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Soft Dom!Dick Grayson Talks You Through an Orgasm

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, fingering, cunnilingus, soft sex, dirty talk, orgasm guidance

A/N: Hope this makes your day a bit better @thewritingdoll!

"Feel like I'm not being fair to you tonight sweetie. Or am I the problem? Not doing a good enough job seems like." There was an equal amount humor and genuine insecurity written over Dick's face as he slowly thrust his hips back and forth, his cum spraying the bed went back and forth.

"I'm okay. You're sweet but I guess..." You sighed, holding him closer and leaning your chin against his sweaty shoulder, "I'm just a little stressed tonight that's all. I'm can still make you feel good can't I? You came three times already, care to go for a fourth?"

He pressed his lips together in a thin line, his eyebrows scrunching together, "No."

"No? Why?" Now you sounded disappointed, he was enjoying himself just a little while ago, your pussy aching and being full of his cum was proof of that. You winced as he pulled out, his hand cupping between your legs immediately, letting the cum flow over his hand, coating his fingers and the bed.

There was definitely an ache and an uncomfortable pressure lingering between legs as he pulled out. Dick's feature softened, looking at you with sorry eyes. His hands started running up and down your inner thighs, slowly lifting them up and settling in between them. His fingers pressed and spread against your folds in a V shape, rubbing you up and down before letting them dip all the way inside.

"Tonight was supposed to be about you." His fingers slowly dragged low whimpers and sighs from you. Just one well timed curl upwards made you moan his name and tighten up on him, "Better. You can give me one can't you, or do you need more help baby?" Dick's eyes looked at you, hooded with desire as his tongue licked, swirled and prodded against your pussy. "So sweet. Stop holding out on me, let me taste you more."

"I'm not." You could feel the heat steadily building against the press of his tongue on your clit, he wasn't holding you at all, you were free to raise your hips against him, let your body shake and convulse from the aggravating pulsing heat coming from inside your body.

"A little more help then." His lips pursed around your clit and sucked it against his tongue before he pulled back and tapped against it, his hand moving faster between your legs, "You're almost there sweetheart. Just a little more. Let me see that beautiful face when you come. Won't you let me have my fill of you?"

Your eyes shined with frustrated tears as you pushed his head down and started rubbing against his face, his tongue hitting your clit every time, "Dick, pleasepleaseplease!" Your body snapped like a bow, your toes digging into the bed as your back arched off it in, mouth and eyes open in ecstasy.

"Easy babe, I've got you, just let go, trust me to catch you." His free hand pressed against your lower back in support, rubbing and easing you back down. You whimpered from the sweet release, vision blurry and legs twitching around him, cunt pulsing on his tongue and around his fingers. "Want me to stay like this for a bit." All you could do was nod, your vocal cords feeling raw and used. "Okay. Whatever you need." He kissed your until you calmed down, careful to avoid your overstimulated clit, "Whatever you need."

i wanted to write something nasty but it ended up being quite sweet, don't blame me i just need love

⠀ૈ☆ ex-husband nanami x fem!reader

𓏲 ࣪₊♡ tw: [n]sfw, breeding kink, jealousy, possessiveness, fluffy ending

it only took one look, just one look across the room full of guests to reignite something that had never really been extinguished.

nanami's grip around his glass of wine got a little tighter, his eyes flashing at you and his heart starting to beat fast.

he became more muscular since your divorce, his shoulders looked stronger, carrying him with much more confidence and charisma than before.

maybe he finally quit his shitty job, you thought to yourself, trying to act cool as you saw him coming closer...

yeah he definitely quit his job, you think to yourself again, laying on your back while his cock is splitting you open.

"I missed you so much my love..."

familiar goosebumps hit your skin and his hands slide along the curves of your waist, the tip of his cock pushing against your cervix.

all you can do is take it, unfocused eyes watching your ex-husband thrusting inside your dripping pussy. nanami grunts, his body pressed against your own, his breath fanning over your neck, and you can't help but moan his name and wrap your legs around his hips, trying to meet his thrusts.

"'missed you too kento..." you try to speak, your hands reaching out to hold his face.

you missed everything about him, the warmth of his skin, his cologne scent, how messy his blond hair gets when you run your hands through it, and the way he knows every single one of your weak spots.

he never fucked you this hard in the past, of course he was rough sometimes, but you can tell something has changed, snapped.

not that you're complaining about it.

your back arches off the bed, making his pelvic bone touch your spasming clit.

"this time I'm not letting you go angel..."

his eyes get darker, thinking about the potential men and women who had you since your divorce, it makes him fuck you harder, deeper.

"mine..." he whispers, more to himself than for you to hear.

he takes your hands to pin them above your head and smiles when he hears you whine.

"you're gonna cum angel?" he asks, not slowing down his thrusts.

he knows you by heart, and he smiles when you nod, his mouth starting to suck on the soft skin of your neck, marking you.

"that's okay, I'm gonna cum too..." he says, and you can feel his hot breath hitting your skin.

he keeps rubbing your sweet spot, completely lost in the feeling. god he missed that feeling, you're the only one who can make him lose his mind like that, he can't believe he let you go when you're this perfect.

"you're still not on birth control?"

and he smiles again when he sees you shake your head. so perfect.

"gonna put a baby in you yeah? gonna make you a mom... will you let me angel?"

you mindlessly nod your head, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist, your whole body is trembling and you feel his cock twitches inside of you.

"please... breed me..." you sweetly asks, and he can't deny you.

your vision gets blurry, your eyes roll back and you violently cum around his cock as he does the same in you, still thrusting to push his cum deeper. you both stays silent for a few seconds, nanami's head buried in your neck, inhaling your familiar scent, closing his eyes of content when he feels your hands rubbing his back.

"I love you, I've never stopped loving you, even after six years..." he whispers, his voice sounding almost vulnerable as he kisses your shoulder.

you ruffle his hair, and you whine a little as you can feel his cock still pushing against your cervix.

"I'm here now, I won't leave."

he hums, his arms wrapping around your waist and you can feel yourself slowly drifting off to sleep.

this time you both won't let go of each other.

jjk masterlist

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.

“ attractive things they do ” [ bnha ]

-> pairing: separate, bakugou, deku, kiri, shouto, denki, tamaki, hawks, dabi x gn!reader

-> a/n: mentions of food/eating, part of hawks' eludes to reader having longish hair- but that should be it !

— BAKUGOU:

katsuki has such attractive hands- all large and warm. he wears rings whenever he’s not working, usually silver. he rests a hand on your thigh anytime he’s sitting next to you. it’s become second nature to him, cupping the flesh and rubbing lazy circles with his thumb. he definitely grips the back of your headrest while he reverses and grips your thigh with his free hand. smirks at you all the time, without any real reason- flashing perfect white teeth and sharpened canines. When he laughs, a real laugh, around you he always throws his head back and exposes his throat. if it’s cold outside he layers his clothes onto you, throwing his worn-warmed jacket over your shoulders and winding his scarf around your neck. his fingers always brush against your throat as he ties a knot.

— MIDORIYA:

izuku stretches all the time and he makes such soft sighs, face all scrunched and revealing his abs. he bites the inside of his cheek and kisses his teeth when he’s annoyed, which shows off how sharp and strong his jaw is. he always opens doors for you, like the gentleman he was raised to be, guiding you over the thresholds by the small of your waist and pressing a kiss to your temple. he wears headbands or hair clips to move his bangs out of his face, displaying the freckles that splatter the entirety of his features. If he ever sees something off about your appearance, no matter how small, he fixes it. whether that be to straighten your necklace, smoothing flyaways, or removing extra lipstick; mindlessly running his fingers down your hair, straightening the charm against your collarbones, or running his thumb under your bottom lip.

— KIRISHIMA:

eijirou is just so casual in his affection. he’s always pulling you into him, hugging you tight and long, presses both greeting and departure kisses to your face and tosses a heavy arm across your shoulders- pulling you into his side. he loves comparing hand sizes, always intertwines your fingers together and pulls you into his chest by them. kiri wears really tight shirts, both the dress and casual variety, they stretch taught over his broad shoulders and cling to every muscle. you will never carry anything as long as he’s in a five-mile radius of you, no matter how heavy it is, he is carrying it. insists with an easy smile and laugh on doing it himself, still managing to keep a hand empty so he can hold yours. he’ll also carry you around. if he thinks you’re tired, he’s turned his back to you and offered to carry you. hoists you up so easily and keeps steady hands on the underside of your thighs- grip a little high and firm.

— TODOROKI:

shouto always greets you with a kiss. he’ll softly cup the side of your face, content and attractive smile on his lips, “hello, my love.” he also expects you to return the gesture, tilting his head towards you subconsciously so you can litter kisses wherever you please. he always gives you so much of his attention when you talk, head tilted to the side, eyebrows furrowed, eyes locked on your own- he wanted you to be able to tell that he’s listening to you. whenever you’re walking next to each other, he always makes sure to have a hand on you, either on your waist ot intertwined with your own. he helps you undress and dress, wrapping a soft scarf tightly around your neck and letting you lean against his shoulder as he takes off your shoes.

— DENKI:

denki really likes wearing jewellery and he’s nearly always wearing at least one piece of it- layered chain necklaces, sterling silver rings, and studded earrings. he has a little dangly earring with your first initial on it which he wears all the time, no matter if it goes with the rest of his outfit or not. he stretches every time he gets up, lifting the shirt he’s wearing up to show off sharp hipbones and his muscled stomach. denki winks at you all the time and he makes a little clicking noise when he does it. anytime you pass by him while he’s sitting down, he will pull you onto his lap, hands slipping up your shirt and grinning against your neck.

— TAMAKI:

tamaki leans against you all the time, his head pressed into the curve of your neck or his chin resting on your shoulder as he looks up at you, watching the way your lips move around words. when you’re in public and he needs to tell you something, he leans down to whisper in your ear- lips brushing the back of your ear. he hums into every form of affection- sighing into kisses and tight hugs and moaning as your fingers comb through his hair. anytime he’s eating something and you want to try it, he hand feeds you a piece, using his thumb to wipe your bottom lip clean.

— HAWKS:

keigo makes very intense and purposeful eye contant whenever you talk to him, you can always see his eyes moving between yours as he leans closer to you. He also takes a lock of your hair and twirls it onto his index finger while you tell him a story, winding it and unwinding it around his fingers. he’s very casual in the way he touches you all the time- an arm on your shoulder, hand on your waist, brushing hair away from your face. he has to constantly be touching or holding onto the small of your waist. he keeps a palm firmly planted there no matter what, people can walk around you.

— DABI:

touya’s eyes always flick between your eyes and your lips when you talk to him, he nods slowly so you know that he is listening. even if he gets a little sidetracked. he tilts your head up with a crooked finger when he wants to kiss you, staring you down for a second before finally pulling you up to meet him. he has a permanent smirk and hooded eyes- he always looks bored and hot. If he ever sees you anywhere near a wall, you will be pinned against it- at least twice a day. he smirks down at you if you get flustered, running his thumb over your bottom lip. if he’s even a centimetre taller than you, he’ll use you as an armrest just to see you huff and punch his shoulder.

So, like, out of nowhere, I got an idea and then I saw your requests were open so AAAAAAH I had to come and give you an ask. Anyway— Only if you can, could you write headcanons for DBH Connor, Markus, Rupert, Simon and Ralph with, like, different ways you make them smile? Gender neutral reader maybe? Obv you don’t have to include all the characters, I’d be excited just to see you responded to me, but I was just feeling a good vibe today and felt like popping in for a hot second LOVE YOU sorry if this was kinda all over the place, I’m running off of 2 hours of sleep, McDonald’s and a Pepsi.

HOW YOU MAKE THEM SMILE | DBH

characters: connor, markus, rupert, simon, and ralph.

Connor (RK800)

— Most humans are indifferent or straight-up rude to Connor because he’s an android, so he doesn’t have much basis for comparison. This means all you really have to do is be nice to him and he’s enamored.

— “Would you give the poor guy a break, he’s just trying to help.” You snapped at Hank when he was giving Connor a hard time the first day you met at the station, before going back to angrily typing on your terminal. 

— The Lieutenant waved you off but Connor’s curiosity was piqued. Most humans refer to androids as “it”, and the fact that you didn’t was intriguing to him.

— Treat him like he’s human. Even the little things, like asking if he wants a drink- even if you know androids don’t eat or drink, it’s the fact that you ask anyways that has him smiling stupidly. Tell him to get home safe, ask if he’s feeling alright, and invite him out somewhere. Making Connor feel wanted without him necessarily having to do anything to earn it is a surefire way to have him smiling in your direction—especially when you aren’t looking.

— Kissing him is a given since he’s obsessed with it. Peck his cheek or the corner of his lips as you pass by and you’ll have him smiling at you over his shoulder with that lovesick puppy dog look.

— It takes a long time for Connor to grasp jokes, so puns and humorous jabs will only get you a confused head tilt in response. But he likes your laugh so if you’re giggling trying to get your joke out he can’t help but beam at you.

— The first time you held his hand was on a case you were assigned together, a suspect veered around the corner and you tugged him by the hand behind a dumpster to avoid detection. You’d been too focused on the suspect to realize you were still holding his hand but Connor noticed.  You didn’t see the way his LED flashed yellow as he inspected your joined hands, fascinated by the sight of your pretty fingers laced between his own. And when you turn to find him smiling at you, you realize your mistake, apologizing profusely.

— So a big fan of hand-holding, please do it more often, the corners of his mouth can’t help but twitch upwards when you do.

— GRINS LIKE A MENACE WHEN YOU STAND UP TO PEOPLE FOR HIM. People are jerks and while Connor tends to just brush them off, sometimes you can’t and you match their energy right back at them. And Connor likes it very much, can’t help but get smug knowing he’s untouchable around you because you’ll gladly throw hands to defend his honor. Will hold you back if things get physical, however.

— If someone were to insult him too harshly he would just say “Y/n will be hearing about this 😌” 

— Everyone at the station knows to fuck off unless they want an angry chihuahua biting at their ankles. Gavin tests your patience and Connor is very entertained watching the two of you bicker over him.

— When you tilt his chin up to look at you when he’s overwhelmed, asking for him to talk to you. And when he can’t find the words, you pull him into your arms and let him press his face into your neck for comfort, telling him he’s gonna be alright. You hold him until you feel him smile against your clavicle and his LED flickers back to blue.

Markus (RK200)

— You were a big help during the revolution, hiding runaway deviants and sending them to Jericho. It was only natural that you ended up spending a lot of time together and eventually falling in love, despite your differences. Loves that you treat him like a person and are so kind to his people, they’ve suffered so much at the hands of humans, it’s you that reassures him that not all humans are incapable of being enlightened. 

— Smiles at you from a distance as you care for the damaged androids in Jericho, knowing they’re safe in your caring hands. You do what you can with the supplies you’re able to swipe and offer comfort to those who are too far gone.

— Markus likes to share his interests with you. If you ever wanted to paint with him, he’d be overjoyed, just being in the zone and then being able to look over at you and see you so focused on your creation. Sit down next to him while he’s at the piano and lean against him while he plays, let him teach you to play, let him move your hands to the correct positions, and listen to his soft voice guiding you through keys and their correspondences.

— Loves when you cook together, though the majority of the time you’re distracted by one another and doing more smooching and dancing than paying attention to the stove. Say hello to slightly overcooking stuff because you were too busy tongue-wrestling with your android boyfriend.

— Markus smiles the most when you somehow exactly when he needs comfort, and do so without hesitation. It’s like you’re able to see his stress levels, which he knows is impossible, but it makes him no less impressed with your emotional intelligence. You really are his grounding force, when he’s ever uncertain or lost, he knows he can come to you.

— You two have a bit of a habit of lovingly bullying one another at every opportunity, and he loves that you can keep up.

Rupert Travis (WB200)

— Rupert doesn’t trust humans easily, but showing affection for birds will draw him to you. Maybe you frequent the same park and he often sees you feeding birds—maybe you even have a bird of your own! His Pigeons are his babies, so if you’re kind to them, you’re being kind to him by extension.

— When you finally get past that defensive wall of caution Rupert uses to protect himself from being detected and deactivated, he’s very sweet. Still quiet, but you can see that he wants to be close to you. If he catches you baby-talking to his birds he can’t help but grin.

— Smiles when you tip the bill of his hat up so you can see his eyes, and practically beams if you lean in to kiss him. He’s… so soft ugh. He’s shy about reciprocation at first, his model was programmed primarily for agriculture, so romantic gestures are outside his realm of expertise. He does enjoy your gentle touch, however, so much so that he seeks it out when he requires comfort. Sometimes all he wants is for you to wrap him in your arms and let him lie there, you don’t even need to speak.

— if you go out somewhere together (which will take convincing, especially before the revolution) he sticks to your side and keeps his head down, he needs your shoulders to be touching or your hand to grip as you traverse food stalls and aisles in the grocery store. But if you whisper little jokes or sweet nothings to him he can’t help but smile softly at you.

— Rupert likes to listen to you talk, he doesn’t have loads to add to a conversation but he’s a great listener. And if you trail off thinking you’re talking his ear off he’ll ask you something else to get you going again.

Simon (PL600)

— Simon feels things very deeply, lending an ear when he needs to talk makes him comfortable with you. He feels he doesn’t have to keep up a brave face with you like he does to reassure the others in Jericho, he knows you’ll listen and understand. He’s very grateful when you help him work through new emotions, seeing as you’ve experienced many of those being a human and all.

— Saying thank you when he inevitably does things around the house for you once you settle into domesticity, being thanked for things is still quite new to Simon. It feels good to be appreciated and treated like he’s a living being.

— If you thought being thanked wasn’t enough to give him whiplash receiving gifts certainly will be! If you’re the artistic type, make him something and tell him that he inspires you. The prospect of being your muse makes him feel very special, and the fact that you’re always thinking of him and what he’d want makes him feel even more in love with you.

— You’ll often catch Simon gazing at you with that soft smile while you’re doing everyday things, even though he offers to take care of housework you insist on sharing responsibilities. “You’re my boyfriend, not my maid, we’ll do it together.” It’s then when he realizes just how serious you are about your relationship and he wants to cry he’s so happy.

— Smiles at you when he catches you staring with that loving look in your eyes.

— Has to bite back a grin every time you refer to him as your lover to other people, especially if it confuses them and you say “Yes my boyfriend is an android, is that a problem?” Your confidence is usually enough for people to awkwardly drop the subject, but the few who have pressed get the cold shoulder very quickly.

— He’s proud to be yours, so he enjoys it when you reinforce the idea.

— Simon very much enjoys being called pet names, by the way, call him honey, sweetheart, baby— makes him melt into a puddle every time. Watch his eyes soften and his cheeks fill with blue blood as you call him the sweetest things, he appreciates them, no matter how silly they become.

Ralph (WR600)

— Humans have terrorized Ralph and his psyche has suffered greatly because of it, so for you to be kind to him after all of that seems too good to be true. But when you look upon him with so much affection and treat him with so much care Ralph can’t bring himself to rip himself away from you. You who see him as a person, and not a machine.

— Ralph is always happy to see you, and the moment you walk through the door he’s practically beaming and jumping for joy. Your presence is a comfort to him once he is no longer afraid of you. While Ralph is glad to be “free” he gets very lonely and craves companionship, like you saw with Kara and Alice he wants to be a part of a family—even if he initially went about it the wrong way.

— He smiles the widest when you ask him if he wants to live with you, because of course he does. The idea of being a part of your life, being able to see you every day? He couldn’t imagine anything better than that. And when you drive it home that you want him to be safe, he gets a little teary. Reminding him that you care makes him smile like nothing else.

— He’s so happy when you help him around the little garden he grew outside your now shared home. He talks to the plants like they understand him and will melt if you do the same. Ralph loves that you’d try to participate in his hobby, even if you aren’t all that into gardening, he appreciates your help and your company. Buy him new plants as gifts, please!!! He accepts them so graciously and cradles the pot close like he’s made a new friend, murmuring to himself about where he wants to plant it.

— Compliment him! He flusters at any and all praise, shuffling in place and smiling ear to ear when you say nice things to him. Say thank you- or kiss him in thanks when he cooks for you or cleans up around the place, he loves the validation.

— Surprise hugs! Ralph is jumpy, but surprising him with hugs and affection is a good way to start making positive associations. He may gripe a little if he accidentally spills or knocks something over in his fright but if you go to pull away he grabs your arm, “Don’t go.” Once he’s grown used to your shenanigans doing this will make him laugh.

— You’re shocked to find that Ralph is ticklish, which is amazing to you, how technology is able to replicate such human sensations. So naturally you tickle him more. You’ll have him wheezing and writhing around in no time, begging half-heartedly for mercy. How could youuuuu. He absolutely will get revenge so watch out, he’s stronger than you so it’s harder to escape from his tickling onslaught. He laughs if you laugh so it’s a win-win.

— Kiss all over his face and he’ll burst into giggles.

I AM A WHORE

literally fucking sobbing and crying rn because of the lack of bertholdt writing on this site 💔 any headcanons w/ him would be greatly appreciated!! maybe some of the other aot boys too (sfw or nsfw i’ll take whateva)

♡ 𝐒𝐅𝐖 + 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 

♡ ft. eren, jean, connie, reiner, bertholdt

♡ warning: contains a bunch of random/silly shit and explicit content (mdni)!! edging, dacryphilia, knife play, anal, choking, hair pulling, unprotected sex/creampies, oral, masochism, face slapping

I JUST NEED TO SAY THANK YOU TO WHOEVER SENT ME THIS!! someone finally said it 😩 bertholdt needs more attention and im here to serve <3 i couldnt help but add the other boys and some nsfw … oops 🧍🏼‍♀️

BERTHOLDT

• always has this cute, kinda nervous half smile around everyone. but whenever he sees you, he gets this giant, adorably bright grin!!! it’s like he saves it just for your eyes <3

• sends you good morning and good night texts, along with random voice messages throughout the day

• the voice messages can be about the most random things, but they’re SO funny 😭

• one time you got an audio from him where he was whisper-yelling into the speaker, his voice all distressed

“i was at a stoplight with my windows down, playing music, and some old guy started waving and stuff, like dancing to it?? so i smiled at him and turned the volume up, BUT THEN I REALIZED HE WAS BLIND AND LOOKING FOR THE CROSSWALK—“

• sings to himself when he’s alone. it’s either about what he’s doing at the moment or just some random "la la la"-ing. does it quietly and with the softest voice ever. ANGELIC.

• he watches you get ready as if it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. he stands at the bathroom door like 🧍🏻

• THIS IS HIM PLEASEEEE

• the more excited bertholdt gets about something he’s talking about, the more he “talks” with his hands. LOTS of arm gestures and body movement!! he might accidentally hit someone in the face with his elbow if they’re walking by LMAO

• holds open doors, pushes in your chair after you sit, and tries to never let you pay for anything. if you reach for your wallet at a restaurant, this man is nearly falling out of his seat trying to stop you. bertholdt tries to chill out because he doesn’t want to come off as overbearing, but he just wants to service you 😭

• carries ponytail elastics in his pocket or backpack in case you need one. he pulls them out at the most opportune moments like a magician 🪄

• when he hears something that confuses him, he'll stick out his bottom lip and it looks like he's pouting. he’s honestly just thinking really hard

• sits on the couch with a pillow in his lap or in his arms. it looks super cute ngl. this giant man hunched over a small throw pillow and just coddling it

• when you lean against his shoulder, he leans back

• cries over the sad ASPCA commercials </3 whenever the song “in the arms of an angel” starts playing, his eyes automatically tear up

• bertholdt is extremely cautious when making turns that expose your side of the car to oncoming traffic. he whips his head around at least 5 times to make sure no one is about to run a red light. he’s like 👀

• loves to give manicures for some reason! he’ll 100% paint your fingernails if you let him. it’s so relaxing to him!

• bertholdt just thinks your hands are really pretty 😌 not to mention they’re so small compared to his and he loves it seeing the size difference!! it makes him melt omg

• when you refuse to kiss him, he gives you these sad puppy dog eyes and bites his lip like a child would if they were in trouble. it’s the CUTEST most irresistible expression ever and he KNOWS it

• always instagramming his meals because he’s so enthusiastic about them. it might sound weird but it’s actually the most adorable thing ever whenever he does it!! he gets so excited

• snorts a little when he laughs really hard

• gets hot and bothered when you stand up for him. seeing you take the initiative like that — rare or not — just gets him going for some reason 😭

• a switch, but soft dom a lot of the time!! although, on some special occasions, he can get a little more carried away

• has the most lovely happy trail 🤤 it accentuates the sharp v-line of his hips, and he’s a little self-conscious about it — but seeing you kiss your way down it before giving him head helps him feel a bit better

• wants to try anal really bad but poor boy is super scared to ask, so he keeps it to himself :(

• gets stuck between two mindsets. he goes from “she is the most perfect person ive ever seen and i want to keep her happy and safe" to "she's such a dirty slut who deserves to be fucked nonstop and i need to see her cry pretty little tears”

• won’t tell you he has a crying kink though 🙄

• LOVES HAVING HIS CUM ON YOUR FACE. whenever you suck him off, bertholdt slips his dick from your mouth to coat your cheeks with his seed. he makes sure to swipe the tip of his cock against your face, making sure to spread his cum until it’s just a shiny film on your skin <3

• when bertholdt has a bad day or is extremely stressed — be careful when you tell him he can be rough with you, because you’re going to get more than you bargained for

• your smaller body is no match for him, so bertholdt can flip you into different positions with ease. he mounts you and pushes into your cunt violently, moaning at your cries and muffled whines, knowing that your stomach has to be bulging from the sheer size of his cock

• stuffs your cunt until his dick is completely swallowed up, pressed tightly against your cervix — watching you struggle to take it all sets bertholdt off. he feels so bad, so dirty for thinking that, but he can’t help it 💔

• his oral fixation is OFF THE CHARTS. when you let out pitiful cries and whines, bertholdt gently grabs your jaw and pushes two fingers into your mouth

• he loves watching your drool dribble down your chin and his knuckles; it keeps you from being too loud as he stretches you out, cock slipping inside of your warm, sloppy cunt and filling every last piece of space inside you

• mommy kink, but y’all already knew that.

• you’re just so hot and ready for him that he can’t resist abusing your pussy every once and awhile 😌

• the next day you’re like 👩‍🦽 where’s my handicap parking space

• when bertholdt subs, he’s an obedient sweetie pie!!

• literally the definition of a pretty drooly boy who will do just about anything for you without hesitation <3

EREN

• he waves at random people while driving just to see if they'll wave back. he insults them if they don't

• “fucking crusty bitch, that’s why your wife doesn’t love your baldheaded ass”

• uses his laptop keyboard as a plate for chips sometimes. he knows it’s bad and doesn't care 🙄

• he saw you paint your fingernails once and said it was pointless because the polish would chip off … but then you wake up the next day and catch him at the kitchen table like 💅🏻

• HE’S THE SPITTING IMAGE OF THIS WHEN HE GETS CAUGHT

• gets addicted to painting his nails black after that … the hypocrisy ✋

• when he’s leaving work or wherever he’s been, he texts you that he’s on his way home and asks if you need anything!!

• when you two sleep in the same bed, eren needs to be touching you in some way. if you try to scoot away from his grasp, he moans, moves over, and proceeds to cuddle you. literally can’t sleep without feeling you next to him

• NOT A MORNING PERSON

• if you try to wake him up, he mumbles “fight me” before pulling you back into bed. it always ends up in a wrestling match

• sends you hardcore porn and says “me and u <3”

• uses hello kitty bandaids. don’t ask

• gets overwhelmed with so much love and emotion for you sometimes and doesnt know how to handle it?? so he just… kinda thinks about you all day and imagines what your wedding would be like

• eren is actually a very kind and loving person — this man cares about the people around him beyond belief. he just makes so many sarcastic remarks and rude jokes that he comes across as a bitch 💀

• has a “good luck condom” in his wallet and refuses to take it out

• sends you super long texts of all of his random thoughts in the middle of the night for you to wake up to

• “just found out babies don’t have kneecaps wtf 💀 ok goodnight”

• “flushed away” is one of his favorite movies because he thinks the female rat is hot

• acts utterly surprised and amazed whenever he sees you naked. sometimes he pretends to faint for no reason 😐

• smiles with his eyes before his mouth. its so obvious when he’s about to give one of those giant smirks because his eyes crinkle at the corners a bit and they look so happy!!

• you turn him on so much one day that he makes a thirsty tumblr post about it. it gets like 5,000 reblogs from how nasty it is 👩🏼‍🦯

 • the first time you tried to ride him, eren orgasmed the second he bottomed out. you both just stared at each other in awe. the pussy was that good ig 😩 (he refused to try again for months out of embarrassment lmao)

• won’t sub very often, but when he does, he’s the biggest brat in the bedroom. pretty interesting to hear lots of teasing come from somebody who falls apart whenever you shove your fingers down his throat

• thinks that women should be edged and have multiple orgasms at least once a day. definitely wants to apply that belief to you

• daydreams of having you between his legs and slowly jerking him off <3

• maid costume kink. end of story.

• there’s nothing eren loves more than picking you up and bouncing you on his dick like a doll, right until you can’t form coherent words. seeing you get dumb from his cock … yeah, he’s weak at the knees

• though he can be soft sometimes, eren likes initiating sex with more aggressive movements — not feather-light or fleeting touches. it just doesn’t get the desperation of the situation across as well

• he wants to simply shove a hand up your shirt or down your pants, press his fingers into the flesh of your thighs and then grab at your cunt, more rough than typical sexual advances

• eren likes it when you rake your fingernails down his back, making him hiss between his teeth. and then, right after, he gives you the most predatory smile as he pounds into your cunt even harder

• because maybe if he keeps fucking you like this — forcing every last orgasm out of you — you'll dig your nails even deeper into his skin and properly feed into his masochism

• face slapping is also a secret indulgence of his. he doesn’t want to do it on you though; he wants it to be done on him 😳

• when eren starts getting rowdy, feel free to slap him across the face. it’s almost funny how quick it shuts him up. he just smiles at you after, satisfied and giddy, before calling you all sorts of derogatory names. slap him around as much as you want, because he loves it

• the sharp sting of pain paired with your pussy sucking in his cock — he’s in heaven

• in fact, eren just loves your pussy

• he can’t get enough of it. the way it rubs his cock — the inside of it velvety smooth, paired with the spongy texture of your g-spot — fuck, he loses his mind

• it grips the tip of his dick so nicely, stimulating the nerves there and making him toss his head back, leaving his jaw open and brain whirling

• honestly, if eren had less self-control, he’d be a drooling mess. he’s definitely pussy-whipped

JEAN

• his resting bitch face is constant. no doubt about it. i feel like it would kind of be funny though, like he looks so deadpan sometimes

• you tell him to stop looking at you like that and he’s like “🤨 this is my face”

• im sorry to say it but we all know this man has dry humor

• gets infuriated when he washes a spoon and the water splashes back on him. has to leave the room to calm himself down

• he got banned from tiktok after posting a video of connie falling off a hoverboard and busting his ass. he’s held a grudge against the app ever since

• can’t help but smile a tiny bit when you both make eye contact. he gets embarrassed though and whips his head away at the speed of light 🙄 you have to tell him to stop being a lil bitch

• runs away from lush employees at the mall so they don’t tell him what every soap does

• always says he understands why the grinch wanted to live alone with his dog 🧍🏼‍♀️

• jean likes it when you fix his bedhead — because his mullet can look like a nest when he wakes up — but pretends it annoys him, telling you to stop doting on him. still, when you look up at him and see the tiniest little quirk of his lips… you know he’s lyin ✋

• one time during the night, you stole all the bed sheets and left jean without any. when you woke up, this man was shivering with half of his body in a pillowcase LMAOO

• HE WAS LIKE

• poor guy wasn’t living, he was SURVIVING

• somehow knows your menstrual cycle better than you do. when you start, jean pulls up with the pads and tampons. you ask him how he knew and this man just shrugs, putting on that disinterested façade … truly an enigma

• HATES KAHOOT WITH A BURNING PASSION. the bright red screen after you get a question wrong fills him with rage. he doesn’t want the people behind him to think he’s a fucking idiot

• he’s one of the top students in his graduating class though, so 💅🏻

• a morning person. a lot of the time, he’ll be awake before you. he perks up a little when he notices your eyes open, and can’t help but let out a dramatic sigh. “there she is”

• has a tongue piercing 😏

• dislikes public displays of affection and prefers to do everything — besides hand holding — behind closed doors. sometimes he will steal a kiss from you in the store though because you’re just too irresistible!! your lips are one of his biggest weaknesses </3

• in private? jean is 100% a kiss fiend. he’s always finding reasons to peck you on the lips or jaw. not to mention how heated they tend to get… yeah, he’s also a make-out junkie

• jean might not seem like it, but he tends to get distracted when he’s doing a task he’s not interested in

• you’ll see him doing some online schoolwork, leave the room for ten minutes, and come back to him watching “top 10 unexplained ocean mysteries” on youtube

• CHEMISTRY IS BORING OKAY

• sends you pics of the grass when it’s super green because he thinks you’ll like it for some reason

• jean’s favorite way of cuddling is when he’s lying on his back with you right beside him, resting your head on his chest. one of his hands need to mess absentmindedly with your hair, and he always tangles your legs with his. don’t take them away because he will COMPLAIN

• jean got his tongue piercing without telling you — and you only realize it when he eats you out one day. it’s a wonderful surprise to say the least 💫

• whenever you offer him oral, jean rubs your face against his clothed cock before making you suck the head through the fabric, licking and pressing into it even harder until you're desperate to taste him

• and how can he say no? after all, his favorite thing is using your throat like a cocksleeve, like his personal little fleshlight

• jean tries not to push your head when you suck him off — he doesn’t want to gag you — but his cockhead feels so good when it touches the back of your throat, and he just has to experience that shock of pleasure again. so he uses a hand to push you down until your nose touches his pelvis. you can feel his dick so deep into your throat that tears start to drip down your face, and the image has him shaking

• if jean’s feeling a little nice, he’ll rest his heavy cock on your tongue while you fuck yourself with a dildo that's suctioned to the wall

• enjoys giving oral too; jean isn’t much of a people pleaser and doesn’t give a fuck what anyone thinks of him. but when it comes to you, your pleasure is one of the first things on his mind. so in order to treat you — and only you — eating your cunt is imperative to him <3

• not to mention that jean loves every aspect of it. he melts at the feeling of his tongue on your clit, circling and flicking against it, messing with the hood. he makes sure to absolutely abuse your sweet little bud, closing his lips around it and sucking until you’re close to cumming in just a few minutes. he lets one of his fingers do swirls inside your pussy the entire time, laughing breathily against your clit when you sob out his name and try to rock against his face

• not only does jean like cumming in you, but he likes cumming on you. your face, chest, stomach, thighs — wherever. but his favorite place is right on your pussy

• jean can’t explain it, but something is so hot about it: shooting his cum right against your cunt, not even trying to stuff his cock into your hole first — the thick strings dripping down your clit and sliding in between your folds, getting you all filthy

• he uses the head of his cock to smear the remnants around your opening, lubing it all up until it’s clenching around nothing but his cum

• jean gets hard again in like 2 seconds 💀

• okay, i know everyone depicts this man as a dom, but catch him on a good day and you might be able to change his mind

• not on purpose, of course SMH. jean will start out being on top and acting all tough, but when you manage to take control by pinning him down and grinding against him … oh, how the tables have turned 😈

• edge him and he becomes a rutting mess, panting like a bitch in heat as he moves his hips back and forth, humping his cock into your hand without a thought in his stupid, empty brain

• has a firm hold on your shoulders when you pry your fingers away from his dick, and he just whines in frustration

• the sound makes your pussy go 💢💢💢 DEADASS

• jean also likes having his hair pulled while he sucks on your tits. i mean, it’s long and grown-out for a reason, right? why not tug on it and get his cock a little harder?

REINER

• sweet, sweet man whose love language is physical touch

• tries not to be clingy, but he thrives on physical affection. always likes to have a hand on you. he’ll rest a palm on your leg when you’re watching a movie, or put an arm around you doing pretty much anything else. when walking in public, he likes to have a hand on your lower back or your fingers brushing against one another

• holds your hand while he’s driving. no idea if he even realizes it, but he rubs lil soothing circles onto your knuckles with his thumb

• okay, i know he’s tall and broad so he might not look it, but reiner is such a cuddle bug. he cant get enough of cuddling, EVER

• reiner likes to wipe away your "eye crusties"/“sleep crust” or whatever you prefer to call it. the first thing he does when you wake up in the morning is make you close your eyes so he can gently swipe both thumbs along the inner corners

• lowkey gets irritated if you wipe them away yourself 🧍🏼‍♀️

• one time he tried to get rid of a boner by thinking of two guys kissing but got harder instead

• when reiner was a kid, he was at a party with pieck, bertholdt, porco, and marcel. they were all playing truth or dare when porco dared him to go home. the cringy memory still haunts him

• mentions how scary being a baby must be because you can fall asleep in a crib and then wake up at walmart

• not an early bird or a night owl. he’s just in a permanent state of exhaustion 😁

• the side of his neck is extremely ticklish, and every time you kiss him there, he leans his head into it a bit with a smile because your breath is tickling him

• has the biggest soft spot for animals. don’t take him to the shelter with you because he’ll want to take every cat and dog home with him

• doesn’t laugh often. he usually chuckles softly or exhales a sharp puff of air through his nose whenever he finds something funny. but when he does laugh, OH MY GOD ITS PERFECT. LITERAL MAGIC TO THE EARS — it’s deep, a little rumbly, but still so musical. it could eradicate covid and end world hunger

• films stupid tiktok videos like this with you

• gets embarrassed buying condoms so he goes through self-checkout 😭

• sometimes pulls you into him and slow dances with you while you’re both alone in the house, humming a tune and swaying back and forth <3

• very insecure. not the person to be like “im gonna control you around other men/women because you’ll like them better than me” type of insecure, but more just like… he hates himself. so he doesn’t know how to take compliments :(

• whenever you call him perfect or handsome, reiner’s face flushes, and he gets a little awkward — he fidgets a little and struggles to look you in the face, but it’s so cute!! even though he doesn’t know how to accept it, his eyes are sparkling with SO MUCH LOVE and he wants to murmur thousands of thank yous

• lets you press your cold toes and hands against him to warm them up. if that’s not love idk what is

• always bites his lower lip to suppress his groans. it makes him look so pathetic and innocent

• whispers a soft “oh fuck" whenever he’s about to cum

• doesn’t dom all the time, but when he does, he’s so passionate about it. reiner is completely focused on getting you dripping wet to the point where he’s able to push inside you without any sort of resistance holding him back

• has an affinity for LOUD nasty sex. the type where all you can hear are moans and whines, the squelching of a dripping pussy being plowed into, and the bedframe hitting the wall. can’t get enough of it. the more perverted sounding, the better

• KNIFE PLAY KINK.

• loves to pin your arms above your head as he fucks you in missionary

• one of his worst fears is hurting you, so reiner won’t be rough in bed unless you ask for it. but if you do… LORD HAVE MURTHY 👵 👓 🤏

• he tosses you onto the bed, immediately crawling on top to give you a violent, bruising kiss. marks up every part of your body with hickies and swipes of his tongue. when you try to run a hand through his hair, he pushes it away and pins it down. it’s his “no touching” rule

• reiner is strong as hell, so he can manhandle you into any position without an issue. sometimes he’ll throw you around a little aggressively, but he always apologizes for it <3

• g-spot orgasms are hard to achieve, but reiner draws them from you so easily. his fingers actually make you cum faster than a vibrator would. it’s one of his talents ✨

• and the actual fucking? get ready, because that was just the foreplay 🥴

• this man pushes as deep inside as he can go and grinds your hips together as hard as possible. reiner doesn’t half-ass rough sex; he fucks you in earnest as you cry and whine, struggling to take him, but loving it so so much

• in doggy style, sometimes he’ll put a hand on the back of your neck to keep your head down, pressing your cheek into the mattress. once you’re a begging mess and close to cumming, he grabs you by the hair — with just the perfect amount of roughness — and cranes your head back to make you watch the way his cock pushes in and out of you

• it’s so funny though because he’s a man of duality. he can go from being rough to a brainless little fucktoy. his subby side? so soft and whiny and needy

• reiner has nipple piercings and they’re extremely sensitive. this makes nipple play secretly one of his favorite things

• he’s a little hesitant to admit that, considering the whole feminization of the kink … don’t judge him </3

• you have no idea how much he loves it when you run your tongue over them to feel the cold metal. his body literally shakes and he has to clench his fists to keep himself from writhing too much

• can cum from only his nipples being touched

• degradation kink!! god, reiner can hardly control himself when you call him your “stupid slut” or a “pathetic whore”

• it’s not well established, but reiner has lots of kinks. isayama told me

• reiner always keeps a bottle of advil on hand because sometimes he gets too carried away and your cervix hurts afterward LMAO

• poor guy feels SO bad, but don’t worry, you’re treated to plenty of kisses and orgasms to help with the pain <3

CONNIE

• NOT SUBTLE AT ALL. you can say “don’t look, but that guy over there—" and SWOOP, connie’s head flings back and he stares the person straight in the face

• THIS IS HIM

• it’s on purpose too 😐 he knows damn well it’s not necessary

• STICKS HIS FINGER IN YOUR MOUTH WHEN YOU YAWN JUST TO RUIN IT.

• has the best laugh!! it’s so contagious. but when connie thinks something is really funny?? he cackles like a witch. sometimes it sounds like he’s 2 milliseconds away from getting on a broom stick 🧙 ITS GOOFY

• sometimes he’ll pretend to drop an invisible pair of glasses, and then when he bends down to “pick them up,” he starts twerking

• “jinkies!!! i dropped my glasses… and this fat ass.”

• he also pulls his pants up to his ribcage and tucks his shirt in so he looks like an 80 year old man 👴

• eats handfuls of grated parmesan cheese and makes his animal crackers fight to decide which one will spared

• has at least 15 internet tabs open at all times. straight chaos. his laptop is begging for mercy

• bites you for no reason??? you could be doing homework or something and all of a sudden he’s sneaking in from behind and biting your shoulder

• devours salt and vinegar chips until his tongue hurts. you have to listen to him complain about it until his tastebuds heal

• EVERY TIME connie farts, he looks around like he’s scared and then does an impression of this girl word-for-word

• “did you guys hear that? 😟 im scared 😰 i don’t know what was that guys and i didn’t do that—” KNOWING DAMN WELL HE DID IT

• connie will bark out of nowhere and look at you like his heart is broken until you bark back

• a total lovebug … chaotic, but a lovebug nonetheless!!

• demands kisses all the time. says he thrives off them

• speaking of kisses, connie LOVES giving them!! whenever he gets home from work, he drops all his shit just to grab your cheeks in both of his hands and kiss every inch of your face <3

• always gives you his hoodies to wear. he just likes sharing, okay?? 🙄

• likes holding hands. likes holding hands. likes holding hands. likes holding ha—

• BELIEVE IT OR NOT… connie is a hard dom. HEAR ME OUT 😤

• yes, he’s funny, silly, and has the sense of humor of a baguette. but it makes that personality switch in the bedroom so much more alluring

• connie goes from acting like a total idiot to staring at you with this wicked lopsided grin, shoving you onto the bed and making a show of unlooping his belt

• it’s kinda mean too, because he unbuckles it slowly — just to make you think you have time to apologize for being a brat earlier

• but in reality? connie has already made up his mind. so don’t look confused when he whips his dick out and orders you to kneel at his feet, his tongue running along his front teeth and his dimples showing out of delight

• and connie is such a dick, because he’ll purposely provoke and tease you — waiting until you say something bratty

• his reason for doing so? he now has an excuse to shove your pretty little face up against the wall and force his fat cock into your drippy pussy, punishing your hole while groaning at your pathetic whines

• his movements are always sharp and hasty as he bends you over, pushing deep into you and pumping a good amount of his pre-cum into that perfect pussy — along with a thick load of his seed

• cums a whole bunch too <3

• makes you thank him afterwards 😌

• connie is just so dirty. he wants the nastiest things; wants his fingers wrapped around your neck as he slips into you, wants to watch your face screw up when you let out a strangled cry. wants to shove his fingers into your mouth when your jaw falls half-open during a particularly hard thrust. he wants to leave you bruised, wants you to climax so many times that your pussy is swollen and beat up

• also… edging king 💯 he likes to ruin your orgasms fr

• sometimes connie will stop sucking on your clit just to rest his cheek on your inner thigh and grin — or he stops fingering your pussy, only shrugging when you say you were about to cum. he doesn’t give a fuck. he’s in control of your pleasure, not you

• and it’s crazy, because once everything is said and done, connie is so much more… connie?? like he starts cracking sly jokes and the atmosphere is suddenly so much lighter

• ten minutes later he’s watching tiktoks and nearly pissing himself from laughing like??? pick a side dude, you gonna act tough or what 😭

what 141's military personnel file looks like

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NOTE: NOT CANON! most of the information is based off of the wiki/my medical file post

summary: So what exactly were in those dossiers Price gave to Laswell at the end of MW 2019? Here's a look into those, along with some reminders/sticky notes. Answering this ask :)

template if you’d like to try it out!

ALSO! the ages were such a headache this post did a great job explaining how confusing the wiki/some statements are so please check it out

warnings: medical inaccuracies, mention of wounds/wound care, mentions of depression, medical terminology

a/n: these came out better than i thought! also 2004 was such a bad year for Price and Ghost

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