning against the wall, not letting your head hit the hard tile in the shower.

"Wooyoungh-h, I gotta-" you muffled.

"Use your words, pretty. I didn't quite understand"

"I gotta, mhhm, c-cum"

"Like, now" you said and let out a muffled moan, trying to look back at Wooyoung.

"Nu-uh babe, I didn't yet."

He stopped for only a second.

"Let's make a deal. Cum at the same time as me. Won't be that hard, right? I can see on your face that you're out of it. Now... cum." he said and started wildly thrusting into you, with so much speed and deepness, with the hand he was leaning against the wall on your clit, rubbing circles on it while closing the distance between you two.

It was like... what? the 3rd time you we're close to it and he was playing with you. But he wasn't a brat until the end and you both came, still thrusting into you so you could take up his load right up your cunt.

As both of you were coming down from your highs, he leaned down to put you down in the tiles and sat besides you.

"Y/n... I never thought this would happen but.. oh my god. You felt so good..." he said while giving you soft kisses on your forehead. He hovered the shower over you, washing you up. You've never seen that side of him. The nice, loving one.. but you loved it.

"Wooyoung.. when I tell you I GULPED when I saw you in the hallway. I was going insane !"

"Then.. up for a round 2?" he said laughing.

"Shut the fuck up, it's late and we need to wake up early as fuck!" you said, scoffing.

"Fine, fine. I'll pass on it tonight. But... what about tomorrow night? We could try the bed, too. It looks pretty sturdy." he said smirking.

"Wooyoung, for fucks sake! SHUT UP!" you said running out of the bathroom, your cheeks flushed from what he just said.

"Dammit, this fucker"

[redvexillum]

@crackrodent I really am using your requests as tribute for my Kinktober/Flufftober, lol. This is my very first Adam ask and I'm sorry, I can't kill Adam! You know how much I love Adam! That's it *rolls up sleeves* imma show you what happens when you mess with the d1ckm@ster! Rawr! 😈

Special thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff for being my muse for this story. Bless you. I had way too much fucking fun writing this. 💖

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, reader is fox demon for plot, sinner!adam, d☆ggy style, reader has a potty mouth, adam is the dickmaster, an☆l play, sp☆nking, hair pulling, multiple ☆rgasm (f!receiving), sq☆irting, rough s☆x, bl☆w job, big d☆ck adam, dom/sub undertone, so much f☆cking banter istg please shut up, adam being adam, adam figuratively sucking his own dick, toxic masculinity just oozes out of adam but the sex is hot af tho, adam is kind of a loveable idiot (?), I really went overboard here...sry kit (but not rly ayyy 🤣), CRUFTTY (crack + fluff + smut)

Building a sandwich was fucking art.  

The bread had to be perfect – moist and soft, but not so soft that it turned into a soggy mess under the weight of the toppings. It needed strength to hold everything together, to create a flawless bite.  

Every ingredient was handpicked by yours truly, each one deserving its place. The crispness of the lettuce, the savoury crunch of bacon, and the creamy balance of mayonnaise all had to align just right. Too much of anything, and the delicate flavour of harmony would soon collapse into a desolate heap of failure.  

It was your first day at “Hazbin Hotel,” a place with the dumbest fucking name you’d ever heard. Redemption, they called it. A program to save sinners, to help them earn their way to heaven. So far, all you’d seen was a ragtag crew of lunatics who wouldn’t have spent five minutes together unless they had their own selfish reasons for being here.  

Not that you gave a damn. You were here for one thing: free rent and free food. Your pointy ears twitched at the sound of manic laughter echoing through the halls. Niffty? Swifty? Whatever the hell her name was, you didn’t care enough to remember.  

All that mattered right now was your sandwich.  

Your orange tail, fluffy and tipped in black, swayed behind you as you worked with precision. The smell of freshly fried bacon lingered in the air, and a satisfied shiver ran down your spine. You squinted, eyeing the perfect amount of mayonnaise that dropped onto the bread with a soft plop. A sense of pride bloomed in your chest as you spread it evenly, knowing this was going to be the best fucking sandwich you’d ever made since coming down to Hell.  

Your lips stretched into a grin as you placed the final slice of bread on top, your tail flicking back and forth in anticipation. 

This was it. 

Perfection.  

Nothing could ruin this beautiful moment.  

Until, of course, all hell broke loose.  

As you stepped into the lobby, plate in hand, you barely had time to process the chaos before you. Your feet skidded to a halt, and you almost dropped your sandwich. The sandwich you would’ve committed six counts of murder for. 

“Holy shit!” you yelped, barely saving the plate from tumbling.  

There, right in front of you, was Niffty – or Swifty – going full psycho mode, cackling like a maniac as she repeatedly stabbed the newest guest. The guy was on the floor, writhing in agony, while Niffty giggled like it was the funniest thing in the world. “DIE! DIE! DIE! HAHAHA!” she screamed, her voice high-pitched and sharp.  

The blood splattered in bright red streaks as her tiny form hovered over him, the blade of her dagger glistening with every wild thrust. You watched, half in horror, half in disbelief, as she continued her assault with a grin that could only belong to someone completely unhinged.  

It wasn’t until Charlie – or was it Marley? - rushed in, shouting and waving her arms, that the scene started to settle. “Niffty, stop!” she yelled, scooping up the small, crazed girl with a panicked gasp. The dagger slipped from Niffty’s hand, clattering to the ground, blood still dripping from its blade.  

Huh. So, the girl’s name was Niffty.  

Noted.  

You picked up your sandwich, sinking your teeth into it, and damn near moaned right there in the lobby. The crisp, salty bacon mingled with the fresh crunch of lettuce, all balanced perfectly with the smooth creaminess of mayo. The bread was just the right kind of soft, with a subtle sweetness that tied everything together. It was like biting into a small piece of fucking heaven, even if you were in literal hell.  

“Oh, fuck,” came a groan from the man on the floor, interrupting your moment of sandwich bliss. The shitty guy who’d just been stabbed was slowly getting to his feet, looking dazed. “What the fuck!” he whined, wincing as he touched his back, his fingers now slick with blood. “That fucking hurts, like, real bad!”  

You rolled your eyes. Drama queen. This was hell, he was going to regenerate in a couple of minutes anyhow. You looked at him, and you almost dropped your sandwich, again.  

This guy.  

This fucking guy.  

Why was this fucking guy here, of all places? 

Marley – no, Charlie, fuck, whatever – chuckled sheepishly. “Sorry about that,” she said, flashing a nervous grin. “I, uh, forgot to tell Niffty that you’re not a bad guy anymore and at least she didn’t stab you with Angelic Steel!” she smiled way too brightly, as if that would somehow smooth things over.  

The man groaned again, straightening up with an exaggerated wince. “Ugh, I was never a bad guy,” he huffed, raising his hands in a condescending little air-quote gesture. “I was chosen and ordained by the big man upstairs to do what was right.” His nose shot up in the air like he thought he was some hot shit, and he crossed his arms with the kind of arrogance that made you want to punch him in the throat.  

You didn’t give two shits about the conversation. Hell, it was taking every ounce of self-control not to rip his trachea out right then and there. Of all the scum in hell, this asshole was the worst.  

Before the hotel, you’d made the horrible mistake of matching with him on Vinder, thinking maybe you could enjoy a no-strings-attached fling. 

Big fucking mistake.  

Your eyes twitched at the flood of memories. His obnoxious, open-mouth chewing. His laugh – raucous, loud, and so fucking embarrassing in public. And the way he’d slapped your ass during the first date like he fucking owned you.  

Chauvinistic.  

Pig.  

Every fibre of your being hated him.  

Well, almost everything.  

Your fingers tightened around the plate; the half-eaten sandwich forgotten. You hated him with a passion, but you couldn’t deny one thing: he had a huge cock. And, fuck, he knew how to use it. No matter how many times you swore it would be the last time; you kept crawling back, falling into the same damn cycle.  

One more fuck turned into two, then three, then how the hell did this happen again?

You were a goddamn addict – specifically, addicted to his dick. If you could slap a paper bag over his head, tie him up, and just ride him without hearing his obnoxious voice, that would be ideal. But you had no fucking self-control, and now here you were, in this weird-ass hotel,probably a cult at this point, hoping for a clean break.  

Adam – fucking Adam – caught your eye. His lips curled into a wide grin, teeth flashing like he’d just found a new toy. His red eyes sparkled in the dim light as he swaggered toward you, arms wide open. “Sugartits!” he called out, his voice like nails on a chalkboard. He moved in for a hug.  

You ducked under his arm, shooting him the nastiest scowl you could muster. Your ears flattened against your head, tail dropping between your legs in a stiff, unamused twitch.  

“You two know each other?” Marley – Charlie – whoever, asked, looking between you both with a raised brow and growing curiosity.  

“No,” you said curtly, biting into your sandwich again with more aggression than necessary.  

Adam, of course, couldn’t resist. “Oh, you could say I know her very well,” he said with a shit-eating grin, waggling his eyebrows like an idiot.  

“Ew,” Marley muttered, grimacing without even trying to hide her disgust.  

You groaned inwardly. Of all the fucking people in hell, why did it have to be him? 

Before you could even form a word, Adam’s fingers wiggled playfully, his lips curling into an “O” as he honed in on your sandwich like a predator eyeing its prey. “Aww, babe, you shouldn’t have!” he exclaimed, snatching up the sandwich you had poured your soul into for the last thirty minutes.  

“Wha-Wait-” you sputtered, horrified, as he stuffed the sandwich into his mouth in two massive bites, crumbs tumbling from his lips without a single ounce of grace.  

“Oh, hmm,” he chewed noisily, his cheeks bulging with food as he smacked his lips obnoxiously. “Ya know, I think you-” smack, smack, smack – his disgusting chewing noises clashing with the image of your sandwich being annihilated. “You may have put too much mayonnaise,” he continued, crumbs flying as he spoke with his mouth open. “So, I’d give it a 4 out of 10.” 

The low, primal growl that erupted from your throat felt volcanic, like every ounce of rage you’d bottled up over the miserable dates and hollow excuses was bubbling to the surface. 

You were fucking done.  

Every humiliating dinner where he’d “forgotten” his wallet, every time you’d fucked him to deal with your frustration with him – it all flashed through your mind in an explosive torrent. Without thinking, you grabbed his collar and yanked him down to your level.  

“We need to fucking talk,” you growled, teeth clenched, venom practically dripping from your words.  

Dragging him towards your room, your eyes narrowed in disgust as Adam shot a wink at Marley, fingers raised in an unmistakable gesture for “fucking.” Of course, he thought this was just some sort of game.  

No amount of good dick would make you compromise on your self-respect–-

And yet, here you were, kneeling naked in your room, your mouth wrapped around his thick cock, the taste of him flooding your senses. The worst part? You didn’t even remember how the hell you got here.  

“Oh fuck, you missed my cock, didn’t you babe?” Adam groaned; his voice thick with smug satisfaction. His hand gripped the base of his cock while his other fingers curled into your hair, tugging hard enough to make you gasp. “Open that pretty little mouth for me. Say your prayers like the good girl you are,” he crooned, his voice dripping with arrogance.  

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.  

You hated him. You hated how he could still make you fall to your knees with just a look. One second, you’d been screaming at him, ready to shove a 21-inch dildo up his ass, and the next, he had his cock out, and there you were – sucking him off like nothing had changed.  

Fuck.  

Your lips stretched painfully around his girth as he pushed deeper into your mouth, groaning as your warmth engulfed him. His soft, pudgy stomach pressed against your forehead as he shoved his fat cock all the way to the hilt. Your throat tightened around him, gagging slightly, but the reaction only made your pussy throb with need. The taste of him was heady, familiar, and it brought back memories of the way he could fuck you into oblivion, no matter how much you hated him.  

“That’s it, babe, suck it nice and deep,” Adam grunted, his hips thrusting forward as he buried himself deeper in your throat. “Bet you fucking missed this cock, huh? It’s been too long since you had a real man inside you.” 

You rolled your eyes, choking back the desire to tell him to shut the fuck up. If he would just be quiet for one goddamn second, you’d probably cum just from sucking his cock alone. But no, he always had to run his mouth.  

Then, his foot pressed firmly between your legs, the top of it rubbing directly against your slick pussy. Your breath hitched as his smug grin stretched wider, his eyes locking onto yours. “Go on, babe,” he taunted, his voice low and teasing. “I want to see you hump like the needy slut you are. Show me how much you fucking need it.” 

The words should’ve made you furious, but instead, they sent a shudder of arousal through your body. Your hips moved on their own, grinding down against his foot, your wetness soaking his skin as you rode him like you were desperate for release.  

You should hate this. You should hate him.  

You do hate him.  

But goddammit, you don’t hate this. 

“Mmph,” you moaned around his cock, your voice muffled by the thick shaft filling your throat. Your hips bucked wildly against his foot, the pressure building inside you faster than you’d like to admit. The musky taste of his pre-cum sliding down your throat made your whole-body clench in anticipation, bringing you dangerously close to the edge.  

“That’s right, sugartits,” Adam groaned, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Look how good you are, sucking my big, fat cock.” The grin on his face was full of smug pride, and you could practically see the self-satisfaction swelling in his chest.  

The words “fuck you” echoed in your mind, but the moment his foot sped up, rubbing your clit in rapid strokes, your defiance crumbled beneath the weight of pure pleasure. The sharp edge of it cut through you, sending heat spreading like wildfire as your body tensed. Then, the first orgasm ripped through you, crashing like a wave and leaving your nerves buzzing in its wake.  

A muffled moan escaped around his cock, your spit trailing down your chin, your eyes rolling back in your head as your hands dug into his thighs for support. Fuck, it felt good. Fuck, it’s been too long.  

Adam pulled his cock free with a wet pop, and you barely had time to catch your breath before your legs trembled, the aftershocks still rippling through you.  

But just as you started to get your bearings, the world spun as he flipped you upside down, blood rushing to your head, disorienting you. His cock was right in your face again, and your brain struggled to catch up.  

“Wh-what the fuck are you doing?” you screeched, grabbing onto his bare hip for balance, your legs flailing helplessly in the air like a fish out of water.  

“Relax, babe. I’m going to eat you out,” he said simply, his breath hot against your dripping folds. He didn’t wait for your reply. “Now, shut up. Either suck my cock or wait your turn like a good girl for your second orgasm.” The condescension in his voice made you want to punch him.  

“Fuck you,” you spat, but your words were cut short as Adam ground his cock against your cheek, the heat of him searing into your skin.  

“You’re not that – ah – ah – fuck!” The insult died in your throat as your knees buckled, legs trembling with the sudden rush of pleasure. His tongue was already working between your folds, lapping at your wetness with obscene slurping sounds, like he was a dog drinking from a fountain.  

“Oh fuck, I’ve had better, you know,” you gasped, but even as you said it, your vision blurred from the lightheadedness, the blood pooling in your head making you dizzy. Your words rang hollow.  

Adam didn’t respond with words. Instead, he shoved his thick tongue deeper inside you, practically fucking your pussy with it. The roughness of his beard brushed against your sensitive clit, sending shockwaves through your body that had you trembling.  

“Fuck...fuck...” you whined, unable to stop the involuntary moans spilling from your lips. Your hand instinctively found his cock, pumping it with desperate need. You fucking jackass. You hated how his scent, his cock, his fucking presencehad this kind of power over you. The desire to ride him until you couldn’t walk for days burned in your gut.  

You hated everything about him – his cocky attitude, his smug grin, his fucking voice.  

But fuck, his cock? His cock almost made up for it. Almost. 

With a loud curse, as his mouth latched onto your swollen clit and sucked with relentless abandon, you felt yourself losing control. Your mouth opened wide, taking him back inside, your head bobbing back and forth as he fucked your mouth in rhythm with his tongue devouring you.  

The pressure from hanging upside down added to the dizzying pleasure, the blood rushing to your head making you lightheaded, while the taste of him hit your tongue. You needed both hands to grip his cock, stroking it harder, faster, desperate for his release – desperate for something to satisfy the ache growing inside you. Every orgasm he gave you left you unsatisfied because you knew the only thing that could truly wreck you was him fucking you senseless.  

As he always did.  

Your stomach clenched tight, thighs shaking as Adam moaned into your cunt, the vibration sending shivers of delight through you. His nose nudged against the base of your folds, his breath hot and heavy. “You gonna cum again, bitch?” he growled, his voice muffled, but the meaning was clear. The vibration of his words only pushed you closer to the edge.  

You hated how right he was. Fuck, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of making you cum again. You wanted to prove he wasn’t that good, that he didn’t know your body inside and out, that he couldn’t make you sing like a fucking instrument in his hands.  

But it was like he could read your mind, taking your challenge as an invitation. He bucked his hips, pistoning into your mouth harder, while his lips and tongue attacked your clit with reckless fervour. Saliva dripped from your mouth, your face flushed and wet with the effort of keeping up with his pace.  

It was only a matter of time. Your body betrayed you, your ass clenched, your legs spread wider, and with one last pulse of his tongue against your sensitive nub, you exploded. Another orgasm hit you, more intense than the last, your muffled cries of release vibrating around his cock as your body shook in his grasp.  

Tears blurred your vision, streaming down your face as waves of pleasure coursed through your body, leaving you breathless. The world spun once more as Adam laid you down, your back hitting the mattress with a soft thud.  

Your chest heaved, breath ragged, and your left leg twitched with the aftershocks pulsing through your still-throbbing core. The only sounds were your gasps and his own laboured breathing, tangled together in the humid air.  

Through bleary, tear-filled eyes, you glared up at him. “Fuck you,” you managed to spit out between shaky breaths.  

Adam, ever the cocky bastard, stroked his cock, slick with your spit, his hand gliding smoothly along his length. “Babe, that’s exactly what I’m about to do.” His smirk was infuriating, and all you could think about was shoving his face between your legs, smothering him with your pussy until he couldn’t talk anymore. God, you wanted to suffocate him with it. Death by cunt? Sign me the fuck-up. 

Why did he have to be such a colossal dick? The thought barely crossed your mind before his knees sank into the mattress, the bed groaning under his weight.  

“It you didn’t - hah – talk so much, you’d almost be tolerable,” you shot back, each word laced with venom.  

He burst out into bright laughter. “Tolerable? Baby, the way you worship my cock, you’re practically my most devout follower.” His sharp grin caught the dim light, and you couldn’t help the eye-roll that followed.  

“Holy fuck, you’re the biggest douchebag I know, I can’t even – ah!” Your words turned into a yelp as he slammed his hips against yours, burying himself deep inside you, aided by the slick remnants of your previous orgasms and his saliva.  

“Feel that?” he huffed, rolling his hips against your oversensitive clit, his voice dripping with smugness. “Look how fucking needy you are, bitch,” his grin widened as he looked down at you, eyes gleaming. “How many other cocks have tried to fill you since me? Any of them as good?” His hips slammed into yours, the wet, filthy sound of skin meeting skin filling the room.  

“Tell me, huh? Bet none of them could do this.” He pulled out, teasing you, before driving his cock back in, deeper, harder, the tip nudging against your cervix.  

“FUCK!” you screamed, legs instinctively spreading wider, your body arcing up to meet his. “You’re - ugh – such – a – fucking – ugh – ASS!” Each word was broken by the force of his persistent thrusts, the bed beneath you creaking in rhythm with his movements. It was like the damn thing was protesting as loudly as you were.  

“Good?” he smirked, filling in the blanks for you with every thrust. “Sexy? Amazing? Fantastic?” His pace quickened, clearly getting off on his own damn ego. If there was one thing he’d come from, it was the sound of his own bullshit.  

“All - ugh – you're good for – is your dick,” you growled, strands of hair sticking to your sweaty face, your skin slick with the sheen of your effort. You hated him, hated how smug he was, how cocky – and fuck, how right he was about how good his cock felt.  

Adam pulled out, his cock rock-hard and glistening with your arousal clinging to him. He gripped your hips and flipped you onto your stomach, pulling your ass up and pressing your face into the mattress.  

Your heart skipped. This was the position that always wrecked you. Every. Single. Time. 

“That’s why,” he lined up, the blunt tip of his cock teasing your entrance, “they call me the Dickmaster.” He punctuated his words by thrusting into you in one fluid stroke, filling you completely, pushing deep until he hit your womb. Your back arched as a shameless moan tore from your lips, your body curling from the overwhelming fullness.  

“FUCK.” You nearly screamed. “Dickmaster? Are you fucking serious?” But despite the sheer cringe of the nickname, your body betrayed you. You moaned, louder, longer, as he thrust into you. The pleasure mixed with the sheer absurdity of it all.  

He was so fucking cheesy. The cringiest man alive. Dickmaster? More like Cringemaster. And yet, here you were, being dicked down by this walking embarrassment, moaning like a bitch in heat. The passion you felt for him, the anger, the lust – it all mixed into a chaotic storm, burning hot inside you.  

“Fuuuck youuu,” you wailed, voice trembling as Adam’s hips resumed their brutal, punishing rhythm. Each thrust sent shockwaves through your body, his hand coming down hard on your ass, the crack of skin-on-skin only fuelling the fire that was already burning through you.  

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna fucking kill you,” you sobbed, the sting from each slap merging with the pleasure, searing through your core as the heat radiated across your skin. You were sure his handprint was branded on your ass, marking you as his.  

The pleasure built and built, his heavy balls slapping mercilessly against your clit with each thrust. It was overwhelming, your body trembling in a puddle of your own arousal, tears, and drool. 

Why did you keep coming back to him? Out of all the sinners you could fuck, you always crawled back to him for a taste of that damn dick.  

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” you chanted mindlessly, your cunt squeezing tight around him as another orgasm threatened to break loose. But just when you were on the edge, he reached for your tail and yanked. Hard. 

“YIP!” you screeched, the sharp, high-pitched squeal erupting from your throat as the flames of your arousal were doused instantly. You whipped your head around, glaring at him over your shoulder. “WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, YOU FUCKING IDIOT!” you barked, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that you were on all fours, impaled on his cock with your ass still up in the air.  

Adam’s eyes widened, his expression morphing from confusion to realization. “Oh shit, so that wasn’t your butt plug?” he asked, cock still buried deep inside you, pulsing against your fluttering walls that betrayed the fury burning inside you.  

“WE’VE BEEN FUCKING FOR OVER HALF A YEAR, YOU ASSHOLE,” you snapped, baring your teeth in a snarl. “YOU EVEN FUCKED MY ASS! WHAT MAKES YOU THINK I’D BE WEARING A BUTT PLUG NOW?” 

He raised his hands in mock surrender, but his hips didn’t stop rocking gently into you, sending shivers up your spine despite your anger. “Babe, it was an honest mistake,” he said before licking his fingers and sliding one thick digit down, pressing against your ass. “Let me make it up to you.” 

Before you could protest, his finger was already pushing past the tight ring of muscle, sinking into your ass as your tail stiffened in response. “Oh, fuck,” you groaned, your resolve crumbling as the pleasure returned full force. His finger curled just right, rubbing the thin wall separating your pussy from your ass, sending jolts of ecstasy through both holes.  

“Remember when I took your anal virginity?” Adam’s voice was smug, but the curl of his finger had you moaning instead of cursing him out. He pumped his finger slowly, in sync with the thrusts of his cock, his breath ragged with excitement. “You told me you hated anal, but look at you now. Begging for more.” 

Your head dropped onto the mattress, your tail wagging unconsciously as he added another finger, stretching you wider. You closed your eyes, trying to block out his annoying voice, but your ass wiggled back against him, betraying your need for more. “Fucking hell,” you whimpered, completely undone.  

He laughed, the sound deep and rich. “Told you. After I finish with your pussy, I’ll give that ass some love too. They don’t call me the dickmaster for nothing.” His voice was maddening, but the way his fingers curled inside you made you forget how much you wanted to punch him.  

Your ears flicked back, frustration mingling with desire. If only he would shut the fuck up, you would’ve come already – twice, even.  

“Babe, you want my load that bad?” Adam cooed, his voice breathy as his cock twitched inside you. “You wanna be my cum dump?” he chuckled, fingers and cock working in perfect, relentless tandem.  

“Sh-sh-shut up,” you moaned, voice low and trembling as your walls tightened around both his cock and his fingers. You were so close, teetering on the edge. 

If he would just stop talking... 

He pulled his fingers out of your ass, leaving you gasping at the sudden emptiness. His wet fingers gripped your hips, pulling your ass up higher as he pressed his weight down on you. Then, he started to fuck you hard – exactly the way you liked it – each brutal thrust forcing you down into the bed.  

Your breath came in broken gasps, each thrust stealing the words from your lips as his cock filled you completely, forcing your slick walls to stretch for him. The bed creaked and groaned under you, matching the wet slap of skin on skin, the rhythmic pounding filled the room. Your stomach clenched, thighs quivering as you squeezed your eyes shut, knowing you were about to explode.  

When his cock hit your g-spot again and again, your moan rose low and long, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. You babbled incoherently, swearing and pleading for him to fill you.  

And he did.  

He always fucking did.  

Hot, thick spurts of cum flooded your pussy, painting your insides as the pleasure ripped through you, wave after wave. You were wrecked, ruined, and thoroughly fucked – just the way you wanted it. 

He pushed your body down, rolling you onto your back and stretching your thighs wide apart like he was prepping a canvas for his masterpiece. The thrill of being exposed sent shivers down your spine, and before you could catch your breath, his lips found your aching, sensitive clit.  

His fingers dove into your cum-soaked folds, the squelching sounds echoing in the air, making you feel like a goddamn wet sponge. You were so close to the edge of another orgasm that your muscles quivered with anticipation. Your head tilted back, pressing against the bed, and you gasped as warmth flooded out of you, mingling with Adam’s thick, syrupy load.  

“OH FUCK, FUCK!” you cried out, fingers curling tightly against the bedsheets, heels digging into the mattress like you were trying to anchor yourself to sanity. His mouth continued to suck at your oversensitive bud, relentless and teasing, even as you drenched him with your essence.  

You peeked open your eyes to find him grinning like a kid in a candy store, his face glistening with your juices, and it sent a fresh wave of heat rushing to your core. The feeling of him latching onto you was intoxicating, pushing you to new heights as your walls pulsated around his fingers, unable to tell whether this was yet another orgasm or simply an extension of the last.  

“ADAM!” you screamed, practically sobbing as your body jolted and convulsed under his ministrations. Pleasure poured over you, and your breath came in heavy gasps, your mind slipping into a blissful haze. His fingers curled perfectly inside you, mashing your g-spot like he was playing some twisted game of whack a mole, keeping you suspended in a state of everlasting pleasure.  

The last thing you registered before the world faded away was Adam moaning your name, his voice vibrating through your very core like a damn choir.  

When you fluttered your eyes open again, your body was still bare and sprawled out like a starfish on the bed. You heard that familiar sound of suckling, and looking down, you couldn’t help but groan at the sight – his familiar mop of brown hair nestled between your thighs, still focused on drinking you up like a man starved for 40 days and 40 nights. 

Pleasure washed over you in soft, slow strokes as Adam continued to eat you out. “How long have you been down there?” you asked, voice hoarse from all the screaming and moaning.  

His head popped up, lips and chin glistening with your arousal. “Dunno, but they do call me the ultimate pussy eater,” he said with a cheeky grin, like he was the fucking king of the world.  

You dropped your head back against the bed, trying to stifle a laugh. “No, they don’t,” you muttered, breath hitching as his tongue parted your slick folds again. “Fuck, we can’t keep doing this,” you whined, instinctively opening your thighs wider to give him better access.  

His fingers gripped your hips, anchoring you as his tongue burrowed deeper into your pussy, pressing against your inner walls, exploring every inch like he was on some treasure hunt.  

Naturally, he didn’t listen to your protests. He continued to slurp and lick, devouring you like a feast, and you should have stopped him.  

You really should have.  

But as a jolt of pleasure shot up your spine, tingling all the way to your core, a soft, breathy moan escaped your lips.  

Fuck, this was bad. You had come to the hotel knowing you had little self-control around him, and at this rate, you were destined to fuck him every day.  

Your body, soft and pliant, refused to budge; instead, you pushed your hips deeper into his mouth. “Fuck you,” you murmured weakly, as he coaxed another sultry moan from your lips. “This will be the last fucking time, I swear,” you insisted, squeezing your eyes shut as he pushed you closer to the edge of pleasure.  

But deep down, you knew you had said it was the last time so many fucking times that you’d lost count of your own vows.  

You hated him, yes.  

But fuck him and fuck yourself. 

You didn’t hate this. 

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

[missdaytonawrites]

liar • a. anderson

summary - manny and abby find you alone one night and take you back to the stadium, abby does everything in her power to swallow her feelings about you. even if it means pushing boundaries and lying. (enemies 2 lovers w/ abby's mean ass.)

WC - 4k

cw/tw - 18+ MDNI, post!outbreak abby, mean!abby, afab!reader, talk of guns and infected, seriously abby's unreasonably bitchy, talk of alcohol, abby cannot tell the truth to save her life, dom/sub dynamics, hurt/comfort kinda??? fingering (r! receiving) getting caught (if u squint girl, not really) apologetic!abby. slightly, every-so-barely, for a literal split-second... sub!abs, (mainly sub!r tho..) spitting, tribbing ooooh, abby smokes cigarettes, so does r! apparently, little bit of fluff, i kinda hate the ending?? maybe a pt. II to this will happen idk don't ask lol.

A/N - ..heeey people... here it is!!! i recently (like two days ago recently) gained a pretty serious injury on my pinky toe and i've been literally bed-ridden so i had no choice but to get this out. i love this song, i've heard this song live, this song is so request-this-is-based-on coded so!!!! (*edit* nonnie if u see this i hope u love it mwah) i kid you not i started writing this on the two-hour drive home from the paramore concert and i've just now finished it. i'm super personally proud of this and i will say -- YOU 100% HAVE GOT TO, LISTEN TO THE SONG WHEN YOU READ. with most of my other fics, it's really optional but for this?/!:?):!; put headphones in, turn this song on loop, AND THEN READ!!! it will completely enhance the fic. thanks 4 readin as always, love you crazy bitches.

"love is not an easy thing to admit, but i'm not ashamed of it."

this was fucking gross, the dirt was cold and wet. bordering on mud status and now seeping into the cloth of your shorts & t-shirt as you lay into the earth. you were tired and just needed some rest before you continued on. the old abandoned house you had been using as shelter became over-ran with some infected while you were out one day. so it was back to the forest floor for now.

gross, cold, and wet. the way she had found you, curled up and fast asleep on the ground, she almost wished that she felt bad. she didn’t though, instead for a split second she forgot manny had been following behind her as she took the barrel of her gun to press into the side of your face. she pressed in a little harder and you shot awake at the feeling of something touching your teeth through your cheek. your eyes fly open and they’re met with two shadowy figures above you.

one is a lot larger than the other, the one who had been poking you with the gun crouched down to get a better look at you. through her inspection, manny could be heard behind her muttering something about “we can’t just leave her here, abs.” abby didn’t really care for what he was saying, instead she was silently cursing herself for the emotion that began to crowd her train of thought. abby had toughened herself up enough so these sorts of things wouldn’t happen. she, or the rest of the WLF couldn't afford any emotional attachments. abby didn't need to be going out and developing crushes on sleeping beauties in the woods. yet here she was…

maybe that's why she grew to detest you so severely. treating you so harshly so her mask didn't slip, it was the only way for her. especially the night they found you. she couldn’t even begin to fathom how badly she wanted to just grab you up, take you back to clean you off and keep you safe with the rest of them. instead, she shook you (and manny’s new found excitement, like they found a stray puppy) off, pulling her gun away from your face and stepping about eight feet far from you to speak with manny.

it was back and forth the entire time, manny weighing in all the pros while abby lays out all the cons. true childish banter begins to ensue and abby begrudgingly agrees to bring you back with manny, claiming he’ll “deal with any consequences.” they walk back over to where you lay, awake and pissed. you had just started to fall asleep for fucks sake, “look, you’re coming with us. don't argue and just be grateful that it's we who ran across your ass and not some raider." abby sighs then pinches the bridge of her nose, you would like to argue but the darker haired one looks rather excited for you to be coming, so you bite your tongue for now.

it had been six months since that night… six months of falling in love with your new life at the stadium, six months of manny becoming the closest friend you’ve ever known, six months of training.. six months of a total cold shoulder from abby. you didn't even know if you could call it that, lord knows she never spared her snarky comments towards you at dinner or when the two of you got paired together on runs. always saying something about how you never do anything right, then carrying on while she tells you all the reasons they should've just left you there in the forest to rot.

you take on each day with your head high, trying not to let abby bother you. even if you couldnt seem to crack her fucking issue with you, reminding yourself that everyone else enjoys you and is glad you joined them. especially manny, he was a great pal, always sitting with you at dinner and reading with you. one night he had pulled you out of your book and talked you into having a drink with him, so you did. the two of you passed the bottle back and forth all night, intoxicating yourself enough to blab about abby.

“i just don’t fuckin’ get it, i guess.” taking another swig, you chuckle and hand manny the bottle back. “maybe i just see myself differently than she does.” he looks like he’s thinking and before he can say anything you start again, “does she talk about me? i mean, have i done anything to her that i’m just oblivious to?” manny doesn't say anything, just throws back whatever is left in the whiskey bottle and looks at you sympathetically.

“she doesn't really talk to anyone about things like that, maybe you did.. nobody will ever know.” you sigh and cross your legs. you and manny enjoy the silence for awhile before there’s some shuffling to the side of you two and then just like magic, there’s abby. rearing her mean little head like she heard you twos conversation. much to your chagrin, she did and as she takes her seat next to manny she whacks his shoulder and grumbles something along the lines of “couldn't save any for me..?”

abby's presence captures all of manny's attention while she talks him into going to grab another bottle, you sit uncomfortably and slightly tipsy as she finally convinces him. he gives you a little salute before heading off, leaving you and abby alone. you feel the liquor drop like an anchor in your stomach and your eyelids become heavy, you suddenly aren't sure how much longer you wanna stay.. where did she come from? if she was listening, why? you could have sworn manny said everyone else was out for the night..?

you’re so deep in thought that you don't notice abby has moved closer to you, and has been slowly muttering in your ear this whole time. it isn’t until she is literally snapping her fingers in front of your face, that you pull yourself out of your trance. when you turn to look her in the eyes, you notice just how close she had gotten. taking a sharp breath she starts again, even slower this time, like you wouldn't understand if she were to say it any faster. “i don’t see you differently, i see you for what the fuck you are… n’ i can’t say i’m the biggest fan”

you swallow and feel as if you’ve shrunk beneath her very gaze, “keep my fucking name out of your mouth, got it?” subconsciously scooting away from her, you nod quickly and avert your gaze. she snaps again, and your eyes shoot back to hers. “say it. tell me that you got it through your goddamn head,” and she moves closer. “now!” you squeak out a shaky “got it!” before standing and making your exit. on your leave, you can hear abby laugh at the situation from down the hall.

she has never taken something that far before? you can’t even recall a time she’s been that close to you before. guilt starts to float around you like a cloud above your head. you cannot believe you let her bother you so much that you left without saying a “good night.” or “thank you!” to manny.

flopping face-down on your cot, you conjure an idea; you rummage through all of your belongings to find some pen and paper. you write manny an explanatory note and let him know a little about what happened.

finishing up your letter, you can faintly hear him and abby laughing from your room.

“ah, abs.. you’ll have to get over yourself and tell her eventually.” he sighs and you can hear abby hiss at the thought. “nah man, i’ve already-” and then you remember how shes made you feel before, you decide you’re done eavesdropping and suddenly decide to no longer give manny the piece of paper you had been writing him. crumpling the note, you throw it at the wall and lay down to read.

an entire two weeks pass, you can confidently say you’ve not once thought about abby. her lack of kindness fails to phase you as the days pass. you’ve stopped eating with the group, opting for meals in your room instead. you’ve only really talked with manny only enough to ensure you and abby aren't partnered up for anything. it was smooth sailing for another two weeks, a whole fucking month passes and you cannot believe she’s really left you alone. you honestly didn't think she was capable, but alas, she hadn't even barely looked your way. you can’t help but let your mind race before you sleep about why? was she respecting your request? had manny scolded her? you remembered what manny had told you and settled with the fact that you’d never know.

one night, as you make your bed and pack your bag for the week, there's a quick rasp of knuckles on your door. “heeeeey! i know you’re in here, let me in.” manny, and he sounded drunk. unlocking the door and rolling your eyes, he stumbles in and flops down on your freshly made cot. “we have got to taaaalk..” he hiccups and rolls over to face you, “i need to know, please-” burping and then bursting out in laughter he rubs his eyes and sits up. “what reeealllyy happened that ni-ght.” you didn't think you could roll your eyes back any further than they did at that very moment, practically dismissing him you say: “i don't know what you’re talking about, what night?” burping, he looks at you like you’ve lost it, “c’mon, don't do that. i just want to know if she's telling me the truth…”

in that moment, your head whips around and you’re sure your eyes bugged out of your head. “the truth? what did she say happened?” manny matches the shocked expression on your face for a split second and then erupts in laughter, you worry for what he’s about to say. “look, don’t let this- this, don't tell her i said this.” swallowing and moving closer to him, you sit on the cot with manny while he tells you this extravagant story all about what “happened” that night.

apparently, that night, you told abby to her face that you thought she had a problem with you. apparently, on that same night you also caught an attitude with abby and got in her face. apparently, you stormed off in a drunken rage after allegedly jumping all over her case.

furious, you were so fucking mad. there were simply no words in the goddamned english dictionary to fathom how angry you were with her. she lied! right through her teeth! to manny of all people! about you! there was no holding back anymore, returning to the moment, you spare no gory details as you tell manny what really happened. to say the least? he wasnt very happy, you told him you were scared of her and didnt say anything sooner because you swore to “keep her fucking name out of your mouth.”

the conversation sobered manny up enough for him to apologize on abby's behalf and then exit rather quickly, leaving you to go to bed. you just can’t justify falling asleep, though. not until you make a plan, to your knowledge abby has no reason to be treating you the way she is; the only thing to do now is talk to her. you can be civil, at this point you just need to know why. so in a futile attempt to sleep, you rehearse with yourself what you’re going to say to abby tomorrow.

you wake up to bright sun, bam, right there in your eyes. you practically hiss and you turn away from your window, regaining your vision when your senses are flooded with an overwhelming scent of pine… you thought you were having a stroke, so you sit up and take in your surroundings. upon further inspection, and the realization that you’re definitely not having a stroke, you look around your space and low and behold..

there’s abby. hair falling loosely about her shoulders, still in her pajamas, sitting there just as annoying as the sun. you see her and glare, the tone of your morning immediately shifts and you turn away from her the same way you did with the morning light. grumbling something at her about how she needs to leave and how you two would do this later. you thought your point had been made until she grabs your arm and stops you from laying back down.

“look, i seriously can’t do this anymore.” she pulls you hard enough that you’re sitting up again. “i feel so fucking guilty, i don’t think i could even put it into words.” you almost laugh in her face, actually. “can’t do what anymore, abby? walk around and spew nothing but hate for me?” you realize how close she is and you reach out to shove her. putting some distance between the two of you, she opens her mouth to speak again but you interrupt her. “is it the whole lying to manny thing that made the guilt finally kick in, anderson?”

she returns to her spot in the chair on the far side of your room and sits, she chews her cheek while you rub your eyes. “don’t got anything to say now, huh?” she looks at you like she wants you to finish.. so you do. “i told you to go away, abby. we could’ve handled this later.” she stands up and walks over, sitting and occupying the empty space on your mattress next to you.

“i can’t keep living like this. fuck, fuck!” she shouts and stands, wiping her hands on her forehead. “i don’t know how to do this, and you aren't making it any easier.” you are genuinely astonished, in utter disbelief that she’s the angry one and that you’re gonna have to spell this out for her. “how about sorry? maybe go tell manny yourself that you are a fucking liar?!”

in that very moment, smoke might as well of blown out of her ears like a damn cartoon, “yeah. a liar.” she huffs and sits again. “lied to manny, lied about wanting you to keep my name out of your mouth.. lied about hating you.”

your jaw dropped, mouth literally hanging open as she continues, “i don’t know why, there’s no excuse. i am so fucking sorry.” she moves closer to you and puts her hand on your arm, gentler this time. “i haven’t said this to anyone in years, but i think i love you.” gazing down to her hand on you, then back up to her eyes you swallow the lump sitting in your throat. you don’t know what to say.

“abby, i,” you sigh and chew your lip, “i wish i knew what to say, this is all-” and then her hand moves up, silencing you when her thumb swipes over the expanse of your lips and then rests at the corner of your mouth. she leans into you and offers you two more words, “don’t talk..” then closes the gap between you two.

your lips are like heaven, everything she could have ever wanted. every night when she would fall asleep dreaming of them, this is it and more. she feels like she is fucking floating. she doesn't know what to do with her hands; they tangle in your hair, slide and touch your arms and then come up to cup your cheeks while she pushes into you impossibly further.

she breaks the kiss every now and then to mutter an “i’m sorry.. m’so so sorry, baby.” pulling away completely to admire you. she’s panting so heavily as she goes to pull your tank top up and off, immediately ducking down to take a nipple into her mouth. the cool air of your room hits you, head rolling back and around when you peer down at her, she locks eyes with you. pulling off you with a pop, she comes back up to kiss you again. except this time, its not a makeout, just short desperate pecks all over your face while she hurries to get your shorts off of you.

you help her out and shimmy out of them, completely bare, you fall back on your elbows and spread your legs for her. she lets out a low whistle and shakes her head, chuckling as she whispers, “goddamn foolish to deny myself of this..” bringing her middle and ring finger to rub circles around you.

she moves them down and pushes the two into you, twisting and curling them against your walls. you gasp and drop your head again, hands balling up into fists. abby notices your open mouth and kisses you again, pushing her tounge into your mouth and really fucking kisses you. her free hand rolls your nipple and then wraps in your hair, exposing your neck for her to suck and bite. “pussy’s so good..” whispering against your neck, fingers still fucking you while crude sounds bounce and echo off your walls.

she pulls her fingers out and hovers them over your clit. she looks down at your dripping center, wets her lips, and then looks back at you. “may i?” she asks and brings her fingers to her mouth to taste. her eyes knock to the back of her head and she brings her fingers down to rub you some more, “god, please let me, baby”

while you barely manage to moan out a response abby has already wondrously found her way down to your core, latching herself to your clit. she groans into you while your hips instinctively buck into her mouth. as if the sensation of her devouring you wasn't enough, her fingers plunge into you. writhing beneath her, your hands find a home in abby’s hair; and if her head weren’t literally between your legs, you would have stopped to comment on how soft her blonde locks are.

abby continues to fuck you with her fingers when all of the sudden, her mouth is pulling off of your pussy and delving into your lips yet again. the contact has you whimpering and an unfamiliar heat sizzles in your lower belly. you pull away from the kiss in attempts to speak, but to no avail as she simply just follows you back and keeps kissing you. “don’t run from it, baby.. don’t run from me.” she pulls away from your face and drives her fingers into you, fast and mean and determined.

your breathing quickens and you’re suddenly so much more aware of the way she's leaning over you, the darkness in her eyes, the way she’s heaving as she watches your body react to her touch. you’re close, so, so indescribably close to the edge; just about to explode beneath her when.. knock knock knock!

“abs?! you guys in there?” manny, banging on your door to innocently check the status of you two’s “making up.” abby’s eyes flicker down to yours and her free hand flys to her own lips, pressing a single finger to them, hushing you. “i got this, stay quiet.” she whispers and gives you a peck then clears her throat. “yeah man! we’re all good, just talkin’!” she shouts at him, never once slowing her pace while your orgasm just bubbles within you.

manny laughs, “cool, cool. just wanted to make sure you aren't like.. murdering her or anything.” abby laughs this time, murdering something else for sure, and lets him know you two will be out soon enough. you hear his footsteps trail off, and without a second to think, abby’s kissing you again. you whine against her lips and she coos, practically begging you to cum on her fingers.

“let go, give it to me baby, please.” your legs spasm and she chuckles, bringing her thumb to your clit as you gush onto her fingers. hips circling and following the movements of her thumb while you ride it out, abby watches in amazement. she removes her fingers from you as you come down, and makes quick work of her own bottoms. discarding them on the floor, she grabs one of your legs for leverage and swings one of her own over your torso. positioning her pussy right over your own, she trails a line of kisses down your calf and to your knee. resting her forehead against your leg and huffing when she finally grinds down into you.

your mouth falls agape, and you reach to touch her; any of her. her arms, her hips, her chest. gasping while she bites the meaty part of your calf, you buck into her and she throws her head back at the increased friction.

“such a good girl, y’know that..? so fucking good..” her hips rut back and forth and sweat drips from her forehead and runs down your leg. looking down at where the two of you connect, abby spits on to the both of you and fucks you harder. she’s the one to whine this time, so fucking pent up from living with you for fucking months and not already doing this. guilt starts to grow heavy in her stomach again and she whimpers then kisses your ankle, folding your leg to rest against her shoulder. she looks down at you and cups you face, clit still rubbing against you. “m’sorry.. fuck.” she grips your face harder and her pace quickens, incoherently mumbling out apologies and you feel your second orgasm start to swirl.

you shush at her and move your own hips quicker to keep up, “no, no abby, please..” she throws her head back again and her hands move to grope at your tits, you look up at her with forgiving eyes. nodding, as if to telepathically tell her that it's okay. that you want this and that you forgive her, she nods back and groans as loud as you’ve ever heard. you lightly tap her bicep and bring her back to the moment. whimpering, “gonna cum again, abs, please..”

she breathes and nods her head again, “m’almost there baby, almost..” sniffling, she really pushes down into you and her hips falter just slightly. “want you to cum with me, ‘kay?” she keeps fucking herself against you and you tremble, trying to move with her but you’re too lost in pleasure.

she winces and bucks her hips criminally fast; ushering you, and herself, to finally let go. she pants and sweats above you, her own orgasm crashing into her while you cling to her for dear life. pathetically writhing into her as you begin to unravel yourself. melting back into the bed sheets as she rides the both of you through your highs. her hips begin to slow and she’s kissing up and down your leg again. nudging her nose against your thigh, with a finalizing and triumphant breath.

you slowly creep back into reality and feel abby's weight shift off and away from you, just barely noticing her shimmy her shorts back up. she wobbles out of the room and returns with a damp towel, wiping the two of you down. she lets you lay and rest while she digs in her shorts pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, she takes one out and lights it, and then crawls into bed with you.

she tucks you under her arm and wraps your blanket around you both, taking a long drag from her smoke and flicking the ash somewhere to her side. exhaling and turning the cigarette towards you, she slides the filter between your lips and lets you get a good pull.

it stays this way for a while, quiet and still. wrapped up in eachother, you two finish the smoke together and she puts it out right on your concrete floor. she pulls you in even closer and kisses your head. you sigh and close your eyes, saying it back for the first time, “i love you too, abby.”

jeeeeez, editing this was sooo headache-flavored. anyway! happy reading! wish me a decent recovery, and also?? lmk if you guys want a more in-depth story behind my fucked-up toe or pictures for that matter lol!!!

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

Game over

Part I

Word count: 2600+

Warnings: some hot scenes to come so be ready, nothing obscene tho (I'd love to but can't write "porn"😬); kind of slutty Azriel, swearing

You walked down the hallway towards Cassian's room, your eyes puffed from crying for hours. You prayed to Mother to find him alone. You needed him desperately. Cassian was your best friend, knowing all your secrets, even the one about your feelings for Azriel. He was the only one who volunteered to go with two of you on missions making a wall between you, comforting you after each argument. And now he almost paid with own life for his kindness.

Instead of knocking you eavesdropped behind his door, but except of Cassian's snoring room was silent. Carefully opening the door you peeked in. Cassian was fast asleep, bandaged wings spread on the bed. He was alone. You let out sigh of relief.

Quietly you stalked to his bed and sat on the edge of mattress. Gently caressing his hand you curled to his side. You were afraid to touch him, not wanting to cause him more pain. "I'm so so sorry, Cass," you sobbed. Snoring stopped and he moved slightly.

"Oh, doll, it's you," he groaned, voice hoarse.

"I didn't want to wake you up," you tried to hide your tears.

"Don't worry. I wanted to see you anyway. I'm glad you came."

"How do you feel?"

His big hand landed on your shoulder, rubbing it soothingly. "I'm high from the Madja's medicaments," he chuckled and you did so, too. He always knew how to make you smile. "Are you okay? Rhys was quite angry when he came yesterday."

"Hmm." You still needed to talk about it, but seeing his state you couldn't bring yourself to bother him with your problems.

"Hey, doll, look at me."

"Everything is fine," you lied.

"C'mon, show me your face," he patted on your shoulder. Reluctantly you obeyed. "I can see you cried. What happened? Did he hurt you?"

"Rhys was mad, but he did nothing to me. He just scolded me.."

"And?" his brows raised.

You let out a breath avoiding his gaze. "And closed me in his office together with Azriel," you muttered.

"What?!" Cassian tried to sit up, but pain in his back and wings prevented him from doing so. Grimacing he lay down again. "Is he crazy? Why? I'll give him piece of my mind when I see him next time. What happened after that?"

"Well, he said he won't let us out until we solve our problems," you explained, tears again stinging your eyes.

"You are out so.." Cassian encouraged you to continue.

"Azriel came with an idea how to make him let us go." First tear rolled down your cheek.

Cassian rubbed root of his nose. "What that idiot did to you?" He knew you so well, you didn't have to tell a single word and he knew what's on your mind. Sometimes it was quite scary.

"He came with plan to pretend we are in love and kissed me in front of Rhysand.." you sobbed.

"Doll.." he again rubbed your shoulder. "Are you okay?"

You shook your head. "I can't.. do that.. It all returned.. and.. I can't.. It hurts.."

Cassian drew you closer, hugging you as much as he could in his state. "I'm so sorry, doll.. But.. You don't have to do it.. If you want I'll talk with him."

"If Rhysand finds out we lied, next time he might also lock us at a cell.."

Cassian's lips pulled into a thin line, but he didn't say anything else, holding you and rubbing on your back while you cried yourself to sleep.

Azriel was wandering around the House, feeling of discomfort heavy on his chest. He didn't like the way your conversation ended up that morning and he didn't want to accept that his plan was over before he actually could act up to it. He tried to visit Y/N in her bedchamber, but she wasn't there. Everything felt off, so he sent the shadows to look for her. They guided him to Cassian's room, whispering to his ear.

Azriel didn't bother with knocking because as he was informed persons inside were fast asleep. Quiet like a cat he crept in, standing beside the bed. What he saw there made his insides twist with pain and anger.

Cassian laid in the bed with spread wings just like the other day, snoring. And there under his arm curled to his side was Y/N, their scents mixing together. He noticed their smell many times before, but he'd never witnessed it. Jealousy stabbed his heart like poisoned dagger, his teeth gritting in frustration.

Mine. Mine. Mine!

His breath quickened, brows furrowed, anger dripping from him. His fingers entwined around the Truth-teller. Shadowsinger wouldn't let anybody have what belonged to him, what he desired the most.

The shadows emerged in, blinding him and pushing him back to the door.

'Stop. Calm down. You will regret it. Brother. Family.' They hissed.

Azriel took few shuddering breaths. Okay, he wouldn't go so far. But he couldn't leave them like this either. He fixed his expression.

"Love, here you are," he shouted pretending he just came in. Both Cassian and Y/N woke up with a start.

"What the hell," Cassian groaned, pulling Y/N closer. Wide-eyed she looked up at Azriel.

"I was worried. I looked for you everywhere," Azriel continued his performance. He pulled on her arm, tearing her from the embrace, just to hold her close to his chest. She was about to say something, but he wouldn't let her and quickly kiss her on the lips. Azriel gave all his pain and jealousy into the kiss making it rough and needy. And Y/N reacted the same way as in front of Rhysand. Her knees gave out. Satisfied Azriel pulled away. He watched with delight as all kinds of emotions flashed across her face, especially enjoying the blush of her cheeks.

"What are you doing?" Cassian grunted, snapping him out of his observation.

Azriel turned to him. "Love, you haven't told him yet?"

"No need to pretend, Az. I know everything," Cassian rolled his eyes. Azriel turned back to Y/N, searching her face. So she told him? But why? What was between the two of them?

"I want to talk to you," Cassian said.

"Would you leave us alone, dove," Azriel traced her jaw with scarred finger. She inhaled sharply turning to Cassian.

"Cass.."

"Don't worry, doll," he grinned at her. Eyeing them she backed out from the room closing the door behind. But she didn't leave. Instead she stayed behind the door listening.

Azriel smirked as Cassian narrowed eyes on him. "What kind of game are you playing?" he asked quietly, aware that Y/N hadn't left.

"Not your business."

"I swear. If you hurt her I'll beat the shit out of you."

Azriel studied his face. "You feel something to her." It wasn't question.

"What if I do? Would you let her be?"

Azriel crossed arms on his chest. "No."

"Do you hate her so much that you want to destroy her?" Azriel winced.

"I'm not planning to destroy her."

"So what do you want from her?" Cassian snapped angrily.

"Not. Your. Business," Azriel growled.

They stared at each other trying to second guess the opponent. Azriel let out a breath after a while. Brother. My brother, he reminded himself.

"I don't want to hurt her, so don't worry," he said way softer than he really felt, turning to leave. "I would really appreciate if you stay away from her," he growled leaving the room. An amused snort sounded from behind as he was closing the door.

Corners of Azriel's mouth turned up in a smile as he looked to the place where Y/N was waiting, right next to the door.

"What did you talk about?" she asked coolly.

He stepped closer cornering her. "About you," he smiled even wider, hazel eyes capturing hers.

"What about me?"

"Hmm," he purred teasingly leaning in so he could feel her breath on his lips. Having her so close soothed his jealousy for good.

She just stood there pinned to the wall under his body, her heart racing. She wouldn't run away before getting answers. Fearless little thing. He liked it and finally he didn't have to hide it. Closing eyes he nuzzled his cheek to hers, drawing a soft moan from her.

"What will you give me if I tell you?" His deep voice sensually whispered to her ear and she shivered in pleasure biting down on her lip, unable to think straight. So hot, so sweet. He wanted to devour her right there on the spot, slowly, enjoying every inch of her. It took all his determination just to stand there, not touching her.

He needed to leave otherwise he would destroy everything. "Try to stay away from Cassian and his room, dove, would you?" he cooed, delivering sweet, light kiss on her lips. Her knees wobbled.

"It would look bad if somebody notice," he said over a shoulder walking down the hall, away from temptation.

After he left, Y/N let out a breath. Without anybody holding her upright she sank to the ground, her heart pounding so hard it threatened to jump from her chest and chase after the cause of this all. Why did he have such effect on her?

After the encounter in Cassian's room you didn't know what to think anymore. You heard just very little of their conversation and couldn't make anything out of it. Only one thing was clear: Azriel kept pretending to be in love with you without flaw whether somebody watched or no.

He kept touching you at any occasion he had. From feather like touches to passionate hugs, from his lips lightly teasing your skin to deep, needy kisses. Shadowsinger went so far that he was leaving flowers and small presents for you all around the house. It was so confusing.

In front of your friends you couldn't run nor push him away. You struggled every time he appeared close to you. Your heart ached and thrilled at the same time. You had to constantly remind yourself that he faked it. That none of that was real. However your heart didn't listen at all. It hurt so badly. Every day that passed in this manner was a torture and you tried to spend as much time in your room alone as possible.

One morning you woke up with a wing around you, dim light shining through. A strong arm was wrapped around your waist and your back was pressed against male's chest. At first you thought you fell asleep with Cassian. After all it wouldn't be the first time you slept like this.

As your brain started to work again, you stiffened. Last night you fell asleep alone in your room. The body behind you was muscular, but it was rather athletic while Cassian's body was more like a bear. Drops of cold sweat appeared on your forehead and your heart stuttered as realization hit you.

It was Azriel.

You swallowed, your heartbeat was rising with every second you stayed in this position. You didn't know what to do. You wanted to shove him away, but you also longed to stay like this in his arms for the rest of your life. You didn't dare to move.

Azriel behind you didn't move, too, seemingly asleep. However you could feel his heartbeat on your back, speed of it matching your own. And you felt it poking to the back of your thigh. Air became heavy with the smell of arousal.

The wing retracted letting morning light and fresh cold air in.

"'morning," Azriel groaned to your ear, voice still hoarse. Your panties got even wetter.

You forced yourself to retreat to the other side of bed. "What are you doing here?" you tried to sound confident and cool, but your shaky voice betrayed you.

Reclining Azriel smirked obviously satisfied with the way your body reacted to him. Your mouth went dry. He was so... Beautiful? Sexy? No word could adequately describe him.

His dark hair was messy from sleep, smirking full lips slightly parted and eyes.. Those eyes. Soft morning light turned his hazel eyes into liquid gold. Shadowsinger was in your bed looking like a god, toned chest on display. You couldn't take your eyes off of him.

"You are drooling, dove," he chuckled moving closer. His thumb ran over your lower lip teasingly. He was wearing just an underwear, his arousal still visible.

Instincts you gained over years kicked in, though you were too high. "Cover yourself," you moaned. Damnit.

Azriel leaned closer, his lips only inch from yours. "This is what you do to me. Don't you like it?" Thumb of his other hand caressed your thigh too close to your sex. You gasped, eyes going wide. Azriel's pupils blew out, gaze darkening, his scent changing once again.

You needed to cool down otherwise you could do something you would regret in the future. You tried to stand up, but Azriel stopped you.

"Beautiful," he murmured against your lips, closing the distance between you. The kiss was soft, playful at first, slowly heating up. He pulled you back down to the sheets, lightly crushing you under his body. His scarred hand grabbed your thigh and massaging it he hooked your leg around his hips.

No, your brain shouted while your heart was growing with every touch he provided. This was so wrong. You found the strength and pushed against his chest. Panting Azriel reluctantly obeyed. He gave you a questioning look.

"What's wrong, dove?"

"Stop it," a tear rolled down your cheek, followed by another soon. Tip of his fingers gently wiped it away. He was confused. "Stop it. Stop this pretending. It's too much. I can't-"

"Who said I'm pretending?" he whispered softly, studying your face with unreadable expression.

"You came with this plan to pretend in front of everyone.."

"Game is over, dove. It's actually never started. At least for me it wasn't game," Azriel sat up bringing you with him.

You were too confused. "What do you mean? What is this all about?"

Azriel hesitated. "I heard you," he breathed out, his eyes never leaving yours. His deep voice was so quiet you barely heard him. "That night at Rhys' office. You talked in your sleep. For years I couldn't tell you how I really feel, thinking you hate me. It was easier to hate you back than admit I want you. So I took advantage of the situation Rhysand got us into and decided to show you instead. I guess it wasn't the best way.."

Something in your chest warmed up and grew with every word he spoke. "It wasn't game," you repeated, trying to put your thoughts together. You replayed all events, touches and kisses of the last weeks seeing it in new light. You could literally hear wards around your heart crack. He didn't pretend it. None of that.

You searched his eyes looking for traces of lie just to find out it was truth. Your hand moved on its own accord, resting on his cheek. Azriel leaned into the touch closing his eyes for a moment.

"No pretending?"

"Not even once," he shook his head. All suppressed feelings crashed out like a wave breaking last of the walls you built around your heart. You threw yourself around his neck almost knocking him down to blankets, squeezing him as you cried. Shadowsinger groaning with effort to stay upright, hugging you back.

"Az," you sobbed.

"Yes, angel," Azriel rested his head in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent.

"You are such idiot," you playfully tugged on his hair.

"I know," he chuckled. "Will you give me a chance to make it up to you?"

You snorted. "It won't be easy."

"I love challenges." With that he started nipping at your neck slowly moving up to the sensitive spot under your ear.

[ravereina]

Hi, can you do a (fic?) scaramouche x camgirl!reader where they know eachother in art class (highschool AU)

Ily and your posts!!<33

(Its okay, if you're not comfortable with writing this)

WHORE!

I LOVED THIS OMG OMG IM SO SORRY IF IT SUCKS THO I RUSHED IT A LOT!!

Contents: Blackmail, Dubcon, Degrading, Shy reader, Mean scara as it goes on.

ALL CHARATERS IN THIS ARE 18+

The bell rang snapping you up from your daydreams you were having about one of your friends, Scaramouche. You've always been curious about him, sure you both were friends but you always felt that there wa so much more to him than you knew.

You rushed to your last period of class which was art. You almost instantly sprang up remembering that he was in your class and that you both sat next to eachother. You walked into your class spotting Scaramocuhe facing the window. His face resting in his hand.

"Hey Scara!" you said taking a seat next to him. "Hi." He replied with a cold tone. A slight tint of blush covering his face "Huh? are you ok Scaramouche? You seem really flustered." You said with a hint of concern in your tone. "I'm fine. Its just really warm." He muttered grabbing some art supplies and working on a drawing.

You simply ignored it working on the drawing that the teacher instructed you to work on. Suddenly you broke the tense silence.

"Did something happen scaramouche? You can always tell me if something happened." You put your hands on his arm trying to comfort him. His heart swelled at your words.

He smiled softly "Lets walk to my house. I'll tell you there ok?"

You eagerly nodded your head. Constantly checking the time till school ended. As soon as the bell rang you almost shoved everything in your bag and waited for him at the door. You guys walked seemingly to his house. He stopped to open his front door,

Wondering what could be so important that he had to tell you in secret.

“I’ve seen them, Your videos.” He walked closer towards you. Your face drained pale. Thoughts racing through your head.

"H-huh? What videos..?" You tried to play dumb, Although Scaramouche saw through the poor facade you put up.

"Dont play dumb, Doing filthy things for other people." He sneered pressing in front of you as your back hit the wall. “I won't show anyone if, you let me fuck you.” He smirked. Eyes piercing into yours.

"Hu-Wait W-Wha." You tripped over your words.

“You don’t really have a choice love, Unless you want the whole school to see some of your lewd videos.” His gaze made you feel trapped and bare to him. “I wonder how the college you wanna go too would react too this.” That statement made you freeze.

"Wait scaramouche no! don-" He cut you off.

“You should think twice princess." He said, His hands caressing your shoulders trailing down your body so soothingly it made you almost forget about the situation you were in. He slowly fondled your breast throughout your shirt, rolling your nipples through his fingers.

He removed his hands from your body whining at the los of touch. "Strip." He spat removing some of his clothes. You rushed to take some off. You tried to cover some parts of your body that your undergarments couldn't cover.

"Don't be shy love, you don't seem shy showing your body off to strangers now do you?"

He said against your neck. Slowly biting and sucking your neck. Trailing down towards your breast. “Bet people tell you all the time about how pretty your body is.”

He said looking up at you for a response.

“M-mhm.” you hummed. As he shoved his hands into your panties to remove them and softly rubbing your clit. "God, you're soaked" Slipping his fingers into your cunt.

"What a whore."

He spat, Your cunt clenched around his fingers. "Heh, someone liked that, didn't they?" He teased. You shook your head out of embarrassment, trying to deny the obvious. "Scara.. come on, please." You begged. "Please what love? Tell me." He cooed.

"Fuck me please scaramouche. Need you." You pleaded loudly.

He chuckled, leading you on the couch. "Go on your hands and knees love" He ordered you. You followed his command almost instantly.

He aligned himself to your hole and slowly pushed in. You winced at the pain when he finally bottomed out. "You can move now." You whispered under your breath but just enough for him to hear it.

He started thrusting fastly into you. The only sounds hard from the room was the intense sound of skin slapping and panting coming from both of you..

"You dont know how l-long I've wanted to fuck you." He groaned pulling your hair, forcing you to arch your back.

" 's too much S-Scara!" You squealed, tears welling up in your eyes from the mix of pleasure and pain "Quit your whining bitch. You can take it." He mumbled gripping at more of your hair to hold on as he harshly thrusted into you.

"It's s-such a shame that others have seen your body, but none of them will e-ever be able to feel your tight pussy around me. He said almost smugly. ,"N-No one else! Yours Scara!!" You spewed.

"Thats fuckin right. You're mine. M'gonna breed you and keep you as mine."

The statement made you clench around him. "F-Fill me up S-Scara!" you moaned. Choked sobs emerging from your throat from him rubbing your clit.

Feeling your orgasm reaching you squealed and shut your eyes. "C-Close please,please" You babbled incoherently till you felt your orgasm crashing down upon you. Feeling him release inside of you with a grunt.

[jinjinxedsoul]

CHAPTER 1. Here's to the mess we made.

WARNINGS: Smut. fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, dub con, incest (uncle-niece), drunk sex lmk if I'm missing anything.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:Listen when I started writting this chapter I started in a different direction and even tho I liked most of it I kept feeling the urge to write more of these two before starting any drama, that's when I did the poll for ask u what did you think about it, and when you agreed I started this. Now I really wanna keep on writing about this two a lil bit prior their family drama starts what do you think? I wanna know your thoughts. I also opened an insta account for my hotd related fics (i already have one for my bts works in spanish so why not?) if you want to go follow me feel free to do so I love interacting w my readers Anyways, enjoy this thing.

Word count: 4K+ (also lmk if you prefer long or short chapters)

Things between them were... complicated. Far too complicated. But within that great mess that was their relationship, there was a connection neither of them was willing to lose, one they had learned to guard jealously from the eyes and gossip of others. They didn't need anyone else to know, because what they had was specifically shaped and created by and for them.

For them to live. To cherish. To understand.

If someone were to ask what had sparked that strange relationship, they would surely blame everything on their exchange semester in Monaco. In reality, that had been the first domino to fall, and everything that happened afterward was merely a consequence of it.

Alyssane Velaryon and Aegon Targaryen came from an already complicated family. Aegon's mother, Alicent, used to be the best friend of Alyssane's mother, Rhaenyra. Up to that point, everything seemed relatively normal; things started to twist when Alicent had an affair with Rhaenyra's father and then married him, a union from which Aegon and two other siblings were born.

As surprising as this might seem, that wasn't the greatest scandal in the Targaryen family. But then again, dark secrets always seem to surround powerful families.

With growing tensions within the family, Aegon and Alyssane were raised in similar environments, but remained distant from one another, only crossing paths when strictly necessary. Of course, these situations weren't rare; within such a limited social circle, it was impossible for the families not to constantly run into each other. That turned out to be a good thing, as when they were teenagers, something almost magical happened, and suddenly, everyone was at peace again.

Perhaps their mothers were to blame.

When their mothers became inseparable once more, they wanted to do the same with their children. That was why they presented the idea of doing a semester abroad in Monaco to both of them.

Why Monaco? They didn’t know for sure, but they suspected it had something to do with their mothers' rekindled friendship. In the end, they both agreed, each for their own reasons: Aegon, drawn by the parties and excesses a wealthy country like Monaco could offer, and Alyssane, excited by the freedom it promised—especially a semester without having to constantly keep an eye on her three brothers, which sounded like a dream.

The first few weeks, however, they remained distant. Despite living in the same apartment, they barely saw each other due to their differing schedules. When they did run into each other at parties, their interactions lasted no more than a couple of minutes.

When they started missing home, they unconsciously decided to spend more time together. Then came what Alyssane always describes as one of the worst chapters of her life—when her boyfriend broke up with her, claiming that the distance had affected their relationship too much. It was a cheap excuse, considering the guy had a private jet and could have flown to the principality whenever he wanted, but as flimsy as his excuse was, it still managed to wound Alyssane's heart. They had been together since they were fifteen; she hadn’t known anything else and felt like her life had ended with that relationship.

Maybe Monaco was to blame.

If they hadn’t gone to Monaco, Alyssane’s heart wouldn’t have been broken, and she wouldn’t have had to seek refuge in the only person who could remind her, even a little, of home—Aegon.

Her mother was too busy with business matters, and although Alyssane knew that she would fly over immediately to be by her side, she didn’t want to bother her.

And Aegon, even though he wasn’t always attentive to the things happening around him, immediately noticed his niece's absence from school. He figured it was normal enough, given her recent breakup, but when he realized that her absence extended to the parties she used to love, he started to worry for real.

When he finally gathered the courage to barge into her room and found her in that horrible self-imposed isolation, he felt terrible—especially because he had been going from party to party, fueling rumors about himself while she, who deserved for people to care about her, was there, wasting away in her sadness.

At first, it seemed a bit exaggerated to him that Alyssane, at nineteen, was so heartbroken over a breakup. She had money, she was beautiful, and with her charming personality, the moment she announced she was single, messages would pour in. But then he understood that Alyssane and her ex-boyfriend had been together since they were fifteen; she hadn’t known anything else.

That’s when he knew he had to be there for her, because his father always said family needed to stick together and support each other when times seemed darkest. It had started as a purely brotherly and innocent act, but soon it began to turn into something different.

Maybe it had been his fault.

He should have kept his distance; of all the times he could’ve followed his father’s advice, he had chosen this one. If he hadn’t tried to lift his niece’s spirits with a motivational talk, then nothing would have happened.

"You still have so much left to experience. He was just one of many idiots," he told her at the end of his lengthy talk.

They were sitting on the floor of her room, backs against the bed, with a couple of empty wine bottles beside them. The glasses in their hands were still full.

"So, you're saying I should meet more idiots?" she asked.

"You should actually stay away from them," Aegon replied with a soft laugh. "It's just that, in this world, you'll come across plenty. In the end, what's important is learning to spot them before they hurt you."

"Maybe you're right," she said, taking a sip of wine. "But I can't help feeling a little lost. He was... everything. I don’t know anything more."

"Then get to know more," he shrugged. "I'm sure there are hundreds out there who would do anything to get your attention. We have the blessing—or curse, depending on how you see it—of being part of one of the most powerful families. That means many will do whatever it takes for a bit of our time."

"And that also means I’ll have to pay attention to their intentions," Alyssane said, frowning.

"That's the only way to learn how to spot the idiots," Aegon added.

Alyssane smiled bitterly and nodded, falling silent for a moment as she let his words settle in her mind. Aegon was right; his words felt insightful, and before that day, she wouldn’t have believed he could offer good advice.

"And what about you? Are you an idiot too?" the brunette asked after a while, blinking rapidly to ward off the tears threatening to surface.

"Haven't you read everything they say about me? Apparently, I'm the disgrace of House Targaryen," he replied with a smile, turning to look at her.

Alyssane’s gaze locked onto Aegon’s, and he became acutely aware of the strange weight pressing down on his chest. Before that night, he had never noticed how beautiful she was; sure, most of their family members were quite good-looking, but now, as he looked at her closely, he realized she was truly stunning.

"They don’t know what they’re talking about," she said simply, knowing that what the media portrayed rarely aligned perfectly with reality.

"Or maybe they do. Maybe I am a bit of a disaster."

Aegon wanted to look away, to stop staring at her because the weight in his chest grew heavier with each passing second, and he didn’t know how to handle it.

"Disasters are interesting," was her conclusion, which she sealed by gulping down the rest of her wine.

Maybe the wine was to blame.

Alyssane used to drink, but whenever she did, it was at a party, dancing and socializing so much that she barely noticed the effects of alcohol on her body. Now, sitting there without the frenzy, she could feel them clearly.

Her body felt numb, heavy; when she went out, the images would swirl around her like a colorful blur, but this time it felt like every second was etched carefully in her mind. Her lips tingled strangely, and she felt an overwhelming need to be held. She studied Aegon for a moment, wondering if it would be too weird if she just...

"What are you doing?" the silver-haired one asked as she straddled him.

It seemed the alcohol still gave her the ability to act on her impulses.

"A hug," she whispered, adjusting to find the best position. "Is it too weird?"

He had to say yes; one didn’t hug family members like that, and Aegon knew it. He had to admit that it made him uncomfortable because she was his niece, but Aegon couldn’t lie when he was drunk; he simply couldn’t.

"It’s not the weirdest thing anyone’s asked me, certainly," he said, unable to suppress a chuckle.

Alyssane wrapped her arms around Aegon’s neck, and he instinctively placed his arms around her back, settling into a comfortable embrace. The closeness felt strange and confusing, but neither of them made an effort to pull away.

The silence that followed was awkward at first, but the tension in the air lightened enough, and it was only broken by the heavy sigh that escaped Alyssane’s lips as she rested her head on Aegon’s shoulder.

"Sometimes I feel really lonely," she whispered.

Aegon felt, for a moment, that his niece's words pierced him like a dagger. He wasn't sure how to respond, but he understood that loneliness better than he wanted to admit; in a world like his, solitude was more common than one would expect and it lingered even when surrounded by people.

"You shouldn’t."

Unconsciously, his hands moved along her back, gently caressing her as a form of comfort. Alyssane's warm breath tickled pleasantly against his neck, and her weight on his lap did not go unnoticed; after all, he was still human, and alcohol never failed to make him more receptive to physical sensations.

Everything was mixing together, making it hard for him to keep his thoughts in the right place. He knew he shouldn't feel this way. But the combination of alcohol, silence, and the shared moment of vulnerability created an atmosphere that urged him to cross boundaries he knew shouldn’t be crossed.

"You’re not alone."

Due to their position, Aegon's lips brushed against Alyssane's temple, and his words ended up being whispered in her ear, sending a pleasant shiver through her that made her shift in place, directly causing friction against Aegon's groin. He quickly placed his hands on either side of her hips, keeping her still.

"Alyssane..." he murmured as a warning.

She finally lifted her head, looking into his eyes, and settled back onto him, smiling slyly as her movement drew a sigh from Aegon.

"We shouldn't," he said, his voice sounding much less firm than he had expected.

And his actions betrayed him too, because instead of pulling away, he leaned in closer to her, brushing his nose against Alyssane's, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. Aegon closed his eyes for a moment, trying to regain his composure, but the warmth radiating from Alyssane's body embraced him so comfortingly that it was impossible to think of anything but her and the closeness they were sharing.

"Why not?" Alyssane asked, her tone challenging common sense. There was a spark in her eyes that seemed to light up everything around them, and Aegon realized he didn't want to pull away.

Alyssane dared to press a careless kiss on Aegon's cheek, the warmth of her lips feeling better than any other display of affection he had ever received in his life. The contact made him open his eyes, looking at her with a mix of astonishment and desire.

His heart raced wildly, as if it wanted to leap out of his chest, and his hands tingled, eager to explore more of the girl on top of him, yet held back by that thin thread of morality that still remained.

Maybe they were to blame.

"Tell me you don't want this," Aegon whispered as a plea, though it was really a desperate attempt not to get caught up in that spiral of complications. "We still have time to—"

"What if I do want it?" she interrupted abruptly, a smile still painted on her face as she looked directly into his eyes.

Aegon smiled too, shaking his head slightly; sometimes he forgot that capriciousness was one of the greatest traits of the Targaryens. No one ever denied them anything simply for being who they were; they took what they wanted when they wanted, and no one could do anything about it.

And at that moment, all they wanted was each other, even if it felt forbidden. Who could tell them no? Who was there to stop them?

"Is it wrong?" Alyssane questioned, placing another kiss on Aegon’s face, this time on his jaw. "Is it a mistake?" She moved again, doing her best to be as suggestive as she could.

"Technically—" His gaze couldn't tear away from her, specifically from her lips, which were slightly parted, almost as if inviting him to taste them. Alyssane shifted again, and Aegon’s grip on her hips loosened, allowing her to take the lead.

"But it doesn’t feel wrong."

In truth, it did feel very wrong, but that only fueled their desires in an oddly lustful way that they probably wouldn’t be able to articulate if they had to.

"Then what does it matter?" she asked, inching even closer to him as if it were impossible to get any nearer.

And those words were enough to untie any knot that had been holding his very flexible morality in place. He tilted his face just a few millimeters, immediately reaching Alyssane's lips, barely brushing against them as if asking for permission to continue; she pulled him closer and finally pressed their lips together.

It wasn't a delicate kiss; it wasn't laden with emotions. It sought to express nothing more than the pure desire that had ignited between them that night. Though perhaps it wasn't entirely new—more like a flame that had been smoldering within them for some time. After all, during the time they had lived together, it was impossible to deny that, at least once, both had featured in each other's fantasies.

Aegon's hands felt liberated as they finally roamed Alyssane's body without restraint. The first place he touched was her legs; the fair skin of the young Velaryon was exposed by the light silk dress she wore that night. His fingers sank sweetly into her thighs, eliciting a gasp from her. Taking advantage of her parted lips, Aegon moved his own directly to Alyssane's neck.

He slowly trailed his lips across her neck, then dared to let his tongue trace a path from her left collarbone to her chin and back again. Aegon's grip intensified, and he bit his lip, restraining himself from marking her as he desired.

“Do it,” she said simply, burying her hands in the silver strands of his hair. Aegon looked at her, questioning her decision. “If we're breaking the rules, let’s make it worth it.”

Aegon's gaze darkened, and a mischievous smile curled on his lips before he returned to assaulting the curve of her neck, sucking hard in places, leaving faint red marks that would surely shine in the morning light and eliciting soft moans from Alyssane's lips.

Aegon was quick to silence his niece's sounds, drowning them out with his own lips as he played with his tongue inside Alyssane's mouth. His already painful erection was imprisoned by his own clothes and the girl's weight on top of him, but he didn't want to release it now because the friction was delicious. His hands got lost under her dress and he was quick to lustfully grab her ass, squeezing it while forcing her to rub herself against him even more, feeling her warm wetness begin to soak his lap.

A smile crept between the kisses and he brought his hand to the front. The sensation of the lace on his fingertips was annoying, so he was quick to push the fabric aside looking for direct contact with her skin, his eager touch snatched a moan from her and he exhaled heavily when he felt her.

“Soaking wet already?” he asked in a mocking whisper, pulling back just to observe her reaction.

Alyssane frowned and was about to respond with some clever comment, but her words died in her throat when one of Aegon's fingers ran through her folds, drawing a sigh from her that she tried to silence by biting her lip.

“No, baby, let me hear you” he said firmly, his finger tracing the same path as before and this time a light gasp escaped from Alyssane's lips that made him smile sideways. “That's it”

His fingers moved expertly in her center and when she least expected it, she felt the intrusion of one of them. A small cry of pleasure filled the room and joined in a symphony with Aegon's gasps as he felt Alyssane's insides tighten around his fingers as she moved on top of him.

The tightness of the young woman was clear and he felt a shiver run through him as he imagined how she would feel around him, his lips parted and a moan escaped.

"How long has it been since you...?" His answer was interrupted by a wet kiss from the brunette.

"Before coming to Monaco," she replied between gasps, Aegon seemed scandalized by the answer and she rolled her eyes. "Not all of us are as promiscuous as you."

“Experienced. The word is...” he was interrupted again, this time by Alyssane's cold hand sneaking mischievously inside his pants, making him sigh immediately “Fuck...”

Her hand wrapped around his member and gave it a light squeeze, the movements of Aegon's hand sped up as well and soon they were both trying to match each other's rhythm, filling the room with lust-filled sounds that sweetened her ears.

Alyssane closed her eyes for a second when the sensations suddenly overwhelmed her, the way Aegon continued to move his fingers in and out was taking her to the limit, although in reality it was the fact of knowing that what they were doing was too forbidden that excited her the most.

Aegon was breathless, unable to contain the gasps escaping his lips, feeling a familiar tingle spread throughout his body; only then did he dare to remove his fingers from inside Alyssane to stop her from moving her hand around him as well.

He didn't give her any explanations even when she was about to ask for them, he just hurriedly freed his member from the layers of clothing that now seemed too uncomfortable, he didn't have the time to stop and undress them both thoroughly, although he was tempted to do so if it meant discovering and conquering every part of Alyssane's body; however, the urgency of being inside her was greater than any other of his needs.

“I need... I...” he gasped, looking into her eyes, unable to articulate coherent phrases as desire overwhelmed his senses. “Come here” he muttered, grabbing her firmly by the waist and positioning her on top of him, doing everything he could to keep the annoying lace of her underwear out of the way.

A glimmer of reason seemed to shine in Aegon’s mind; what they were doing was already risky, and he didn’t want to increase those possibilities.

"Wait, I don't have a condom..."

His words hung in the air like an unimportant warning as Alyssane slid over him, making him enter her in one thrust. The sensation was overwhelming for both of them; a muffled moan escaped Aegon's lips while Alyssane let out a deep gasp, closing her eyes immediately as the sudden intrusion had caused a burning sensation that spread down her spine, which was to be expected as she had spent so much time without company other than his fingers that Aegon's well-endowed presence made her feel like she was being split right in half.

The intensity of the moment made Aegon tighten his hands around her waist, as if he wanted to make sure that this was real and not a dream fueled by his repressed desires; the warmth inside Alyssane felt unreal, perhaps it was his own lust speaking, but Aegon could assure that no other woman he had been with felt this good, it was as if she had been made specifically for him. That thought caused a shudder that Alyssane also felt as spasms in Aegon's member.

"It's okay," she whispered, pressing their foreheads together. "I'm still on the pill."

Aegon sighed and smirked. "Thank God."

Aegon was grateful that he didn't have to use protection, for now he couldn't imagine having any restrictions, even minimal, that would prevent him from fully enjoying what she was giving him. Alyssane giggled and rose up over him slowly, just enough to make most of his member slip out of her, only to lower herself back down again with a snap. They both moaned in unison, the brunette gripping the other's shoulders with shaking hands, playing with the thin fabric of his shirt.

The girl went up and down in a deliciously slow rocking motion, seeking to relieve the feeling of discomfort in her body, as she did so and Aegon dissolved into moaning noises an idea assaulted the silver-haired man's mind; according to his niece's own words, her now ex-boyfriend had not taken her to bed in a long time, the thought alone made him upset.

He had barely received a little from her, contrary to how much she had surely offered that idiot, and just that little had been enough to blow his mind, he was definitely eager to try much more of her.

How could he have left her unattended for so long? He wouldn't do it, he...

"I would travel however many miles it took to have you like this," he whispered against her lips. Something changed in Alyssane's smile, and although Aegon didn't recognize it immediately, he felt a sense of satisfaction. "And that's what you deserve."

“Miles?” she asked, her teasing smile returning, though her voice was breathless with the pleasure she felt in every movement.

“Hundreds of them...” Aegon growled, a similarly mischievous smile on his lips, his eyes shining with lust.

Alyssane let out a moan as she felt him take complete control, lifting his hips to meet hers, driving the rhythm faster, deeper. The thought that he needed her as much as she needed him made her body tremble.

“That’s what you deserve, what you should look for—someone who won’t leave you alone,” his breath came erratically, each movement filling him with an intense pleasure that made it hard to maintain control.

Alyssane shut her eyes tightly, surrendering to the sensation of being so close to him, so connected in body and desire. The possessive tone in Aegon’s voice sent shivers down her spine, and a part of her knew that, no matter how dangerous those words were, she craved more of that wild, unrestrained devotion that had sparked like a lustful flame and was now consuming them with intensity, enveloping them in the excessive heat of the flames that, far from harming them, provided comfort.

“Will you ever leave me alone?” she asked, gasping as she quickened her movements. “‘After tonight, will you leave me alone?’”

“Never...” he replied between breaths, but he paused for a moment, moving one hand to cradle her face with a tenderness that contrasted with the passion of the moment. “Not after this. Never.”

“Then I don’t have to look for anyone else,” she declared before capturing Aegon’s lips with hers.

And although the Velaryon’s words were decisive and carried a weight they would later have to confront, Aegon didn’t care in the slightest—or maybe he cared too much—but he decided he agreed with that sentiment, even if he didn’t fully understand why. He just knew that no matter how hard he searched, no one would be worthy enough to have her.

Caught in the heat of the moment and the suffocating yet sweet lust of knowing what they were doing was just for them, he resolved that he was worthy of it. He could care for her and please her; in recent days, he had proven he could provide for her, and now he was showing he could give her the pleasure that the fool who had her hadn’t wanted to offer.

“Don’t do it. Don’t look for anyone else.”

They were to blame for giving in and yielding so easily. But it felt good—not just physically; that night was the first in their lives when they didn’t feel completely empty. And that was enough for both of them.

Alyssane:

[sivyera]

game 00.1

felix catton x reader (in part 2 oliver quick x reader?? maybe, maybe not??)

warnings: toxic relationship, break up BUT it's not going to be angsty!

a/n: i apologize to all Felix fans so pls don't kill me, haha! i will probably write some fluff with him later, please just enjoy being a bad bitch! :)

༺☆༻

It was like every other party at the school. Nothing new nor unexpected... well that's what you thought.

You were sitting at the table, next to your boyfriend Felix and his friends. Also with his newest friend named Oliver.

Oliver was new around so he was mostly just watching... watching you to be more precise, but you never paid extra attention to it, I mean many people started at you so he was no difference...

Everything was like usual, until Felix decided to speak.

"hey y/n.. i need to tell you something" Felix said as he turned a bit on his chair to look you directly in the eyes. You noticed that he called you by your first name, he usualy calls you baby or beautiful, that was when you realized that your thoughts has come true.

When he noticed that you're quiet he spoke again. "We have to break up... this isn't going to work and it's not you, it's me but I have to think about my future."

He finished his sentence and turn to quickly look at Farleigh with a small, almost unnoticeable... but you noticed.

You raised an eyebrow and then smirked. "Oh thank god you said it, you know I have to think about my future as well and with you; I have no bright future, you're holding me back so you did me a favour." You said calmly without any fast movements while looking directly into his eyes then you turned your head at his friends who were sitting around the table with shock faces, smiled, then stood up and left the table.

Felix just sat there, freezed at his seat with shock in his eyes. Did he heard you right? Was he hallucinating? He looked at Farleigh, who was laughing at his seat. Even tho Farleigh is Felix's cousin, he couldn't help but laugh.

''She's got balls, mate.'' Farleigh laughed. Felix blinked few more times, then he stood up and went after you to the yard. "Wait!" He yelled as he grabbed your wrist and stopped you in your tracks.

Felix's mind was full with thoughts like why did this woman; who was supposed to break down in tears and beg him to stay with her, just walked away like nothing happened? Did you not care at all?

"Wait, why?" You asked him as you turned to look at him. You still had the "bored" look on your face which made Felix frustrated even more. You embarrassed him a lot, it wasn't just something he could throw away like nothing had happened, this was important, his reputation was at stake.

"Because- w-why are you acting like you don't care?" He asked while standing in front of you in disbelief. He couldn't believe that you are not going to fight back, to get him back.

"It's because I don't care?" You said with a slight confusion in your tone like it wasn't obvious to him. You meant what you said, you noticed how Felix changed a bit, you were actually thinking about breaking up with him but he was faster, well faster...

He stood there as if it was all a really bad dream. He was confused, why didn't you beg him or cry or made a scene in front of everybody like he was used to from other girls? He didn't even knew what he wanted; he broke up with you, he wanted it right, so why is he standing here in front of you "begging" for explanation.

His jaw clenches, he wanted to make you cry and yet here you are, stone-faced. "You're being ridiculous." He hisses as he slightly shook his head form side to side, still in disbelief that this is really happening.

"Oh really? What should I do then, cry or beg you for another chance? Telling you how much I love you, how much I need you, how I can't live without you? Nah, no never, I have something that is called self-respect, you moron." You said coldly and bit louder so he can hear you properly and really fall into the reality that you really didn't care at all.

His face twists into a scowl, he has lost control, the anger was rising up inside him, his heart felt like it's going to explode just like his head.

"Tsk, you're just a stupid girl." He retorted at you, but you didn't move a muscle, you were like a stone. You stood in front of him with face that looked like it was made of stone. Beautiful features, you were one of the most beautiful girls this school ever had, but you were also pretty unreachable.

Felix had work so hard to actually get into your life, the "dating" part was the hardest, because you wasn't stupid nor naive like other girls. It was very attractive but in this situation Felix found it frustrating.

"I damaged your male ego, didn't I? Yeah, go cry about it, that's what babies like you do, when they lose control; they throw a tantrum, like you just did." You said while you rolled your eyes.

He blinked few times and froze once again. No one ever said this to him, he wasn't prepared for this! In his head this wasn't a fair game but before he could answer, you were gone.

After few extra seconds he just stood there like a child who's mother just didn't buy him any of his favourite snacks. He cursed under his breath and went back inside to his friends.

He knew this wasn't done, he needed answers and a lot of talking, but for now he decided to went back.

Little did both of you knew that Oliver heard and saw this whole conversation. He was hidden behind one of those tall bushes, watching you two the whole time.

He knew everything. He watched you 24/7, he had your daily routine memorized and the things you love was written in his secret notebook that he had made just for you.

From the start this was Oliver's plan, to get to you. But you were a very closed and private person, he even had problems with stalking you like looking at you from the tree that was near your window and stuff, which made him obsessed even more.

And that's why he started talking to Felix, because he knew that you two were dating... and his plan worked, like always. He now was your friend who was on his way to your room to comfort you after a "hard" breakup with your now ex-boyfriend.

His plan worked perfectly.

[lightlycareless]

I saw this video and it made think of Naoya and Naohime. I can imagine she learned that vocabulary from Naobito lol

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTNdX5wP2/

Hello!!

Omggggg another video that isn't here anymore jfc I'm so sorry 😭 but from what I was able to recall it was a (with a daughter or granddaughter) and he says a bad word and she ends up saying the same thing lol it was kind of funny tho 😂

I wrote a little something inspired by it :) though I ended up writing it mostly on Y/N's perspective, cause she's the one that usually hangs around the kids the most (though a protective Naoya does appear, as well as Naomi)

warnings: none. Naobito is a bad influece tho. but overall domestic fluff.

also: a little bit of context regarding Naobito and his relationship with your and Naoya's youngest child.

Happy reading!!

It should come to no one’s surprise that Naobito is Naohime’s biggest, worst influence for a thousand reasons.

And why wouldn’t it be? Honestly, they spent almost every day together, with Naohime constantly following him everywhere, or more like Naobito bringing her along everywhere, citing that his favorite granddaughter had to be there for whatever important clan meeting he had for the day.

By his side when watching anime, or just spending the whole evening sleeping, a little Naobito on the making! It was only a matter of time before she began to mimic him…

Which was a very frightening statement for you and Naoya to ruminate on. To have a child so involved in serious manners is just the tip of the iceberg; both just want her to live out her childhood as happily as possible! 

But, oh, well, at least his father had the decency of not drinking in front of her—yet, this following incident finally made you and Naoya realize how spoiled Naohime had actually become, and how urgent it was for the two to step in.

It happened right after dropping off your children at school, with Naohime by your side since she was too young to attend yet (another matter that worried you—Naobito wanted to homeschool her, you and Naoya wished otherwise. Will this debate ever end?) accompanying you to your newest duty.

Apparently, the Zen’in were to meet a highly prestigious client, and you, wanting to do your part in making a good impression, headed right over to the kitchen to help arrange such an important dinner.

Stress to make this moment as perfectly as possible inevitably befell the staff, especially those that were still new to the (dubious) work ethic of the Zen’in; thus, it wouldn’t take long before one of them eventually crumbled, making a mistake that was easily fixable, but with the pressure of doing everything right the first time, believed otherwise.

“It’s ok, don’t worry—we still have more ingredients, right?” you quickly intercept, the cook nods. “See? Nothing to fret about! Now we just gotta—"

Little Naohime rarely involved herself in your activities, always kept occupied by her toys or any other activity you thought of beforehand, but something about the anxious complains from the staff members struck her with familiarity, like she’s seen this before somewhere else, and knew exactly what to do…

Cue your worst nightmare becoming a reality, having you inwardly screeching, skin pale at the notion of her imprudence.

“Stupid monkey!” Naohime says, with no hesitation, no second thoughts, nothing—just a reckless, albeit innocent, replication of her surroundings.

“Naohime!” you quickly retorted, shocked to hear such an awful sentence coming from your adorable daughter! “Where did you learn to say that?!”

But your daughter, instead of providing an answer, just continued giggling, thinking of your reaction to be a joke, as if you were entertained by her actions and not genuinely upset; it’s how Naobito reacted whenever she did that, after all, obviously the culprit behind it all.

“No, young lady, this is no laughing matter!” you insist once more, she does not budge. “Naohime—you will apologize to the staff right now for saying those awful words!”

“Lady Y/N, it’s fine—she’s just a child. She doesn’t know what she said.”

But that’s exactly what made this situation not fine. If anything, it made it even worse! Her laughter representing the sour realization that you’ve been too lax on your daughter, perhaps too carefree, freeing her of any necessary limits and discipline simply because she was your youngest maybe, your last child, the one you and Naoya had more time to parent together and yet didn’t seem like it.

You should’ve expected something like this to happen when Naobito got interested in spending time with his granddaughter. Yet, far from growing concerned, deep within, you and Naoya were happy that finally his family was retroactively trying to get along with their children, if only one of them…

But those days of carefree endearing were gone, you needed to put your foot down, and quickly.

“Naohime, if you do not apologize, we’re going to have problems.” She smiles, shaking her head playfully, nothing but a game for her you sadly conclude. “Alright, I don’t like doing this, but you leave me no other choice.

So, carefully grabbing her hand, you decided to go with what she considered the worst discipline ever, one appropriate for her age and situation: a timeout.

A decision she received with loud whines and cries, attempting to free herself from your hold but being unable to do as much as lightly tug at your arm, forced to accept the fate awaiting inside her bedroom; 5 minutes to think of the gravity of her actions, understand them, and hopefully, a genuine apology.

“Mamaaaaaaaa.” She would call from inside, pounding at the door. “Mamaaaaaaa!! Let me out!!”

It hurt you to hear her crying like that, your poor baby, the light of your life, one of the many reasons you loved being a mother—but such, it also reminded you that if you truly loved her, then you would discipline her when needed and set up limits that would protect her.

She was just a child and should act like one! Not copy dubious behaviors from people you’re going to start distancing from! Just as your husband would come to support…

“Care to explain the things you’re teaching my daughter?!” Naoya is quick to reproach his father as soon as you inform him of what happened. Somewhat afraid of Naobito, you usually let him handle these types of matters, but never alone, standing by his side as your protective husband gave him a piece of his mind. “I will not allow you to spend any more time with her if you’re just going to be a bad influence on her!”

“Ah, it’s nothing but a stupid expression! Just something to say to people that are being a bit foolish, motivate them to do better, nothing more!” Naobito dismisses, as always. You press your lips together, seeing the anger building up in Naoya’s face.

“Regardless of what it was, as his father, I do not want her replicating such behavior. So, you either behave for the first time in your life, or I won’t allow you to see Naohime ever again!”

“So now you’re threatening me?” Naobito chuckled. “She’s a much better, promising daughter than any of you ever were. A shame you don’t see it.”

You sigh; it’s nothing but obvious that he’d been drinking, kind of. Alcohol only made his defensive, intolerant nature worse, and subsequently, impossible to engage in a conversation with him.

But it’s not like either expected any different, he’s always been like this and would continue to do so until forever it seems. Thus, after brief consideration, you and Naoya decide to follow through with what both thought best: spend a few days with your father in hopes of giving Naohime a breath of fresh air, a break from the estate, as well as the opportunity to get along with the rest of her relatives, ones both hoped she’d take after.

Something she clearly didn’t like, that much Naomi was able to assess after seeing the tantrum her little sister was throwing.

“No! I don’t wanna leave, no! No!” Naohime cried, fists closed tightly as she thrashes all around her bed. “Mama and Papa hates me!”

“It’s hate Naohime—and no, they don’t hate you, peanut.” Naomi says, carefully sitting by her side and placing her hand behind her back, hoping to stop her before she either hurts her or herself. “You just did something they didn’t like, that’s all.”

“No, I didn’t!” she protests. “I never do bad!”

Naomi raises an eyebrow; so young and already so sure of herself. Well, can’t say they aren’t related.

“You do realize you insulted the staff, right? The same people that feed you every day? How would you feel if someone from our family said the same thing to mama? Or papa? Call them stupid.”

Naomi frowns, disliking the mental image of her parents being belittled—or being told anything ugly! It’s one thing what she does, and another entirely different when pertaining to others. Her parents are off limits!

Regret soon fills her senses, but too embarrassed to admit her wrongdoings, she responds with the only phrase she thinks works the same.

“I don’t wanna leave…”

“…Just apologize, Naohime. That’s all Mama and Papa want from you.” Naomi says, patting her back once more. “And stop mimicking all that the old man does, ok? He’s not good for you.”

“But he’s funny…”

“Papa can be… funnier if that’s what you really want.” Naomi couldn’t believe what she was saying, but here she was, defending her father!

But it was true, in a way; and necessary to stop her baby sister from turning into a small Naobito.

“No, he’s silly…”

Naomi chuckles; well, at least she’s not easy to fool.

“Mama and Papa love you and want nothing but the best for you.”

“…I know.” Naohime eventually admits, finally giving way to the first step of her so-called redemption, an apology that the staff warmly received, her parents briefly taken aback, yet happy.

…

If not curious as to know why she’d done so in the first place; perhaps a sudden change of heart?

“I just spoke to her, you know. She’s still capable of hearing and understanding.” Naomi says. “Don’t give up without trying.”

“Oh, I know.” You lament, and the notion you’ve been dragging along of being the worst parent ever sank deeper into your mind. “I just… I guess I was just shocked to hear her say that! Something so terrible, and of course, how close she actually was to Naobito. I knew they got along, just not to this extent!”

“I should’ve known, my love. They spend the whole day together, and she rarely listens to us when she’s with him!” Naoya frowns, feeling equally incompetent. “Don’t solely reprimand yourself, I too was at fault.”

“Well, if you must know, she was really upset at the thought of you guys being angry with her.” Your eldest added. “And honestly, you aren’t such bad parents. Maybe a bit… embarrassing, but nothing she couldn’t tolerate and appreciate. She’s still your daughter at the end of the day.”

You and Naoya look at each other, as if silently discussing what your daughter just said before smiling, quickly acknowledging her words as truthful—that no matter what happens, regardless of the issues that would naturally arise as time went on, and everything else… Naohime was still your and Naoya’s daughter: the energetic, joyful, but most importantly, caring girl you raised her to be.

She just needed guidance from time to time, like everyone often does. Some more than others, but even that didn’t lessen your children before your eyes, stop you and Naoya from seeing them as what they really are: perfect.

To be given such wisdom through your daughter Naomi made the two also realize how much she’s grown. The once adorable, rosy-cheeked baby who followed you everywhere you took her was now a woman in her own right: one that is supportive of her parents, as well as a good older sister both always knew she’d be.

Ah, time sure flies by. Best to enjoy these moments while they last.

“Thank you, mochi.” You smile, approaching to give her a quick pinch on the cheek, a gesture that has her quickly flustered, tensing her shoulders as she looks away, hoping no one had seen so. “For being a good sister to Naohime and a good daughter to us.”

“Mom, seriously—can you stop with the names… I’m not a little kid anymore.”

“Hmmm, really? You still act like one though?” Naoya snickers, she rolls her eyes.

“Don’t you two have more important matters to tend to anyways?? Like Grandpa?? He’s been telling me non-stop how excited he is to have us over since it’s been so long since he last saw us and to let him know if there’s any food I’d like to eat over there so he can buy it! And I just promised Naohime you guys wouldn’t take her if she apologized, so…”

“Oh, shit!” You gasped, looking over to Naoya, wide-eyed just as he was, at the notion of unwittingly getting into another problem just as soon as you got rid of the other! “What are we going to do? We just can’t cancel on my dad; you know how upset he gets! And he’s been feeling awful as of lately too… I think he just figured out that Naohime prefers being around your dad over mine!”

“Naohime is going to be upset with us again… and your dad too.”

“Not if you bribe her.” Naomi suggests. And even if it were an idea that would essentially label the two as bad parents, you end up taking her proposal—call it a white little lie, a necessary evil, whatever it took to keep your family happy!

It may have been easier to not spoil Naohime that much from the very beginning… ease Eiichi, your father, from sending her toys whenever one crossed his path; Naobito from badly influencing her, and Naomi from trying to be the cool sister (though she’d always deny it), the one she could always rush to whenever none of the former were collaborating with her, however that may be done.

Well, there’s only so much that could be done in these circumstances—it is simply the blessing curse of being the youngest child.

:') cool sister Naomi; I can't believe that one day I'm writing her as a baby and the next day she's Naohime's favorite hahahah 🥺 they grow up so fast....

Well, now I gotta turbo those tiktok requests because I fear I will forget them and THEN I WON'T KNOW WHAT TO WRITEEEEE

Anyways, this was a treat to write, as always. I love it when you guys indulge in my domestic stuff 😭 the Naohime acceptance makes me very very happy 😭😭😭😭😭💖💖💖 thank you so much!!! (though I gotta say, I hope we didn't come out as a horrible parent here hahah I don't know much about kids but I know for sure it's impossible for them to be perfect angels soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo 🥺)

Now, take care, and hope to see you soon!!

[soupzardous]

i would love a detalied lore drop on are they smarter than a first grader :3 i genuinely adore all these characters youve written i would gladly take any brain vomit like just screenshots of you and ur friend brainrotting i would eat it alllll up!! just anything honestly

I’m not even gonna lie I did not deliver at all. But what I will give you is that I know for sure that Quackity had like been super anxious for the sleep over. As usual Wilbur was late. Literally not shocking. But basically I hadnot planned much for that chapter I had lots of ideas tho. I did want to have them maybe build a pillow fort in Slimes room cuz I thought that would be silly and also cuz Quackity would’ve lost his marbles. I also think I intended on writing a moment that chapter where Quackity wants to read Fundy and Slime a bed time story since it was routine but Fundy doesn’t know how to react and Slime shoos Quackity away because Fundy can just read to him. Quackity would’ve gone back to the living room grumbling and prob would’ve poured himself a glass of wine cuz he can’t handle not being in charge of things.

Since him and Wilbur were fighting before hand (from what I remember) I wanted it to be sort of tense and awkward. I know in the previous chapter, Slime had green marker on his face and that was how i planned on getting them to start talking. Wilbur would’ve also been drinking wine and all that jazz. However, the plan was for Wilbur to suggest to Quackity that he get Slime some tattoo markers so Slime can draw on himself without it becoming a problem, and that was gonna lead into them being fucking weird or whatever. I really hardcore believed that atstafg!Quackity had a trampstamp (there is concept art and everything). Anyways, back then i did actually write out all the dialogue as kind of a bare bones draft, so I’ll just insert that screen shot here:

Then they probably were freaks and kissed. And this time no one interrupted them for realzies.

The next morning was gonna go one of two ways.

1. Quackity was gonna wake up and realize it was almost 8:30 am (he usually woke up around 5) an get worried that the kids hadn’t eaten. In this scenario he didn’t even remember the whole thing with Wilbur because he is more worried abt the kids. He would’ve winded up walking into the living area and seeing that Wilbur was in his bath robe due to being the one who’d woken Wilbur up, and Wilbur had to find something to put on because he wanted to let Quackity keep sleeping (he knew Quackity was sleep deprived)

2. They would’ve woken up at the same time and kind of opted to ignore what had happened. Wilbur wouldn’t have been able to find his glasses and he probably would’ve said something along the lines of “Well it isn’t my fault you probably recklessly put them somewhere. If they’re broken you’re paying for it.” And they would’ve bickered before Wilbur rolled his eyes and said he didn’t need them that bad and they would’ve headed into the kitchen.

Either way, they would’ve wound up finding Slime and Fundy at the kitchen table with some books that him and Fundy were reading together. Once again, I had this vaguely written in old dms i sent so I’ll just insert those here

I did initially want Quackity to do that thing he does where he was more focused on being a parent than how he was feeling, so he was gonna be too busy with trying to schedule Slime an optometrist appointment to worry about whatever happened with Wilbur. However, Wilbur is not trying to leave in a rush cause he would rather be uncomfortable around Quackity while Fundy had fun than back at his apartment with Phil there. Eventually, when Quackity gets off the phone Wilbur finally asks why Quackity isn’t bringing up what happened, and Quackity woudlve been all like “because I have a life to live I can’t just pause everytime there is a minor accident. You just have to keep doing what you have to do, so sorry if I don’t wanna get into all that” and Wilbur would’ve been offended but not willing to walk away. He does wind up giving up the fight and saying he was gonna stay a little bit longer but just because Fundy was having a fun time. he probably says something about how he’s only staying because he’s not as bad of a parent as Quackity thinks. because truly, they never get past that.

By the way Quackity does blame himself heavily for not even thinking that Slime might have really bad eye sight and just trying to force slime to read when he couldn’t see very well to be begin with. I know a lot of people did theorize that he had dyslexia or was truly just never taught to read, but it was more so due to a lack of proper caregivers in his infant and toddler years and shockingly bad eyesight for being a six year old.

Quackity tries to get Wilbur to go home by telling Slime his friend was gonna have to go home so that he could take Slime to the eye doctor, but Slime tells Quackity “you can’t take me to an eye doctor. Your eyes are healthy. Can Fundy’s dad go instead his eyes aren’t healthy so he would be better” (thats really ooc forgive me please). Anyways, Quackity is a sucker for anything Slime wants especially since his feels really guilty in the moment. So he does say yes.

I have a much more detailed version of the whole glasses debacle, if you want that, but tbh I do not expect this post to be something anyone is actively waiting for anymore. Once again my bad for waiting so long. There were a lot of little things I hc abt Wilbur and his childhood that related to glasses that would’ve served as a bonding type of moment nd i believe i have all of that written down somewhere in my discord dms.

Anyways. I am kind of struggling to remember it all, but I did plan on Quackity and Wilbur trying to keep things professional for a chapter after that, as they were nearing the class Christmas party i believe. Maybe I don’t remember my own fics current time line but it’s fine it’s so chill. But basically when they do set up and help run the class Christmas party since they are co room moms. One of the activities is making a little handmade ornament. It’s meant to be like a gift the kids make to bring home to their parents. However, during the party Slime winds up giving his to Wilbur instead of Quackity. Quackity is not happy about this to say the least, especially since him and wilbur aren’t on the best of terms. Quackity expected Wilbur to shove it in Quackitys face and brag about winning, but instead he just awkwardly tried to give it to Quackity because he felt really bad about the fact that it happened. Quackity refuses to accept it and just kind of keeps to himself the whole time.

When the class party ends, Nikki thanks the two for how much they did and for collaborating. She mentions that Slime had been talking about how Wilbur and Quackity had a sleepover with him and Fundy all week in their morning circle, and to top it off, there had even been a day or two where Fundy talked during the morning circle too. As Quackity and Wilbur leave the school, Wilbur attempts to check in on Quackity. usually Quackity was more vocal of what was bothering him.

When he asks what’s wrong Quackity just kinda quietly says something about how it isn’t fair that Slime likes Wilbur more than him.

Wilbur goes “thats not true. he hardly knows me”

And Quackity just says that he wouldn’t get it. And it is heavily related to the fact that Quackity has tried super hard to avoid letting anyone into his life because he didn’t wanna bring someone into Slimes life that would stick around for a while but inevitably leave. After a bit of back and forth Wilbur probably mentions something like “I dont get it. You act like I’m going anywhere. You act like you aren’t incredibly aware that I can’t leave if I want to. If either of us are the type to run away, it’s you, Quackity. You always say it’s what’s best for Slime, but I don’t know if theres a single selfless reason why you act the way you do. I know I’m selfish, but I never asked to be in this situation. And I’m not saying you did. But for someone who always looks so miserable, you sure have no problem pushing me away. I may not have been the best friend you could have, but it’s not like you have any others. Our kids are friends, and I wont let this be the reason they can’t hang out anymore. But you have a lot of nerve pretending we don’t know too much about each other. I thought we would’ve worked out just fine together. I liked you, Quackity. And maybe I’m just an idiot, but feel like you might have liked me too”

Quackity tells him he doesn’t get it, and Wilbur decides to count his losses and drive home.

The next chapter I planned on having Wilbur being up late at night. School has gone on break and it is Christmas Eve now. For the first time in years Wilbur had actually put out a small decorative tree. He wasn’t sure why, neither him nor fundy were very enthusiastic about holidays. Fundy was in bed and Phil was sleeping too. He winds up getting out some craft supplies that he had left over from a while back, and makes his own version of a shitty ornament. In all honesty it isn’t that much better than the one Slime had made. He puts it in a bag along with a cheap botttle of wine he bought the day before. A part of him wanted to write “to replace the last of the things I took from you” on the card, but he settled on writing “merry Christmas, hope you like it” despite how much he wanted to say. The next morning after Fundy opens his gifts, he asks if Fundy wants to go have a play date with Slime, and Fundy says yes because he wants to tell Slime about the cool books he got.

The goal was for Wilbur to give Quackity the gift and for Quackity to attempt to act indifferent/frustrated but eventually crumble cuz he was really upset with himself. I did at the time plan on just figuring out this part when i got there, however it was gonna be kinda mushy with like them finally talking about it. I prob would’ve done some fuckass mistletoe cliche or something. I also thought it would’ve been funny to have Slime and Fundy see it and try and turn their Christmas Chinese takeout dinner into a surprise date to set their parents up. I don’t really know.

It is a little funny cuz i actually really dont like Christmas but it was going to become a Christmas fic due to pacing.

The epilogue would’ve been a fast forward to Wilbur and Quackity roughly 8 months later being fluffy and silly while coparenting and getting both Slime and Fundy ready for school. I wasn’t sure whether they’d be living together or not at that point, but either way it wasn’t like they wouldn’t have sleep overs pretty often. I thought it would be kinda silly if like Wilbur was helping get the kids ready so Quackity could get an extra hour of sleep since Wilbur usually was working until after Quackity had already picked up the kids from school. There would be some days where Quackity packed the kids lunches and some where they got to buy it at school. Some days Quackity would worry about what the kids were gonna wear and others Wilbur just let them pick whatever they wanted. Essentially just illustrating the balance that would be achieved after they got together with both families benefiting from the best of both worlds. Wilbur would’ve learned to be a more involved and responsible parent and Quackity would’ve learned to not micro manage every little thing that happened. And from that point on they both became co room moms until Fundy and Slime got sick of their parents wanting to be involved with every school function

I have more things i saved in case y’all want anymore!! So just let me know and i will actually get back to you in a timely manner I promise this time !!! Hope this all made sense it has been so long since I talked abt atstafg

[antisocialmia]

Dr. W. Afton headcanons

sfw and nsfw mentioned -> mdni

gen!neutral reader, just silly thoughts and mostly sweet (I hope) probably not readproof so sorry for any writing mistakes.

Dr. W. Afton from the game 'Thats Not My Neighbour'

Disclaimer!! I dont own the character or anything. Just trying to support the creators.

Art credits: @_.calitryx on TikTok

Appearance

probably about 5'11 to 6'0 tall

takes really good care of his facial hair (the maximum it gets are two days before he shaves again)

see him something between slim and yet muscular, sleeper build

slim waist and his shoulders on the broader side

Cake. Thats it.

his hands are rather on the rough side but he tries to take care of them

long fingers and takes the cleaning of his hands very seriously??

he has defined features but not like too sharp

Random

he has knee issues

addicted to coffee, also his very first thought after waking up

has a habit of sleeping in when he has a day off

or so he says ─ the first time you slept over he was awake at 7.

takes a lot of time for his hair in the bathroom

was insecure about his nose in his teens but learned to accept it nonetheless

he's left-handed

randomly mutturs out some facts throughout the day

he needs to push up his glasses pretty often because he once broke them by sitting down on them but refused to get them fixed

"its only a little bent." Yeah, a whole 90 degrees

he has a picture of you in his wallet

probably all his colleges know about you at this point

he's such a yapper once talking about a topic he enjoys maybe just a little too much ─ but you let him because who can say no to someone like him?

notices the tiniest changes of literally anything

going from things laying somewhere else in his apartment to the act of a person he's talking to

also the type of guy who watches you look at something a little too long and buys it for you as a present later

he remembers everything, literally has the brain of an elephant. 'I remember you saying you wish you had that so I got it for you.'

Style

you might actually mistake him for a phyics teacher (that damn checker pattern)

closet is mostly filled with linen shirts and some suit pants

'thats all he ever needed' ─ his words

color variates, he has almost every color but those bright ones.

of course he has some home clothes (you love to steal)

comfortable sweats and cozy sweaters

great taste when it comes for comfortable clothing ─ always manages to get the most fluffy ones too.

for jewlery, he only wears his watch around his left wrist

Activities

he probably has a gym membership but never actually goes

if you go tho, he might join you

in his freetime he loves to jog

loves to explore new things, like new recipes to new games (If mobile or not)

playfights usually end up with him laying down on you with his full weight

always has a stupid grin on his face when he does that

Apartment

he's completely clean, not freaky clean tho

there's not a single dust grain

but hes not too pressed about it ─ he simply enjoys tidying his apartment

gives him some sort of comfort

you can also find sometimes his clothes over the couch or laying on the ground, which is rare but it happens

his job doesnt require too much of his time so he has plenty of time at home

Relationships

like said before, he had some insecurities

confidence wasnt his thing in his teens (He was probably one of those 'uhm actually' kids but unintentionally.)

changed in his 20's ─ went out regulary but never found anything that could have gone further

which changed when you came around

so, he indeed was experienced but you taught him things aswell

love language is physical touch and acts of service (also words of affirmation)

loves random hugs and gives them too

huge on pda and shows it too

he really loves to just embrace you and cuddle with you on the couch or in bed while watching a movie or show

sleeping with him is hell

he's tussing and turning all night long, but only If you arent in his grasp

once youre trapped in his arms there's no way out and he wont move a single inch

small snores, but only once in a while ─ barely noticable too.

has all sorts of nicknames for you 'baby' , 'love' , 'honey' , 'sugar' , 'cupcake' you name it.

NSFW -> mdni

a complete switch

service dom

lives to do what you tell him to

to the location -> probably everywhere in the apartment when youre up to it

high-sex drive and probably lasts atleast 2 rounds

gets super touchy when he's worked up and just hints what he wants instead of saying it directly

he's shy! Just catch up to what he's implying.

knows the difference between harder and faster

also, not exactly into hard bdsm but isnt shy to explore with you either

praising to the top with him

you wont catch him letting out one word that would degrade

loves physical touch so this is his time to shine

body worshiping

kisses every inch of skin his lips can reach and then again

always tells you how good youre doing and how proud he is of you for taking him that well.

he's not.. exactly small either

a true mystery how he keeps it hidden beneath those forbidden pants

he loves to mark you, not for claiming and only for his eyes to see (maybe on the nape of your neck but not further)

basically, he does it how you want it. Romantic, slow and tender? He's in with all at it. Rose pedals even.

in the mood for something more rough and- ahem- man handling? Sure. He's in. But expect a godly aftercare ─ he can't stand the thought of hurting you

Aftercare

whenever, he's all sweet and gentle

acting as If youre made out of glass and will break any moment

once again he'll do anything you ask him to do.

a bath? 'Of course, my love.' Just a simple glass of water? Its already on your nightstand. Cuddles? Thats already happening before you had the thought. A massage? 'Just relax,'

a dream, literally.

he'll clean you both up without a second thought and wont let you lift a finger

if you do, youre met with a pouty expression on his face.

Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed it. A little rushed.

[strwberri-milk]

Okay!! I got the perfect idea for the req 😈

Kaeya sending his wife!reader suggestive pics when she's at work and she gets very shy seeing it but ignores him bc she has to get work done. When she gets home he's in a very revealing outfit, he pins her down on the bed & only rides her strap to get back at her. He does praise her a lot tho and promises to reward her if she's being good & stays still. ofc its dom!kaeya and subby reader🤭 (im uncomfy with being degraded so i'd appreciate it if u keep that out in the fic) thank you <3

Please tell me what u think of this ask 💗

thank you for the request <33 i love this kind of kaeya sm and i hope you like this!! i gotta start working on some of my fluff for kaeya to counteract all the smut ive been writing recently lolol

Payback's A Bitch

Kaeya x AFAB, Fem Reader || Smut || 2 641 words

“And, perfect!” 

Kaeya grins to himself as he scrolls through the photos on his phone. All of them present him scantily clad, eye hooded and hand resting delicately on his waist. His fingers toy with the hem of his sweatpants, pulling it in such a way that it begins to reveal the hair at the base of his navel while simultaneously outlining his hard cock. 

He knows that his lovely little wife is going to absolutely love the photo he’s taken, sending it to you with a grin on his face. Thankfully, you’ve left your read receipts on so he can see that you’ve seen the message. He watches excitedly to see those little bubbles pop up on the other side, anxious to see your response. 

All he gets is the slow passage of time and no response from you. It’s not like you not to respond – anything he sends you is usually at least given an emoji or something really sloppily typed. As far as he knows, you just merely glanced at it and didn’t realise fully what he sent because he had too many clothes. 

He strips down a little more, taking off his shirt and eye patch. This time, his pants are pulled down far enough to see the beginnings of his shaft, poorly hidden under his boxers. Kaeya quickly sends that off, not expecting you to see it immediately yet no response. 

At this point he tries a barrage of images, only to be left on seen. At some point you stop looking, not even when he sends a video. It’s clear to him that he’s being ignored, but unfortunately for you his cunning mind was not about to let that happen without any sort of retaliation. 

“Kaeya? I’m home,” you call out, pulling your phone out again to read his very straightforward message. 

Get ready and find me. Check the box at the door. 

The box in question contains Kaeya’s new favourite strap-on. Your face flushes a little as you imagine a needy Kaeya at your feet, clearly worked up from all the photos and videos he sent you throughout your day at work. You’re not sure what he’s got in mind but you know that he’s got you all melted down in the palm of his hand, more than just a little desperate to feel his touch against your skin. 

Quickly, you make your way up to the bedroom after doing as he asked, deciding that it would make the most sense to find him there. The door swings open, Kaeya sitting on the bed with a shit eating grin as he eyes the straps sitting on your hips above the waist of your pants, pulling you in by them and bringing you to stand between his legs when he sits back down. 

“Can’t stop staring huh?” he purrs, loving the attention you’re finally giving him. 

“I got all dressed up nice and pretty just for you. Don’t you like it?” 

He brings your hand to run down his exposed chest, button up barely buttoned and tucked underneath the almost skin tight pants that outline everything on the lower half of his body perfectly. 

You lean down for a kiss, lips slotting together perfectly and you think that he’ll just let the two of you take your time with each other. Your hands rest on his shoulder, expecting to be able to just hold him when you’re suddenly thrown down onto the sheets, staring back up at that smirk he had before. 

“W-what are you doing?” you gasp, whimpering a little as he takes off your bottoms and readjusts your strap accordingly. 

“Punishing you. I haven’t been sitting around all day waiting for you just to have nothing to show for all that effort,” he grins, quickly working to lube up the toy. 

“You’ve spent all day ignoring me sweetheart, you really think I’m going to let you off that easily?” 

Your eyes go wide at the sound of his words, letting him continue as you try to figure out what to say in response. 

“So now because you ignored me, I’m going to ignore you. But, unlike your cold shoulder I will repay your kindness for all this but only if you behave. How does that sound?”

You know that he’s asking you for your consent right now, pausing in his preparation to see if you’ll try to tell him off. When you nod in reply his playful face returns, easily straddling your hips after removing his pants. He keeps his shirt on, only unbuttoning the rest of it as he slots your cock between his cheeks, his own twitching at the thought of finally having you inside of him. 

“Anything else?” you ask him. 

“Nothing. Just keep your eyes on me, alright doll?” he replies, words turning to a soft moan as he sits down on your dick. 

Kaeya takes your hands in his, fingers tightening as he slowly begins to bounce on your lap, biting his lip as he sets his own pace. You do just as he asks, wishing he would let go of your hands so you could touch him more. The way he looks on top of you always sends a chill down your spine, absolutely enraptured with the way his gaze keeps yours as though the lewd sound of his ass smacking against your body and the bobbing of his girth against his stomach was something he wanted to show off. You’re sure he actually does want to show off, practically preening under your watchful eye as his pace begins to pick up, making the noises slipping out of his lips even louder. 

“Fuck – your cock feels so good,” he sighs, throwing his head back to show you the delicious expanse of his neck. You’ve never felt the desire to kiss him more than right now you think, wanting to feel the way his throat constricts with his needy noises and hold his waist to help guide his pace. 

Like this however, Kaeya’s got you right where he wants you. He can see the way you want him to give you your freedom back, the instinctive bucking of your hips into him to hit that spot inside of him that makes him see stars. The way your eyes linger on parts of his body isn’t missed by him, smirking as you bring them back down to watch the spot where your bodies join. 

“What are you thinking about baby?” he starts to croon, leaning over your body with your joined hands to pin them down at the sides of your head. 

“Thinking about how pretty I look sitting on your dick? Or how badly you want to wrap that sweet mouth of yours around my cock? You’re doing so good just being a toy for me, just sit tight and if you make me cum then I’ll give you anything you want, alright?” 

“Yes darling,” you manage to whimper, heart stopping at the close proximity of his face to yours. 

Your hands clenched into fists as he lets go of them, instead holding you down by your wrists as he begins to bounce in earnest. Quickly, you match his pace with your hips and fuck into him, making sure to pay close attention to the noises he makes as you shift your hips around. Kaeya’s a good teacher and you know you’ve found your spot when he almost collapses onto your body at the feeling of the blunt head hitting against his prostate. 

He presses kisses against your neck, eyes closed in bliss at the feeling of you fucking him just the way he needs without even having to ask. He’s a little proud he’s trained you so well, knowing that your reward will have to be just as sweet. His hips eagerly buck into yours, pretty noises pressed right up against your ear, stuttered words of praise making you even more anxious to please him. 

“That’s it,” he starts, cutting off his own words with a hearty moan. 

“You’re doing so good for me. I knew you could fuck me just the way I’ve been wanting you to. Now, just sit still and let me do all the work, okay? I did say it was a punishment after all.” 

He sits back up, this time taking your hands and putting them on his waist. When your fingers dig into his skin lightly he shakes his head, almost about to scold you before you loosen your grip to his approval. Once he’s got himself back in position, he gives you a wink before resuming his previous pace, fucking himself recklessly as he focuses solely on pursuing his pleasure. 

You resist the urge to buck into him, wanting to aid him but judging by the way his cock throbs as it bounces against his stomach it’s clear he’s enjoying himself. Kaeya looks back down at you, letting his moans sound even lewder as he sprinkles in calls of your name, making sure the aggressive way he slams down on your hips keeps you pinned under his weight. You try to take your hand off his hips, wanting to grab his cock to add to his pleasure but as soon as he feels your grip falter he shoots you a glare, reaching for it himself as soon as you resume your grip.

“Look how hard my dick is for you pretty doll, it’s so fucking desperate for you to touch it. See how much it’s leaking? That’s all just for you darling,” he groans, hand moving up and down his shaft quickly. 

“You’re gonna make me cum – fuck – beg me for it. Tell me how badly you want me to cum for you,” Kaeya pants, barely able to hold back his incoming orgasm. 

“Please cum,” you whine, digging your nails into him – without resistance, thankfully – as you do your best not to squirm under him. 

“I want you to cum, please,” you continue to beg, eyes unable to leave his body as he cums with a loud moan of your name. 

He seats himself fully on your dick, now grinding against it as his cock fucks into his fist. You watch his cum spill over his hand, some of it landing on both of your remaining clothes. Kaeya’s hand finally slows, beginning to languidly stroke himself, prolonging his pleasure with a satisfied groan. He shudders lightly as his body enters the post orgasmic haze, getting off of you and undressing the two of you fully. 

“You got another round in you love?” he asks, parting your legs over his waist. 

“Only if you want to,” you mutter, not wanting to force him into anything after all the effort he went through. 

“Of course I do. I told my pretty baby I’d give her a reward, didn’t I?’ 

Before you’re given the chance to respond you gasp over the feeling of his fingers teasing your soaked slit, knowing that the damp spot underneath you was purely from watching Kaeya enjoy himself on your body. He leans over and presses a kiss to your lips at the same time as his fingers enter you, easily giving him access to your mouth. His tongue slips in immediately, stroking against yours as he kisses you. You can barely focus on the way his lips and tongue move, more preoccupied with the lewd sound of your wetness being fucked by his lithe fingers. 

You moan against his mouth, hips bucking into his touch as he scissors you open in preparation for his cock. You can feel it hardening against your thigh, wanting nothing more than for him to be ramming his thick length into you. 

“You want me bad, huh,” he says lowly into your ear, rutting against your thigh as you arch into him. 

“I was good, wasn’t I? So I get my reward?” you ask, getting your response in actions, not words. 

His length sinks into you as soon as you finish speaking, bottoming out and only giving you a moment to adjust before he starts fucking you at his own pace. He still seems pent up from earlier, your moans unable to be silenced as your legs wrap around his waist and nails scratch down his back. Kaeya watches hungrily as your tits bounce wildly at the rough pace he sets, your warm and tight pussy quickly reminding him why he was so obsessed with it. 

“You did so well for me, made me cum so fucking hard. You want my cum, don’t you? Want me to fill you up all nice so you remember who you belong to? Remember why you don’t ignore me when I work so hard to make sure I look good for you?” 

“Yes, yes, thank you Kaeya – you feel so good – I’m so sorry for ignoring you,” you cry out, hips writhing in his grip. 

“It’s okay sweetheart. I know you were busy but now I have this pretty body to play with, don’t I?’ he teases, bringing both his hands to tease at your nipples.

Your pussy clenches tightly over him, making it harder for him to fuck you but he doesn’t care. He gropes at your tits, practically using them as leverage at the same time as his hips increase in pace and strength. The way he slams home inside of you every time makes you see stars behind your eyes, sobbing when you feel his tongue beginning to tease one of your stiff peaks as a finger starts to circle your clit. 

“You’re so fucking tight,” he breathes against your chest, reveling in the fact that you’ve been reduced to whimpers. 

“Fucking me wasn’t enough for you, right? I know you were desperate to have my cock splitting you in two. You’re so cute.” 

He licks and sucks on you, the feeling of the suction against your nipple adding to your pleasure as your lower core tightens in anticipation for your rapidly approaching orgasm. Kaeya’s pace falters as you squeeze around him so tight he almost can’t pull out, only getting rougher with his mouth and fingers as he feels the sporadic way your walls clench over his girth to bring you to that peak. 

“Cum for me,” he growls against you, his words finally giving you that final push you needed to cum all over him. 

Kaeya’s glad you came quickly, unable to hold back as he folds your legs up to your tits, hands bracing themselves against the underside of your thigh and exposing your pussy to him. His eye stays trained on the way your lower lips spread to accommodate his size, fucking into you like an animal as he finally cums inside of you. You can feel his seed shooting inside of you, whimpering and moaning softly as his slowing pace draws some of it out of you, shaking under his weight and the pleasurable feeling of your orgasm as he draws it out for the two of you. Your arm rests against your eyes as you catch your breath, feeling Kaeya pull out of you and press kisses against your thigh. 

“Pretty baby,” he coos, pulling your arm back to press some kisses against your cheek. 

“You’re such a good girl, I knew you’d make it up to me despite ignoring me all day.” 

Kaeya wraps his arms around you, pulling you over his body as he runs his fingers through your hair. 

“Rest now, okay? I’ll be right here when you wake up. You deserve it.”

Kaeya’s warm words have you nodding, lazily pressing kisses against his bare chest. 

“I love you so much Kaeya,” you mumble against him, brain much too murky to say anything more profound. 

“I love you too,” he replies quietly, pulling your blanket over your bodies as he falls asleep with you. 

[mwagneto]

sherlock & co. review from an insane person (me) coz this is like. the 25th? sherlock adaptation i've checked out so ofc i have opinions on everything ever. and ik ppl who work on indie podcasts browse tumblr sometimes so just in case you work on this DON'T click keep reading, this post is not for youuu shoo. thanks x

ok so far it's like. fine? which is lowkey sad coz i wish it was smtg i really liked but it hasn't gripped me yet which is a shame but yknow. early days. i'm giving it time since it's only 15 episodes so far

my main issue is like. i really wish it wasn't so obviously influenced by bbc but it just so clearly is which is a shaaame like it's better than bbc in every aspect but yknow. not a high bar to clear. like it kinda feels like they liked a lot of things abt bbc and set out to fix the bad parts (h&w friendship being nonexistent, the mysteries being shit) but just kept the rest? in some places keeping things that were invented by bbc which is. baffling tbh

i'm not really picky when it comes to h&w personalities like i think it's fine to just do whatever you want w them, i think it's really fun when an adaptation gives them different personalities than what you're used to but, and this is where it feels far too bbc-ish for comfort, i just don't like it when sherlock is a cunt for no reason? like. he's not a mean person he's only mean in bbc coz moffat thought house md was cool and ripped it off. can we stop making him mean pleeeease 😭 he's just some guy..................

h&w relationship wise it's like... ok so i tend to go into adaptations with a fully clean slate so like i never let my general attachment to them influence how i view them in specific adaptations, the work itself needs to sell me on both the characters and the relationship and like... here neither of those really happened yet which makes me sad coz i think by now it should've but i'm giving it time. at least they're friends and i like that watson is useful for cases/knows things holmes doesn't sometimes coz thats like. such an essential element to sh stories for me and a loooottt of adaptations tend to just completely forget it so that's a win but idk if anything they're too tame? like i dont expect a romance but they can't just be casual friends they need to be bat shit crazy about each other. to me. but like maybe that'll develop over the rest of the podcast we'll see

kinda related to that point but case-wise i think holmes is a bit too ahead of everyone else sometimes which isn't inherently a problem but it does once again smell of bbc which like. noone should ever emulate moffat writing don't do that 🙏 god bles. but i've been able to solve every case along with/before the mcs which is like. thee point of mystery stories for me so yea i really like the stories themselves so far, especially the way they manage to make them solvable even without visuals or narration. OH and i almost forgot but i rly like the soundtrack, i love it when sh soundtracks have a heavy emphasis on violins coz. yknow

howeverr i am on my hands and knees begging them not to give watson a girlfriend tho like please oh myfffucking god . obvs watsonlock doesn't usually factor into my enjoyment of adaptations given that like. y'know. out of the hundreds out there theres only two where either of them is even gay so it's not something i expect nor require but like. to me it is essential that these two ppl are insane abt each other and don't really have anyone else, definitely noone important. like even the rdj movies got this despite ritchie's obsession w the 2 men 1 woman dynamic so idk why i'm constantly having to wage a war against random unnecessary romances for either watson or, god forbid, holmes. when the only interesting relationship either of these men have is with each other. that one granada holmes quote about them choosing not to include mary coz holmes and watson dont need anyone else etc etc. like i seriously dislike it when they introduce anyone else like cmonnnnnn thog dont care

anyway tldr. i guess if asked to pick a short description i'd say. promising? i hope it's gonna be good in the long run. the way they do mysteries is already something i like so. i hope they keep that up and i hope the h&w relationship evolves into something i enjoy coz so far i'm like. i can see the bones of smtg i'll potentially like but it's not there yet. but also like. this is an indie production i'm listening to for free so ion wanna rip into it these are mainly just what i liked/disliked based on the preferences i developed with this one quick trick (grow up completely insane abt sherlock holmes -> consume every adaptation that you can get your paws on -> no profit)