Tumgik
#inbox <3
barbieboooze · 3 days
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i wanna see more of robonyan expression sadistic smile teeth sharp? cute and sadistic
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While I'm here making a ykw post I might as well say this (not aimed at you asker)
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Hey please don't send me Shit like this ! I could go on a whole essay with quotes and MLA format with him showing romantic interest in B3-NK1 (not just sexual interest)
Even if you don't see him as gay/lgbt+ don't go harass me or others about it. If you don't like it or disagree, block and move on! Or even easier, you can just scroll away it's super easy it takes less than a second <3
(Also unimportant to my previous point but just bc he showed attraction to a girl in the other forms of media doesn't mean he's straight LMFAO he could be bisexual or pan or like anything LMAO)
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starkwlkr · 1 month
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hi loved your Rubi and Charles oneshotes 🥹🥹🥹 it’s the cutest thing ever ,I was wondering if u can make the same with max and Noah or maybe a daughter 😭😭 please 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻
little boss | max verstappen
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I’ve been wanting to write more for max lately, especially dad fics 😭 so thank you for this request!!
Whenever Noah was in the paddock, Max always made sure he was close by. It didn’t matter if he was doing interviews or in a meeting, he had to be close and the team didn’t mind. Everyone loved Noah, including the fans. During interviews, the little boy would be in his father’s arms playing with the cap on Max’s head or giving him kisses on the cheek resulting in many YouTube compilations of dad Max.
“Did you like the race, Noah?” An interviewer asked the boy, holding a microphone towards him.
Noah looked at his dad as if asking if it was okay to talk. Max gave him a nod. “I liked how the car sounds. It’s loud but I’m not scared.”
“Tell them how the car sounds.” Max said as Noah mimicked the sound of his dad’s car which resulted in various laughs.
“He’s actually my boss. He’s the one that tells me when I’m not going fast enough, when to pit, right?” Max looked at his son.
“You were slow this time . . Like when the race almost ended and you came in and I counted the seconds and it was . . “ he counted on his fingers. “It was five seconds!”
“I took five seconds? I’ll try to be faster next time, okay?” Max played along. “See? He’s my boss.”
“Do I sense a team principal in the making?”
“Watch out, Christian.” Max teased.
Other times when Max had to attend press conferences, drivers noticed how much of a dad max acted. He would often mumble throngs to Noah, who stayed with someone from the Red Bull team.
“You’re such a dad, mate.” Charles chuckled as Max got up from his seat and walked to his son to make sure he was drinking enough water.
“It’s adorable.” Lewis commented.
“I don’t want water, papa.” Noah gave Max the water bottle with a frown.
“Okay, I’ll be over here. Let me know when you want water, okay? Be good.” Max placed a gentle kiss on the boy’s head then walked back to his seat. “What was the question?”
Eventually, Noah did want water so he whispered his dad’s name until Max heard. “Water!” Noah whisper yelled.
“I can get it for you.” Max’s manager told him, but Max had gestured for Noah to come get it so the boy did so. Immediately Noah was greeted by the drivers.
“Hey, little boss man.” Lewis fist bumped the boy. “How’s school? You doing your homework?”
Noah nodded. “I got all the answers right on my test and then papa took me to see a movie and it was so funny.”
“That’s awesome!”
After having a drink of water, Max let Noah sit on his lap as the press conference continued. Towards the end, the boy was half asleep. Max kepts his arms around his little boy as he finally went to sleep. Thankfully the press conference had ended so he walked back to his driver’s room so he and Noah could have a nap together.
The next morning, the hashtag daddy max was trending. The hashtag was filled with screenshots and videos of the press conference. Some people even made memes out of the interaction between Noah and Lewis. It was clear that Max enjoyed being a dad and the whole world loved to see it.
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honey-on-your-tongue · 8 months
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Can I request reader teasing Miguel and trying to rile him up at a gathering, nearly getting him in trouble in front of your parents, so he just snaps and punishes you?
Aaaa my first Miguel request!!! Baby this idea has me crazyyyy.
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What else are you supposed to do? It's a small gathering of your parents' friends and Miguel is here. You're bored. You need something to do other than answer everyone's questions about how your second year of college is going for you.
And it's so easy. Miguel just about sets himself up. He walks into the kitchen when you're alone and he playfully squeezes your ass. How are you not supposed to rub your ass back against his crotch?
That little stunt of yours manages to make him harder than he already was. He gasps softly, a low groan leaving his lips as his hands grab onto your hips. He pushes you against the counter, pressing his body to yours.
His hard cock presses against your ass and you shudder, desire pooling between your thighs. “You dirty thing,” he says lowly, his mouth lowering to your ear. “What do you think you're doing?”
You shrug innocently. “Nothing, Mr. O'Hara,” you say in a sweet little tone. “I'm just helping my parents around in the kitchen.” You smirk softly as you turn to face him, one of your hands moving to the front of his jeans. You palm his hard-on through his pants and he groans, eyes fluttering shut.
You get a rise out of teasing him. Out of seeing him suffer a little.
You pull your hand away and say, “My mamá is waiting for the enchiladas.” You grab the platter of enchiladas and walk out of his arms, away from him.
Miguel stays where he is, hands gripping onto the counter too tight, body hunched over, breathing heavily. His eyes are shut hard, his mouth open as he pants in and out.
He feels like some goddamned beast on the verge of losing it. This is how your father finds him.
“Miguel, buddy, what's wrong?” he asks, patting Miguel's shoulder. “The party's outside.”
No, Miguel wants to say. That little princesa is outside, and she's a dangerous thing...
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Night falls. The party has gathered around a bonfire, drinking a few beers and sharing stories. You're sitting on one of the patio chairs, wearing Miguel's sweater, your arms crossed over your chest. You'd been cold. He wordlessly put his sweater on you.
You watch from afar as everyone chats and laughs and shares and—
You lock eyes with Miguel. From across the bonfire, he watches you like a predator stalking its prey. His eyes are sharp, dark, and it sends a shudder through you.
You have the audacity to grin at him and nod microscopically towards your house. You get up and walk inside, mostly unnoticed by the rest.
Miguel plans on waiting a few minutes to follow you, but he doesn't hold out for more than half a minute when he hops to his feet and murmurs something about going to the bathroom. Without caring if others heard him or not, he walks inside the house.
He finds you in the hall that leads to the staircase. You're leaning against the wall, his sweater lopsided, revealing your shoulder where you still have a hickey from the last time you two had an encounter.
He walks towards you, that innocent look on your face sending rage through him. And he loves it. The way you're so mean to him, purposely riling him up and then walking away–fuck, the way he needs to make you sorry you ever did it.
He reaches you and harshly pushes you against the wall. A soft gasp leaves you and guilt fills him as he realizes that he was too rough. He's about to apologize when he sees the way your eyes darken with lust and he raises an eyebrow with piqued interested.
He leans down a little, his lips inching closer to yours. Your breath hitches and you softly say, “Miguel, please.”
“Princesa, you owe me big time, and you're in no position to ask for favors,” he points out, voice low and menacing.
You shiver, either because you can hear the rage in his words or because you're incredibly aroused, you're not sure.
He grabs your chin in his fingers, titling your head up so that your gaze holds his.
“Abre la boca, princesa,” he says lowly. Open your mouth.
Your eyes flutter at the order as you do what he wants. Your lips part for him and Miguel drags his thumb over your lower lip before spitting in your mouth. You whine quietly and his cock twitches. Your eyes threaten to close and he tugs at your chin, forcing your gaze back to his. Instinctively, you swallow, your eyes not leaving his.
His hand slides from your chin to your neck, choking you ever so slightly. “You owe me an apology, princesa,” he says lowly.
You nod, your breathing heavy.
“Ponte de rodillas.” Get on your knees.
You shudder and lower yourself to your knees in front of him, meeting his gaze.
He smirks slightly, his heart rate spiking at the wag you look up at him. He grabs your face in his hand, eyes darting to your mouth. He traces your lips with his thumb, gaze darkening as he pictures you choking on his cock, pretty tears rolling down your face as you whine.
You raise your hands to his pants, eager to open the button and undo the zipper. But then you hear the footsteps.
You barely get the chance to process what's happening. You don't have enough time to get up, so you quickly move your hands to your shoes, pretending to do your laces.
Meanwhile, Miguel takes a step away from you, leaning back against the hall wall.
You both glance over to find your dad standing at the far end of the hallway.
He looks a little confused about the two of you here, but he seems to recover soon enough. “Miguel, what are you doin' hiding in here?”
He shrugs. “Your kid was just tellin' me about college. I told her about our time in college. Guess it's a good thing she isn't like you, huh.”
Your dad laughs. “Yeah, she's more responsible, less of a troublemaker than we were at her age.”
Miguel gives you a little look as you finish tying and retying your shoes and stand up. “Yeah. She's a real good girl.”
You shiver at his words.
Your dad doesn't seem to notice your flustered state. “Come on, Miguel, let's go back out. Have a couple of beers, laugh. You look like you need to relax.”
“I'm fine,” Miguel says in a low snarl.
Your dad raises his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I was just offering. We'll be outside. Help yourself to the beers in the fridge if you want.” He turns around and walks away, leaving the two of you in the hall again.
You glance up at Miguel. “You want a drink?” you ask. “There's a lot more than just beer in the house.”
He turns to you, a dark glare in his eyes. It sends a shock of fear through you, spilling desire all across your skin.
“Go get in my car. I'm taking you to my place.” His tone leaves no space for argument.
“What-what do I tell my parents?” you stutter.
He loves when you get like this. All nervous and excited, asking him to think for you.
“Tell them you've got a party or something. I'll tell them it's on my way and I'll drop you off.”
You nod. You walk back outside, heart racing in anticipation. “Dad, I-I gotta get going,” you tell him.
“Where you going?” he asks you, frowning slightly.
“Oh, I-I've got a party,” you lie, nodding softly.
“A party?” your mom says, stepping into the conversation. “Go on, honey. Go have fun. You'll have a better time than staying here with us.”
Your dad nods. “Yeah. You want me to take you, or—”
“Actually, I was gonna take her,” Miguel cuts in. “The party's on my way home.”
Your dad frowns. “You're leaving already, Miguel?”
He nods, rubbing his nape. “It's been a long day and I gotta wake up early tomorrow.” He's lying through his teeth. And everyone knows it. They just don't know it's because of you.
“Alright. Uh. Okay.” Your dad nods. He turns to you. “Be good, kiddo. What time are you going to be back?”
“Um” —you exchange a look with Miguel— “probably tomorrow morning?” Miguel gives you a tiny, tiny nod that only you can see. “Yeah, tomorrow morning,” you confirm.
Your dad nods. You know he's not happy with you being out all night, but you're twenty-two, he can't exactly tell you what to do and what not to do. “Have fun.”
Miguel smirks slyly. “I'm sure she will.”
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The drive back to Miguel's is mostly silent. Except for the occasional moans and whimpers you can't help but let out as Miguel slides his fingers over your slick pussy.
As soon as you got in his truck and he started driving away, he'd snuck his hand under your skirt, delighted—although not surprised—to find you already soaked through your panties.
He pushed those aside with ease and worked on slowly teasing you the way he knows you love.
Now, he's pushing you to an intense, rough orgasm. You can feel it spreading in your lower stomach, making your body quiver.
“Miguel,” you whimper, gasping. “Miguel, please—”
“You don't get to ask for favors,” he reminds you. “Just sit back and take it.”
You whine, back arching, body trembling. Your eyes shut tight, mouth falling open as you start to fall over the edge—
Miguel's touch stops just as suddenly as it had started. He leaves you hanging there, making you shudder and whimper as your orgasm dissipates. “No! No!”
And Miguel laughs. He sounds almost delighted at your reaction, at the look of pain on your face. “What's wrong, princesa?” he mocks. “Do you not like the consequences of your actions?”
You squirm, legs trembling as your pleasure washes away. “No, no,” you whine. “Miguel, please.”
He chuckles darkly, ignoring you as he keeps driving calmly, looking absolutely indifferent to your obvious suffering.
“Please,” you say softly. “Miguel...”
He rolls his eyes. “Christ, alright,” he huffs, as if you were asking him an enormous favor. He slides his hand between your sweat-slick thighs, his cock twitching at the mere thought of being inside of you.
Miguel touches you just like you'd asked, fingers teasing your cunt until you're dripping onto the seat.
He drives with ease, completely unbothered by your hand around his wrist, nails digging into his skin. He doesn't even have to look over at you as he touches you; he knows your body well enough, he has a map of every inch of your skin in his brain, every crevice and every sensitive spot perfectly memorized.
You can feel another orgasm growing within you, a warm bubble rising to a boil as he keeps fucking you with his fingers.
You bite your tongue, whining softly, hoping you somehow manage to hide the fact that you're close.
“Why so quiet all of a sudden?” he mocks, chancing a glance at you. Your eyes are shut tight, head thrown back against the headrest. He runs his tongue over his teeth, aching to bite your soft neck, leave hickeys all over the delicate skin...
Your orgasm bubbles closer to the surface, your soft gummy walls clenching around his fingers. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you hiss under your breath, mind growing hazy from ecstasy.
The corner of his mouth curls into a smirk. He recognizes the way your body shakes, the little gasps that escape you. He knows you're close. His fingers keep playing with your cunt, making you see stars until you're trembling with your nearing orgasm.
And just before you can come, he pulls away, leaving you whimpering, tears of frustration welling in your eyes.
“No,” you whine. “Miguel, no. I need to come.”
He laughs, enjoying your distress. “Sucks for you,” he chuckles. “Should've thought of that before you misbehaved, princesa.”
You shudder. “Please, Miguel. Oh, please, I need to come!”
“If you want it so bad, why don't you do it yourself?” he challenges.
You turn to look at him. He looks absolutely careless, eyes on the road, lips twisted into a tiny grin. “You-you—What?” Your voice is high-pitched, your eyes wide, lashes wet with tears of frustration.
“If you want to come, do it yourself,” he repeats. “You're a big girl; you can do it yourself, can't you?”
You whine, biting your lower lip as you move a hand between your thighs. Your fingers trace over your folds before spreading them apart, making space for you to play with your clit. You let out a breathy moan and Miguel glances over at you. His cock twitches at the sight, and—not for the first time—he considers sometime filming you. You're so beautiful, you turn him on so much, and he'd love to have a video of you with your fingers deep in yourself, just like you are right now, skirt hastily pushed out of the way, panties forced to the side...
He groans at the thought. He'd make an entire movie with you, hours of everything he loves to do to you. He'd bend you over the bed, have you ride him, have you under him. He'd eat you out until you'd be shaking and gasping for him to stop. He'd have you suck his cock so he can come all over your face and on your pretty tits. He'd fuck you dumb, hoping to be able to record the glow of your skin once he's through with you.
You thrust your fingers into you with ease, trying desperately to come. The pleasure within you grows, spreads over your skin, but it's not the same as when Miguel does it. His touch is electrifying, the perfect combination of rough, fast and deep.
The more you try to make yourself come, the more you realize you can't. You need him. You can't do it on your own.
You don't want to admit it to him, so you keep trying, only managing to grow more and more frustrated as your fingers fail to push you over the edge.
By the time you get to Miguel's place, you're a crying, sobbing mess, fingers slick with your desperation, your body aching for release.
“Aw,” he mocks, “what’s wrong, princesa?” He cups your face in one of his enormous hands, his thumb running over your tears. “What are you crying for?”
You sniffle. “Please, Miguel,” you cave, your eyes brimming with tears, wide and needy. You give him a gorgeous, puppy-eye look through your wet eyelashes, and he groans lowly as the image of you with his cock down your throat pops into his mind.
“Let’s go inside, princesa,” he says, stepping out of his truck. On wobbly legs, you mimic him, opening the car door and hoping out. Miguel marches to the front door of his house without giving you so much as a glance.
He walks inside and you follow him. The house is dark, the moonlight casting shadows through the window. He’s on you as if he were starved for you.
He pushes you against the wall, kicking the door shut. He towers over you, enormous body caging yours to the call. You whine softly, a gasp leaving you as he slides a thick thigh between your legs, pressing his knee to your cunt.
He chuckles as your slick starts to seep through his pants. He can feel your desperation, he can almost taste it. He’s spent too much time with his mouth on your cunt to not have your taste perfectly memorized.
You, the needy little desperate thing you are, start grinding against his thigh, eager, greedily. He chuckles lowly, one of his hands holding onto your hip to guide your movements, the other one on the wall, right beside your head.
“You’re in so much trouble,” he laughs, a rumble from deep in his throat. “So much trouble.” He moves his mouth to your ear, voice thick and sweet, like honey pouring down  the side of your neck. “Do you have any idea how bad I wanted to just drag you up to your bedroom, bend you over your bed and take what’s rightfully mine?”
You swallow hard, whimpering as you desperately grind on his leg. “Miguel...”
“If you want me to take care of your needy little pussy, you’re going to have to do something for me, princesa.” He grabs your chin in his hand, his thumb tracing your lips before sliding between them, pressing down on your tongue.
You instantly know what he wants. Keeping your eyes on his, you lower yourself to your knees, trapped between his body and the wall at your back. Your hands rise to the waistband of his pants, fingers trembling slightly in anticipation. You undo his pants, pull them down with ease. His cock springs free, hard and heavy, the tip a dark red. Your eyes move up to Miguel’s, meeting his starved gaze.
You give his cock a kitten-lick, heat shuddering through you as he groans. He pushes your hair out of your face as you lean in, taking him in your mouth. He grunts, fingers tugging at your hair.
“There you go...atta girl, princesa,” he groans, biting his lower lip. He slowly starts moving his hips as you suck him off, enjoying the way your eyes widen with worry every time he pushes deeper.
You hold onto his hips, gagging when he pushes your head forward until your nose touches the wiry hair at the base of his abdomen. Your pretty eyes glance up at him, tears starting to fall down your cheeks. The sight makes his cock twitch between your lips, and your eyes flutter shut.
He tugs your hair harshly, making you gasp and open your eyes. “Look at me,” he orders. “Don’t you dare take your eyes away from me.”
“Mhmm,” you hum as you keep going. His cock slides down your throat, making you gag. You struggle to keep your eyes open through the tears that slide down your face.
Miguel is delighted. He can’t get enough of the look in your eyes, can’t keep himself from thrusting into your mouth. You gasp, whining lowly. He holds your head in place as he facefucks you, relishing in the way you almost can’t take him.
He thrusts into your mouth until you’re crying, trying to move away from him, hazy with lust and desperation.
He pulls himself out of your mouth, wanting to come in your pussy instead, and he picks you up. He carries you to one of the counters and sets you on the floor and spins you around. You brace your hands on the tabletop and barely have time to react when he’s pushing you down, forcing your chest against the countertop.
You arch your back for him, breathing heavily. He tugs your skirt down impatiently and your panties follow. Your pussy is soaked, clit swollen, and Miguel chuckles.
“Ay, princesa,” he squeezes your ass with one of his hands, “you’re so pathetic for me.”
You whine. He runs the thick head of his cock between your folds, shuddering as your arousal smears over him. You moan silently, hips pressing back in search of more.
He slides into you with ease, making you squeal. “Dios,” he gasps, enormous hands holding your hips. “Fuck.”
He doesn’t even give you the chance to adjust before he’s pounding you, the movement of his hips rough and fast, merciless. You cry out, both in pleasure and pain as he fucks you. You scrape your nails against the countertop, eyes fluttering shut.
“Say thank you,” he orders, voice gruff, his fingers digging into your hips. “Say thank you because I shouldn’t be giving you this. I should be fucking those pretty tits of yours and coming all over your face without giving you anything.” You whine in reply, and he grabs a fistful of your hair, tugging it hard and forcing your back to arch. “Instead, I’m filling your greedy cunt with my cock. You’re not even going to thank me for it?”
“Thank you,” you gasp between broken moans and breathless whimpers. “Thank you—mm!”
He spanks you, making your body jerk forward, pressing against the counter. “Thank you for what?”
“Thank you for-for giving me your cock,” you say, eyes shut tight, voice trembling with each word. You bite your lower lip, gasping as his rough thrusts splinter your every thought into nothing.
He keeps one hand on your hip, the other one releasing your hair to slide under you. He pushes your shirt up over your breasts and undoes your bra with ease. As it falls away, his fingers quickly find your tits, squeezing them, pinching your nipples and tugging them almost too hard. Almost.
Your pussy tightens around him and he shudders. “You dirty little thing,” he scoffs. “Look at you. You’ve been a tease all day, misbehaving just because you like it when I rough you up.”
You whine, trying to move your hips back to meet his every thrust. Your efforts don’t last long, though; he’s fucking you too hard, too deep for you to do anything but take it.
Miguel leans down, his chest pressing against your back. He drags his sharp teeth over your shoulder blades, licks his way to your nape. You shiver as he gently bites your shoulder, your body trembling as he sinks his teeth into your skin.
He bites you until you’re squirming in pain, until he knows he’s close to piercing your soft flesh. He licks the spot, flattening his tongue against the mark he’s left. Then, he licks his way down your spine, placing a few open-mouthed kisses, a trail of his saliva smearing over your back.
“You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you, princesa?” His voice is thick, his cock bruising your cervix with each pound. “You’re going to come on my cock and you’re gonna squirt too, aren’t you?”
Lately, Miguel has taken to teach you how to squirt. You’ve managed to do it a couple of times, but it’s always been with his careful guidance. He’s had you try to do it yourself while he watches, but you’re never able to. If it’s not his touch, it just doesn’t happen.
“Y-you know I can’t,” you stutter, thighs starting to tremble, eyes rolling into the back of your head.
“You’re going to,” Miguel repeats, firmly. “No te estoy preguntando.” I’m not asking you.
You shiver at the command, his voice leaving no room for you to argue.
“And if you don’t,” he continues, leaning down so that his mouth is right beside your ear; he whispers, “you will get in big, big trouble, princesa. ¿Entiendes?”
You nod. “Yes, Miguel,” you whimper.
“Good.” He keeps ramming into you, his eyes glancing down to watch his enormous cock slide in and out of you. God, he wishes he had a camera. To film you like this, record your every movement, every sound, every expression. He’d force you to watch the video later, and he’d have his head between your thighs while you writhe in embarrassment and pleasure.
But that’s for another time.
Your first orgasm blossoms deep in your womb, a ticking bomb with a short fuse. You can feel the heat growing and growing, spreading within you and boiling almost as soon as it appears.
The pleasure presses against the walls of your womb, makes everything in you coil tight and shudder as your world pauses for a moment. You moan breathlessly, eyes fluttering shut, and then you’re falling over the edge, the pleasure bursting across your skin.
Miguel laughs as he feels you come, his hand that’s under you moving from your tits to your pussy. As he keeps fucking you, he runs his fingers over your clit, pinching the sensitive nub. You jerk, oversensitive, and he chuckles.
“Already?” he mocks, his thrusts slowing to a stop. “Are you that much of a slut for me?”
You can feel your cheeks heating up in embarrassment. You’re about to deny it in vain when he pulls out of you. You whine in complaint, but just as you begin to demand an explanation, he turns you around, picking you up and setting you on the counter.
His eyes rake over your body, moving from your face to your tits, down your torso until he sees your pussy, raw and dripping. He slaps your cunt, making you squeal, and he groans lowly.
“Fuck,” he hisses. He wraps a hand around your throat, smirking slightly, and then he’s ramming into you again.
You gasp, eyes shutting tight, eyebrows scrunching up in pain as his cock forces your sensitive gummy walls to stretch. His hand tightens around your throat and you whimper, a shock of fear coursing through your veins.
“Princesa,” he hums, “you have to squirt for me or you’re going to get in trouble.”
You nod, desperate, body trembling.
“And you’re going to have to do it all on your own.”
You want to complain about that, but you know it won’t get you anywhere. Instead, you move one of your hands between your body and Miguel’s, fingers finding your clit with ease. You pet the little nub, giving it a slow buildup, a familiar string of ecstasy growing taut within you.
Miguel watches. He loves to watch. He likes how you get shy and a little embarrassed, your pretty eyes avoiding his as he enjoys the sight. It’s one of his favorite images of you—you, spread out on the bed, fingers knuckle-deep in yourself, eyes embarrassed. He gets off to that thought at least three times a day.
You can feel a second orgasm approaching. Your velvet walls clench around him and he gasps, hips stuttering slightly. He can feel his own release growing close, bubbling just beneath the surface, threatening to burst.
You gasp, back arching. You lay down on the countertop, head thrown back, body shaking. As one of your hands keeps flicking against your clit, touching it in all your favorite ways, your other hand moves to grab Miguel’s wrist. You lead his hand from your neck to your mouth, stuffing his fingers between your lips.
He smirks as he realizes what you want. It’s not the first time you request this. He found out you have a thing for gagging on his fingers, and he positively adores it.
His middle finger and his ring finger press down against your tongue, going deep enough to have you gagging in seconds.
The combination of you choking on his fingers, full to the brim with his cock, and your hand playing with your clit has you reeling over the edge almost too soon.
You come again, shuddering and gasping, muffled moans leaving your lips. And you keep rubbing your clit hard, almost violently, until you squirt on him.
Miguel groans at the sight, his thrusts growing harsher, impossibly deeper, until he comes. He unloads his seed deep into your pussy, filling you with his release. It spills out of you, trails down your thighs, stains your skin.
As you slowly regain your breath, he pulls his fingers out of your mouth, caressing your cheek, leaving your skin wet from your own spit.
“Mi princesa,” he hums, smiling softly. “You did good. You did real good.” Something in his eyes darkens, an almost predatory look flashing in his gaze. “But I’m not done with you yet. Oh, no. I won’t be done with you for the whole night.”
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I'm literally so sorry this took so long!!! I hope it was worth the wait <3
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@yagirlheree
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mybvalentine · 28 days
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I need Miguel’s reaction to us/reader twerking, like makin ts move like water i just need to knowwe
miguel would look at you weird if you did this as a random person but if you were his girl and locked in like this 🤞 he would totally be in a trance if you ever shook ass (on him) like for real……..
he would get flustered but try not to show it cuz of his cocky attitude, like he would just sit or stand there staring at it as he slides his hand over his mouth for a second to shake off that cheeky smile he got on and i know that after resisting the temptation he’s putting his hands on that ass!!!!!!!
also he’s hard and throbbing under his pants at the sight let’s be real especially if you are dancing perreo w him oooooof 😅
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jamneuromain · 7 months
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Hey honey! I'm loving your bingo challenge<3
So I want to send in a request for Steve Rogers for the prompt 'ugly duckling'
So basically Steve meeting readers family and friends, and the running joke is how reader bagged an Greek god looking man like him despite being not so pretty. He soon understands why reader was first hesitant and a bit surprised when he asked them out. But Steve takes a stand for them in front of everyone and call them out on their behaviour and all the fluff! Please feel free to change anything you like or ignore the request if it's not worth it! Thank you so much! I love your fics💙
Hi hon <3
I feel so much about the "ugly duckling" so I added a little bit of "horrible family actions" that I've seen. I hope you'll enjoy this!
Make an Impression
Steve Rogers x You
Warning: Ugly Duckling, shaming from all aspects, bad language word(?)
Summary: Steve was nervous about meeting your family - your larger family, that is.
A/N: My eighth entry to the bingo challenge hosted by @the-slumberparty.
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"What if they don't like me?" Steve whispered in horror as he looked at himself in the mirror.
"They will love you." You stood on the tip of your toes and kissed his cheek, "Seriously, my mom thought I'd be single for life. So she is already way beyond happy that I'd be taking someone home for this traditional festival."
Steve mumbled a "yeah", before turning to you, "I really want to make a good impression." He almost knotted his brows into a bun, "Any tips on how to be the best boyfriend?"
"You are the best boyfriend there is." You help flipping his collar in place. He was so nervous about meeting your family that he tried on five different ties for over a dozen times, leaving his collar a mess, "You'd be helping out... I think. And you definitely do not need a tie to suffocate yourself when you're helping out. They will love you." You emphasized the idea that your family would welcome him one more time, shrugging, "Just try not to answer any questions when my aunties and my grandma ask you about 'when are we having kids'."
"Kids?" Unfiltered panic filled his eyes.
"Um-hmm." You fiddled with the hem of his shirt, tucking it in place, "I know, we aren't even planning anything yet. Still, they love to do that. They'd be scheming when we're having our fifth kid with or without our help."
Steve swears he is sweating like a fountain.
"Smile. Tell them we're enjoying our solidarity. And you will be fine." You threw him a sympathetic look, "Tell them about your military stories. That would distract them enough."
You hoped your boyfriend would survive under your ruthless (or so you believe) aunties.
"C'mon. Mom said we should be there by 11 to help her cook lunch." You kissed his cheek again, "You'll do fine."
"Not quite sure about that." Steve muttered. If confidence could be measured from 1 to 10, he'd be negative a hundred by now.
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You thought your aunties - your father's sisters - would be hogging Steve until he was going to have a panic attack, asking about your relationship or about his family three generations ago. But within an hour, you heard that he was able to make all of your aunties laugh with joy by telling some interesting stories in the barracks, while your mother kept you in the kitchen to help her around.
Help with cleaning. Not cooking.
After an hour and a half, your grandmother pulled an ancient photo book out of nowhere and started to show him your baby photos.
With pots of traditional dishes simmering over the stove, you were finally able to get a break from your mother's accusations of "not practicing homemaking" and escape to your boyfriend.
At which point, the photo album was only about one-quarter through, and your aunties had just started the chapter where you were 4 or 5.
"...now this." Your grandma chuckled and shook her head, "This was precious. She has always been the not-so-good-looking one among my grandkids. Hasn't changed about that. See her skin? And the hair? Her cousins tried almost everything to help her look better."
Yes. By "help" she meant that your cousins, who were not that older than you, shoved you around like a doll, pinning all their least-favorite hair bands and hair pins onto your head, and giving you ridiculous "make-overs".
The kind of "make-over" some 6-year-olds could achieve.
While your male cousins ignored you.
Some of them still did.
You didn't mind.
Your family isn't exactly the tightest bun in the world. You tried avoiding them until important family-gathering activities such as this one. Because they would criticize everything from your clothing to your work. And probably also tell your boyfriend that you are not that good.
"And what are you wearing?" One of your aunties eyed you disapprovingly, gasping as if she had just seen you. Even though you have been helping cleaning and cooking for at least sixty minutes, "Sweetie, your ass is going to rip your jeans. Why not sportspants? They are definitely more comfy. Could help cover your thick thighs too. Honestly, how you are able to date... him-" She gestured at Steve, "is baffling."
"That hair..." Another auntie tutted as loud as she could, "So messy, my dear. Have you tried conditioner? My boy brought back a bottle of L'OREAL conditioner from Paris and it has been working wonders. "
Third auntie chirped up helpfully, "Must have been that awful job, cutie pie. I told you that you should be working closer to home, not driving three hours to see your family. That incompetent husband of mine recently opened up a factory and we'd be happy to arrange a desk job for you. Smaller pay, but closer to home. What could a ton of money do anyway if you can't see your family every week-"
That's enough bullshit for you for a day. You'd rather drown yourself with mud than listen to them criticize from head to toe.
"I think that's my phone." You forced a smile, getting up as fast as you could, "I'm gonna go check."
"See, I told you a busy job can do you no good..." One of your aunties yelled behind your back, before gossiping in a low voice with others.
What you didn't see (or hear, for that matter) is that Steve apologized swiftly, leaving the couch and following you.
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Eight months ago
Steve accompanied Bucky to his graduation ceremony that day. Being around the same age, they chose a path in the military at the start, though Bucky had a severe injury to his left arm and had to leave the sergeant program after only a few months. After some rehabilitation and trying a handful of jobs, Bucky decided to head back to university and study criminal law in order to become a police officer, or a district attorney if he's not fit for police work anymore.
Steve, on the other hand, was luckier. He stayed in the sergeant program and got assigned to the States right before Bucky's graduation. After three tours and a surgery to collect bomb shells from his leg, the Army decided he could be a drill sergeant on the New Jersey Base, responsible for training new recruits before shipping them overseas.
Anyhow, Steve pulled Bucky into a big hug when the ceremony was over. He whistled and nearly clapped his hand numb as Bucky beamed at him in a black graduate gown.
"I guess I'm the smarter one of us now." Bucky smiled coyly, punching Steve in the chest, "And the luckier one too." As he fished a cute girl in gown by her wrist and introduced her, "This is my girlfriend Wendy. Wendy Stone. Wendy, Steve."
She reached out shyly to shake his hand, "Hi Steve. I've heard a lot about you."
And as if Bucky was the magnet, attaching people like coins in a line, you slipped through the crowd patting Wendy on her shoulder, "Your phone. You almost forgot - Hi Bucky, I'll be out of your hair in a minute."
Bucky's palm flew to his forehead, gasping out in shock, "Damn. I haven't introduced you two yet. Steve, this is Y/N, Wendy's cousin. Y/N, this is my best pal Steve."
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Five months ago
You had hung out with Steve a couple of times, but only in the presence of Bucky and Wendy. Wendy and you shared the same apartment, so it was nearly inevitable for Steve to bump into you when looking for Bucky, or Bucky asking both of you to join Game Night for you four to know each other well.
Steve grew fonder of you, nonetheless. He loves the laughter whenever you hear a silly joke; he loves the way you make a face to him whenever Bucky and Wendy getting all gooey and clingy, making both of you feel like the third and fourth wheel; he loves your optimistic and can-do attitude, whether it was Wendy having a bad day at work, or when the pipe burst in your apartment.
Before he opened his mouth that day, sharing a pot of coffee with Bucky during the quiet morning of a Sunday. Bucky cut him off, saying Steve's line, "You should ask her out."
"You think I should?" He gulped nervously, counting the larger bubbles on his coffee.
"Dude, why do you think I've asked you on these game nights stuff?" Bucky snorted into his mug, "You practically glued your eyes to her the day you met. It's hard not to notice."
"Thanks...?"
"Don't thank me yet, punk. I've asked Wendy about her. She's one tough-" Bucky paused before continuing, mulling over the semantics, "Is it degrading to say son-of-a-bitch? Because Wendy said the exact same words. Anyway, according to Wendy, she doesn't really date a lot. And her work is crazy as hell. Plus, they came from the same family, cousins from their mother's side. They are a hard-to-please bunch of people, and Wendy heard that her father's side was even worse."
Steve didn't really take the last line into consideration back then. Still, asking you out was one hell of a mission, worse than the tour he had in the middle of some desert. It took some persuasion and some more coaxing ("good-measured coaxing", Bucky insisted) to get you on the first three dates. But from that point forth, everything has run smoothly, until now.
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"You alright?" Steve closed the door behind him. Your tiny room seems smaller with his broad shoulders larger than the door frame.
"Yeah." That's a lie. "Another few hours and we'll be left alone." You swept away the invisible dust on your jeans, murmuring.
That's why you don't like your relatives. The smell of grease and tobacco rose from the backyard where the men were drinking and smoking, more revolting than the way you remembered.
Steve pursed his lips tightly into a line, "Are they always like this?"
You huffed out an unamused laugh, "At least we were related. You should have seen how they treated my mom."
"That's why she's in the kitchen?"
An unimpressed glare threw in his direction, "She enjoyed that, believe it or not. Cooking and cleaning and homemaking." Raising your chin towards the kitchen, "Blamed me about 'not doing my part' just now."
"Why don't you-"
"Stand up against them?" You knew what he meant. You did. You tried. But they would always accuse your mother of not "teaching you properly".
"They are bullies, Steve." You shrugged, pretending that it didn't bother you at all, "They'd do anything to make sure we get all those nasty comments. And the moment any one of us stand up against them, they'd ask my parents to force me to apologize."
Steve crossed his arms, furrowing his brows again.
"Look, my mom is ... old-school. So are all of them. She nags a lot but she'd be sad if I'm not here to support her during this family reunion. But reunion means all of them, so..." You held his wrist, resting your head on his shoulder, "family comes first."
He took you into his arms, landing a kiss on your forehead.
You craned your neck to smile sweetly at him, as if nothing had happened, "Let's get back to the living room before they mock me for being a baby about it."
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Surprisingly, for one full hour, they weren't able to make a comment about you - plenty of comments about Steve since your three cousins had arrived. More comments about your cousins. Gossips about their neighbors. Judgements thrown around on their men and your mother's cooking.
"... your daughter better have clarity on herself." Your grandmother pointed at your mother, drunk on her third cup of wine, her words slurring, "Steven....s Steve, here, is way out of her league. And she needs to maaaarry him before some s... ska... skank butts in."
Your mother eyed you, mouthing silently, asking you to eat rather than reply, before coming up with a polite smile, "Of course. But young people have their own opinions on marriage, and I suppose it's only fair that they figure it out themselves."
One of your aunts waved her fork too hard, sending a piece of chicken into the air, "Oops. Ma's right. And you need to have a kid soon, sweetie. Marry him, and have a kid. Your body is a ticking clock. Don't turn deaf towards it."
"I'm surprised you were able to get a boyfriend, let alone... this." Another aunt gestured at Steve, "You've never been the pretty one, cutie pie, and you sure ain't now."
You put your hand on Steve's thigh to calm him. You could feel his muscles tensing and his jaw clenching, not so subtly. You shook your head lightly.
Don't give them what they want. You hoped you were able to convey the message.
"Oh my oh my," the last aunt chuckled, "we are not going to witness some cheesy scheme of renting a boyfriend here, are we? I heard from my daughter Jean that it's quite popular these days. You know, it's not that embarrassing not to have a boyfriend, I mean, we all thought that way-"
Jean, being one of your cousins sitting by the table, chose to munch her food in silence rather than responding to your aunt.
"That's enough." Steve placed his napkin on the table, folded it back into a triangle before he spoke, "All of you." His rigid tone from the military days seeped into his voice, having the conversations on the table stop for the moment. Taking your hand beneath the table, he watched every person on the table with a serious expression, "Our relationship is none of your business, and so is her appearance. I see a beautiful, strong, independent woman, and I pity you for none of you were able to see her the way I do. Because you were so focused on yourselves, comparing everything about you to make you feel less pathetic. "
A brief pause.
"You didn't say anything about your daughter owning a clothing store, inherited from you, that barely gets by." He looked at the aunt who called you "fat".
"No one said anything about your son stuffing potato chips in his mouth and being unemployed, still taking expensive trips with your pension, because he's the son in the family." He points at the aunt who called you "cheap".
"And finally, you know damn well that husband of yours is having his third secretary-mistress. Since that's all the rest of you could hint about this afternoon." He directed at the aunt who thought you weren't "homemaker" enough.
"I hope you'll have the day you deserve." He spat out, standing from the table, asking for your hand.
For the first time today, your eyes sparkled with light. Gladly taking his hand, your rose from the table. Not minding if you have shoved your chair backwards too hard or the sudden movement is not "lady" enough.
"Mom, I'll come visit next week. Promise." A big smile raised the corner of your lips, waving your mother goodbye while the rest of the table watched in silence.
You still had trouble believing this when you got in your car. Steve immediately pulled you into a hug, nudging your neck with his cheek.
"Not so scared about 'impressing' my family now, huh?" You joked, tugging the end of his blonde hair lightly.
"They're going to hate me and you after I dumped every scandal on them." He mumbled apologetically, "Sorry, I hate bullies."
"No." You signed, "I should've be braver and just ... cut them off."
"You did the best you could." He kissed your shoulder gently, looking into your eyes, "You are everything I've dreamed of, and I meant everything I said at the dining table. You are incredible."
"Hold your proposal, Rogers." You teased him, seeing his ears turn into beet-red as you mentioned "proposal", poking his chest with your index finger, "You aren't on your knees yet and I'm not having five babies without five carats."
Steve's face flushed with a shade of pink, looking like a total turnip if it wasn't for his blonde hair. "Five babies???" He gulped, and then, "Does that mean we're having ten babies if I buy a ten-carat now?"
It was your turn to be stunned speechless. Only when he was grinning madly did you realize he was messing with you too. Laughing with tears, you fell into his embrace, "Steven Grant Rogers, you are a horrible person."
A few laughs bubbled from his chest as you leaned back in your seat and buckled your seat belt, "You'll get used to it." He started the engine and changed the subject, "I didn't have much food in your house. Mind if we stop by at the new Burger joint and order something?"
"I almost forgot how awful my mom's cooking is." You set your phone on navigation mode and put it on Bluetooth speaker, chuckling, "I'm starving. Let's go."
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thedoover-if · 8 months
Note
Hey I'm obsessed with this IF! How did you come up with this premise and what are your favorite IFs? Were you inspired by any? Good luck with your writing, can't wait to see how this turns out😁
hi thank you!!!!!
i always had this whole idea but it was originally supposed to be a book with the love interest being the ex-spouse. so no game or anything just a simply book you read haha. i dont even remember how i came up with this but its been with me for a long time now
my favourite ones right now are:
infamous by @infamous-if
absentia by @absentia-if
the adventures of sherlock holmes - an affair of the heart by @doriana-gray-games
next in line by @nextinline-if
crown of ashes and flames by @coeluvr
a world without you by @jaunefleurwrites
notavurient by @kalorphic
adoriel's tears: the gift of tears by @adoriels-tears-if
and so many more!!!!! everyone's so talented im still discovering new ones every day haha but here are a few
[i know these dont have demos but im so excited for these too: @ellawrites-if (PACIFIC RIM ANYONE?), @theinseparables-if, @dahliahills-if, @duskysprings-if (I LOVE GRAVITY FALLS) and many more...]
ive been inspired by all of the IFs ive read LOL this is very new so im taking notes whenever i read new ones
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versatilehater · 6 months
Note
what's your opinion on rick's PDA compared to daryl's PDA?
omg 🤭
i feel like S1-S4 rick isn't too big on pda... i mean he did kinda go crazy during the prison era. but i feel like when he would sneak you kisses and maybe hold your hand for like a minute. i think of it this way because i think rick was really into being the leader back then and he didn't really know what he was doing... but he knew that so he put extra effort into keeping everyone safe.
but during S5 and after i honestly think rick was into more pda but less vanilla in a sense... does that make sense? like he would sneak you quick kisses but sometimes he'd also squeeze your ass as he walked pass you.
i think daryl on the other hand didn't really understand the point of pda during S1-S5 i mean i can totally see him say "why?... yeah yeah but why?" i guess...
and after that he'd still not understand but i feel like he'd let you hold his hand and maybe peck him on the lips.
overall i think ricks more of a pda man-
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honeyynymphh · 11 months
Note
I had a thought for a fic and bc I love ur writing…
copia x mile high club
first of all, thank you so much!! mile high club certainly is not something I would have ever thought of but it did give me an idea so here it is! Inflight Meal Papa IV x FemReader rating: E words: 2600 tags: dom copia, cunnilingus, sex, fucking on the job, drinking on the job, dirty talk, cheesy af, there is no resemblence to canon like anywhere in this story lmao AO3
summary: as an air hostess you are used to strange people, especially when they have their own private jet. but this was definitely the strangest one.
also Copia still has his moustache because I said so! I know nothing about flying, this is pretty silly and it is not checked so sorry for any mistakes!
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Straightening your skirt you stand waiting for the passengers to board the plane. Last minute you’d been called in to help on an overnight flight to Italy by Jack—the usual pilot you flew with. Apparently, some priest was travelling back to his hometown for an important ceremony and his crew were short a few staff members. You would have refused at such a late request, especially as you had to wear a completely different uniform. It wasn’t the airlines—apparently the priest had insisted all the crew fit in with the rest of his staff.
What an arrogant prick. 
But the money had been way above the norm and you rarely were asked to do private flights. And the uniform was not much different than your usual skirt and jacket. Except it was cerulean blue with little embroidered golden details—and a strange inverted crucifix emblazoned on the chest. You were just grateful it wasn’t a nun's habit.
You heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs to board and straightened your back, plastering on the practised smile. Many a jerk you’ve had to deal with and today would be no different—no matter how fancy an aircraft it was. You’d had a little snoop before. The whole aircraft was dark wood and detailed with the same shade of blue and gold. The jet was fitted with a main bedroom, kitchen, office and then the main seating area. God must be real generous, you think with a roll of your eyes.
The first person aboard is an older woman, her blonde hair styled to perfection and wearing a severe yet fitting suit jacket and skirt—all in black but detailed with the same hints of blue and gold as your uniform. She smiles at you and you gesture for her to enter, giving her a welcoming smile as you bid good evening. Next is a man…at least you think it’s a man. The smile on your face falters a moment before you right it again on your perfectly painted lips.
His dress is fine. He’s dressed all in black—though his jacket has the same little crucifix on it as yours—it’s the mask he wears that throws you. It’s silver, demonic and completely obscures his face.
Weird. But you were here to serve drinks and food, not care about the passengers and their odd choice of attire. The…man walks past you without a glance and settles into a chair before pulling out a rolled-up magazine from his trouser pocket.
You’re too busy still looking at him when a voice says, “Buonasera, Signorina.”
When you turn towards it, you’re met with a pair of mismatched eyes set in a face painted like a skull. But despite it, it’s still an attractive one and the man’s voice is pleasant—the Italian lilt to his words makes your smile genuine, if not a little bemused. He’s dressed in a dark blue suit, way too tightly fitting that it’s almost indecent.
He takes your hand, the soft leather that encases his hand is buttery soft and warm. He kisses your hand, moustache tickling your skin. He introduces himself as Papa Emeritus the Fourth before he gives you a smile and heads into the plane. You watch, bemused, as he greets the other two—the woman talking quickly and hovering around him like a mother hen. He waves her off with some words in Italian and disappears down to the back of the plane.
That cannot be a priest, you think. Maybe Jack got the information wrong. He looks too…you don’t even know. You rub at your hand. At least he didn’t seem like a complete asshole, nor had he started preaching—and really, that was all you cared about. You kept staring off down towards the back of the plane, mind still fixated on the mysterious man.
“You ready?” says Jack, ducking out of the cockpit.
“Huh?” you say distractedly, head snapping to look at the pilot. 
Another crew member has appeared, she’s wearing the same uniform as you and she’s standing there patiently waiting for you. You had only briefly spoken to her earlier, she had said her name was Sister Hayley you think. A nun. Not that the woman looked anything like a nun.
“Arm and crosscheck?” he says.
“Oh, yes, right.”
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When miles above ground and flying somewhere over the Atlantic ocean you’re giving out drinks. The man in the silver mask declines anything, choosing instead to lounge on the plush seating like an overgrown cat while the woman—who had politely introduced herself as Sister Imperator—sat in one of the comfortable chairs at a small desk. You’d given her a drink—a gin and tonic—and then headed down to go find the enigmatic Papa Emeritus.
The office is empty and so you head to the bedroom, the door is closed and you knock politely before sliding it open. You find the man propped up on the bed, book in hand and a pair of glasses perched low on his long nose. He glances up at you and the darkly painted lips quirk into a pleased smile. It makes your stomach flip.
“Sir, would you like a drink?” you ask, standing there with your hands clasped in front of you. “Or something to eat?”
The man gives you a smile, easy and smug. Again you wonder why he was wearing such tight trousers. What the hell kind of church was he from?
“Si, wine, per favore. Anything from the stock in the kitchens. Pick something.” He gives you a long look. “Two glasses.”
“No problem, sir, anything to eat?” you ask. Fuck you wish he’d stop looking at you like that.
His painted lips quirk but he shakes his head. “Just bring the wine, signorina.”
You head to the little kitchen and randomly grab a bottle, simply picking one based on the label. You grab two glasses and then walk back towards the suite. You smile politely as you enter and place the glasses on the little table next to him.
“Is this to your liking, sir?” you ask, holding out the bottle for him to inspect. 
“Papa,” he says, leaning over to peer at the label before he nods. “Not ‘sir’.”
You pour him a glass and place the bottle beside it. “Is there anything else?”
He closes the book he is reading a throws it on the bed, you catch the cover—it’s in a different language but it has a picture of a goat and a pentagram on it. He waves a hand at the other glass.
“Pour yourself one as well, signorina.”
You frown at him. “That is kind of you, but I am working.”
The man winks at you, grabbing the bottle himself and pouring out a measured amount. You watch the liquid slosh in the glass.
“I promise I won’t tell,” he says, extending it out to you.
You take it and hold it awkwardly, the smile on your face fixed. You did not want to get in trouble with Jack and lose your job. But a glass couldn’t help and you’d attended to everyone. You sip it and Papa smiles.
Somehow you end up two glasses deep. It’s not enough to make you drunk but damn it’s enough to make you feel far too relaxed. And you’ve somehow found yourself sitting next to him on the bed. You really should go back though. But it’s been lovely chatting to him, he talks of his flock with affection and mentions Sister Imperator fondly.
“This might be a stupid question,” you ask, the wine having loosened your tongue, “but what exactly are you a priest of?”
He laughs and it’s such a pleasant sound that you can’t help but smile. You’ve grown used to his strange face and it’s somewhat endearing to watch the lines on his face move as he chuckles.
“Not a priest, dolce,” he says. “Once upon a time, si, but now I am Papa.”
“You say that like I should know what you mean,” you reply.
“Like the Pope.” He grins. “Less preaching about the good of man and much more sinning.”
You cannot help but laugh, it sounds ridiculous. “I thought god said sinning was bad.”
“We do not worship a false god of fabricated mercy,” he utters, voice low. You stop laughing at the serious expression on his face, but it melts away when he adds. “We worship the lord below who relishes in sin. We are human, si? So we should take comfort in the pleasures it provides.”
“You’re telling me you worship the devil?” you ask, breath hitching when he leans in a little closer.
“Si,” he says, eyes fixed on you. “And I fear I have not worshipped in his name today at all. Perhaps you can help me, dolce?”
Suddenly his mouth is on yours. You freeze a movement but when you respond, his hands hold your face and pull him flush against him. His mouth is urgent and hot against yours, tongue delving into your mouth while your legs tangle together. Your lipstick is smudged red over his face and you’re certain he’s covered yours in black—you can taste it on your own lips but it doesn’t matter. He kisses like he is worshipping, hungry and possessive. It makes your head spin and you completely forget that this is certainly a breach of conduct. Especially when he’s flipping you onto your back, dragging your legs to the edge of the bed as he pushes your skirt up to bunch around your waist/
“Sorry, dolce, but now I’m feeling rather hungry.”
You hear the snap of your garter belt and feel the tension ease around your stockings so he can pull your knickers down your legs. Before you can draw another breath his face is between your legs, his breath skating over your wet folds before his tongue is flicking against you. You moan, hands instantly grabbing tufts of his peppered hair between your fingers as he works some sort of ungodly magic on your aching cunt.
Fucking hell.
Your back arches as he draws the tension out, leaving you panting on the edge of delirium. His arms move under your thighs and pull you closer to him as he devours you. You pull at his hair and grind against his face, unable to stop yourself from seeking more glorious threads of pleasure to wind tighter around your core.
His mouth breaks away as he can come up for air. You stare at him with a heavy-lidded expression, taking in that wicked mouth all glistening and smeared with paint by your own slick. He looked like the fucking devil and you were more than willing to sell your soul if it meant he wouldn’t stop.
“Cazzo, your pussy is delicious, dolce,” he breathes, nipping at the inside of your thigh.
His face returns to press against your cunt. And that nose! It’s pressed against your clit, mouth wet and tongue searching while his moustache tickles your skin. You arch back and your hands grip the sheets as the plane suddenly rocks—turbulence. Fuck.
Jack’s voice floats through the plane’s intercom system, certainly a mood killer, but Papa doesn’t stop. 
“Please return to your seat, we are experiencing some mild turbulence.”
The craft rocks again but your eyes are too busy rolling into the back of your head as he eats you out like he’s on death row and you're his last meal.
You moan when you feel fingers, leather-clad ones, pressing into your pussy and stretching you. You bounce on his hand when you hit another pocket of turbulence, and his grip on your thigh tightens while the other hand is busy pumping into your wetness. Another pocket and another moan have you on the edge and trembling.
It doesn’t take much to have you rocking along with the aircraft as you come. You try not to moan too loudly and shove your fist in your mouth but Papa leans up and pulls your arm away from your face, that devilish visage hovering over you.
“Don’t silence such pretty sounds, dolce.”
You sigh, luxuriating in the waves that still ripple through you while the plane rocks again. Fuck. You feel his body move away from yours and you sigh. Your eyes had fallen closed as you relaxed but they snap open when you feel him crawl on top of you. He’s rid himself of some of his clothes—well, most of them. A heavily unbuttoned shirt was the only thing on him. You can see the hairs on his firm chest and when you feel his cock pressing between your legs you immediately spread them for him.
When he sinks into your welcoming pussy you moan. The stretch feels incredible and you desperately tilt your hips so he can sink in further. When he bottoms out, you both sigh. Papa has removed his gloves, and his large hands hold your hips, creasing the fabric of your uniform even further as he starts to pump into you.
You’re already so worked up and sensitive that you are already ready to come again quickly. Your walls are squeezing him and the sounds it draws from his lips are downright demonic. Your hands reach up to grip his shoulders so you can thrust up to meet him, both of your movements becoming hurried in your desperation for release.
“Do you want my cock so badly, signorina?” he growls, leaning over you and thrusting into you roughly. Your pant out a yes, or something that was meant to be a yes and only comes out as a string of incoherent nonsense as you nod your head fervently. “You have to come for me first, dolce.”
A hand moves between your bodies and he's rubbing at your swollen and sensitive clit. You cry out, not giving a single fuck that the entire plane can probably hear you. The plane rocks one last time and you hear the seatbelt sign turn off. But you are barely paying any attention to anything else except his cock buried inside you.
The tension in your core tightens again and with another deep thrust he has you coming apart for him. Your eyes shut as it crashes through you but he doesn’t stop. Your hands are gripping feebly at his shoulders, then the nape of his neck, his hair and then fistfuls of the front of his shirt to bring his mouth against yours.
You feel his cock swell within you as he growls against your mouth, teeth nipping at your bottom lips as his hips jerk. You feel him come, painting the inside of your cunt as he continues to thrust into you while his tongue does the same to your mouth. It’s desperate and you’re sweating in your uniform but you don’t care. It feels far too fucking good.
When the high finally eases and he rolls off you to lie beside you, you sigh in relief. Fuck that was something, you think.
“You call that worship?” you pant, turning your head lazily to look at him Your makeup and hair must be absolutely ruined because his is completely ruined. He looks deranged with his hair falling in his face and his paint all smeared.
He hums. “Si. My lord believes in the power of the female orgasm. Is there anything more divine than pleasure?”
You shake your head, mind still foggy with bliss. You utter the only words you can think of. 
“Did you still want your inflight meal?”
He grins at you. “Maybe in an hour or so, signorina. I just ate.”
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kittyofalltrades · 8 months
Note
Kitty
It’s been forever
What the fuvk is up
Got any hot by santi thots you’d like to share with the class?
Hi Romana!!!! Life kinda got away from me but I am always here for some hot Santi thots. Since I was camping a few weekends ago I think maybe some camping thots.
You know the drill 18+ only under the jump
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Despite what he did for a living Santiago loved camping. It was a chance to get away from the ugliness of what he did for a living and a chance to refresh himself and spend time with you.
Night two or three of camping is always his favorite because by then you've relaxed into the camping trip and thats when two sleeping bags become one.
You always protest that you'll stay in yours but when he points out that it's easier to fuck in you didn't hesitate to join the two and quickly undress.
Camping sex with Santiago is different than sex in the city. Here is is gentle less rushed and more thorough. His calloused hands exploring every nook and cranny of your body, memorising you and worshipping you while pulling cries of pleasure and orgasm after orgasm from you with just his hands and mouth.
Before he even climbs between your legs to fuck you he's already pulled so many orgasms from you that you think you might actually have seen god at one point and you whisper the word "Pope" making him chuckle.
He pushes into you with a soft whisper of your name before he starts to slowly take you apart again and again. He held himself back from cumming as long as he could wanting to make sure that you were fully satisfied.
When he came he buried his face in the crook of your neck whining your name over and over again like a prayer. A pray of gratitude and love, a pray of fulfillment. In you he found a sliver of peace. And he held onto it with both hands.
Once he came down from his post orgasmic bliss he rolls off to lay next to you in the double sleeping bag. "So Pope huh?" He'd asked earning a weak swat from you. With a deep throaty laugh he'd pull you in close. The mess could be cleaned later but for the moment he needed to hold you and be held buy you.
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barbieboooze · 4 months
Note
U know Undertale? Draw jibanyan like sans (sorry for my bad English :/)
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Everyone shut up it's sansnyan
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starkwlkr · 2 months
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I LOVE YOUR CHARLES FICS ESPECIALLY THE RUBY ONES OMG! This might sound strange, but could you write one where Y/N gets tired of the paparazzi and tries to physically fight a reporter? Kinda like the björk reporter incident in the 90’s. I wanna hear Charles and ruby��s reactions!
that’s my wife! | charles leclerc
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charles: you know the only reason i got married was so i could yell that’s my wife whenever i wanted?
also i made it SLIGHTLY different so instead of fighting the paparazzi, mama leclerc throws hands with toxic f1 fanboys 😍
Y/n always hated paparazzi, it was no surprise. She knew from the start of her relationship with Charles that she would be photographed whenever they stepped out. She knew what she was getting herself into when she started dating Charles and she tried to ignore it. It worked for a couple years and then Ruby and Mathéo came along. Being a mother changed Y/n. She was more protective of her children and husband.
When she wasn’t in the paddock, she was back home in Monaco with the kids and Pascale. The wag pages updated on where she was and some fans would try to find her.
During the week that Charles was away, Y/n was out with the kids in sunny Monaco. Ruby needed new school supplies and Y/n needed to buy Mathéo new clothes so she took both of her kids to the store. Charles has told her many times to at least have someone with her when she went out, but Y/n didn’t think it was necessary.
“Maman! Can I have this one?” Ruby pointed to a pink backpack that was on a window display.
“You already have a backpack, my love, we are only buying items we need like journals and books for you and new clothes for Théo, okay? And maybe we’ll get ice cream after. How does that sound?” Y/n asked the little girl, who seemed bummed that she wasn’t getting the pretty pink backpack she saw, but cheered up when her maman mentioned ice cream.
Ruby held onto the stroller as the family of three walked the sidewalk to the nearest store that sold school supplies. That’s when Ruby noticed a man pointing his phone at them. She wondered why and asked her maman.
“Let’s go inside, quickly.” Y/n told Ruby as they finally made it to the store.
“Why is he staring?” Ruby stared back at the man and even stuck out her tongue at him when he wouldn’t stop recording.
“Don’t pay attention, Ruby Jules. Let’s go.” Y/n grabbed Ruby’s hand.
“I don’t like him, maman.” Ruby whispered.
“I don’t either,” Y/n sighed as she started her shopping. But the man, who was still recording, decided to make her day worse.
“Tell Charles that Max is the better driver!” He was clearly trying to get a reaction out of her. “Fuck Ferrari!”
And suddenly, Y/n had so much anger built up in her that it made her snatch the phone from the man’s hands and throw it as far as possible. It practically landed on the other side of the shop.
“What the fuck!”
“Don’t ever disrespect my husband like that. Have the day you deserve, shithead.” Y/n turned the stroller holding a sleeping Mathéo and grabbed Ruby’s hand. “Fuck you.” She pushed past the man as she exited the shop.
As the mom had her back turned, Ruby stuck her tongue out again at the stranger.
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“And then maman said a bad word and we left! But the phone flew so far and the man looked like he was going to cry!” Ruby said enthusiastically into the phone. Charles was still gone, but news spread of the incident in the shop. Most people were defending Y/n’s actions since the man was clearly harassing the family.
“Really? So maman almost made a grown man cry, that’s my wife!” Charles laughed. Before talking with Ruby on the phone, he had gotten the full story from his wife.
“That’s my maman!” Ruby yelled.
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Note
JAKE IN HIS RUT OMGOMG
AAAAA YESSS OMGGGGG 😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩
Jake wasn't really sure what had been happening at first. His cock was just hard all the time. And then, whenever he saw you, fuck, he couldn't help but imagine just fucking you. Putting you on all fours, having your legs spread for him as he fucked your pussy. Or he'd imagine you on your back, eyes shut, mouth agape as he fucked you, he could almost feel your warm pussy around his cock. Or he'd imagine you on top, your pretty tits bouncing in his face as you took his cock all the way into your womb.
One day, he finds you all alone in the forest, just wandering around, admiring the little creatures, the plants, and fucking hell, he cannot stay away from you.
He approaches you and you turn to him even before he reaches you. “Jake,” you greet, pupils growing wide. “How you holding up?”
“What d'you mean?” Jake replies, your mere scent driving him insane. He moves to stand behind you, wrapping his arms around you, kissing your shoulder.
“With your rut,” you clarify. “How's it going?”
Jake freezes, confused, before he chuckles in realization. So that's what's wrong with him. Fuck, he would've never guessed.
“I guess it's been a little tough on me lately,” he admits, kissing the nape of your neck, feeling goosebumps rise on your skin. “What with always thinking 'f fucking you 'nd all.”
You raise your eyebrows, try turning to face him, but he holds you in place as one of his hands sneaks down to your pussy.
“Jake,” you say softly, not objecting, more like begging.
He chuckles, his fingers tracing your slit, parting your folds so his thumb can caress your clit.
Your body arches for him, legs spreading open, and Jake's thumb is mean as it rubs your clit, quick, sharp circles on the bud, making you whine softly.
“I want y'to fuck me,” you mewl. “Daddy, please.”
“I'm gonna fuck you like the little slut you are, hm?” he says, his tongue tracing the shell of your ear. “My cock's gonna be s'deep inside you, your silly little mind won't be able t'think of anything but me.”
“Please,” you gasp, nodding, heart racing as the pleasure slithers through you, like venom that inhibits your thoughts, that makes you weak and pliable for him. “Please.”
Jake plays with your clit until you're wet enough for him to stick three fingers inside of you. You moan at the stretch his thick digits offer, legs shaking.
“Mm, I think you're wet 'nough,” he tells you as he pulls his fingers out of you. He undoes your loincloth, his hand wet with your slick, smearing your arousal over your hips.
He forces you to your knees so your back is pressed against his thighs. You can feel his cock, long and hard, rest against the back of your head. Then, he pushes down on all fours and he kneels behind you.
You automatically arch your back, lowering your chest to the ground and presenting your cunt like the good girl you are.
But Jake doesn't see it like that. “You're such a whore,” he accuses, chuckling, as he rubs his cock on your pussy, his loincloth growing wet with your dripping arousal. “Look at you, offering me your cunt like a slut in heat, hm?”
“Mm! Please,” you whine. “Need you inside me, Daddy! Need you s'bad!”
Jake can't hold back anymore. His instincts are getting the best of him, the need to use your pussy too intense.
He discards his loincloth, tossing it aside, and he just pounds into you, his thick cock stretching your sensitive gummy walls, the bulbous head crashing into your cervix, making you mewl and gasp.
Jake shudders, the relief of being inside you slightly lessening his ache. But it's not close to being enough. He ruts into you, his hips bruising yours, his hands on your hips, holding you in place as he abuses your poor pussy.
You whimper, cheek pressed to the soft grass, hardened nipples rubbing on the floor. “Daddy,” you squeal. “Fuck! Y're so big!”
Jake's cock twitches inside of you. “I fuckin' know that,” he growls. “Tell me somethin' I don't know, hm?”
“'m yours!” you gasp, his cock so deep inside you, you swear he's in your womb. “'m your whore! Only yours!”
Jake spanks your ass, making you whimper. “Y'better be only mine,” he says, voice rough and thick. “Better not let any 'ther guys fuck you. Not like they can do you as good 's me.”
You try to nod in agreement, but you're seeing stars. Jake is fucking cruel with you, the sound of his hips slamming against yours echoing in the forest. And you're almost as loud, every little cry reverberating around the foliage. It wouldn't surprise you if every Na'vi on the planet could hear him fucking you.
“'m gonna fill you with my cum,” Jake informs you, his ears flat against his head, his canines showing as he hisses softly, the pleasure burning through his body. “Gonna have you walkin' 'round with my load in you all day, and at night, if you've been good and kept it inside your dirty, needy cunt, maybe I'll fuck y'again,.”
You mewl, trying to press your ass against him, trying to match his pace. “I'll keep it inside me,” you promise. “I'll keep it inside me all day, Daddy, I swear!”
Jake smirks. “And if you don't, I'll punish you, slut.”
You shake your head, a feeble, weak movement. “I'll be good, Daddy! I'll be good!”
Jake doesn't reply. He's too busy fucking you, focusing on the way you clench around him, on his balls that slap against your sensitive clit with every thrust, of your slick that decorates his hips and most of his thighs.
“You're fuckin' disgusting,” he grunts. “Look 't you, letting me use your body, use your cunt.” He chuckles and groans when you grow tighter around him. “You're s'full of cock, you can't even think straight, huh?”
“Can't think,” you echo, body shaking, nails digging into the soft soil below. “Can't think.”
“Yeah, y're my pathetic little whore,” he says. “My fuckin' cumslut, my cocksleeve.”
“'m yours! 'm yours!” you gasp. “Use me!”
Jake sneers. “What d'you think I'm doing, girl? Don't tell me you're already too fucked dumb to see that?”
Again, unable to formulate coherent thoughts, you repeat, “Fucked dumb, fucked dumb!”
Jake loves how cock drunk you get, how easy it is for him to wipe your brain clean and make you dazed from him. You're such a slut for him, just his to use, fuck, pound, lick, bite—fuck, he loves it.
He slaps your ass again and you cry out, the pain only adding to the pleasure. Your orgasm is so close, threatening to burst through you, making you see stars, the edges of your vision growing black.
“Daddy!” you whine. “Daddy, please, let me come! I need it s'bad!”
“Yeah, I know you need it,” he tells you, his cock feeling you clench, making him groan. “But d'you deserve it?”
“Yes!” you reply, desperate. “Daddy, I deserve it! Oh, please, let me come!”
“Hmm, that's not very convincing,” he mocks. “How 'bout you beg nice and pretty and I'll consider it?”
“Please, Daddy! Please! I'm good for you! I'm your slut, your cocksleeve! I'll do 'nything you want! Please, just let me come 'n your cock! I just need t'come on your cock! Please, Daddy!” When Jake doesn't give you the green light to come, you start crying, the frustration and the pleasure spilling tears from your eyes. “Daddy! Daddy, please!” you blubber, your voice a pathetic, desperate sound. “I-I'm good! Y'know I'm good! Y'know I'm yours! Please! Let me come and then fill me up! I wanna have your cum in me all day! Daddy, please!”
“Fine,” Jake replies, as if he were doing you a huge favor. In truth, he loves when you come on his cock, when your slick drips all around him, when you leave your scent on him for days to come. “Come on my cock, then. Come all over me and tell me I'm the best, hm?”
“You are the best!” you whine, body trembling as the pleasure grows into too much, as it rips you in half, as your already-scattered thoughts dissipate away, replaced by the feeling of fullness of Jake's cock. “Y're the best, y'always will be! Fuck, Daddy!”
And then your orgasm is plunging through you, making your blubbered words grow slurred, the only intelligible word being your desperate cries of, “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!”
Jake feels you gush around him, your slick dripping out of you, wetting the grass below, coating his balls, his thighs, his hips. “Goddamn,” he grunts, not stopping his savage thrusts. And then you come again, and you squirt, soaking him, and it's the last straw for Jake.
“Fuck!” he cries, thrusts growing choppy as his own orgasm finally ravages him. He throws his head back, his body trembling, as he comes in you, his load coating your insides, dripping out with his thrusts as he starts slowing down. “Oh, fuck, I love this cunt,” he groans, relishing in the sensation of your hot slick that spills from you.
Jake pulls out of you and uses his fingers to push your folds apart, studying your raw pussy, admiring the way his come just trickles out of you. He slaps your cunt, making you jerk, and says, “We'll see if this is still here tonight, yeah? See if you're enough of a good girl to have my cock again.”
And, fuck, you're willing to keep it all inside if it means he'll fuck you again.
-----
Blog masterlist
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mybvalentine · 24 days
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girl
i have something v important I need you to see
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https://x.com/Zaytc9/status/1731763825152778616?s=20
That is all
oh my GODDDDDDDDD😭😭😭😭😭
the happy trail. HIS ARMS AND BODY FUCK
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jamneuromain · 5 months
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It's a full moon's night. Would you rather be a witch dancing with her coven in the moonlight only to be snatched by dark creature by the name of Steve, or be an unwilling sacrifice for ruthless demon overlord who goes by the name Ar?
Hmmm... this has been troubling me for a whole day >:(
But I've finally comes to terms with-
(Warning: Cult, Murder, demon!Ari, mention of creampie and if you squint basement demon wife)
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Life does flash before your eyes when the silver dagger cuts into your artery, and your boyfriend's sickening grin lingers in your head since it's the last thing you see before losing consciousness.
It's a full moon tonight, a perfect chance to summon the demon he worships. Not that you know any of it - if you did, you would've run out of the door faster than the speed of light.
"Lord, I brought you the purest of souls, and the freshest of blood, as an offering." Your cult-obsessed boyfriend murmurs, watching with fire in his eyes, as your blood flows through the circle carved onto the ground and forms a ring.
Ari steps out of the portal in mid-air. Crooked horns, sooted claws, goat hooves.
"What do you want, human?" He huffs, not exactly pleased with humans casually dumping souls and blood and bodies as "offerings". As if that's what he wanted if he had a choice.
He's a demon, he eats cooked meat and fresh fruit for Hell's sake.
"To be eternal, my Lor-"
Ari snaps his neck in half.
There. The human soul is eternal. Suffering in Hell.
As for this less-than-decent offering-
His eyes land on you.
You wake up in satin sheets and feathered pillows, crimson veils cover the outside of the large king-sized bed so that you can only see the insides of this space. The air is dry and hot. Only seconds have passed before you begin (or realize) that you are sweating. Clear of clothing, stripped naked, with a long-haired man looking at you with his burning eyes sitting in front of you.
"Who are you? What have you done to me?" You claw for the sheets, desperately trying to cover your body.
He likes you. He decides to keep you.
He feeds you fruits and meat by hand (you protested about the lack of utensils, but your disagreements quickly die down when he feasts on your body). The sex is amazing, he'd push his huge demon cock into your tiny holes and fill each and every one of them to the brim (if not leaking). And he would carry you to bed. Clothing is never an option. You can choose between his gown or the thin piece of veil he prepares for you - neither is satisfying enough but that's what you make do with when he's not around.
He rips them off you when he's around.
It's almost impossible to choose between stevie and ariii <333 (my heart is certainly big enough for them both and I want them to have their ways with me with no mercy pls
Thank you for this ask :3
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thedoover-if · 6 months
Note
MC being a baker who takes out their life's frustrations on the baked goods they are kneading and shaping lol
Customer: (hears curses, growls, clatters and slamming noises from the kitchen) What's going on??
Cashier: We hired a new baker :)
MC: (slams a buttery brioche dough onto the counter to fold it, hard enough to make the glasses tremble) A NEAR DECADE WASTED ON YOU, YOU STUPID BASTARD—
LMAO thank you for the laugh anon!!! 💀💀 (brb just gonna add this to my notes hehe)
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