#moan about it all you want but its the truth

[wordsaresimple-imnot]

The game continues (Truth or dare part 2) - Joe Toye x F!Reader

Summary: Part two of "Truth or dare". Toye and Reader go to his room to finish what they started earlier that night.

Warnings: 18+ content, smut (p in v), slight male dom, oral teasing (male receiving), female pronouns/body parts.

A/N: I have the biggest respect for the real life heroes of WWII (and all other wars, past & current), this work & all other works is based on the actor(s) and character(s) portrayed in the Band of Brothers series.

A/N pt 2: Full discloser, this story took on a mind of its own and ended up filthier than I planned. But I regret nothing. As always, please like, comment, reblog :) :) :) They keep me going.

As promised, @imaginethatneathuhpartdos here's part two! I hope you like it!!

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True to his word, Joe was waiting for me when I walked out of the medic station thoroughly exhausted. Without speaking, he tossed the cigarette he was holding away, grabbed my hand and started leading us towards the housing areas. When we reached the building housing the NCO's, Joe did a quick look around then ushered me inside quickly before a patrol officer saw me. Up a flight of stairs and past two doors later we were inside Joe's room.

The second the door clicks shut, Joe locks it and spins us around so I am effectively pinned between it and him. He teasingly brushes his lips against mine before trailing kisses across my cheek to my ear.

"I've been distracted all fucking night, thanks to you. A Kraut tank could have drove right past me and I wouldn't have noticed or cared." His breathe is hot against my ear, followed by a soft kiss. I turn my head and place a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"Did you touch yourself?" I, too, was distracted all night thinking about him but I wasn't about to admit it.

Joe pulls back enough to meet me eyes, a smirk on his face, "A good soldier follows orders, ma'am." He presses his hips against mine and I can feel how hard he still is. I grab his jacket and keep him anchored against me.

"Well done, soldier. I guess I should reward you." I move us around so he's now leaning against the door. "Let's continue our game, but it's going to be all truths. So, how do you want your reward: hand or mouth?" When he doesn't immediately respond, I run my hand down his chest, stomach and stop right on top of his bulge giving it a hard squeeze. "Hands or mouth, Sergeant?"

Joe's eyes are nearly black with arousal as he breathes out, "Mouth."

In a flash, I'm on my knees unbuckling his belt and pulling his layers down until his penis is free. The tip is flushed red with precum leaking out. I glance up, meeting his gaze as I lean forward and lick his tip clean.

"Fucking tease." Joe grits out behind clenched teeth, his breathing hard and uneven already. I shoot him a smirk and while I would have loved to have drawn this out, he wasn't the only one horny beyond belief. Opening my mouth wide, I lean forward again and take as much of him as I can without gagging. "Goddamn!" Joe groans above me and I feel his hand tangle in my hair, holding tight.

He lets me set the pace, starting in slow bobs with my tongue swirling around his tip and the vein running up his underside. I can tell he's getting antsy when his hips buck lightly up and his grip in my hair gets tighter. At a small tug on my strands, I moan around his penis and he lets out a hiss. Picking up my pace, I use one hand to stroke what isn't in my mouth, squeezing his base and slip the other between my thighs to alleviate some of my own throbbing.

Joe's thrusts start to become harder and he's cursing with every breathe he lets out. Soon he's tugging my head back and off of him, ignoring my attempts to keep going.

"I promise I'll cum in your mouth next time baby. Right now, I need to cum in your pussy." He doesn't wait for a response, just pulls me flush against him and plunges his tongue inside my mouth. These kisses are possessive and leave no room doubt that Joe Toye is in control now.

I'm positive a button or two gets ripped from our clothes in our haste to be naked, but neither of us give a damn at this point. Joe pushes me down onto the bed, hands gripping my thighs as he kneels between them, drinking me in. Slowly he leans over me, hovering just a hairs breathe away from touching me and flips the game on me.

"Back or knees?" My brain is practically mush at this point and I can't fully comprehend what he's asking. He gives a slap to my thigh, bringing my thoughts out of a haze for a moment while he repeats his question. "You staying like this or or getting on your knee's for me again?"

"Knee's." Joe's kissing me hard as the word flies from my mouth, dominating me yet again. He bites my lip hard as he pulls away and slaps my thigh again, signaling me to flip around. No sooner am I on my hands and knee's before him, then I feel his fingers stroking me, spreading my wetness around.

"Next game, I'm tying you to this bed and counting how many times I can make you cum with my tongue and fingers." His voice is dark and full of a promise I know he will keep. My only response is to moan and push my hips back towards him. One of his hands grabs hold of my hip so hard I know it'll bruise, and love that, and the other trails up my spine and grabs a fistful of hair again.

Without warning, he lines himself up and bottoms out inside me. We curse at the same time, reveling in the feeling of finally being connected after so much build up, and between one breathe and the next he starts fucking me.

The pace is brutal and primal and perfect. First he uses his hand in my hair to shove my upper half more onto the bed, angling my hips to hit me deeper and grinding every time he bottoms out. All thoughts have left my mind and the only thing I can focus on is the feeling of him and trying to breathe. Behind me, Joe is bouncing between compliments and cursing.

"Fuck. You're so goddamn tight. Jesus Christ, baby. You were made for me."

The next time he bottom's out, he pulls me up so my back is flush with his front and then goes back to his previous pace. The hand that was on my hip, moves around and up my stomach, so he can massage my breasts and tweak my nipples. Joe uses his leverage in my hair to turn my head at the right angle to give me a bruising kiss.

"Touch your clit, baby. I need you to cum." He bites my lip before giving me another hard kiss. My hand flies down to my bud and starts rubbing furiously to help me fall over the edge. Joe's thrusts start to become sloppy and I know he's just as close as I am. "I'm close, doll. Hurry up. Cum!" He drops his head and bites my shoulder hard enough I wouldn't be surprised if it drew blood.

The combination of pain and pleasure tips me over and if he wasn't hold me up with his arm I would have collapsed into the bed. My orgasm triggers his and he cums with a loud shout. Joe manages a few more ruts before shifting us so we fall onto the bed on our sides, his arms tangled around me keeping us pressed together.

Is it minutes or hours that go by, neither of us know or care. We eventually part, Joe uses his undershirt to clean up between my legs, passing me a clean t-shirt to sleep in. After he's finished cleaning up the best he can, he tosses on a pair of underwear and pulls a blanket over the both of us, dragging me to lay across his chest. As the afterglow sets in and mixes with our previous exhausting, we manage quiet 'goodnights' and fall into a deep sleep.

Bonus scene: The next day

"You're a dumb ass, you know that?" I say, working on finishing up a few stitches on Guarnere's forehead. He had tried to jump between some ruble on patrol and needless to say he didn't make it.

"But I'm still handsome right?" He shoots me an overly confident smirk. I just roll my eyes and laugh.

"Not my type, but I'll confirm with the other nurses that like to stare at you."

"Speaking of you type, there was some pretty loud noises going on in the house last night. And Toye has a big ass mark on his neck. Know anything about it?" He starts to laugh as I feel my cheeks burn, and I not so accidently pull on the last stitch harder than needed to make him wince.

"I haven't a clue what you're talking about." Before he can make a smart ass remark back, Tab comes walking into the medic station flowers in hand. Guarnere and I share a slightly confused look, as the former man stops in front of us.

"Gee, thanks Tab. But daisy's ain't really my favorite." Guarnere jokes.

Tab just ignores him and looks at me, "Do you know where Emily is? I heard she was working a shift today?"

"Yeah, she's in the supply closet. End of the hall." I wave vaguely and watch him nearly jog out of sight.

"What the hell was that?" I ask out loud, not really expecting an answer.

"Must have been what Toye wanted to talk to him about at breakfast. Something about owing Emily a 'thank you'." Guarnere gave me a curious look as I started smiling. Instead of elaborating, I snip off the end of his stitch and nod at my handing work, taking a step back.

"There, good as new. Try to not screw up my hard work." Guarnere hops off the bed.

"Thanks, sweetheart. Now if you don't mind, could you point out the nurses that stare at me?"

#band of brothers #joe toye #joe toye x reader #hbo war #hbo band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic

[captain-noir]

now that i have rereread iwtv i realize that rolins is godsent wallahi this show would be doa if we got a one to one straight adaptation and not because of any content issues or the moral constitution of a modern audience but because that shit would have been boring as hell. like change the channel, scroll thru twitter diy lobotomy sesh boring. love the book, truly a formative masterpiece but if i had to sit through it in visual format id kill myself 

#yaz chats to the void #interview with the vampire #its the same reason why i watched the movie three times. once when i was a kid and it introduced me tvc #once after the pilot aired and immediately found the movie grubby in comparison #and once with great effort after the finale of the show to see how it held up and my eyes glazed over #meanwhile i have read the book cover to cover six or seven times #some things are unadaptable and or some things work better in literary format #was gonna say that the show wouldve been a series of guys talking in rooms like it already isnt lmaoooo #but its done cleverly and with panache #and the changes made to all the characters is what elevates the story #moan about it all you want but its the truth

[visionsofmagic]

❝screaming another man’s name while being fucked by him❞

including: zoro, luffy, sanji, shanks [opla versions]

―❛ nsfw, brat!reader, f!reader, possessive behaviour, chocking (kinda), licking, different positions, daddy kink, swearing, pet names, spanking, angry sex, humiliation, begging, fingering, oral > f receiving, marking, claiming, mentions of voyeurism, hair, ‘is all  I suppose. ✸ wc: 2.3k ✸ posted only zoro’s version but didn’t appear on tags, so, I repost that part with others’ parts too. tried to stay in characters. enjoy!

⭑ ZORO

“oohhh - sanji!”

you moaned, not aware of your own moans until he asked, voice deep, sending radiations of danger.

“what did you just say?”

hands on your waist freezing, the pressure still on there yet it doesn’t continue pulling and pushing your body, stopping fucking you - the sudden silence in the room fills up with heavy breathing.

he holds you by the neck, raising your body up, he makes your back touch his bare chest, back arching - his cock twists inside your walls.

“I asked,” he says, warm breaths hitting your ear as his voice reaches every part of your body as if it's a poison - and he is the only cure for it. “what did you fucking say.”

it wasn’t intentional - you didn’t mean to moan another man’s name in the middle of fucking, but, it came as an instinct.

“z-zoro - I - didn’t mean to - aggh -!”

“didn’t mean to what? moaning another man’s name?” he chuckled, far away from entertaining, just pure annoyance. “moaning sanji’s name while my dick inside you, breakin’ you into half, hm?”

you can’t answer, you can’t even comprehend what to do because you don’t understand why you moaned sanji’s name. however, zoro knows you more than you do, and owns every knowledge about the hidden meanings behind your actions, words, and looks - he isn’t dumb, he knows how you close your thigh around sanji whenever he cooks, watching him from the corner of your eyes as you bite your lips without even noticing it.

it is not that zoro doesn’t get jealous, he does and he will prove it right away yet he wants to satisfy you in every way he can - he can see the truth behind the whole thing; you want the full attention that you try to make him angry with all these acts, and you have no idea that you’re doing all that only for him - for zoro so that he can get possessed around you.

he’s a pleaser though, for you, and he will plan your little game, giving what you want.

“maybe I should call him,” he says, and whimpers when your pussy clenches around his length on its own - pure instinct, pure satisfaction. he smirks, pride runs in his veins, he really knows you - each hit point, each desire, everything. he leaves your body, bending it over again, ass getting higher.

he begins to fuck you so slow that you swear you will lose your mind anytime soon as his cock goes out of your horny clit until his tip touches your folds, only to shove it in again with a hard yet effective thrust.

weren’t his hands holding you by the hips, you would hit the wall in front of your face - moaning louder than before, afraid that the crew will hear you as you get fucked by furious zoro.

“ohh, I definitely should call him. wanna make him watch your pretty face as I fuck your hungry pussy for my cock,” he says, thrusting faster each passing time, making your hands grip the sleeves under you. “would you like that?” he asks, balls hitting every right spot of your ass cheeks, thrust begins to mixture of both pain and pleasure.

“ohhh - zoro - zoro -!”

“that’s right baby. roronoa zoro,” he kneels down, abdomen touching your back, dick reaches the end of your pussy, a hand grips your hair, pulling it harshly, “scream my fucking name louder, wanna hear it, wanna everyone hear it as well.”

“‘m sorry, zoro, ‘m so sorry -“

“oh please,” he mocks you, leaving your hair, only to hold you by the neck this time, pushing you onto the mattress lower, cries rush onto your face. soaking, you moan his name over and over again. “you’re not sorry at all. you’re just a slut, aren’t you?” his fingers play with your ass hole, sending a new sense of satisfaction into your body, “a slut only for my cock though,” he whispers into himself, slapping your ass, earning a scream out of your pretty parted lips.

then, he turns you around, and the cock swifts inside you - standing above you, he puts one of his hands beside your head, and the other one grips your neck completely, making you look up to his face - he finds the pace that he knows that will make you see starts.

eyes sparkling with lust as you look at him, half-closed, blurry already, dry tears on the cheeks, chest raising up and down rapidly while his cock fucks your abused clit harder, and deeper. “yes my slut,” he says, possessiveness can be heard through his voice, “look at who’s fucking you right now. not luffy, not that shitty waiter sanji either. just roronoa zoro. who’s fucking you? whose pussy is this? say it.”

“roro - ohhhh, shit - roronoa z-zoro!”

he nods with such pride that he smirks, still furious, but enjoying this so much that he decides to fuck you in every position he can until the whole crew knows you’re getting fucked by him in his damn room, crying only his name. “that’s it my pretty slut, you will never forget it. from now on, I will dig it into your dizzy head so that your legs will open on their own whenever you see me.”

“please, yes, yes, zoro!” going all mindless, you let him do what he wants - after all, this is what you wanted, isn’t it?

“pretty slut. gotta make you know who you belong to.”

⭑ LUFFY

“fuuuck - usopp!” the words - the moan comes out of you without your control, making his head higher up.

“huh? say somethin’ baby?” he asks, not stopping eating you from the back, fingers joined, brows raised, curiously looking at you.

“‘m so sorry, luffy - I - I wasn’t thinking straight- I - ohhh!” you try to say but your words are cut by his fingers scissoring inside you.

“oh,” he says, sounding not surprised but excited, chuckling even as he adds, “I didn’t hear it wrong then. you really moaned his name - while my tongue is deep inside you, fingering this beautiful pussy that I thought clenching because of how good I am fucking you.”

between your loud whimpers mixing with moans, you begin to say how sorry you are. you weren’t aware of it until the moment usopp’s name left your mouth. you knew it was luffy who was making you week on the knees, who’s have your legs wrapped around his bare shoulders, your pussy wide open, hands on his curly hair as you pull them whenever his tongue and fingers reach your g-spot - only he can fuck you like this, you know it! but why you moaned usopp’s name, why you pictured him in your mind beside luffy are the questions you have no answers to.

“I don’t know what happened to me - ohhh - luffy, ‘m so sorry - fuuck!”

both moaning with pleasure and crying with pure guilt, you try to hide your face from luffy, a hand positioned on your half of the face, not looking at him, afraid that you made him upset and disappointed yet luffy is there to prove you wrong when he leaves your pussy, gets up, holding you by the chin as he lowers down, making both of you hit the bed underneath you.

hovering over you, he makes you see his smiling face, lips shining because of your soaking, eyes sparkling.

“oh, pretty baby, look at me,” he says, caressing your chin, “I am not mad. not at all. if you want to bring another man into the bed -“

“no, no - I don’t - I really don’t!” you protest, so shy at the thought. you only want luffy, you know that, and you want to apologize to him for being such a greedy girl, “you’re my one and only luffy. I only want you.”

he chuckles softly, shaking his head, fingers finally finding your aching pussy again, playing with it as he says, “‘s okay. if I am the only one you want, then, let me fuck you that your whole body remember I am the one and only for it.”

he keeps his promises, fucking you until the only thing you have on your mind is him - nothing more, nothing less.

yet he doesn’t leave you without teasing you, giving you wet kisses, markings, and even slaps from here to there - enjoying seeing you all shy yet greedy for him.

⭑ SANJI

“oh yes, yes, yes, right there - so good so good - please more, zoro, please!”

“hm? what?” he asks in a surprised tone, hands stopping playing with your breasts, tongue staying on the hardened nipple without moving, eyes looking up to your confused face from where he stays on - your exposed chest.

he smirks, a bit of jealousy and entertainment at the same time, realizing you have no clue about what you said a second ago, legs push him closer - wanting his cock deep inside your warm walls to start moving again because you can’t understand why he has stopped fucking you.

“oh my beautiful madam,” he teases, “can’t even realize he moaned another man’s name while having my cock warm inside her pussy!”

your eyes widen after you comprehend the words he’s saying.

you swear lowly, hands touch his well-built chest, heat rushing all over your face, and you begin to feel guilt blooming inside your abdomen which has twisted.

“sanji - I am so sorry, I didn’t- I wasn’t -“ he cuts you off, right hand finds your neck as long fingers caress your face.

his face so close to yours as he chuckles, “oh, did my pretty lady remember who’s fucking her? not zoro, eh?”

he can’t decide whether he should feel humiliated or amused. yet he doesn’t go hard on you, moving his hips, he earns low moans from you - hands trembling on his chest, the dilemma rises up inside the mind, thoughts about zoro shuts down by sanji, he shoves his dick into you slowly and in one go as if he’s trying to remind you that you’re under him - not zoro’s or any other man’s.

“please, sanji - faster, please!” your please now is filled with his name comes as prays into his ears, the pride increases, giving sanji a chance to play with your cute little mind.

“that’s right baby, sanji - say that again.” his movements become faster, harder.

“sanji, sanji, sanji - aggh, so good -“ with the help of the last decent you have, you moan his name louder and louder, wanna make him prove that you’re mind full of him, giving him the apology he deserves in a way he would like to get; being so noisy that everyone will acknowledge what you’re doing behind the doors.

“would make a mess out of you. you will leave this room barely walking because of me,” his possession is perceivable, burning you alive with the desire for more. hands grip your inner thighs, opening them wider, a painful breath leaves your lungs as you shut your eyes, giving sanji what he wants; devouring you to tame you.

“pretty lady needs a lesson, and I am here to give it.”

⭑ SHANKS

he doesn’t say much, chuckling or laughing would suit him better but he knows you should have known that no one can fuck you like he does when another’s man comes from you - moaning with it instead of saying shank’s name.

holding you from the waist, he takes control of you, not letting you ride him no more, sweats flow from your body into his.

the moment you hear his voice, memories of the past seconds rush to your mind, and you find yourself putting your hands on his shoulders, afraid that he will push you.

contrary to what you expect, shanks moves your hips slowly, forth, and back - his balls feel heavy under you, hair on his lower abdomen makes the pleasure double.

you hold your tears; blurry vision, soaking clit, reddened face, agape mouth - pathetic yet beautiful, he thinks. “daddy’s cock isn’t enough for you, hm, is this the case why you moan another man’s name like that even when you’re,” he takes your chin, making you look down, seeing the mess you’re creating, “cumming onto my cock?”

“it’s not it, shanks!” earn a spank on your ass.

“then what is it princess?” he asks, brows raised, fingers traveling on your body, “am I not fucking you good that you fantasize about another man while bouncing on my lap?”

he lets you say countless sorry words, cries inside his arms, explaining how you didn’t mean to do that, how he’s the only one for you yet he doesn’t seem satisfied, taking a deep breath, raising your body then lowering it down - cock thrusting deep and hard.

throwing your head, you begin to beg for him to forgive you, to fuck you.

“in that case,” he says, putting himself a glass of wine from the small table beside you while still sitting on his favorite chair that he fucks you onto. leaning back, he moves his hand in the air, “fuck yourself on my cock, show me how much you can beg for my cock, then, I will forgive you and fuck your greedy pussy princess,”

he watches you going blank for a moment before beginning to bounce on him, moaning from the throat, hands traveling around your body to make a show only for his eyes.

he whimpers lowly, a smirk lightening his attractive face, eyes burning in fire, “give daddy a show. and when you’re done, I will call for him and make him watch as I fuck you good.”

❤💙

taglist • tagging: @snowprincesa1 ❦

#one piece #opla #opla x reader #opla x you #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #zoro x you #zoro x y/n #zoro smut #monkey d. luffy #luff x reader #luffy x y/n #luffy smut #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #sanji x you #sanji smut #shanks x reader #shanks smut #one piece drabbles #red haired shanks #REPOSTING A PART WITH ADDED ONES #hope you enjoyed and hope this will appear on the tags :')

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Yakuza x Reader (II)

Reader is cozying up to her unusual home, and her new friend decides to surprise her with a romantic gift. Or at least what he considers to be romantic: a small reminder that no one else can mess with her. Continuation to the yakuza landlord idea!

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]

Content: Female reader, obsessive behavior, mentions of stalking, violence, death, mild gore

Tags: @depressed-but-make-it-cute

You search for your keys and open the postal box, retrieving a thick envelope. You've been living at the new apartment for several weeks now and truth be told, you could get used to this lifestyle. Your commute to work is much shorter, the path is never devoid of people, and there are multiple bakeries on the way back with some of the best pastries you've tasted in your life.

You turn around and look for Daitou, somewhat distracted and dreamy. It really feels like a Hallmark movie. A peaceful, idyllic life. Ah, there he is! The scarred man is standing guard before one of the stores. The curtains have been pulled, blocking any glimpse of the inside. You walk towards him with a certain joyful bounce in your step. As you approach him, you can hear muffled screams coming from the building. He notices you and flashes you a smile. 

"Don't come too close, I hear the owner's been avoiding his loan payment and getting all friendly with the neighboring Family. We're questioning him in the back."

"Don't you usually do the interrogations?" 

"Only if we don't need them afterwards. I'm not too good at keeping them alive, ya know?" He scratches the back of his head and laughs awkwardly. "Do you need anything?"

You open your mouth to speak, but it's a little difficult to formulate a full sentence with the interrupted moans and cries occasionally making their way out. The door is ajar and you avoid glancing in its direction, fixating on the man before you. 

"I...uh... just wanted to know if this letter is intended for me or the landlord. It looks like an official document."

You show Daitou the envelope and just as he is about to grab it, he notices the blood stains seeped into his glove. He quickly removes it, wipes his hand on his shirt, and nonchalantly plucks the paper from your fingers.

"That's for Boss. I'll pass it on, so don't worry."

You nod and bow slightly before hurrying back home. Well, doesn't make it less of a movie, you suppose. Just more of a thriller. Or something like that. You drop your bag, slip off your shoes and throw yourself onto the futon with a loud thud. The warmth of the sheets envelops you and the wails of the shop owner become but a distant dream. 

Without the worry of stalkers, or finding a roof above your head, you can finally rest. 

Tonight is rather dark, with the moon shrouded in heavy clouds. Daitou yawns silently as he observes the masked man testing out passcodes for the entrance. Every now and then he lets out a whispered curse, crossing out another number combination on his little crumpled note. It doesn't take a genius to figure out this is the famed stalker you'd complained about earlier. No one else currently lives in the building. 

Eventually, the keypad lights up and the door unlocks. The mysterious man lifts a fist victoriously and reaches for the handle. 

"Oop! Not so fast!" Daitou drops his heavy, sinewy arm over the man's shoulders, pulling him in a friendly embrace. Like two old pals meeting at an intersection. "Let's take a walk together, what do you say? (Y/N) sleeps until noon on weekends, no need to hurry."

With a grunt, the stalker tries to shove himself out of the tightening hold, but the yakuza doesn't budge. He towers over his new friend with an unfaltering, unbothered grin. 

"Now listen, I don't blame you one bit, ya know? I ain't blind, at least not in this eye", he continues as he points to the real counterpart of his glass prosthetic, "so I'm damn well aware of a pretty girl when I see one. And (Y/N)? That's some good taste alright." 

He gives the man an affectionate pat over the chest, pulling him away from the building into one of the side streets. 

"If you want, we can have a drink before the deed, I know a good place five minutes from here. We can share some stories of our favorite girl, eh?" Daitou looks at his watch, feigning mild concern. "But I'm afraid you're not leaving this neighborhood either way. In one piece, that is." 

His arm goes limp and the masked man is released from the iron hold, tripping over from the sudden lack of support. He crawls against a wall and fumbles for something, swiftly pulling out what seems to be a pocket knife. His breathing is erratic and he points the tip of the blade towards the yakuza, now with his features darkened by a frown. He sounds like an entirely different person and the instant switch to a ragged voice startles the stranger.

"See, the trouble is, I promised miss (Y/N) I wouldn't allow a fucking dog like you to be in her presence ever again. Sadly for you, I'm a man of my word." Despite the threatening tone, his posture is relaxed and he stands before the stalker with his hands bare. 

"If I were you, I'd use that little butter knife on my own throat. I don't go easy on horny cockroaches. Especially the ones that mess with my woman." His final words spill out in a bitter growl. 

A small animal in the trashing jaws of a predator. Blood splatters and pools in the asphalt cracks and drained hands claw at the walls, hoping for an escape. As despair sinks in, the alleyway becomes quiet again, save for the merry whistle of the remaining party. Daitou carefully ties the trash bags with the focus of a child wanting to impress the parents with a chore well done. Halfway through he stops and gasps, surprised.

"Oh man, did I really just say 'my woman'? How embarrassing." He blushes and shyly pushes the wrapped slabs away. "I haven't even asked her out yet, ya know? Better not rat me out, Mr. Stalker." He snickers at his monologue and continues the cleanup. 

"Can you really not refrain yourself from smoking in here?" You try to fan away the puff of smoke, scowling at the young blonde man sitting across the table. 

"Why do you even care so much?" Kazuya groans and stuffs the remains of the cigarette in the ashtray.

"I don't want my carrot cake tasting like tobacco. You're lucky the old man is afraid of you, otherwise you would've gotten your ass banned a long time ago."

"You know, I've been thinking about it lately - haven't you gotten quite the attitude? You have a big mouth for someone surrounded by dangerous gangsters. I could blow your brains out right now." 

He lowers himself in his seat and briefly lifts his shirt, flashing a carelessly tucked in gun. He stares at you for a few seconds, as if expecting a reaction, then lets out a chuckle upon seeing your indifferent expression. 

"Shameless. You could at least try to pretend you don't know I have a soft spot for you."

"Just a wild guess, but your Boss probably wouldn't appreciate you shooting civilians in the middle of a café. That's all." You respond with a shrug. 

Your banter is interrupted by Daitou's heavy footsteps nearing in your direction. Kazuya waves, signaling your location, and kicks a chair out, inviting his friend to join. 

"Where the hell were you last night? I thought you'd come with us for drinks after that long ass questioning."

"Sorry, I had to take care of something." Daitou returns an apologetic smile and tilts his head to gaze at you. "Which reminds me, I brought you this."

Your eyes widen in surprise and a faint red tints your cheeks. Was there some special occasion you didn't know about? He places a small box in your hands and leans back in his chair with a cheerful smirk on his face. Kazuya watches the interaction, equally curious as you. 

You open the mysterious gift, giddy with anticipation. The nauseating smell abruptly invades your nostrils and you can feel the contents of your stomach bubble up and pile at the back of your throat. You gag involuntarily and slap your hands over your mouth, as the box tumbles down. A single severed human finger and some teeth glistening with moisture roll out. 

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

Kazuya jumps from his seat, toppling over the table in the process, and lunges at Daitou's throat. The latter can only stare in shock, baffled at a reaction he didn't foresee. There's genuine confusion shaping his features.

"But-...I thought..."

"What the hell did you think, that you'd show up with fucking human remains over some tea and cake?! Jesus, Daitou, she ain't our Lieutenant!"

"But I did- I did tell (Y/N) I'd..." he tries to find you with a pleading, worried look. 

Once the risk of vomiting on the floor has diminished, you shove yourself between the men and gently try to remove Kazuya's arm, still clawed around the other man's throat.

"Let him go, Kazuya. He didn't mean to scare me." You glance at Daitou reassuringly. "Does that mean the stalker guy is now a solved matter?"

The yakuza nods energetically, his eyes now sparkling with pride. He knew you'd understand. Once the tension is lifted, you quickly sweep the gory tokens back into their box and explain the situation to Kazuya. He collapses back in his seat with a frustrated sigh, facepalming himself. 

"I'm so sorry, (Y/N), I should've told you he's being serious when he says shit like this." He glares at his friend. "She didn't actually expect you to go ahead and do it, dumbass. Couldn't you just mention it or something? 'Hey, I took care of that pervert following you around'! You think she would've demanded proof?"

Daitou is nervously fidgeting with his glass eye, as if searching for the proper words.

"But you always say women will like you more if you surprise them with gifts." He concludes with a pout.

There's a prolonged moment of silence and you burst our laughing, as the blonde simultaneously lets out an exasperated whine. You cannot get over the bizarre sight in front of you: someone as massive and imposing as Daitou, cornered like a punished school boy. 

"See, this is what I've been telling Boss. You're a lost cause." Kazuya rests his elbows on his knees, closing the distance between him and Daitou and continuing with a lecturing tone. "If you got a crush on someone, you bring them flowers or something! What are you, a crackhead? Do I have to teach you basic manners?"

"More importantly, uh...what should I do with these? I guess jewelry made of teeth is a thing, but the finger? Won't it go bad?" you cautiously dangle the package next to your ears, listening to the rustle of its contents. 

Kazuya rips the box from you.

"I'm starting to suspect you don't have all the tiles on your roof either. I'll get rid of it, so you better pretend nothing ever happened. Are we clear?"

Both you and Daitou nod obediently.

On your way back, the man can't help the excitement building up in his chest. You liked his gift, didn't you? He hasn't done anything wrong. Does that make it official, then? As he ponders the implications, he peeks at your small frame, barely managing to keep up with him. Would it be alright if he reached for your hand? Is he supposed to ask first? All these steps confuse him to no end.

Nonetheless, he couldn't be more thankful for you. 

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #female reader #yandere yakuza #yakuza x reader #yandere imagine #yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere original character #yandere mafia #mafia x reader #original work #oc x reader #male yandere x reader #x reader

[angelltheninth]

More Than Bargained For

Pairing: Male!Orc x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, cnc, rough sex, name-calling, size difference, degradation, pinned against a wall, creampie, semi-public sex, alleyway sex, mentioned gangbang, mentioned free use, getting caught, wholesome at the end, human!Reader

Word count: 1k

Ao3

A/N: I don't know why but my size kink is going crazy again.

"If I knew defending this pathetic little town would get me easy access to the mayor's daughter I would have gotten rid of those pesky lowlifes long ago. You were so grateful to me, so shy, now look at yourself!" The big orc pounding his cock into you barked out a laugh. "Knew you were a slut the moment I saw you."

You shook your head, too afraid to open your mouth because you knew what kind of noises you'd make if you did. You were grateful for the chatter and music coming from the taverns around you, if it weren't for those everyone would hear the two of you fucking.

When your father hired this orc to defend your town you were drawn to him. That much was true, you even found yourself glancing at him, eyes drawn downward, your mind trying to imagine what his monster cock would feel like. No imagination was enough to prepare you for the real thing. Long, thick, a dark green with drops of white cum, splitting your pussy open.

He was so big you couldn't even wrap your legs around him. Only hook them on his hips.

"Keep trying, go ahead, take me even deeper. I'll push your human body to its limits." You let your head fall back against the brick wall as he bottomed out once again, his whole cock filling you to the point of pain. The kind of pain that made you want more. "Not talking to me anymore? Is it because I tell the truth you don't want to hear? You think those men in there would treat you any better? They only respect you because your dad pays them to. At least I'm honest with you."

But the men who you were with before, some were respectful but for others you knew they only showed interest because of the money that came with you. This orc, he didn't care about your status, he wanted one thing and one thing only. To bury his cock in you and make you his moaning bitch. So he was telling the truth, he was indeed an honest one.

With every deep stroke of his cock you felt your orgasm approaching. But so were several pairs of footsteps, "Someone's... coming."

"Yes. You." You knew he could hear people coming, you could tell by his pointy ears twitching. His body turned to hide most of yours from the view of the street, leaving only your shaking legs and arms visible, along with bits of your clothes and your wet underwear hanging around your ankle. "They're about to see you come. Make sure you're loud, let them know how much fun we're having."

"I can't. It's embarrassing." Not embarrassing enough for you to say your safe word. You did think about it for a moment but it would be okay, he was shielding you. "I don't want them to see me like this."

"Like what? They already think you're a slut. They all want to fuck you. Maybe I'll let them have a turn after I'm done. You won't have to do anything, you'll be a pretty set of holes for them fuck." Through his dirty talk you could hear a possessive growl rolling in his chest. "Then I... I'll show them all whose cock your cunt likes best. I'll breed you in front all of them."

"Show them I'm yours." You almost ordered despite the position you were currently in. Your pussy tightened around his pulsing cock, sucking him in deeper as you began to let your voice out more.

Big, rough, scarred hands grabbed your hips, his fingers touching, "You're so small compared to me. Yet my dick fits inside you just right. Like you were made to take it."

The brief soft moment was broken by drunken laughter, "What's happening over there?"

"Go ahead. Let them know." He glanced briefly over his shoulder, seeing one man leaning against the other, their eyes barely focused but with knowing grins on their faces when you moaned in pleasure, legs desperately trying to lock around his hips.

"Ah. See our hero is finally getting some proper payment." They snickered before resuming their walk.

"Heard that? They called you my payment. Honestly I would have done the job if it was true. However I don't think your family would agree to you being an orc's cumdump. You seem pretty happy with it though." He thrust in balls deep every time, his hips slapping against yours, his tusks pressing against your cheek, his tongue licking your tears away,

At this point you didn't care if you were caught for real.

"Come in me." You ordered again. "Shit, I'm so... fucking close. Already so full but... I want more."

He would provide. That wasn't his instincts talking either. Somewhere deep down maybe he did want that too, he was about to fill you with his seed after all, the natural next step would be providing you with anything you needed.

His cock didn't stop pulsing while he filled you with hot cum, he kept you on it, making sure your pussy felt every twitch, every hot pump of seed as you milked it from him. You felt your body go slack against him, your eyes falling closed as soon as your orgasm thundered through your body.

"Hey, doll, are you alright?" You didn't answer past a few grunts. "Fuck. Guess you couldn't handle all that after all." He pulled you off his cock and pulled your clothes on the best as he could. It was a shabby job but if he walked quickly no one would notice. "Let's get you back to my room. I'll order us some food and drinks, clean your pussy up a little while you get your energy back." You regained your wits just enough to cup his jaw, feeling the many scars he got over the years of mercenary work, and pull him into a kiss, causing a deep dark blush to bloom across his face. "Little vixen."

#monster x reader #monster romance #monster boyfriend #monsterfucking #monster lover #orc x reader #orc x human #monster imagine #monster x human #monster x girl #monster smut #orc smut #orc boyfriend #monster fic #terato

[gutsby]

Mouthful

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel Miller thinks he’s strong enough to quit it, but something in the way you suck him says he isn’t.

Warnings: 18+. A man with a big, bad oral fixation + lots of love for a sneaky succ. Daddy kink. Dirty talk. Age gap. Blowing Joel under the table at dad’s birthday dinner.

Snippet of Hating Game

He knows better than to let a moan slip at a time like this. Not when he’s sitting at the dinner table; not when he’s surrounded by the people he knows and loves the most. Not when he’s celebrating his best friend’s 51st birthday, and certainly not when that man’s daughter is perched between his thighs, out of sight from every eye but his.

Joel lifts the tablecloth. He almost unloads on the spot.

Seeing your mouth open wide and your lips curled tight around his hot, throbbing member, Joel can’t help but ache for a split-second lapse of judgment—one where he forgets all sense of decorum and simply goes to town on that pretty little face. But, as it is, the rest of the party is totally oblivious to your absence, and he doesn’t want to draw attention to it, or him, by roughfucking your mouth.

That’ll come later.

No, now he’ll let you glide your mouth gently over his shaft, leaving trails of thick spit and hints of a shiny pink lip gloss in its wake. He’ll let you bob your head softly—self-assured in a pace you get to set—and he won’t lay a finger on your face or let a thrust of his get in the way, because this was all about you giving him the pleasure.

That doesn’t mean he can’t steal a glimpse every now and then and pin you with an expectant look when he wants something done a certain way. The room is dimly lit and everyone in it drunk; Joel will gladly take the risk.

‘You can go deeper than that, sweet pea.’

‘Nope, three-fourths ain’t enough, I need your mouth around me whole.’

‘You did wanna make daddy feel good, didn’t ya, sugar?’

He doesn’t have to speak a word of it for you to know what he means. What he needs. You loosen your jaw and stretch your lips even wider, whining just a little when the head of his cock grazes your tonsils.

“Fuck that feels nice,” Joel says aloud.

You freeze.

Then, without missing a beat, you hear him continue just as comfortably, speaking to the people around him,

“Y’all feel that breeze comin’ in?”

Sick fuck. You continue to suck him anyway.

One hand braces tight against Joel’s leg and the other flits shamelessly between your own, and you try not to moan, but the sound escapes anyway. No one hears it, but Joel feels it reverberate down his shaft, and he grips his glass of Merlot like a vice. Your dad shoots him a curious look from across the table but says nothing.

“Can’t get enough’a her, huh?” Tommy grins beside him.

“What?” Joel falters. Sets his drink aside carefully.

Down below, you drag your mouth just far enough to take his tip between your lips and suckle. Joel grunts.

“The wine,” Tommy says, still smiling, “You must love it.”

Joel lets out another strangled breath that he tries to pass off as a chuckle and nods.

“Got me on my fuckin’ knees,” he admits.

And that’s the truth. Starved for air and blinking through tears as you kneel down to blow him, it’s still you with the chokehold on Joel, and both of you know it.

Try as you might to convince yourselves otherwise, the man is enrapt. It’s just that small matter of you being his best friend’s daughter that makes Joel loath to admit it. At any rate, he has your tongue licking stripes up his cock and feels a sudden, sharp clench in his stomach.

He knows he won’t last much longer. Neither will you.

Joel can’t see it now, but you’ve practically soaked your own hand from how hard you’ve been rubbing your clit—and how turned on you are from just sucking his dick, keeping your mouth wide open for a fucking whenever he wants it. While Joel reaches for another draught of wine, you bring one hand to his balls and keep the other at your cunt, triple-tasking like the efficient little slut he needs you to be: sucking, cupping, and rubbing all at once to get the two of you off in one minute or less.

You guide him down to the furthest place in your throat, then push him even deeper. You gag, just slightly, and feel a hand reach down for your cheek. A thumb starts to rub at the tears welled up at the corners of your eyes.

‘Sweet thing hasn’t felt a man this deep before, huh? Wanna swallow some more?’

You nod that you do. Can’t actually hear him now, or see much else besides the soft tufts of hair on his belly, but you can feel a light, heady warmth seep into your brain.

You rut your hips and hope no one drops a fork nearby. Buck desperately into your hand and feel the heat start to swell to a whole new feeling, and suddenly you’re whimpering, whining on Joel’s cock from under the shade of the table and cumming all over your fingers.

Joel returns a quick smile from your father and cracks a joke about the Super Bowl. Raises his hips just the slightest bit and wipes one of your tear-soaked cheeks.

‘Almost there, hon, keep that throat open for daddy.’

All you can do is cry and try your best. Wild feelings from both the slow, deep facefuck he’s giving you and the flurry of euphoric aftershocks coursing all throughout your body make it almost impossible to bear, but you obey your sweet and strong and steady-handed Joel and sense a blossoming desire crop up for something else.

You want to taste him as he blows his load in your mouth, floods your tongue with his spend, and paints every inch of your insides with that hot, sticky stuff.

You need him whole

Your Joel.

In tune with your thoughts—or perhaps just overcome with a need to see you before he reaches his peak—Joel raises the tablecloth when Tommy isn’t looking. His gaze locks on yours and his tongue darts quick between his lips. He cocks a brow. Brushes his thumb up again.

‘Ya want this, darlin’? Want all of me?’

You give one soft, wide-eyed nod, and that’s all he needs.

No sooner do you give him the green light than his cum goes pulsing out in ropes, coating your whole throat and eventually your mouth as you hold still and take it all.

There’s so much more than you thought. So much of Joel that’s been waiting to giving your mouth a proper fucking glaze that once he’s started he just can’t stop. Above the table, your dad shoots a pointed look in his direction—‘You good, man?’—and it takes every ounce of strength in Joel’s body to grit his teeth tight and nod.

He’s filled so much of your mouth it’s spilling out now.

You try to hold steady, keep your movements extra slow. You’d heard your dad’s voice and just know there’d be a lot more on the line than Joel’s dribbling seed if either one of you fuck up now. Your breath catches in your chest, and you feel too afraid to even swallow.

“I just…came,” Joel starts, and your head almost cracks on the wood surface from how abruptly you flinch back,

“—to the realization. That you are so…fuckin’ old, man.”

Your father’s laugh is the first thing you hear, followed by Tommy, your friends, and a dozen other party guests.

The next thing you feel, to your complete and utter shock, is Joel’s cock brushing your cheek. Then your lips. Then your tongue. He slides his still-hard member through the ‘o’ your mouth has made in awe and starts to move in gentle motions back and forth, like a man all but desperate to get a feel for your wet, sodden walls.

A man who can’t risk a glimpse at you now, but wants more than anything to see the mouth he’s just filled.

Your father’s words haven’t even cooled in the air.

Joel Miller, you sneaky, freaky fuck.

As the laughter subsides and Tommy scoots back in his chair, taking leave of your table, you feel a spark ignite. Whether it’s yours or Joel’s or both your perverted minds suddenly alight and insane, you can’t be sure, but you can make out a tablecloth flipping back up above you.

Joel slips his dick out of your mouth and grins. Takes a firm hold of your face under the table so his fingers are practically coaxing your jaw to unhinge before him.

It’s the lowest, slowest, menacing sort of sound you’d ever heard from him before, but it was his all the same.

Speaking to you now, softly, “Show daddy, darlin’.”

Your Joel.

#JOEL MILLER MUNCH CLUB #i will not elaborate #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #tlou #the last of us fic #joel miller x you #dbf!joel

[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.

#f1 #carlos sainz #carlos sainz drabble #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz imagines #carlos sainz one shot #f1 x reader

[nyimasu]

IT WON'T FIT! — TOJI FUSHIGURO X FEM!READER

— CW : toji is a well-hung menace still broke af (what's new), rough!toji, wall sex, implied size kink, this man fucks you raw 24/7, is 'girl' a pet name?, cervix fucking, multiple orgasms, breeding kink, creampie, slight teasing, double penetration at the end (monsterfucking), squirting

— WORD COUNT : 1.5k┊AO3 LINK

NOTE : well, this takes place in the jjk verse and nothing I say can justify my horniness lmao I wrote this at 2am because toji always comes back to remind me why I'm so down bad for him (ssh don't tell geto)

enjoy!

Toji is a man on a mission tonight. That being to fuck you into oblivion.

"Come on, be a good girl and stay still," his fist lands a hair’s breadth away from your face pressed against the wall, hips snapping against yours in a dance of curses laced with moans erupting from you both. He hides his nose in your hair as his next words hit you. 

"I want your pussy to milk me dry again.

I said don't move."

You squirm anyway, feeling his tongue lick a fat stripe of your tensed neck to then bite it as his calloused, experienced fingers roam your body to get rid of what's left of your clothes. You hear the fabric tear apart under Toji's touch, pooling at your feet, shreds of the shirt flying around when the groan the man lets out when you try to look at him from above your shoulder. It's primal, the one lions use to chase away other predators when eating.

He's possessive over his precious, little toy.

"T-Toji."

A sharp hiss on his part, followed by a merciless thrust that shuts you up with a wail. He is practically rutting into you.

Your eyes roll in the back of your head as his whisper grazes the shell of your ear, "Want new clothes? I'll get you new ones after my cum fills every hole of you, girl."

His cock has been kissing your cervix for a good minute, bruising and hitting it with his monstrous cock. The first time you saw it you were certain it wasn’t going to fit. You still wonder the same, but it always fills you to the brim with little to no effort. 

Toji always makes sure of that.

The drag of his dick is so delicious, grazing your walls — no, clogging them with its size like occluded pipes ready to burst yet the slick wetness you're so drenched in helps him move in and out of you in smooth, calculated moves you find maddening.

Every time its head collides with that sweet, intimate spot all you can see are flickering stars, but today there are so many more than usual, getting closer to you by the minute. They just get brighter, hotter and you feel them coat your eyelashes and cheeks in flocks until all you can see are them. Liquid stars falling from your eyes and he's your favourite star seeker.

His grip on you tightens as the fist still close to your face opens up, palm digging into your open mouth to suppress yet another desperate moan from you. 

What other women said about him is true. Before your paths crossed, you had listened to them without thinking much of it. But now, as he is using you as his personal cum dumpster against the wall of some run-down bar in Tokyo, you know they were right.

How Toji Fushiguro's stamina is as endless as the arsenal of cursed tools in his possession.

How he doesn't stop until his semen overwrite your own blood, marking you permanently as his.

How lewd is the sound of skin slapping against skin, muscular thighs colliding with your quivering ones in the dead of the night.

But they didn't warn you about his peculiarities, oh no.

Truth is, nobody managed to keep him interested in them for as long as you did. Hell, you still do.

You have him wrapped around your little finger, and he knows it. And a part of him loves it, being desired beyond limits, free to act upon his most twisted urges without the fear of judgement. 

Those sluts he had sex with before are nothing compared to the real deal. You.

Toji is grinning like the maniac he is when his digits pry open your lower lips, stretching them further while he's still buried deep inside your aching pussy. For a moment, the man sees how far he's driven himself into you through the bulge in your lower tummy and groans under his breath. You're so fucking perfect.

You clench around him in response, whipping your head around to see why he’s bucking into you so slowly. It's sloppy, the pace he's just set, and the Sorcerer Killer never half-asses anything.

So why- 

You don’t seem to understand what’s happening until a blunt object between your flush bodies comes out to play, and your hitched breath doesn’t go unnoticed. Startled, you look down to see the familiar shape of Toji's cursed spirit snaking around his leg and up to the hip bone, poking your entrance already full of his master’s cock.

Nope. No way I’m going to indulge him on this one you think to yourself.

"This really won't fit." you say in a daze, but the man hears you the same. And betrayal is around the corner, the first to fall your body, arching on its own at the sensation of the worm’s spongy head delving deeper. Your juices, mixed with Toji’s thick cum leaking out of your cunt, smeared all over it as it rubs itself in the ache between your legs and you gulp, ready to be smothered.

But it’s never enough, not when it comes to Fushiguro.     

Apparently your eyes are speaking louder than words because the man’s gaze is on you before you can look away. His green eyes bore a hole in you, and if he really does, you’re sure he’d find a way to clog it as well with his fingers, his mouth or some other tool of his.

“Aww, my girl wants to back off now? Too bad you can’t,” he coos, faux concern in his tone but it suddenly rises in volume when the hand still on your body. the one that nullified your clothes, slides down to where the cursed spirit is. He strokes it like he would with his cock, and something in the way he does so sends jolts of electricity down your spine.

“You can, girl. Also, we’ve been working non-stop for weeks. Let it take the edge off the stress too, would ya?”

That last sentence blows the air out of your lungs and under your scorching stare, Toji’s finger brushes the worm’s body, motioning for it to move. 

It lasts a second, but it’s more than enough, because the curse pushes into you altogether. It splits you open and you let out a scream. You spread your legs wider to accommodate both, but the stretch is still clawing from within, and it burns with every inch the spirit adds to Toji’s girth. Coated as they are in your releases, the man behind you simply laughs in ecstasy before his dominant hand finds your hair, pushing you flush against the wall again as he resumes pistoning into your pussy with force.

This time, the cursed spirit joins in and all you manage to mumble are strings of Toji's name dying on your lips when his other hand covers flies up to border one of your tits.

The coil in your stomach jumps up and down with each jerk of his in you, the cursed worm following his master’s movements to bring you closer to fold for them.

You do bend forward more for Toji to yank at your roots harder, eliciting sweet sounds from you, until his mouth is on you once more. The scarred tissue surrounding the scar scratches the back of your neck, just like the black shirt he still has on — but everything fades in the background with him so close.

You won’t last long.

“Do you want to cum? Does it feel good to be stuffed like this, uhm?”

“Yes, yes. Tojiii” whining, you stare at him dead in the eye, but lose momentum the second the worm’s head slips off just to dive back in you. Words are trapped in your throat, yet another feeble plea escapes you and hearing that, Toji’s smirk gets bigger.

“Go on, then. Make a mess.”

The softness of his pitch-black locks contrasts with the roughness, tautness of his muscles as he leans closer, his cock and cursed spirit stilling into you as you come with your head falling back on his shoulder, eyelids shut and mouth open. 

That sight alone brings Toji to his own release, and he gets so lost in the feeling of you squeezing his cock that he never stops fucking into you, not even when he spurts creamy ropes in your spasming cunt. That’s why he misses you biting your lower lip, mewling in overstimulation as you squirt all over him.

But when his gaze gets fixated on your parted legs, finally coming down from his high, he takes a double look and the shit-eating grin plastered on his face is the first thing you see after he and the worm slip out and flips you around. 

Before you can say anything his mouth is on yours in a hungry kiss, tongues battling for dominance as his fingers gather your arousal on them, both amused and proud. He steps back enough for you to catch your breath, but not far enough for him to miss your cheeks burning, taunted by the scene before your eyes.

Toji’s digits rest on his tongue, licking them clean as the dim lights of the streetlights show you the wicked man moaning at the taste of your juices.

His eyes soften as he chuckles, “Guess I’ll have to fuck you more often with my cursed spirit if I get you to squirt.

Let’s go steal some clothes now.

I can't have my girl walking around naked.” 

© azanthys — do not copy, translate or share my works.

#voice of cassandra #jjk smut #toji smut #toji x you #toji x reader #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut

[xxsunoosprincess]

Enhypen’s Favorite Positions (OT6)

How Enhypen likes to fuck you.

pairings: Enhypen legal line x reader

warnings: 18+, minors dni, fem!reader for Jay and Sunghoon, otherwise gender neutral!reader, light spanking, mentions of masturbation, overstim, and roughish sex.

Heeseung’s Favorite Position: Spooning

There is something so intimate about this position, it genuinely makes him feral. Beware anytime y’all are spooning. It doesn’t matter if it’s on the couch, the bed, hell, even during movie night with his band mates: the moment he has your ass pressed back against him he is bricked up. Maybe it’s the size difference? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that during those late nights on tour when he’s is alone in his hotel room, his mind immediately goes to wrapping his arm around your waist as he drives his cock into you from behind!! <3

Jay’s Favorite Position: Lotus

You guys never intentionally end up in this position, but more often than not, it makes its appearance in your night. Pulled into his lap, you can feel his thick cock so so deep! As soon as you throw your head back in pleasure, he’s mouthing at your tits. Sucking, biting, groping, all of the above… you can hardly fault him for the way his hips jerk up and he forces himself deeper. Boob lover Jay agenda in full force. He just loves seeing your face contort in pleasure, so this is perfect for my little romantic.

Jake’s Favorite Position: Reverse Cowgirl

Has Jake ever seen a more beautiful sight than your ass bouncing on his lap? No. Literally never. Doesn’t matter how often he sees it, he lets out a pleased sigh every time. Reclined back against the headboard, hands behind his head. This must be paradise. He loves seeing the handprints he leaves behind on your cheeks. And he’s just so loud! Moaning and whining… ugh how dreamy. He tries to be gentle, he really does, but he can only let you take charge for so long before things take their inevitable course. Rough grip on your waist as he fucks up into you, letting out those pretty moans all the while.

Sunghoon’s Favorite Position: Missionary

I am here to take down the rough dom Sunghoon agenda. This bastard is so soft for you it isn’t funny. Expect tender touches to your face, deep kissing, and some dirty praise while he bullies his cock into you. “Sweet girl takes me so well” type mfer. I’m sure of it. I really do think he is another romantic… still exploring himself and a little shy about it >_< !! He gets a little flustered when you mention try to talk about your sex life with him so be gentle… doesn’t mean he isn’t going to lay the best pipe of your life. I know this might be a controversial take but it’s MY TRUTH.

Sunoo’s Favorite Position: Mating Press

I think Sunoo is another one that is really soft and tender during sex. It’s the skin-to-skin contact, the sloppy kisses, and dry humping that screams “I want you so so bad!!” that gets his cock filling out in his pants (He has the prettiest cock ever but that’s a story for another time). That’s why I chose a mating press for him… when he is rutting into you and you wrap your legs around his waist or he has you near folded in half he has to fight cumming instantly.

Jungwon’s Favorite Position: Cowgirl

Hehehehe this made me smile. Just imagine him squirming and whimpering as you ride him. Actual art. So whiny and needy. Tells you how much he loves you over and over as he moves his hips with yours. Be gentle because he gets pussy drunk soooo easily. Mind goes blank and probably overstimulates both of you until you are both in tears. Loves when you lay on top of him as you catch your breath together, loves taking care of you. Declaring him the king of aftercare.

END.

Author’s note: Just a short lil thing to test formatting on mobile! Hope y’all enjoy. xx - princess

#enhypen smut #heeseung smut #jay smut #jake smut #sunghoon smut #sunoo smut #jungwon smut #smut drabble #enhypen x reader #heeseung x reader #jay x reader #jake x reader #sunghoon x reader #sunoo x reader #jungwon x reader #enhypen hard hours #enhypen imagines #enhypen reactions #enhypen scenarios #enhypen x y/n #xxsunoosprincess

[1800jjbarnes]

◇ 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟒: 𝐂𝐮𝐦 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲/𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐦 - 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 ◇

My, My, My

【Synopsis】 : Stevie couldn't help it. Every time he saw you, he felt himself grow heavy in his slacks. You were everything he needed. And he needed you now.

『W.C』 :  1.94k

-> Genre: Pure Smut. No plot woops.

Paring: Switch/DomLeaning!Steve x Switch/SubLeaning!Reader

[Warnings] : This is messy. Cum eating. Unprotected sex. Making out. Swearing. Multiple orgasms. Dirty talk. Pet names. This is one big sticky mess, hehe.

Masterlist | Navigation | Kinktober List

-

Even though he's never shown it, Steve is a sensitive man. In more ways than one. His cock always felt so full, day in, day out and most of the time he had no control over how much of a mess he makes each time he came. He normally can keep it on the down low, fucking his fist night after night to get it all out of his system by the next morning.

He would spend most of his time wishing for more. But alas, he accepted the cards he had been delt. Being from the 40s, he had grown to notice the difference between women back then 'til now. They were all so much for confident, and proud. Not that, thats a bad thing. Its just Steve...he's intimidated.

But then you showed up in his life.

Such a pretty, perfect, shy, little you... he could feel himself be constantly wet. Precum soaked his boxes every time you were around. Your smile, the way the smell of your perfume was the most delectable scent he’d ever had the pleasure of inhaling. Even just the way you walk, or sit, or jump around. When you get shy around him and blush like a little flower... And don't get him start on your laughter... Fuck.

You were a walking sex dream to him and he knew he was done for.

When he first got to finally have you, he was making out with you in the hallway in the compound. The floor that belongs to yours, his and Bucky’s room. But things lasted very short as he had to sprint suddenly away without another word to you making you feel a slight thing of guilt in your gut thinking that you might have caused something wrong, since you weren't the most experienced person...

But in truth, he wasn’t about to look you in the face and tell you he just came in his pants alone just from kissing your plump lips. He felt more embarrassed at the fact you were able to make him come without the need to touch him. It took every fibre in his being not to whine out a shaky deep groan while he felt your lips so desperately on his. He had his hands squeezing your hips a little tighter than before while his cock started to throb painfully in his slacks. He still had to resist the urge to moan out when your tongue laced with his. Making his balls tighten before his cock ultimately started pumping hot ropes of cum, emptying himself in the now soaked fabrics of his underwear.

He turned the corner quickly, as his chest heaved for more air. His body felt like it was on fire, and he hated himself slightly at the fact he had such a short orgasm. He palmed his cock softly, readjusting himself, hitting his head against the wall when it started to twitch again. It took him everything not to say fuck it then and there and pull himself out so he could finish pumping every drop out until he was dry. or better yet, seducing you to help him.

And if kissing was going to be his problem. Then he was afraid of how’d he would handle having you naked for the time in front of him. Would you want to take the lead? Or would you have your legs spread for him to do as he pleased. He wouldn't mind either to be honest.

And the first time he did finally manage to built up the courage to bed you. He didnt expect himself to be lying on your bed while you sat on your knees at the end. Your bit your swollen lip while you eyes his naked form, focusing on his broad, beefy legs that were spread apart wide enough to welcome you inbetween them. He was a sticky mess, cum painted all over the head of his cock, dripping onto his navel deviously. He was wishing for just one ounce of control when you two were making out prior to this, nearling busting his nut when he felt you whimper against him.

God he didnt know how to function, feeling embarrassed about himself but again. He had no idea just how much you loved him like this. Yes, you were a shy sweet thing but behind closed doors. You lived for the pleasure. To please. And the way Stevies cock jumps and aches as he watched you remove each article of clothing. It was a site you revealed in.

The second you were completely bare, his moans would become greater, louder. When you placed your hand on his naked thigh his breath would hitch, balls growing heavier with every breath.

“You okay Stevie?” You cooed, kissing his inner thigh, sending shivers down your spine, the way he tensed and the smell of his delicious natural scent would bring an ache to your soaked cunt, making you squeeze around nothing, needing him desperately.

“I'm fuck...hmngg sensitive..” He tried to tell you, looking at you with pleading eyes while his cock throbbed, torn between needing you to keep touching him and pushing far away from you, fearing he loses control and comes all over your pretty face that was only mere inches from his angry tip. He’s not a virgin, that most people new for sure but he’s never gotten head before nor been with anyone in so many years. And he knows he’d fill your mouth the minute you wrap your plump lips around him and fuck your face until he was blowing his load down your throat.

“You want me to such your dick, sir?” Your voice was laced with seduction making Steve gulp an obscene amount of saliva. he felt so high, gritting his teeth at your words. You made it out to seem he was in charge when you could very well grab his cock and make him do whatever your wanted.

“Fuck, I think I'ma cum.” It was not a might in this situation...it was a definite yes. He was about to bust just from your hot breath brushing against him. but Steve wanted to hold off. He needed to hold off.

Keeping his self-control as much as he could. He wanted to be that hard, confident man that everyone thinks he is. But in truth, his cheeks were tainted with a pink hue, gasping as you took his heavy balls in your mouth suckling with determination. “Wait, Baby, please...hunngmmm I hang on...”

He needed to be inside you. He couldn’t cum without feeling what your cunt felt like first. His precum touched your lips, licking up all the come that was on his thigh and tummy from his previous orgasm. His eyes bore holes in you as he watched you quickly and sensually swallowed his load. You opened your mouth, showing him you ate every drop. Whichmade him snap, man-handling you until you found yourself on top of him, with your chest pressing against his. You breast squished, nipples tingly at the roughness of his scared skin.

He doesn’t give you another second to think nor protest as he pushed his cock in one quick thrust. Planting his feet, before thrusting into you harshly.

“Fuck Stevie!!” You squealed at the feeling of his balls hitting your ass, while his fat thick cock stretched you open wide. He clung onto you tightly, groaning into your neck, biting your shoulder to hide his high-pitched 'ffuuckkkk'. The feeling of your tight cunt was too much and his strokes were becoming sloppy and unsteady very quickly.

“Fuck I-hmg m’need to cum!!” His back arched off the bed while his head had been thrown back against the soft pillow. “god! Shit, shit. Fuck!” he couldn’t stop himself from thrusting, holding onto you while your cunt began to burn with overstimulation as he empties himself deep inside you, feeling as though his orgasm was unending. you squirted around him, liquid going everywhere, from your and his legs to all over the bed. Staining the sheets beneath you both.

“Steve!!” You whined, your greedy soaked cunt kept pulling him back in, with his cum spilling around his cock, splurging out the sides onto his thighs, making him even more sticky then when he began.. “You’re m-making a mess, pplease…” His eyes rolled back at the thought of your warm white cream that now covered your pussy, his cum painting you, decorating you both. Oh, how it made his cock throb more.

“I know-I know baby, fucknng I can’t stop!” He grunts, now hiding his face into your neck again, his arms nearly limp and aching from holding you so tightly while his hips never stop their attack. His rut. All these obscene squelching sounds echoed louder and louder with each pump. “I don’t know what’s w-wrong with me. Fuck my cock…i need to cum. More... Too much cum.”

He couldn’t control himself anymore, all these lewd voices spilling from his tongue, you moaned in response feeling yourself grow closer to a new high another high.

Steve kept growling random words along the lines of 'fuck, shit, i need to cum. Your cunt feels so good.' The list went on. Rolling over so he was now on top, but still keeping his cock tucked inside you, he ground his hips slowly, humping his abused length in as far as it would go while keeping his face in your neck, biting your shoulder for good measure. “feels so good, you make me crazy. So fucking hard. It hurts. M’sorry baby Sugar.”

“It’s okay.” You try to calm your lover, “I’m yours.” The minute the words slipped off your tongue you realized the grave mistake that was because he groaned, no, he growled like a beast. His cock swelled again, becoming harder if that was even possible at this point, before slamming back into you. Fucking you with a new purpose and new-found strength.

“hmm, Mine you say? Fuck, this body is all mine? Pussy is all mine?” His eyes were feral now with a grin matching it. You feel every ripple, divot and vein as his muscles tense and cock fucks you harder. Your face was flushed as you felt embarrassed from his words. Dirty talk was something you never thought Steve would be into. Yet here is he, making you come apart from his filthy tongue. “Gonna fuck my pussy, empty my cum deep in my pussy, fuck my pussy until I’m fucking dry.”

And he does just that. Panting, grunting. He was feral over how good each orgasm felt and how long they seemed to last. He fucked you until you were a crying, begging mess. Overstimulated and sticky. His mouth became filthier with each orgasm he got out of you and there was no stopping it. He was going to fuck you until there was no more cum to produce.

Finding a new positions, from the floor, the wall, the deck, back to the floor again before ending in the bed yet again. He fucked you until you both were fucked out, tired and had made a mess of the entire apartment.

#1-800-jjbarnes #marvel #jjbarnes #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers headcanon #steve rogers smut #steve rogers #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x plus size reader #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x plus size reader #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x you #chris evans x reader #chris evans #kinktober #mcu kinktober #kinktober 2023 #mcu steve rogers #captain america x you #captain america x reader #captain america #steve rodgers smut #steve rodgers

[luvrxbunny]

lazy

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader 

Prompt: Wet Dreams

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, handjob (lmk if I forgot anything)

WC: 1.1k

A/N: its called lazy cus i was literally so lazy when writing this- not proofread and probably incoherent 

You wake up to a low groaning, almost zombie-like sound, slowly growing in volume. Your eyes open to the dark room and you realize it must be Bucky making these sounds… but why? Steve had mentioned nightmares, maybe this was one? But Bucky insisted that he doesn’t have them anymore. You slowly force your muscles to wake and flip yourself over, facing him. You’re met with the sight of Bucky lying on his stomach, his head turned toward you, his brows furrowed and his face scrunched up in what you’d assume was discomfort if his hips weren’t grinding into the mattress. 

The sheet has slid down his body, laying right below his ass and giving you a perfect view of how his hips move ad he fucks his cock into the bed. It knocks the air out of your lungs and causes butterflies to erupt in your stomach along with a drop of guilt. 

You’re the first person he’s been with since he got out of cryo. You’re the first person to get him to open back up, to unlock all the emotions he decided to hide away, and turn him back into Bucky. You’re honored for the opportunity and eternally glad and grateful that you were actually able to make a difference in him, that he fell in love with you. Unfortunately, there was one area you couldn’t help him with. Sex. 

You’re a virgin. 

As much as you love Bucky, you’re just not ready to lose your virginity yet. You want him to have it and you want him… You’re just nervous for the actual act, you need some more time, and Bucky, the gentleman that he is, never pressured you to rush or anything. But apparently, that means he’s also omitting facts from you. Facts like these. 

You can hear how slick he is inside his boxers, a subtle squelch coming from inside them, letting you know how badly he’s needed this. Sam told you about the soldier’s heightened libido due to the serum but Bucky had never said anything about it to you so you assumed that Sam was just kidding around, just trying to embarrass Bucky. Apparently, he was telling the truth. 

You don’t know what to do. Waking him up might be embarrassing for him but you feel wrong just sitting here and watching him. You won’t be able to fall back asleep but you can’t just lay here and listen to him groan out for you. You place a hand on his shoulder, and rock him gently until his face twitches and his eyes begin to flutter open. 

His brain doesn’t wake up immediately. His eyes open and land on you but his hips don’t stop moving. His eyebrows pull in and he moans your name right into your face, and his hips are still moving. You can’t help but smile fondly at him, oddly complimented by his apparent need, but your smile seems to be what wakes him up. His eyes widen and his hips freeze, he seems to analyze you, trying to figure out if he’s still dreaming and his eyes widen further once he realizes he’s awake. “Fuck. I’m- I’m so sorry.”

You giggle and move closer to him. Your hand begins to leave his shoulder, trail down his arm, squeezing his bicep for a moment before continuing down and resting over where his shirt has lifted to reveal some skin on his hip. You trace gentle shapes on his skin and pretend you don’t notice when he shudders and goosebumps rise. “I can help you, Jamie.” 

His eyelids flutter at your soft movements. You test your luck, letting your fingers tease over the band of his underwear. His hips tilt up, forcing your hand over his bulge and giving you a soft moan at the feeling. His hands come up to pull your head closer to his as he starts nodding at you. You smile and kiss him while he whimpers at the feeling of you pulling his sensitive cock out of his pants. “Are- Oh, baby. Are you sure? I- sweet- baby.” His eyes roll back and his entire body goes lax— aside from his hips that are thrusting up into your unmoving hand.

“Why didn’t you come to me?” You ask and move your hand with his hips, moving it up when he thrusts up so he gets no friction. He lets out a frustrated whine. “I’m- I didn’t wanna pressure you, sweetheart. But- mm— please. I need you.” You give a pleased hum at his words and start moving your hand. His reaction is instant. His head falls back in a moan, exposing his adam’s apple to you which you immediately dive for, biting gently and sucking marks into his skin as he thrusts into your hand, taking the pleasure he needs. His cock is slick with all the precum he was spilling for you, how badly he’s been needing this. 

His hand comes to cradle your head, a bit more roughly than he meant but you feel so good on him. Your warm, wet, soft lips sucking into his hot skin, it’s making his head spin. A few seconds ago he was dreaming about you fucking him, on top, riding him like your life depends on it, like getting cum to burst from his tip was your only objective. He woke up mortified as to how you would react but this was the best outcome he could’ve asked for. His head doesn’t have any thought that doesn’t involve you. He can feel the pressure building in his gut, embarrassingly close already. 

It’s always like this when you’re the focus of his arousal, something about you seems to take away his ability to last more than a few minutes. He’s trying as hard as he can, trying to get something else in his head aside from the erotic flashes of everything he wants to do to you, everything he wants you to do to him. “Gonna cum.” The words shoot out of his mouth as a desperate whine and his cock is spurting out the moment he finishes speaking. 

He’s pumping rope after rope after rope of cum into your fist and moaning in a way you never could’ve imagined coming from him. His hips stutter into your palm and his body folds in, trembling as he tries to get closer to you. He’s whimpering your name into your ear on repeat and you shudder at the feeling the breath from his moans on your ear. His moans get high and whiny with embarrassment and overstimulation as you continue to pump his soaked cock. 

He has to shove his hands under the covers and stop you himself because it began to border on painful. He’s panting as he comes down, he can’t process a lot of things right now but he plans to thank you extensively once he can speak again. Maybe return the favor. 

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it, here's the rest of my Kinktober Works, and be sure to check out my Main Masterlist!!

#bucky smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #winter soldier #winter solider imagine #winter solider x reader #the winter soldier #bucky x female reader #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #im on my last straw with this kinktober shit

[rafeandonlyrafe]

bésame

words: 1.6k

warnings: 18+ only! smut, female receiving oral, p in v sex, unprotected sex, bilingual!reader, spanish dialogue (its not really translated but all the important parts are explained), rafe learning spanish

rafe sets down his briefcase, toeing off his shoes as his eyes scan the foyer for you, surprised that you don’t come running up to greet him like you normally do when he gets home.

“hola, baby!” he yells out, suddenly hearing a clatter from the kitchen before you stick your head into the hallway.

“hola, amor.” you smile. “just making tamales for dinner.”

“ahh.” rafe nods, the time consuming dish explaining why you were already working in the kitchen, filling the corn husk with ingredients before rolling them up.

“come keep me company?” you smile at him, batting your eyelashes in a way that always has rafe bending and agreeing to anything you ask him. “tell me about your day?”

“of course.” rafe walks the short distance in the hallway, pressing a kiss to your lips, his arm wrapping around your waist to pull you close.

“missed you.” you hum against his lips. “te amo.”

rafe smiles back at you. he didn't know any spanish besides hola when he first began dating you. “te amo, amor.”

you give him a look, eyes widening slightly as you go back to working on your dish. “that pronunciation was shockingly good, rafey.”

“i may have been practicing a little.” rafe smirks, in truth he's been practicing a lot, working really hard to learn the language for you, even going as far as to hire a native speaker to meet with him on his lunch breaks.

“practicing, eh?” you smile, fingers effortlessly folding the tamale, having done it so many times. “how do you say eat, then?”

“comer.” rafe answers, without even having to think about it.

“¡no me digas!” you gasp in surprise. 

rafe laughs, a faint blush on his cheeks at the look of wonder and excitement in your eyes. “we… i mean uhh… vamos a comer tamales.”

“yes!” you squeal. “we are going to eat tamales!” you have to put the corn husk down, quickly washing your hands before moving over to rafe, touching his cheeks.

“you’re so good, cariño!” you have to get up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to rafes lips. 

“i know that one.” rafe admits with a smile. its one of the first thing he had the instructor teach him, various pet names to call you. “sweetheart or darling. i also know mi vida, mi corazon. i even know princesa and uh..." it takes rafe a second, but the word for soul finally comes back to him, "mi alma."

“oh wow.” you could melt on the spot at the sweet words coming out of rafes mouth, only sounding even better in your natural language. “let me see if you know this one… bésame.”

it takes a second for the words to click, and then rafe smirks down at you, leaning in to press your lips together in a kiss, just like you asked for. his mouth dominates yours, turning your bodies so you’re the one leaning against the counter, trapped between rafes strong arms.

“quiero verte.” you whisper to rafe, tugging on his shirt. “i want to see you.”

rafe quickly pulls the shirt off over his head, his muscles on display for you to rub your hands over.

“how do i say undress me?” rafe asks, moaning lowly when your hands pass over his nipples.

“desvísteme.”

“undress you? okay. bueno.” rafe smirks as you let out a laugh, tricking you into being asked to be undressed. 

you raise your arms up so he can tug your shirt off, eyes widening when he realizes you’re not wearing a bra. his hands cup your chest, playing with your tits as he finds his way back to your mouth, tongue running along your lower lip until his thumb swipes over your nipples and makes you gasp, finally allowing him entrance. 

“quiero probarte.” rafe whispers against your lips, your eyes widening when you realize what his words mean, still not used to hearing him speak in spanish. “quiero probarte, baby. can i take your shorts off?” “yeah, yeah.” you nod. you swear you must be dreaming, with rafe saying that he wants to taste you in spanish. you wonder who he asked, who gave him the translation, because as far as you know, the only spanish speaking people he knows is your family members, and while rafe is not easily embarrassed, even that's going too far for him.

rafe tugs at your shorts and underwear, letting them fall to the floor before you’re being lifted up onto the island counter, half-assembled tamales long forgotten as rafe bends, burying his face into your core without any delay.

his tongue laps at your entrance, tasting your juices as they build up. his mouth makes an obscene slurping noise, and you didn’t even realize how wet you’d gotten from hearing him speaking spanish, getting to communicate with him in such a beautiful language that you love so much.

he drags his tongue upward, flicking it against your clit. “te gusta?” rafe asks.

“yeah, yeah i like it!” you answer rafes question, head feeling fuzzy as he goes back to flicking over your clit before circling it teasingly, making you feel every nerve when he drags back over before his tongue finds its way down towards your entrance.

he gathers even more slickness on his tongue before dragging upward, using it as extra lubrication against your clit. he licks at your most sensitive area before tugging your clit between his lips, sucking it into his mouth.

you let out a squeal, reaching down to grip his hair in your hands to hold him in place, pressing his face further into you.

you can feel rafe chuckle against your skin at your clear excitement, but he doesn’t pull away, simply continuing to eat you out as you mumble a few curse words in spanish when his fingers press against your entrance.

hes slow when pressing his digit inside, counter to the speed and intensity of his lips on your clit. when he finally begins to pump it inside and out, your body relaxes, the familiar feeling allowing him to slip a second finger in.

rafe wastes no time scissoring his fingers, clearly needing to open you up quickly to get himself inside.

“fuck!” you shout out. “rafe, rafe, cógeme. cógeme, por favor.” rafe pulls away, looking up at you, clearly having not heard that word before. “fuck me!” you tell him in english, tugging on his hair slightly to encourage him to stand up, to take you.

rafes confusion turns into amusement, his grin spreading as he slowly raises, fingers continuing to thrust inside of you as your hands grab at his pants, undoing them as quickly as you can before shoving them down, rafes hard cock rising.

“tell me the truth, rafe.” you gasp as his fingers pull out, only momentarily feeling the gaping emptiness inside of you until rafes cock takes its place, filling you up effortlessly, the perfect amount of stretch to your walls to bring you the slightest hint of pain, that only increases your pleasure. “who is teaching you this?” “i may have hired someone to help me out on my lunch breaks.” rafe smirks, keeping his cock buried inside of you, your hips moving while sat on the edge of the marble counter, trying to entice him into thrusting. “no promises im ever gonna be fluent, but i figured its the least i could do. for you.”

“oh, rafe.” you feel tears well up into your eyes. you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pressing a kiss to his lips. “i love you.”

“te amo.” rafe smiles down at you, your legs wrapping around him next, waiting for the thrusts to begin, but rafe remains still for a few more moments, letting you enjoy the soft, sweet moment.

it lasts as long as rafe can hold himself back until he suddenly pumps forward, hips thrusting up rapidly, glad that the island counter sits at the perfect height for him to fuck you at.

“oh, yes!” you moan out, nails raking down his back. “fuck, feels so good baby.” “yeah, can feel your tight little cunt squeezing me.” rafe moans as well, combined sounds filling the kitchen. 

“don’t know…” you try to get the words out, his cock repeatedly filling you, making you interrupt your sentence with gasps. “don’t know how long i’ll last.”

“yeah? my mouth and cock that good? need to cum already?” rafe loves how easily he can make you cum, how fast he can push you to the edge. it only turns him on more.

“sí.” you nod. “close, papí.”

rafe lets out a groan, his orgasm suddenly close from the use of that single word alone. “call me that again, baby girl.”

“papíííí.” you whine out, rafes hips pushing up, slapping against your skin as an orgasm suddenly forces out of you, cunt pulsating around rafe, pulling his own orgasm free.

“fuck.” you curse, before repeating it in spanish. “joder.”

“god, your pussy is perfect.” rafe says, pressing his lips against your cheek as the last of his cum is milked out. “how do you say that in spanish?” “nnn, i don’t know.” you groan. “my minds not working right now.”

“aww, pobrecita, all fucked out.” rafe laughs, pulling his cock out of you.

“your fault.” you grumble, feeling his cum leaking out onto the counter, but you need at least another minute of rafe holding you close before you care about the mess. “your fault dinner is gonna be late too.” you look at your workstation. “we’ll wash up and then i’ll help you.” rafe offers. “and you can teach me some more words in spanish.”

“fine, but you don’t need to learn any more dirty ones, niño travieso.”

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[pockettwinzz]

7 Minutes In Heaven - S.JK

౨ৎsynopsis౨ৎ : Seven minutes in heaven with your annoying enemy; how would it go...

౨ৎwarnings౨ৎ : MDNI, Smut, blowjob, oral[m!receiving], unprotected sex[naurr],

౨ৎauthor's Note౨ৎ : So this was supposed to be released after my Heeseung fic but dumbass mfing tumblr didn't save my draft so i'm gonna have to re-write some scenes :( will be uploading it asap!!!! dividers by @dollywons

౨ৎwc౨ৎ : 1.6k

Jake and I had never really talked much since freshman year. Anytime we'd try to talk we'd end up arguing about something. Everyone in college knows about it by now.

Tonight, we're at a camping trip with some of our mutual friends. As the night progresses, they drag us into playing truth or dare. When it's my turn, the idiot who's supposed to be my friend dares me to do something insane. "Y/N, you have to spend seven minutes in heaven with Jake."

I groan, not wanting to do this at all. But I have to, or I'll look like a chicken. So, with a sigh, I agree to it. I close my eyes and feel Jake's warm breath on my neck as we're led into the room. I can't help but feel a little bit nervous.

I said to Jake, my voice shaking slightly. "So umm what are we supposed to do?I mean, we could just… talk, I guess?"

Jake scoffs. "I don't want to talk to you. But if you insist…" He pulls me closer, his body pressed against mine. His hands slide up my shirt, sending shivers down my spine. "We could do other things," he whispers, his breath hot against my ear.

My heart skips a beat. I'm not sure if I should be angry or aroused by this. Jake's touch feels so good, so foreign. He reaches around, unhooking my bra with ease, before tossing it aside. His fingers trace circles around my nipple, making me gasp.

I want to hate this, but my body betrays me. It wants more.

I arch my back, pressing myself against his touch. "Jake…," I breathe out, my voice husky. He smirks, leaning in to capture my lips in a heated kiss. His tongue dances with mine, sending a jolt of desire through my entire body. His hand finds its way down my shorts, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric, teasing.

I moan into his kiss, feeling myself grow wetter by the second. I want him to touch me there, to make me feel good. I break away from the kiss, gasping for air, and reach down to unfasten his pants. My fingers brush against his hardness, and I'm taken aback by how big he is. I've never been with anyone this big before.

Jake helps me pull his pants down, revealing his boxer briefs. I reach for the waistband, but he stops me, pushing my hand aside. "Let me take care of that," he says, his voice husky. With practiced movements, he pulls down his underwear, freeing his erection.

He steps back, giving me a moment to take in his fully exposed body. I'm mesmerized by the sight of him, hard and ready for me. He's so confident, so sure of himself. It's almost intimidating. But at the same time, it's incredibly arousing.

I reach out, tentatively touching the tip of his cock. He lets out a shuddering breath, and I feel the heat emanating from his body. His eyes are locked on mine as I stroke him, slowly at first, but then faster, matching the rhythm of my own heartbeat.

He grabs my hand, guiding it, showing me how he likes it. I can feel the veins pulsing beneath his skin, the taut muscles quivering with each touch. His hips begin to move in time with my strokes.

"That's it, baby," he groans. "You're doing so good."

I lean forward, taking him into my mouth. His tip presses against the back of my throat, and I gag a little. He reaches down, wrapping his hand around my hair, guiding me. "Just take it slow, sweetheart. Let me feel you around me."

I obey, sucking gently at first and then harder as I get the hang of it. His hips buck against my face, and I can taste the precum on my tongue. It's salty and sweet, and I can't help but want more. I stroke him with my tongue, feeling the veins pulsing beneath his skin. He moans, the vibrations sending shivers down my spine.

His hand tangles in my hair, holding me in place as he thrusts deeper. "Fuck, that's it," he groans. "You're so good at that." His cock twitches in my mouth, and a warm, thick fluid fills my mouth. I swallow quickly, feeling it trickle down my throat.

He pulls me up, grabbing my ass in his hands, and pushes me back against the wall. His hips begin to move, his cock thrusting against my lips. I open wider, taking him deeper, feeling the head of his cock brush against my entrance. He growls, his hips stuttering, and then he's inside me.

I let out a moan as he fills me, feeling him stretch me, claim me. He begins to move, his hips slamming into mine in a furious rhythm. I can feel the strength in him, the power that he has over me. He grips my shoulders, his fingers digging into my skin as he takes control of our encounter.

My head falls back against the wall, and I let out a gasp as he hits a particularly sensitive spot inside me. His thrusts grow deeper, harder, and I can feel myself beginning to lose control. I reach up, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him down for a bruising kiss.

He groans into the kiss, his hips stuttering against mine as he tries to maintain his rhythm. I can feel the strength in his arms, the way they hold me up, the way they keep me close. He's so big, so powerful, and yet he's gentle with me, almost tender.

His thrusts become more erratic, more urgent. I can feel the tension building in him, the way his breath comes in ragged gasps. I want to make him feel good, want him to let go, so I arch my back, pressing myself deeper against his hips. His cock hits my sweet spot, and he cries out, his body tense as he comes inside me.

He holds me close, his strength steadying me as I feel the aftershocks of his release. His hips slow, but he doesn't pull out. He leans in, kissing my neck, my jaw, my lips. His skin is warm against mine, and I can feel the softness of his hair against my cheek.

"You feel so good," he murmurs, his voice raspy with desire. "So tight, so hot." His hips begin to move again, the friction between us growing more intense with each thrust. He groans, the vibrations traveling up my spine and making my toes curl.

His fingers dance over my skin, tracing patterns that send shivers through my body. He finds my sensitive bundle of nerves, and his touch is electric. "God, I love how you respond to me," he whispers, his lips brushing against my ear.

I lean into his touch, my hips meeting his rhythm. The friction between us grows more intense, more demanding. I can feel myself growing wetter, hotter. His cock strokes my inner walls, finding that perfect spot that drives me wild.

He groans, his breath hot against my neck. "You're so fucking amazing," he whispers, his fingers digging into my hips. "I could feel you tighten around me, feel you get wetter." His hips thrust harder, faster, his cock hitting deep inside me with each thrust.

I was crying out his name as a shudder runs through me. His touch is so gentle, so tender, it's almost too much to bear. He finds my clit with his thumb, circling it expertly, driving me wild. I grip his shoulders, digging my nails into his skin as I feel the pressure building, the need growing more urgent.

"J-jake….. I'm close.." I manage to choke out, my body trembling under his touch. His thrusts grow faster, harder, each one pushing me closer to the edge. He leans down, capturing my mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue thrusting deep inside. I can taste myself on him, feel the heat of our bodies as we move together.

He pulls back, watching me intently as his fingers continue to work their magic on my sensitive skin. His touch is so gentle, so knowing, and it sends waves of pleasure coursing through me. "Come for me, baby," he whispers, his voice rough with desire. "I want to feel you come on my cock."

That was my last straw. I came with a scream, my body arching off the bed as my orgasm took me, waves of pleasure rolling through me. Jake's name was torn from my lips as I convulsed around him, my muscles gripping his cock in time with my spasms.

He followed me over the edge, his body tensing as he cried out, his hips bucking wildly. His hot cum spilled inside me, filling me up as he came, his grip on my hips unyielding. For a moment, we were both suspended in time, our bodies still joined as we caught our breath.

The room was hazy with the scent of our sweat and the lingering traces of our pleasure. Jake rolled off me, collapsing onto his back beside me, his chest heaving. I traced a finger along the line of his jaw, admiring the play of muscles beneath his skin. "You're amazing," I whispered, kissing his neck.

He laughed, the sound husky and satisfied. "You're not so bad yourself." He propped himself up on one elbow, gazing down at me. "Now think of an excuse baby. What are you gonna tell 'em we were doing cause it's been more than 7 minutes."

"We were just… talking. Getting to know each other a little better."

Jake chuckled, "Do you wanna talk some more?"

౨ৎperm taglist౨ৎ : @alvojake @cha-eui @heeslut4life @dollywons @wondipity @wonlvkay

My taglist is open. I will not be adding minors or blogs that do not have their ages mentioned <3. If you wanna be added feel free to send me an ask :3

#pockettwinzz writes #pockettwinzz #haze <3 #enha x reader #jake smut #enhypen smut #enha smut #18+ mdni #sim jaeyun #jake x reader #jake x y/n #sim jaeyun smut

[aluciahaz]

One bed trope with Adam except we wake up in the middle of night feeling him unconsciously grinding his hard-on against us and we take it into our hands (literally) to help him🫣

( he wakes up before we actually do anything so it’s all consensual ofc.. )

🦅🦅LETS FUCKIBG GOO🦅🦅 i love (babying) this dumb bitch!!! this is kinda more ooc adam but i hope you still like it !

truth prevails

—adam x gn!reader

—tags : handjob, bottom adam, dom!reader, absolute overuse of the nickname baby and baby boy 😭

what a fucking wake up call.

you really should’ve just made adam sleep on the couch.

honestly, you aren’t even that surprised that he was grinding against you while asleep, murmuring your name in a soft voice. it was quite nice actually, compared to his usually brash one.

especially his whimpers.

“lemme cum...please-fuck….” his head would nuzzle further into your neck, his breath hot against your skin as his hips kept bucking up. so he was in that type of mood, huh?

well… then maybe it wouldn’t hurt to indulge in his fantasies for a just little bit. after all, it was hard to get him to bottom without him throwing a tantrum. which, of course would just lead him to get wrecked, just the way he liked it.

“adam.”

“mm…mhm?” his eyes slowly open, his arms still around your waist as you turn around to look at him. his confused expression is almost cute in a way, although a bit disheveled with his hair falling in front of his face.

“what were you dreaming about, baby?” you ask, a smirk forming on your lips as you stroke his hair, running your fingers through his coarse strands. your other hand snakes around to his hip, teasing his waistband just slightly.

adam, now shocked, looks at you with an almost abashed expression before clearing his throat, going back to his egotistical persona.

“uh, psh, fucking you, duh,”

well, at least he was honest. somewhat.

“and begging for me to let you cum?” you ask bluntly, raising your eyebrow at him as you chuckle. his mien was what you could on describe as flabbergasted. it was clear he had no idea what he was doing to you just a few minutes ago.

clueless, cute, baby.

you coo at him, the hand on his hair moving down underneath his chin as you cup it gently. still sleepy, instead of pulling away with a scoff like usual, he leans into it, letting his instincts take over.

“how would you know?” he says with a grin, clearly doubtful, yet the anxious twitch of his smile shows that he was less relaxed than he portrayed himself to be.

“you talk in your sleep.”

“…” he stares at you for a few seconds before laughing nervously.

“nooooo…?”

the deadpan expression on your face says it all. so much so it makes him feel way too awkward, forcing him to retract his statement.

“…sorry.”

“i don’t know why you try even and lie when you’re so bad at it.”

he frowns at you, furrowing his eyebrows.

“whatever! are you gonna do something about my hard-on or keep making digs at me?”

“i could always do both.”

the smirk on your face widens as your hand slips past his waistband, your hands tracing his v-line ever so delicately, your touch light as an angel’s feather.

“you just have to say please.”

“fuck you.”

“not today, honey,”

adam just rolls his eyes, grumbling as he ponders on what to do. that’s not good, he isn’t made to think.

quickly, your hand under his chin places a finger on his bottom lip, just barely tipping over to make its way inside of his mouth to distract him.

“come on, baby. don’t you want to be a good boy for me?” you kiss his neck, gentle and sweet like a divine’s touch. “just think about how nice it would be to let everything go, let me take care of you. my perfect, little angel.”

he stifles a moan, but with how close the two of you were, you could hear it clear as day. usually, it would take way longer to get him in such a state, but apparently the tedious process was 2 times faster when he was sleepy.

clearly this means you should do this more often.

"...please-ah!"

he can't even finish his sentence before your hand wraps around his cock, stroking it in nice, slow movements as you whisper in his ear. "good boy!" you praise, your fingers leaving his lips and slipping underneath his light shirt. with the tips of your fingers, you pull and twist at his sensitive buds, reveling in his sweet whimpers and cries as his chest jerks up into your hand.

"tell me what you really dreamt of, baby. were you all pliant underneath my hand? maybe even getting fucked by me? tell me truth."

all he can do is whine as his legs quiver, digging his head further into the crook of your neck as he pants. his wings start to flap a little against the bed, and only from a few touches.

"okay okay! i—yeah," he tried gulped away his embarrassment, but the heat on his face was a clear indicator of his nervousness. "you—you fucked me and told me all these-these stupid little compliments-yes, oh—!"

you laugh as you he bucks his hips into your grip, trying to chase more pleasure before pulling away, deaf to the groan of annoyance coming from the man.

"don't get greedy, baby boy." you chide, shaking your head in disapproval. "take what you get, nothing more, and maybe you'll get a reward!" you say, kissing his cheek sweetly in contrast to your cruel command.

"oh—oh, okay! oka—ayy!" he mewls shakily, clawing at your waist as he tries to stop his hips from moving. surprisingly, he does quite well, letting you take control of the pace with only a few jerks up into your fist. but, you decide to let it go, after all, adam was being sweeter than usual.

"alright, alright, you can move now, baby. you did so good for me."

"yes! finally—ngh! fuck—thank you...!" he cries, moving his hips quickly into your grasp as he finds himself getting lost in his own pleasure.

you didn't even need to remind him to be grateful, how polite! he's learning!

he wails your name like a weeping sinner, hoping that you'd grace him with your love and mercy.

which, of course you would. for once, he's earned it without much push at all! perhaps this would set as an example on what he should do next time instead of being a brat all the time.

"cum for me, my love. you deserve it," you croon, moving your fist faster and faster with his pace. the hand on his chest presses harder onto his nipple, twisting the way you know he loves—as much as he denies he's a masochist, you know by the way he keens that he's just being proud—and let him keep babbling about anything that comes to his muddled little mind. yeah, you'll bless him just this once.

"i love you, love—love you, i love—ah—ah!"

adam sobs shamelessly as he reaches his climax, his hips stuttering as he slowly returns from his high. his whole body goes limp as he shuts his eyes, his hands falling from your waist as he steadies his breathing.

you wipe the tears away from his eyes, peppering his face with kisses.

“see? this is what you get for being good.”

“mm..mmmhm,” adam hums mindlessly before falling into silence. strange, he was usually big on pillow talk—

you hear a soft snore coming from beneath you, slow breaths loud amongst the quietude of your shared bedroom.

…seems like your baby boy fell asleep.

a/n - please someone request like a mommy/daddy kink for any of the goobers i write for i am INSPIRED rn im opening my reqs rn 😭

tags : @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx

#hazbin hotel #sub hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel dom reader #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel x reader #dom reader #sub adam #bottom adam #adam x reader

[angelltheninth]

Honkai Star Rail Men + Fake Marriage

Paring: Blade, Caelus, Dan Heng, Gepard, Jing Yuan, Luocha, Sampo, Welt x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, confession, feelings realization, mission cover, jealousy, possessiveness, kissing, PDA, grinding, keeping quiet, pining, fake marriage

A/N: I'm gonna keep writing my favorite tropes until I run out of them.

Blade won't ever admit to really loving you, not even when he starts too. He will think of you as his, he will let everyone know of your marriage, but he will never say that he loves you. A fake marriage is good enough for him, he got someone by his side, real or fake it doesn't really matter, as long as you're the one who comes home to him every night and falls into his kiss, his arms and his bed.

Caelus catches feelings very early on in your marriage and tries to keep them a secret. He's pretty good at it at first, only doing the things expected but little by little he starts to kiss you when you're alone, to hold your hand as you sit on the couch, to let himself doze off after missions and dream about you. Its very hard to resist falling in love with. But should you? This was supposed to be temporary, when did this become so real, when did your kisses, your looks, your hugs turn into this wonderful exchange of feelings?

Dan Heng feels like a fake marriage is perfect to maintain his peaceful, or as peaceful as can be, life. You're friends so naturally he would ask you, and people have been saying you look like a couple anyway so hand holding and kissing in public wasn't that big of a leap. For the people around you. For you... it couldn't be worse. Pining over him was one thing, you could do that until you died, but having to pretend to be his wife was a whole other thing that you weren't ready for until that first morning where he bashfully greeted you with a kiss because that's what a good husband needs to do. Real or fake he will be the best husband you could ever have.

Gepard married you so he wouldn't need to marry someone he dislikes just to keep up appearances. You were a good choice, a childhood friend, a pretty woman, and a longtime mutual crush. Of course you were both clueless about that last part. It took a few months of awkwardness for you to settle into these new roles, for you to get used to being introduced as his wife. He seemed to take so much pride in that, always lighting up when he talked about you. It wasn't a lie, not a single word, which he admitted to only when you confronted him about his jealousy of other nobles acting too flirty towards you. The kiss that followed was unlike the chase ones you shared until now, full of promise, a real one this time, to be yours.

Jing Yuan thought it was a good way to make sure you don't get threatened by his many enemies. No one would lay a finger on his wife, no matter how crazy they were, they knew his wrath. He was very flirty towards you the whole time, calling you his wife every chance he got, enjoying how you'd blush when he'd kiss you in public and practically yell that you're his wife. You weren't though and that truth hurt. He could see it too. His second proposal came as a complete shock one heated night, when he couldn't hold back his lust any longer. You laughed, thinking he forgot about your arrangement. He didn't, he just wants you to be his in every way.

Luocha agrees because it would be an easy way to explain why you're traveling together and why you only need one room at every inn you go to. Its much less of a haste, a lot more of a heartache when you sleep in the same bed every night, sharing secrets and even fears and waking up entangled, having to remind yourselves that this is still fake. It was so easy until the kiss, until you climbed on top of him and moaned his name while you ground your hips against his. From then on it all became all too real.

Sampo marries you for a mission. That was really it, he needed a partner and it just so happened to be you. It was easy enough to make people think it was true, you knew each other for a while, you'd been partners before, this was... just another role to play. Right? So why did he hate it when you got flirty? It was for intel, for the mission. Yet he saw it fit to drag you away and kiss you breathless, scolding you for almost ruining their cover. What kind of a wife would flirt with others? For this to work you need to be only his. In that case he better make sure people know it, you taunt him, biting his neck, telling him to bite back if he dares. Oh he does, not just your neck either.

Welt doesn't look too much into the fake marriage. If anything its a good way to get his friends and teammates off his back for being old and alone. Now he can say he's happily married to the woman of his dreams. Well as happily as one can be when you're quietly really in love but can't say it without risking ruining what you have. Luckily for you he often gets home really late and tired, when his shields are low and his true feelings come out into the open, when he snuggles into your embrace and tells you how lucky of a guy he is that you said yes to someone like him, how he will make this real some day, just give him a little time.

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr x you #blade x reader #caelus x reader #dan heng x reader #gepard x reader #jing yuan x reader #luocha x reader #sampo x reader #welt x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr jing yuan #blade x you #caelus x you #dan heng x you #gepard x you #jing yuan x you #luocha x you #sampo x you #welt x you #hsr headcanon #hsr imagine #hsr fluff #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail headcanon #hsr x female reader #honkai star rail x female reader #honkai star rail fluff #hsr blade x reader

[ethereal-blossom]

Giving BSD boys a blowjob for the first time

ft. dazai, kunikida

warnings: blowjobs (surprise!) MDNI

a/n: kinda wrote these in mind thinking it was also giving them a handjob for the first time so I guess that's double the fun!

Dazai Osamu ♡

Your eyes looked up to find Dazai's face, searching for a sign of approval. In response, Dazai let out a validating, soft moan and closed his eyes as he nodded. "You're doing excellent, belladonna."

It wasn't unexpected. Dazai, sharp and observant as a hawk, had seen the way your eyes lingered over every small change in his facial expressions. While you were dating, both of you had agreed to take things slow. Even small milestones like holding hands was a huge thing for the man that was wrapped in bandages. The slow burn of deepening your relationship into each other's hearts until it left a permanent mark that even time couldn't erase, was wonderful.

But with time grows desire. Dazai teased you to the point of dilated pupils, hitching breaths, and a blush that cups your cheeks. Exactly like planned, the detective thought, smirking behind the mask of crafted innocence. Except, the plan had been for you to beg him to touch you; not that you would beg to make him feel good as your fingers pushed his hips onto the couch. Dazai is highly aware of his intelligence that makes him read people as if they are a children's book, but sometimes, he thinks he doesn't always grab your nature. The type of nature that has you on your knees in front of him, getting high off of his pleasure.

When you wanted to focus your attention back on the twitching cock in your hand, the sight of Dazai's fingers grabbed your attention. You knew Dazai better than any living soul. Although still a mystery novel that hides behind words of deceive and avoidance to keep parts of itself hidden until the time of reveal is there, this mystery novel was slowly showing you its pages that brought you closer to the truth.

One of the mysteries revealed was Dazai's massive self-control over his external reactions. Emotions were another vulnerable aspect of what it meant to be human, and Dazai hid them masterfully. A part of that was because it functioned as a tactic to reach his goals and stay in control, but a part of you wondered if it was because Dazai feared vulnerability more than a bullet. Emotional suffering is torture for the ones with a sensitive heart.

While Dazai's face was decorated in controlled bliss and his moans playing like a soft lullaby, the slender fingers around the sheets were clinging for dear life. You see... could you make another crack in that composed facade?

Your thumb starts drawing circles over Dazai's tip and with that, you witnessed the twitching of both his cock and fingers. A soft groan escaped Dazai's clenched jaw. "Ah, that's my belladonna. You're soo good to me, hm? Working hard for that reward." That controlled tone...

... It wasn't enough.

Dazai could tell something changed. Even though he had his eyes closed in concentration, clinging to the tiny bit of control he had, he noticed how your stroking became irregular. "What's filling your mind that isn't my- argh, shit." Dazai's eyes shot open as he bolted his hips deeper into your mouth, leaving you gagged for a good second.

That face of pure shock and arousal, the one you rarely got to see on your lover, revealed itself to you as you had taken Dazai's tip into your mouth. "Y/N, that's-"

Another lick and Dazai's original sentence was replaced by a moan, and the detective felt like all control slipped between his fingers when you placed your hands around the rest of his cock.

Dazai grabbed your hair, hissing you to go slower because oh God, he was about to cum faster than he ever did in his twenty-two years of living, and God knows he did not want this euphoria to end this soon. Oh, he really wasn't used to feeling this good-

"Belladonna, y/n, please-" Dazai didn't know what he was begging you for. For you to go slower? Faster? What it was, you hummed in approval. That little vibration was all it needed for Dazai to throw his head in his neck. His toes curled as high-pitched whines fell over lips that had become swollen in a miserable attempt to hide his moans.

When you looked up after swallowing, you were met with Dazai's bangs hanging over his eyes. "Osamu, are you okay?" Worried, you push the chocolate colored bangs aside and... oh.

He was so pretty with scarlet painted cheeks. Dazai couldn't even look you in the eyes, giving up after one second of eye-contact before shyly facing another side with his head. "That was... good. For a first attempt."

You chuckled as your hand caresses the cheek that faced your way and with a slightly hoarse voice you respond: "Good. I'll make you even feel better next time."

Dazai's hands twitch one last time before he closes his eyes and mentally picks up every string that he lost along the way. As the detective opens his eyes, you can see the control and seduction in those dark eyes that you love so much.

Dazai leans closer until you feel his breath on your ear. His lips tickle and a shiver runs down your spine as he whispers: "Someone has earned that reward, hasn't she? Let's see how long I can make you last."

Kunikida Doppo ♡

Rubies could not compete with the radiant red glow of Kunikida's face as he realized what you were about to do. The detective should have known you were up to something when he was preparing today's schedule and you had popped up behind him, placing your arms around his waist as you kissed his neck and whispered: "Keep a spot open at 8 PM, love."

Even when the blond had asked for details, your lips stayed sealed. The only hint Kunikida got out of you was "Dazai has made you work over-hours; I want to treat you."

Naively, innocently, Kunikida thought you might have a dinner or massage in mind. Not that he was wrong! It was just a... different type of massage. With your tender fingers wrapped around his cock, Kunikida clenched his jaw to not make a sound, but the moan slipped away as he sighed your name: "Y/n... I, we-"

"Does it feel good, Doppo?" You made sure to rub his tip with your thumb right then, making the detective's cock drop with pre-cum.

"It- yes... yes, it feels good."

Looking up blessed you with the sight of an orderly man turned into a mess under the tip of your fingers. A wave of arousal rushed through your body, seeing the man unravel in front of you. You figured he would be vocal, but oh-

Kunikida was sensitive. The smallest movement had him throwing his head back and trusting his hip as tiny moans calling your name filled the room. Not only were his cheeks the color of fire due to the heat of your touch, but the intimacy of it all left him flustered as well.

You felt a hand rest on your head, lightly gripping a bit of hair. "Y/n... we, you- I have to make you feel good, too."

Oh. "That has to wait."

"But- ah!" The hand around your hair tightened in response to your mouth taking his cock.

Kunikida's thoughts were twirled up in the storm that was you. Your name rolled off his tongue like worshipping prayers as you brought Heaven to earth for him.

The bliss of touching Heaven became too much, and with one closing word, Kunikida fell apart. He arched his back, forgetting to bite his lip to soften the groans that might slip through the walls where his colleagues live. His grip around you tightens, never wanting to let you go, never wanting to let this feeling go. But then Kunikida realizes he's still on earth and lessens his grip on the fear he's hurting you.

The detective looked into your eyes, but they were filled with lust directed at him and God, it felt so sinful that he had to deflect his gaze. Yet, you grabbed his chin and made your boyfriend face you.

"Do you feel better?"

Kunikida stammered, trying to get out a word. "Yes, that was," an embarrassed cough, "excellent." 

Your thumb caressed his lip. "Good."

And then, the world flipped around as Kunikida lay your back on the bed. "I have done a deep-dive research on how to please you when the time was there. Now, let me return the favor." 

#dazai x reader #kunikida x reader #bungou stray dogs #bsd smut #dazai x you #kunikida x you #bsd scenario #bsd dazai #bsd kunikida #dazai x y/n #kunikida x y/n #dazai smut #kunikida smut