#IT’S UNBEARABLE I AM SO READY FOR HIM | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

missadangel · 3 months ago

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MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialists)

Chapter 1: Blind Date

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Summary: You work as a housekeeper in a rich family's mansion and often have to deal with their spoiled daughter. One day, she asks you to pretend to be her on a blind date with a guy her dad picked out for her. Your mission is to make him not like you so he won't want to marry her. But here's the twist: will Harry end up hating you, or could he actually fall for you? That's the real question. Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, Lucy as his ex, John as Lucy's ex, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, oral sex, p in v sex, kissing, slow burn, power imbalance, I might have missed some warnings; I will update them in due time. Word Count: 4.8k for now, There will be a part two if you guys like it, but I'm not sure about the rest. Sorry for the poor writing; that was quick. authors note: I am not sure about his name. If there's any update, I will edit. English is not my native, so please be nice; this is my third fanfiction. Thank you for the reblogs, comments, and likes. Love you all!

"Ugh, this dress is so last season! Are you serious? Everything here is out of style—get rid of them! Call Elliot and have them send me another dress, or I'm going to be really pissed!"

As if tossed at you like a used handkerchief, another dress worth thousands of dollars—perhaps only worn once—landed in your hands. You sighed as you looked at the elegant dress you were now holding, the Gucci label glinting under the light.

"Story of my life," you mumbled.

Working as a housekeeper in a millionaire's house was hard enough, but dealing with his spoiled and ill-tempered daughter was exhausting. Yet you were determined that it would soon be over. You could no longer endure this physical and psychological torture. With the money you had saved, you planned to open your own restaurant—fulfilling your dream. You just needed to save a little more and hang in there a bit longer.

Your boss was a decent, kind man, but his daughter was so unbearable that every housekeeper assigned left the next day.

How do you even tolerate her?

Because you didn’t have the luxury of quitting and waiting for a new job. You were still young and trying to establish yourself in the business. The extra pay you received was simply to endure her antics. Your kind millionaire boss had even promised you all the support you needed, suggesting you could quit your day job and focus solely on managing his daughter’s affairs. But how could you have known it would be so challenging? Still, you managed to get through each day and believed you could endure this for just a little while longer. After all, you had survived three challenging years already, right?

The mansion was enormous, and everything inside was meticulously organized. Everyone—housekeepers, gardeners, cooks, and even the owners—followed a disciplined daily routine.

Except for the young lady of the house.

You never knew when she would wake up or come downstairs to join her family at the dinner table. She was stubborn, mean, and unpredictable, and you had to manage her behavior just as you managed her dresses, her dates, and her friends. Because you were responsible for her, there were times when you wished you could handle all the housework yourself and let someone else take care of her demands. Despite being just an ordinary housekeeper, your name was the one that echoed the most throughout this vast mansion.

Why?

Because the young lady constantly called on you to fulfill her never-ending requests. And it was one of those moments again. Since it was evening, you guessed she was probably getting ready for a night out at the club, and you felt a surge of annoyance as you rushed to her room.

"I can't believe I was a size 8 before starting this job; now I'm down to a size 6," you mumbled to yourself, quickly making your way up the stairs.

One of the cleaners dusting the vases in the hallway shot you a wink and let out a sigh. Man, you’d do just about anything to be in her shoes, just taking care of that vase!

As soon as you knocked on the door, the young lady Melanie opened it, pulled you inside by the arm, and slammed the door shut behind you. You were taken aback—had you made a mistake? It had only been two hours since you last saw her; you had picked up her clothes off the floor and taken them to the laundry room. She had seemed content, busy texting on her phone. What could have possibly happened in such a short time?

“Is something wrong?” you asked, your eyes wide. For some reason, she looked super tense and nervous.

“You’ve gotta help me,” she said almost desperately, which caught you off guard; it was pretty rare for her to ask for help like this, very rare.

“Of course, if I know what’s going on…”

“Remember that thing we did with the senator's son? I need you to do something like that again.”

You froze for a moment. She was referring to something you had helped her with before—something you weren't very proud of.

“Oh, but—” you frowned. “You said I’d never have to do anything like that again.”

Years ago, you had done your best to disguise yourself as Melanie to turn off the senator's son and prevent him from marrying her. It had worked, but lying to someone was a real headache. Thankfully, Melanie's father hadn’t suspected a thing, but the thought of risking it again felt scarier than anything else.

“I know, I know, but I’m in a tough spot. My dad has been speaking with a matchmaker again to arrange a match for me. After the scandal at the club last time, he's determined to marry me off for sure. Please, I need your help.”

How could she still act so childish in her late twenties? As she looked at you with those pleading eyes, memories of all the times she’d yelled at you and scolded you flashed in your mind. It was fine when you were more like her special assistant instead of just a housekeeper, but now it feels like you’re just a toy to her. When she wants to have fun, she plays with you—almost like you’re her little slave or something.

“I’m not here for that,” you said firmly. “That is not my job.” Your patience was running thin, and this was just too much.

“But you’re supposed to help me,” she shot back, stubborn as ever. “And it’ll be easier this time, I promise.”

You narrowed your eyes and said, “We got caught last time when the guy found out and cursed both of us. Do you have any idea how hard that was for me? And if your father discovers what we’re up to this time…”

She replied with a grin, “We won’t get caught this time because I already sent them your photo instead of mine. Besides, you know how my father is strict about always having my picture removed from newspapers and magazines.”

“You did what?” you wailed.

“Chill, it’s all figured out. I’ve been working on this since last week. You’ll have dinner with the guy, pretend to be me, scare him off, and boom! He won’t want to hear my name again. Easy peasy!”

You rolled your eyes. “But he’s surely seen your photo somewhere; he can’t be that clueless.”

“No, he’s a very busy businessman. He has lived abroad for years and has just returned from France. He’s looking to set up his business here in New York,” she said as she opened her laptop and pulled up a webpage with information about the man. “It seems he’s also looking for a suitable match,” she continued, glancing at his photo and pursing her lips.

You froze when you looked at the photo; he wasn’t at all what you expected. He appeared to be a mature, charismatic, and intelligent man. But how could you sit opposite this man and pretend to be someone else? The thought made you shudder, raising the tiny hairs on the back of your neck.

“As you can see, he’s much older than me. I don’t think he’ll tolerate disrespect. If you’re disrespectful to him, he might get annoyed and just leave the table,” she said with a chuckle.

You laughed too, but for a different reason. You were sure that if she went to the meeting herself, he would get up and leave when he saw her personality.

“I think you should go; maybe he won’t like you,” you suggested.

She narrowed her eyes at you like she'd just caught you saying something crazy. “He won’t like me? Seriously?” She flipped her hair over her shoulder with a cocky grin. “Anyway, I can’t risk it. I don’t want to marry him or anyone else, and I definitely don’t want to be stuck in the same room with that old man.”

As if I want it so much, you thought.

“Come on, please do this for me! I promise I’ll be good; I won’t make you work too hard. I’ll ask Dad to give you a nice raise,” she said, clasping her hands together and trying to look cute.

Well, good raise would mean you could quit your job and bail out of here earlier, right? You crossed your arms and glanced back at the laptop screen, staring at the photo of that guy—Harry Castillo. You made a decision that you had no idea would change everything in both his life and yours.

“Fine. When’s dinner?” you said, feeling a bit anxious.

“Oh, you’re the best! I knew you couldn’t say no!” she said excitedly. “This Saturday.”

“But that’s only two days away,” you pointed out, feeling even more nervous.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you all set. Just make sure you displease him,” she grinned.

You sighed deeply, already sure you’d regret this choice.

“Don’t you think this dress is a bit… exaggerated?” you muttered, looking at yourself in the mirror.

It was an elegant burgundy dress—strappy, satin, and adorned with pearl details—the kind of designer item you could never afford, even if you worked your entire life.

“Am I trying to make him hate me or make him fall for me?” you asked, frowning.

Melanie rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry; he’ll never fall in love with you,” she said arrogantly. This was typical behavior for her, so you chose to ignore it. “As much as you want to annoy him, remember that you represent me. I don’t want anyone gossiping that Melanie Johanson is wearing a lame dress,” she continued while picking out a matching purse.

“But everyone knows I’m not you, except that poor guy.”

“I don’t suppose you were planning to wear one of your own skimpy outfits,” she remarked. “Do you want our game to be exposed?”

That was too much—being scolded and being forced to do something so ridiculous for this spoiled girl.

“Fine, go to that dinner yourself then,” you said, slipping off your heels.

She grabbed your arms. “No, no, no, please. Okay, I’m sorry I was rude. But I need you; no one else would do something like this for me.”

“It’s good that you realize that,” you muttered.

“Here, take this; it’s time,” she said, giving you a smile.

Honestly, putting up with Melanie’s constant demands, cleaning up after her, and covering for her felt like child’s play compared to what you were facing tonight.

A nice raise, you keep telling yourself trying to soothe yourself. I’m doing this for my restaurant; I’ll get it started someday.

The restaurant was one of the most famous, expensive, and luxurious places in New York—somewhere you would never normally set foot in. But tonight, thanks to Melanie’s name, you could easily get in. You were overwhelmed by the incredibly polite behavior of the restaurant staff.

Melanie may have been extravagant and reckless, but she had thought of almost everything for tonight—from the driver who brought you here to the all restaurant staff.

All this effort was for one purpose: to rid herself of the matchmaker’s match.

When they took your fur coat at the entrance and told you that Mr. Castillo was waiting for you, you took a deep breath. After one step inside, when you saw him, you nearly backed away. Harry was busy on his phone, scribbling notes in his small notebook. He looked really sharp and stylish—way more handsome and appealing than in the photo.

Damn.

You wanted to escape; you wished to put an end to this nonsense before it even began. Without realizing it, your feet started to move backward. Just then, you turned around and accidentally bumped into the waiter behind you, causing him to drop the champagne glasses he was carrying on his tray. The glasses shattered, and champagne spilled all over his outfit. You cursed yourself for the mishap.

Before you could even respond, the waiter apologized. “No, it was my fault; I’m sorry,” you said nervously, trying to wipe off the champagne from his clothes.

The other waiter and the staff stared at you in shock.

Yes, you were a wealthy lady now, but what harm was there in being polite?

"No, ma'am, I should have been more careful," he said before turning and walking away.

"Miss Johnson?" said a soft, deep voice.

You turned around to meet him and felt almost breathless. There he was, few inches taller than you, with broad shoulders, curly hair, deep-set brown eyes, a sharp nose, and an attractive appearance.

"Melanie, right?"

"Y-yes," you stammered, batting your eyelashes.

And that smile! For a moment, the world seemed to stop; all the sounds in the restaurant faded, and you almost forgot why you were there.

"I'm Harry," he said, holding out his hand. It took you so long to look at his face that you nearly forgot to acknowledge his hand. He laughed again, that wonderful smile lighting up his face. "My hand has been waiting for a while," he said teasingly.

You felt your cheeks flush as you realized what he meant. "I'm sorry," you replied, quickly reaching out to shake his waiting hand. His hand was big and warm. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long," you mumbled, feeling embarrassed. You knew you needed to work up the courage.

“Not really,” he said with a grin. “Shall we head to our table? Or do you want to stay here all night?”

“S-sure,” you said sheepishly.

Well, there wasn't much you could do about it. This wasn't just about him being wealthy or handsome. Even if it was a fake date, it had been years since you'd been on a date, and you didn’t know many men in your life.

Dinner was harder than you expected. Even though you and Melanie had practiced what you should and shouldn't say, your fears came to light. Harry seemed kind and understanding, and it was difficult to lie to him, which made you hate every minute of it. It got worse when he started grilling you with questions, and you weren't sure how much longer you could keep up with this silly game.

When you excused yourself to go to the restroom, you called Melanie.

"What do you mean he hasn't left the restaurant yet?"

"I don't know; the conversation got a little long, and he kept asking questions about me, I mean you."

"Do something to make him hate you already!"

“But how? Throw wine at him? This is all ridiculous. I think we should just tell the truth.”

"Don't you dare!" she barked.

Her voice was so loud that you had to smile apologetically when the other women in the ladies room looked at you strangely, hearing your end of the conversation.

"What am I supposed to do? Our plan isn't working."

“What's up with this guy? He should’ve bailed by now.” Melanie grunted.

“He seems nice—I doubt he’d be rude like that.”

“Rude! That’s the ticket; just be rude enough that he can’t stand it.”

“What? Seriously?”

“Yep, you heard me. Just be as rude as you can.”

You let out a sigh, really wishing you could just bang your head against the wall right now.

“I said do it, or you'll ruin everything. Call me when you’re done.”

“But what am I gonna— Hello? Darn it!”

Beep… Beep… Beep…

She hung up.

You’ll have to be rude, how wonderful! But she was right; you needed to get rid of this man for the night to end and for you to return to your normal life. Why did he have to be so nice and kind? If he could ever act like a jerk, you would have done it by now, but he was just too sweet. As you looked in the mirror, you thought of all the rude things a lady wouldn’t normally do. Ah, that sounds familiar; it reminds you of Melanie herself. The very thought of her actions made you smile nervously. You took a deep breath and left the restroom.

Encouraging yourself, you gazed at Harry's handsome face from afar.

You can do it, you can do it...

Your first move: act indifferent.

You changed your facial expression as you approached the table and deliberately looked away from his face. He was smiling warmly at you. No, you couldn't look at him; it would only complicate everything. You were about to apologize for being late, but no, you can’t. Instead, you pulled your chair noisily on purpose, scraping its legs on the floor to create an annoying sound. You sat down and crossed your legs, positioning your body so it wasn't fully facing him. Harry seemed surprised by this sudden shift in your mood, but he didn’t comment.

A little later, as your desserts were served, he looked at you, “I like chocolate cake too, especially with pistachio sauce. We have similar tastes,” grinning at you.

You looked at him and then at the waiter. “I don’t want this,” you said angrily.

“But ma'am, you ordered it,” the poor man replied sheepishly.

“I’ve changed my mind,” you said. “I’ll go with the tiramisu,” you added after a quick look at the menu, making sure to glance away casually.

“Sure, I’ll change it right away,” he said, taking your plate and walking back.

“Are you all right?” Harry asked, concern creeping into his voice.

“I’m great,” you lied, forcing a fake grin.

He didn’t ask any further questions, but he seemed to suspect something had changed. When the waiter brought your dessert, you decided to eat it rudely. You were sure Harry would be disgusted as you devoured your dessert quickly and rather rudely as if you were starving. You didn’t look at him again until you finished your plate. When you finally glanced up, your stomach feeling a bit nauseous, the look on his face was not what you had expected. He was smiling at you admiringly.

What the hell was that?

Shouldn’t he have shown disgust or displeasure, just like the people at the next table who were staring at you with disdain?

But not Harry, not him. Why, God, why?

As if teasing you, he laughed and reached for a napkin on the table, wiping the remnants of dessert from the corner of your lips. “You’ve got quite the sweet tooth, don’t you, sweet girl?”

How could he be so nice, even after everything?

“Want to eat mine too?” he joked again. Clearly, you were amusing him instead of grossing him out. Ugh, just what you needed. Why was this so hard?

“It’s the cream in it,” you said, a bit defensive. If you were going to get into a battle of words, you might as well dive in.

When he looked at you, confused, you thought you saw a glimmer of hope. Maybe you could annoy him with your gourmet knowledge.

“The Marsala wine is in the cream; it’s a secret recipe,” you said, trying to sound smart.

Harry paused eating his dessert, rested his elbow on the table, and gave you an admiring look. “Interesting. I didn’t know you were into cooking. That wasn’t in the info.” That familiar warm smile was back.

Crap. Another mess-up.

“I get it—you’re keeping it under wraps from your dad. I want you to feel comfortable talking about your hobbies when you’re with me.”

When you’re with him? Damn, that was supposed to be the first and last time you saw him. You started playing with your fingers in your hair out of nervousness.

Think, think, think. All you had left was to use the only card you had.

“Look, Harry, I’ll be frank. I don’t plan to see you again.”

Suddenly, he stopped. “Didn’t you like me?” he asked softly.

Was it possible not to like this man? But damn it, you had to lie. You looked away; it was hard to read his expression.

“You’ve probably heard about me from the tabloids. I’m not the type of woman to get attached to just one man. My father put me up to this matchmaker thing; I didn’t intend to.” You admitted this indirectly. He deserved a little honesty, didn’t he? “I’ve had and will have many men in my life. I don’t plan to get married. I mean, you’re not special. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

When you looked at his face timidly, you realized you got the reaction you had been waiting for since the beginning of the night. His smile vanished; his expression hardened, and the color of his eyes darkened.

But why did your heart squeeze when you should have felt relieved?

When they brought your coat, you thanked them and turned to Harry for the last time. You would probably never see him again. You felt fortunate to have had the chance to meet and get to know this man, even briefly. He would probably forget you anyway; why would he remember you?

“Can I give you a ride home so we can end things on a good note?” he asked, sounding a bit unsure.

You definitely didn’t see that coming. You paused, trying to figure out what to say. It would’ve been easier to just say no, but his eyes were so mesmerizing that if he’d asked you to spill all your secrets right then, you might have done it without even thinking.

“Sure,” you replied, feeling shy.

When the valet brought Harry's car around, your jaw dropped. This black, late-model Mercedes Benz S was probably worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Your interest in cars stemmed from your childhood; your mother always complained that you didn't like dresses and jewelry like other girls—rather, you liked cars. It was clear you were different, and you had always been that way.

Just like the situation you found yourself in now. Maybe there was something wrong with you.

The two of you were silent the entire ride. You didn’t look directly at him, but you could feel his gaze on you out of the corner of your eye. However, you were more captivated by the interior of the car. When would you ever get to ride in such a luxury vehicle again? It wouldn’t hurt to take a closer look. As you glanced towards his side to check out the control panel and see how much horsepower the car had, he caught your eye, causing you to quickly turn your head away. You had to suppress your curiosity.

"We’ll turn right here," you said as you approached the junction. Down the street, the giant mansion loomed, so close to your destination. You stole a quick glance at him, realizing this might be the only time you would see this man in person. You wanted to remember his handsome face.

Suddenly, Harry slammed on the brakes, and the car screeched to a halt. Your eyes widened in surprise as you looked at him, startled that he had stopped so abruptly near the mansion. What had caused him to suddenly halt? He didn’t say a word, just stared at you, and his eyes seemed to communicate something intense. Was he angry and no longer wanting your company?

You unbuckled your seatbelt and reached for the door handle, only to find it locked.

“Stay still,” he said as he unlocked the car doors.

What was he implying? He walked around the front of the car, reached your side, and opened your door.

Was this chivalry? If so, why did he stay away from the mansion?

“Aren’t you getting out?” His voice was kinda cold.

You didn’t know how to respond. You stepped out of the car without saying a word.

“Thanks for the ride—”

Suddenly, he grabbed your arm—not roughly, but with a firm, questioning grip. His gaze was intense, but why did he look that way? Had he figured it all out? Maybe he was about to confront you for making a fool of yourself. After all, you had been willing to be open, and now you felt you deserved it. But you didn’t have the courage to meet his eyes, so you lowered your head.

“You were lying, weren’t you?”

Shit.

You swallowed hard; this was the moment you had dreaded.

“I-I…”

What were you going to say? How would you even say it?

You were fucked.

Suddenly, Harry pinched your chin with one hand, forcing you to look at him while his other hand rested on your waist. He tilted his head toward you, his hot breath brushing against your face, making your heart race. His lips were dangerously close to yours, and you could feel your throat going dry. What the hell was he going to do? Kissing you or scolding you? After what felt like an eternity, he pulled you closer by the arm around your waist and kissed you.

It had been a long time since you kissed someone, so you were almost shocked by his sudden kiss. No matter how hard you tried to stop yourself, you finally closed your eyes and surrendered to him completely. Your surrendering gave him courage and he deepened the kiss, his hot tongue licking your lips and forcing them apart. While his expert hand lingered on the swell of your breasts teasingly, you moaned and opened your mouth for him and when his tongue touched yours, you could still taste the chocolate from the dessert he had just eaten.

But suddenly, Harry pulled his head back, breaking the kiss and all contact. Instinctively mesmerized, you leaned forward, eyes closed and mouth agape. When you finally opened your eyes, you caught him snickering, and as the embarrassment of the situation hit you, you wished you could disappear. You instinctively pressed your hand to your burning lips and pressed hem together. Harry licked his lips and grinned. "Just as I predicted. You lied to me. There's no way another man has touched you recently."

For a second, your mind went blank, and you just stared at him, blinking in confusion. What the heck did he mean by that? "Y-you... w-what..." Great, now you couldn't even put together a simple sentence.

What next?

Just then, your phone started ringing. When you opened your purse to get it, Harry reached for it before you could. Fortunately, you had saved Melanie in your phone under a special nickname, not her real name. Harry laughed, raising his eyebrows in surprise and amusement. "Trouble?"

Yes, you had saved her as trouble.

"Can you hand my phone back, please?" you said, holding out your hands, but he caught them with one hand and gently pushed them away.

“Your trouble can wait,” he said, rejecting Melanie’s call. He dialed a number on your phone, but realized what he was doing when his own phone started ringing.

“There, now you have my number,” he said, handing your phone back to you.

You frowned and grabbed your phone angrily, "What makes you think I’d actually call you?"

Harry shrugged, pursing his lips. “Shouldn't I call you before I come to pick you up for our next date? I guess I could just come by your house and honk the horn instead.”

“What?” you exclaimed.

He grinned.

You took a deep breath to release some of your tension. “Harry, why are you doing this? There won’t be a next date; I told you that.”

“One chance,” he said firmly.

“A chance of what?”

"I want you to give me a chance. A real date. If, at the end of the night, you still feel the same way, I promise you’ll never see me again."

You shook your head. "But why? You’re a man who can have any woman you want. You’re rich, handsome, and kind—why waste your time on someone who doesn’t want you?"

You saw something in his brown eyes, something you couldn’t quite identify, but it was intense. “Because you're different from others,” he said sharply. “True, women are not unattainable for me; they are always around. But what I want is someone special, and I feel that you are the one. There’s something about you that has ignited something in me I haven't felt in a long time. I must admit, I'm surprised; I never thought I’d be attracted to you after reading the news about you, but it seems I was wrong. Can you give me a chance? Please?”

Oh, Harry, there’s so much you don’t know, you thought. Your heart was fluttering at the thought of saying yes, but how could you? How dare you? You weren’t Melanie, the daughter of a wealthy businessman; you were just an ordinary girl.

“You know I won’t leave without hearing your answer, right?” He grunted.

Just then, you heard a car approaching, and you freaked out. That was Melanie’s dad’s car. Your heart nearly stopped.

“You have to go, like, now!” you yelled in a panic.

“First, say yes,” he replied, frowning.

"Si, yes, okay, alright! But please, go now!" you urged, pushing him toward the back of his car. He chuckled in response.

You crouched down to hide your face as the other car drove toward the mansion and pulled him down with you.

“I want you to know I’ve never done anything like this in my life,” he admitted, snickering.

“Is that so funny?” you snapped.

"Okay, I get that you don’t want your dad to see us like this, and I’m curious why, but since you said yes, I’ll be a good guy and leave."

“Yes you do that,” you said with a sigh.

Harry took his phone out of his pocket and waved it before getting into his car. “You’d better answer it when I call,” he said, getting inside. He winked at your puzzled expression and started the engine. His car quickly disappeared from sight along the road. You turned toward the mansion, exhaled deeply, and murmured to yourself.

“I'm so fucked.”

thanks for reading, likes, comments, reblogs are appreciated ❤️

#fanfiction #fanfic #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal #pedro pascal gifs #pedro pascal fanfiction #the materialist #harry castillo #materialists #harry castillo x reader #randy castillo

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shotmrmiller · 1 year ago

Text

pornstar au

f!reader x simon 'ghost' riley

3.7k words (sorry)

tw: teacher-student relationship but it's just a scene for porn. explicit. horrifyingly so.

You burst into the classroom and stride purposefully towards your professor, who is seated in his leather chair, engrossed in his work. Impatiently tapping your foot, you waited for him to finish marking essays. However, after 5 minutes, your patience with this unbearable man ran out.

"Professor."

He hums, a deep sound coming from the back of his throat yet doesn't look up from what he's doing. A real piece of work, he is. How fucking aggravating.

"Professor Riley," your voice takes an irreverent tone.

The hand that had been writing non-stop comes to a sudden pause, and he finally directs his attention to you. Meeting your gaze, his dark eyes are hooded, his lips set in a firm line. His job is to literally deal with students, yet he dares to look annoyed.

"Are you gonna tell me what's wrong 'r am I gonna have to learn how to read minds?" he states.

Taking in a calming breath, you clench the crumpled essay in your hand. "Can you explain to me why you failed me on this? I did exactly as you asked!"

He must know precisely what you're talking about because he simply turns back to the papers on his desk.

"Tha's your problem. You did exactly as I asked, with no thought behind it. Just wrote the bare minimum, if you can even call it writin'. It's copy-paste," Professor Riley sets the pen down and leans back in the chair.

"I need ya to use tha' head o' yours when in this class. Otherwise, you'll fail the rest o' your classes too."

Fucking hell.

Professor Riley shifts in his seat, seemingly done with the conversation, and finishes, "If tha's all."

Shit. Your pause is too long, and the director calls it. Fuck.

"I'm really sorry, Ghost, I didn't mean-" Your words of apology dissolve into thin air as his strong hand finds its place on your hip— giving it a gentle, but firm squeeze.

"S'all righ', love. Mistakes happen. Matter fact," his eyes drift from you to behind you to beckon someone with two fingers. "C'mere, you."

It's the set assistant, and he's brought the script with him. Ghost swiftly stops him from handing it to you, instead pushing it onto the assistant's chest. "Won't be needin' tha', thanks. Tell the director tha' we'll be ad-libin'. Now sod off."

The assistant follows his command in haste, scurrying off to follow Ghost's instructions.

"Hey," he murmurs. Your eyes meet his, feeling the intensity of it quickens your heartbeat. "Say whatever you like, just remember to follow the storyline, alright?"

Follow the storyline. In porn. The irony isn't lost on you, but you bite the side of your gummy cheek to keep from laughing. "Yes, sir."

He drops his hand from where he held you slowly, seemingly almost reluctant to let go. "Ready?" Ghost's thin lips curl into a smirk when you nod at his question. "Good girl."

Your fingers tightly grip the flimsy material of your uniform skirt at his praise, and warmth pools in your lower belly.

His good girl.

A high-pitched voice cuts through your thoughts, signaling the restart of the shooting. You exhale a long breath, unclenching your hands in the process.

Action.

"If tha' all." Ghost reaches for his pen when you frantically grab onto his Oxford sleeve.

"Wait, Professor, please! I can't," you stammer, "I cannot fail this class! My parents would kill me if I studied abroad only to flunk. The tuition—"

His tone is authoritative as he abruptly cuts off your lengthy excuse. "Enough. Nothing can change the mark I've given you."

Your ears pricked up at his wording, and the corners of your lips pulled up into a roguish smile. "No?" Ghost stills before turning to face you, countenance blank. "Nothing at all, Professor?" With a coy tilt of your head, your wide, doe-like eyes meet his as your fingertips trace an alluring path from his forearm down to his knuckles.

"I really can't convince you in any way to change that grade for me?" You lean on the edge of his wooden desk— skirt so short it doesn't even graze the surface of it— and lightly curl your hand around his pointer finger. "It can be our little secret, Professor Riley," you purr.

Ghost lifts a single brow, and settles back into his seat, arms crossed over his barrel chest as his eyes travel from your feet to your exposed cleavage, fixating on the soft skin peeking out from your uniform top.

"Please?" his hushed voice reverberates inside your skull. "I promise to be a good girl."

That catches his attention, eyes flashing to yours, the fire behind them hot— you hope it burns you.

"'Sat, right? Tha' changes things now, doesn't it?" Ghost rolls his chair back, away from his desk, and spreads his thick legs apart in invitation, arms resting on the rests— the dictionary definition of casual. "Convince me then, pet."

"Yes, sir." Sauntering to stand in between his legs, you swallow thickly— the bulge in his groin was quite frankly, intimidating. You've had large, but this was in a league of its own.

"You gonna do it from up there? I know I'm bigger than average but not tha' big." A huff escapes from your lips. A whole comedian.

Knees pressed into the cold, tile floor, you expertly undo the button of his trousers and with his help, pulled them down along with his pants— just enough for his cock to spring free.

Bloody fucking hell.

His cock is monstrous. It rested against his belly, heavy and thick. The pink tip slightly peeking from under his foreskin. There was a groomed thatch of coarse hair at the base, and his balls were also heavy— one hanging lower than the other.

Ghost leans forward and cradles the underside of your jaw with one large hand, fingers gently caressing the delicate skin of your cheek, while the other pumps his rigid cock in anticipation. "Not scared, are ya?" His grin was wicked. "I promise it don't bite."

Grabbing his wrist, you maneuver his hand so that his thumb now rests on your soft lips. "Might not, but I do, Professor." And catch the tip of his finger between your blunt teeth, the subtle sting of it making him hiss.

"Perfect, pretty girl," he says, almost inaudible. His words of praise are for you alone— not for the scene, nor the camera. You peer up at him through your lashes, mewling softly at the expression on his face.

His brow was set, hooded eyes sultry, a rosy hue across his cheeks and nose, and lips parted as he panted quietly.

Delicious.

Ghost then pushes his thumb further into your slick mouth and hooks it behind your bottom teeth, delicately pulling you closer to him as he tips his head down— taking his thumb out with a pop. His warm breath fans across your face as he moves closer until his lips connect with yours. He slid his tongue into your mouth, tasting of frosty mint and his own unique taste.

Your hands come up, fingers digging into the meat of his thighs when he grasps your wrist and moves it to the focal point of his desire— his breath hitching when you give his cock a firm squeeze. Ghost bites your bottom lip before breaking away, a guttural noise escaping him when you begin to stroke him. "Tighten your hand around—" he breaks off, moaning against your kiss-swollen lips when you comply.

He threads his fingers through your hair that sits at the base of your skull, curling them into a fist and tugging back— craning your neck, hair pulled taut.

"So obedient. Jus' f'me, love?" you hum cheekily, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

"Would you hold it against me if I said no?" he chuckles under his breath, the grip on your hair tightening marginally.

"I'd say tha' you're lyin'." He sucks in a breath when you press down lightly onto his slit with your thumb. "Cheeky."

He loosens the hold he has on you, feeling your scalp prickle with tender relief, and relaxes back into the chair. "All yours, sweetheart."

That light wasn't getting any greener, so with a grunt, you shifted your weight, ignoring your aching knees, and wrapped your lips around his cock.

Barely.

The salty bite of his arousal and musk spread on your tongue as you took him in deep, stilling once he hit the back of your throat.

"Fuck, look at me."

Slightly tipping your head back, you do as he says, your throat closing around him as he slips in even further.

"Fuckfuckfuck," a hiss, "such a hot little mouth, just swallowin' me righ' up." Your lungs burn with the lack of oxygen, forcing you to pull back to gasp for air. Ghost squeezes himself at the base and taps your cheek with his saliva-coated length.

"A dirty slag like you, jus' takin' me like a professional. Tha' what you are? A professional cock sucker, love?" he taunts. Your pussy clenches when he calls you a slag, pressing your thighs together in the hope of some friction; Something to alleviate the throbbing ache in between your legs.

Ghost with eyes as keen as ever, notices. Damn.

"Oh? Little harlot likes to get degraded, does she? Reminded of her place? How I'd love to teach you exactly where you belong, but tha' wouldn't be you convincin' me to change your bad grade, now would it?"

His cock taps on your swollen lips. "Another time, hm? Now open. Make me see reason."

Ghost's wish is your command. With enthusiasm, you take him in your mouth, slowly bobbing your head, place a hand right under your lips, and twist with every push and pull.

It's sloppy, spit covering your hand, dripping down to his balls. Your jaw aches, a burning pressure a little under your ear, but what gives you the strength to continue is the loud moans coming from Ghost. He holds nothing back, his hand engulfing the crown of your head while he gently pushes you down. A performer down to his very bones.

You were about to pause the recording, the pain in your mandible and knees almost becoming too much when he suddenly pulled you off of him.

"Wha—?" Ghost seizes you by the upper arms, forcibly bringing you to your feet, disregarding your pained whimper, and places you on the sturdy desk.

He's curling his fingers into the waistband of your frilly knickers, slipping them down your legs and pocketing them. There's a quiet popping sound when he bends his knees, going eye level with your bare cunt.

In a hushed tone, you say, "This isn't part of the scene." Ghost drags his eyes from your glistening slit to your face, gaze suffocating, smothering the very air in your lungs.

"Just a taste, love." He curls one hand under your thigh, lifting it to perch it on the edge of the desk, the other he throws over his strong shoulder. The only sound in the room is your soft moans as he expertly slides his warm tongue through your slick folds, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

By god does he eat pussy like it's his job. Peering down at him, you can't stop the sounds that spill from your mouth when his tongue visibly splits your pussy lips open, flicking at your clit, lapping up your arousal like it is honey. You take hold of his short hair, tugging at the strands as each swirl of his talented tongue pushes you closer to your peak.

His eyes cut to yours when he presses a thick finger into you, drinking in your desperate expression as you keen, begging for more, blabbering about it being so good, yet not enough, please god more.

Ghost curls his finger, only taking a second to find your sweet spot, and pushes— bursts of light flashing in your peripheral vision. You begin to rock your hips unconsciously, chasing your ecstasy, and Ghost simply flattens his tongue, letting you grind against it.

You teeter on the edge of bliss, a tightening in your stomach, right under where his finger is. Shaky exhales leave you, the leg that's on the desk visibly trembling from the tension that threatens to snap you in half.

He presses a kiss to your sodden pussy, and croons, "Gonna come f'me?" You jerkily nod.

"Yes fuck yes, I'm gonna come for you, just for you, Professor Riley pleaseee—" your blathering turns into a high-pitched squeal as he lightly sucks on your pearl, hips lifting off the desk as a blinding orgasm crashes into you, pleasure bursting through your very core, cunt pulsating with every wave of ecstasy around Ghost's finger.

He wastes no time in rising to his feet and slotting his mouth over yours, the taste of your slick strong, potent on his tongue. Ghost breaks away, his breath smelling of your desire. "Exquisite, like ambrosia. Addicting."

Ghost's hand cups your sensitive quim and whispers, "Think you can take me? Tha' orgasm took a lot outta ya."

Silly question. "I'm a big girl, Ghost. I can take it."

He licks the front of his teeth and glances down to where his hand rests. "Course you can, love. Turn around f'me."

Your movements are sluggish as you turn over onto your stomach, rising to the tip of your toes as you present yourself to him.

Ghost grabs the sides of your waist, and flips your skirt up, tucking the edge into the waistband of it. His hands palm your cheeks, thumbs digging into the meat of your ass to spread you open, completely exposed to him.

"Fuck me if tha' isn't the prettiest sight I've ever had the pleasure of seein'." He doesn't acknowledge your scoff as he spreads your hands out, placing them flat on the table— enveloping your hand with his own, intertwining his fingers with yours.

His leans over your semi-prone body, cock gently prodding at your entrance, gliding easily through your folds. "Ready?"

Arching your back, his tip slips inside, just barely. That's your answer.

You can hear the smarmy grin that spreads on his face, and wanted to snark back but you're rendered mute when he pushes in. Your eyes cross at the stretch of his cock, a feeling so sublime you know that no one will ever be able to duplicate. Your fingers tighten around his as you mewl when he bottoms out, hips flush against your arse.

Ghost sucks in a breath through his teeth when you shift your weight, and whatever you did has him sliding in deeper— turning his hiss into a guttural groan. "Fuck, you have no fuckin' idea how good you feel."

Probably not, but you have every idea how good he feels.

"You okay, love? Took me so well like you were made jus' f'me. So warm and soft, tight like a vice around my cock. Pretty pussy split wide open, stuffed full of me." He speaks unfettered filth to you, dripping over your ears like molasses, thick and syrupy. Your head feels heavy on your shoulders— dizzy, drunk on his scent, his cock that's got you tearing at the seams.

Then he begins to move, pulling out until an inch remains inside, and pushing in until he's nudging the plug of your womb, feeling a deep pinch under your navel.

This is what it's like to get fucked by Ghost. The one everyone covets after, hoping he drags down the very heavens with his bare hands and lays it at their feet. And here he is, fucking you. A newbie, a fresh face no one knows yet, a name that'll probably never grace the front page.

You doubt his motives are altruistic, but goddamn does it not matter; Not with the way he's carving a space inside of you that only he will ever fit in, or the way he's curling his free hand around your neck, thumb pressed right over your racing pulse.

He lowers himself until his strong chest is to your back, his teeth nipping the tip of your ear. "The moment I saw you gettin' fucked by Johnny, I knew I had t'have ya." Your walls clamp down on him involuntarily, wrenching a pained noise from him. "Fuckin' hell, I knew this pussy would be magical."

Ghost's lips skim over the shell of your ear before pressing a chaste kiss on it. "Lemme hear how good I make ya feel, pet. Don't hold back on me now." He grinds into your arse, going in so deep that it feels like he's trying to push past the entrance of your womb. "S'alrigh'. I'll jus' have t'pull 'em outta ya."

He releases you, placing both hands flat on the desk, on either side of your shoulders. "Take em for myself, make 'em mine." Straightening all the way, he digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your waist.

"What a view. Perfection." He rolls his hips, rhythm languid, loud squelching noises coming from where he fills you. "Drippin' cream all over my cock, pet. Can't tell me this isn't 'cause of me."

How the fuck can he still talk? How is he coherent? Why isn't his brain turned into mush like yours is?

"Fuckin' ya speechless, am I? Oh, sweetheart, but I'm barely gettin' started." Ghost slowly pulls out, and curls his hand around your shoulder, nudging you to turn over. "On your back, now."

You lazily flip over, hair sticking to your sweat-slick skin, and he hooks his arms underneath your legs and drags you to the edge until your arse hangs from it. "I wanna see that pretty face when you come." He wastes no time in sheathing himself back inside your swollen channel, walls fluttering at the invasion.

Ghost hooks one leg over his shoulder to lean forward, pinning you to the desk with his upper body, and maneuvers your other to wrap around his wide waist. "That cock drunk look on your face makes my balls tighten, what a fuckin' expression you've got, christ," he growls. "Knowin' I put it there makes it all the better."

He gives you a chaste kiss on the lips and gives you a smile that is all teeth. "Now let's make you sing."

Grunting, he straightens. plants his feet firmly, stance wide, and begins to fuck you. The videos of the famed Ghost you saw are nothing, nothing, in comparison to real life. His full weight is behind every spine-jarring thrust, it makes your teeth clack, it rattles your brain inside your skull. He does it so perfectly because at no point do you feel any discomfort, not even a twinge. It's all a pleasure that blazes, an all-encompassing heat that threatens to swallow you whole, burn you from the inside out.

His cock punches the breath out of your lungs, wails clawing out of your throat, and it's so good, so fucking good— god, maybe he is god, you don't know, everything is so blurry, hazy—

All senses focus on the sudden touch between your legs, an expert thumb drawing tight circles on your slippery clit and there's no way you're going to survive this—

"There she is, the girl I saw in the video. Tha's an expression I see in myfuckin' sleep. Give me what's mine, pet. Let me feel you, cream all over my cock."

He's relentless in his pursuit of your climax, a wave of pleasure so intense, it just might drag you out to sea, drowning you.

Ghost, the fucking god of sex, stops his ministrations to spit on your pussy. Spit. From his full height, a glob of warm saliva drops to your mons, and he smears it with his fingers over your pussy lips before rubbing your clit. His thrusts slow in pace, turning into a firm snap of his hips, making sure you feel every ridge of his cock, and in less than a minute, your spine arches off the desk.

Your mouth opens into a silent scream, lids snapping shut as you break underneath him, warmth gushing from where he's continuously sinking into you, a steady, slow rhythm that never ends.

"Came all over me, didn't ya? Bet you didn't know you could even do tha'."

You didn't.

"Jus' for tha', I'm gonna give you somethin' in return, yeah? A little reward for bein' so good," he praises.

Your tongue is heavy in your mouth, swollen and thick, and unconsciousness creeps at the very edges of your mind.

All you can do is lie there and take it, his sloppy thrusts, his harsh panting until he moans, "'m close, so fuckin' close," and with whatever remnants of strength you have left, you use to squeeze him tightly— unwilling to let go because his come is yours now, you've earned it.

"Come in me, Ghost," you whimper.

That does it. He slams his hands on either side of your head and borderline roars out his release, cock twitching inside of your used cunt, filling you with his spend.

Cut.

Ghost's breathing is labored, a harsh pant that fans over your overheated skin, damp with sweat.

His brows are furrowed, his eyes squeezed shut, gulping in air and shivering in the aftershock of his climax.

To be fucked by Ghost is to see the Garden of Eden behind your eyelids.

Now you understand. You understand why he has no equal. He is unparalleled.

Jesus Christ, you're fucked. So, so fucked.

He slowly opens his eyes and peers down at you with a wolfish grin.

"Perfection."

A week later, your video with Ghost is the most viewed on the entire website. Not one other video even scratches the bottom of where your video sits.

Ghost truly is the king.

Curiously enough, your friend is the one who lets you know that Mr. life-altering cock himself never kisses during work. Not once in any video of his has he ever kissed, apart from a short pressing of lips to skin.

Your heart traitorously flutters at the thought of it meaning something more. Catching feelings when you get fucked for a living is not the move. But there's no stopping it from misbehaving, especially when you receive another script, to make another video with Ghost.

Another. one.

Fuck. Fuck!!

You cannot wait.

@mishaglass

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x f reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw2 #cod mwii #simon riley x reader #cod #cod smut #simon riley x you #simon riley #pornstar!au #simon ghost riley x you

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captain-huggy-bear · 6 months ago

Text

Guard Dog

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Spoilers for the Washington Capitals game (Jan 2025), anger/conflict, derogatory commentary towards Reader

Summary: You are feeling particularly protective of Quinn after the game against the Washington Capitals and run into Dubois.

Notes: I was ready to throw hands at Dubois for purposefully seeking out and trying to hurt Quinn so...

Apologies to Dubois but he's now my arch nemesis and if I was actually dating Quinn I know I'd hold a grudge, sorry, I'm sure you're a great guy but...not today. Reminder that I am writing a fictional version of these people and what I do write is not representative of them in real life. Don't sue me, Dubois, this is fictional you, not real you. 👀

Also I don't think Quinn is generally violent or aggressive but I do think that if he felt someone he loved was being treated in a way that was disrespectful/aggressive, that he wouldn't avoid conflict. Protective boy in my eyes.

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

You wanted to say that you were used to watching how violent hockey could get, especially when that violence was directed at Quinn, but that would be a lie.

Watching as Quinn was practically attacked by Dubois, watching him be targeted had you gasping and jumping to your feet in an instant. The way he knocked Quinn to the ground had your heart thudding in your chest and you'd gotten to your feet instinctively like you could physically go out and defend him, like you had any ability to do something when in reality you were completely helpless, stuck behind glass.

That intense feeling of protectiveness had only increased as Quinn was pulled from the scrum by Dubois again like he was being hunted down, targeted. It grew almost unbearable, a protectiveness mixed with anger, as you watched Quinn try to keep his distance, shoving away from Dubois even as he tried to hold him close, as Quinn tried to protect himself while avoiding roughing himself, only to receive a penalty anyway. That anger grew watching the way Quinn was stuck in the penalty box, the way he was desperate, standing, wanting to get out after his 2 minutes, only to be stuck because play was ongoing for another 3 minutes.

You had never hated a player before. Players had upset you in the past, annoyance at the way they'd dealt with something or how they'd behaved towards Quinn, but you'd never seen someone so determined to hurt your boyfriend. It was that sheer targeting, the way Dubois followed Quinn, gunned for him for no reason, especially given he was still sporting a hand injury, that had you hating him immediately. It had you itching to say something, do something for the entirety of the game. You could barely concentrate on the actual game, too amped.

You couldn't help the way your leg bounced angrily the entire game, the way you bit your lip, the way your mind ran through all the things you'd like to say to Dubois about his behaviour. That feeling didn't disappear as the game ended and you waited outside the locker room for Quinn, if anything it grew from how hard you tried to suppress it. You felt a little like a ticking time bomb.

That anger boiled over the moment you saw Dubois coming down the corridor towards you after the game. Dubois was freshly washed and changed, laughing with his teammate, Roy, like he hadn't been trying to hurt your boyfriend for half the game. You tried to keep your comments to yourself, but couldn't keep the angry glare, the deep scowl, from your features as you leant against the wall, arms crossed. You knew you were giving him the evils, that if looks could kill he'd have died five times over, but you couldn't force your face into neutrality, not when you felt that buzz of anger in your chest. It was dangerous for him to target Quinn like that, it was unfair, it made you wish you were 6ft 8 and built like a brick shit house so at least you could throw a punch in Quinn's honour. Instead you had been absolutely helpless, unable to do anything but watch.

You heard it muttered, whispered, an exchange of 'what's her problem?' and 'that's Hughes' girl...', that had you almost vibrating with anger. Dubois should have left you well enough alone, should have read the room and let you cool down. He shouldn't have assumed he could mess with you in that moment. But, since when have hockey players ever missed a chance to chirp?

You watch him stride up to you, a glint in his eyes that spelled trouble and only served to push more adrenaline through your body.

"You got a problem with me?"

"Walk away." Your voice is clipped, short, an attempt to maintain a sense of decorum, to control your anger because the last thing you want is to embarrass Quinn by getting into a fight with a rival hockey player on the same night his team lost a game. The last thing you want to do is make matters worse and in the words of Marie from Aristocats 'ladies don't start fights'.

"Or what? You going to cry cause I grabbed your little boyfriend?" His sneer reminds you of every bully you've ever known your entire life. Brutish, stupid, and with a deep desire for power and control, the sort of desire that causes them to be nasty, be mean, to try to hurt people because it shows that they can. It only makes it harder for you to control your feelings, nails digging into the palms of your hands as you clench your fists tight, like that will help keep you back.

"I'm telling you to walk away because I will not be responsible for what I say or do if you don't. Walk away." It was probably comical to him, the way you stepped forward and squared off with him, a man well over 6ft tall. You were relatively small in comparison. It didn't matter to you though, all that mattered was the fact he'd gunned for Quinn, for your lovely, kind boyfriend who avoided fights at all costs and tried to always be a reasonable, decent player. Your boyfriend who tried to play clean. Your boyfriend who was still injured. Your boyfriend who was under an insane amount of pressure right now. Your boyfriend who had only just come back off of rest for his injury.

"You've got some balls on you, lady, more than Hughes does at any rate."

You're certain your eye twitches, certain you're one bite away from causes your bottom lip to bleed. Certain that you've dug half moon circles into your palms. Certain that murder doesn't seem quite that bad of a crime right now and that you could survive prison.

"Walk. Away. Now."

"So you're the man in your relationship, huh? Is Hughes your pretty princess?" It's the hateful, misogynistic attempt to demean Quinn that causes you to snap. It's his refusal to just walk away, the goading, the pushing, the way he steps closer into your personal space, leers over you in an attempt to intimidate you with his size that finally does it. But, he doesn't seem to realise that you're too angry to be intimidated, you're not really thinking about yourself, about the situation, about the fact he's twice your size. So it doesn't matter that he could break you if he wanted to. It doesn't matter that he should be scary. He's not in that moment, because you're simply too angry, vibrating with rage.

"You're a vile, disgusting human being,y'know that? He's still injured, you fucking knew that and fucking went for him? What the fuck did he do to you? You trip him, you gun for him, you then try to pull him from the scrum?! What the fuck is wrong with you?" You could each infraction off on your fingers as you move into his space and push the two of you further into the centre of the corridor.

Maybe it's how loud you are or maybe it was just good timing, but Quinn and Boeser step out of the locker room just in time to see you yelling in Dubois' face, to see the grin on his lips like he's enjoying it. It's honest to god fear, mixed with a protectiveness that he always feels for you, that has Quinn practically sprinting the short distance to you.

He's pretty sure you don't realise you're shaking with anger or how close you've gotten to Dubois, practically nose to nose, leaning up while he leans down, until his arms are wrapping around you and pulling you back against his chest. Even in his arms you're shaking with adrenaline, eyes fixated on Dubois like a look is enough to put him in the ground.

Dubois' eyes shift to him, and Quinn can't help the set of his own features, the stern glare that he directs to the other man even as he's smirking back at him. If anything the way he seems to be enjoying this makes Quinn's expression sterner.

"Keep your little plaything on a fucking leash, Hughes." The grin Dubois sends his way is toothy, predatory, the sort of grin that tells Quinn he knows what he's saying and he knows what reaction it'll get. It doesn't stop Quinn's shoulders from tensing, it doesn't stop the tightness in his chest and it certainly doesn't make it easier for him to keep his usually cool head.

"What did you just say?" It's almost whispered, low, quiet, and it makes you stop shaking in Quinn's arms because there's something deadly about it, something that tells you not to push him right now even when you're not the one it's directed at. Something that makes you still in surprise.

"I said keep your little plaything on a fucking leash."

There's a prolonged pause, one in which Quinn looks back behind him, eyes finding Boeser, a silent sort of conversation happening between them, an agreement reached.

"Brock?"

"I got her." The blonde man steps forward as Quinn turns you in his arms and pushes you gently to Brock, Boeser pulling you into his own arms and away from the other two men.

"Quinn?" You're not sure what's happening other than the fact that the fear is starting to set in. All that anger, the adrenaline that had kept you so focused on Dubois, had started to fade. It left behind a shaky sort of anxiety, as reality hit you, that this was not just a simple argument anymore.

You gasp and move back into Boeser as you watch Quinn turn back to Dubois and just as suddenly grab him by the collar of his suit jacket, slamming him back against the wall. While Quinn is shorter, he's certainly not small or weak by any stretch of the imagination and Dubois doesn't expect it as he's shoved full body into the wall behind him, his feet struggling to keep up with the harsh movement backwards.

Quinn is nose to nose with him, glaring up at him with a look you can only describe as murderous, "You ever talk about her like that again and I will break your fucking nose. You don't ever talk to her or about her like that. Do you hear me?" The interesting thing about it, is how Quinn doesn't have to yell. In fact, his voice low, but it's the edge to it, the way it feels sharp enough to cut that makes his feelings clear.

"Oh? Now you think you're a big man, what you gonna do with that hand of yours?" Dubois' eyes shift to the brace on Quinn's left hand, the one that you can see trembling under it's own grip. It upsets you, that he's hurting himself for you, that you started this, as much as part of you preens under his protection.

"My right hand is just fine, Dubois. Yours won't be if you don't back the fuck down." Maybe it's the way Quinn's eyes narrow. Maybe it's the way his teeth grind together. Maybe it's the way he shoves Dubois even harder into the wall or maybe it's something else entirely, but something seems to make Dubois realise that Quinn is serious. That Quinn has every intention of fighting for you if he has to, if the disrespect is not corrected, if Dubois doesn't back down.

Maybe Dubois simply doesn't care enough or maybe he's intimidated by Quinn because he mutters, "Whatever...", hands shoving Quinn's away from his collar, one last glare exchanged before he and Roy walk away, whispering the entire time.

You're practically shaking in Brock's arms, Brock who releases you gently once Dubois and Roy walk away, Brock who backs away to the locker room with one last look to Quinn, leaving the two of you by yourselves.

Quinn's shoulders drop, relax as he watches the two men turn the corner and disappear out of sight, before green eyes shift to you, features softening into something affectionate and gentle. A stark contrast with his expression mere moments before.

He's the one who reaches for you, stepping until he's in your personal space, hands resting on the sides of your face like he thinks you might physically be hurt.

"You okay?" His voice is soft, sweet, as his thumbs brush your cheeks, green eyes darting over your features, trying to assess how you are and if he needs to chase after Dubois and teach him a lesson or two.

Quinn will openly admit he's not a fighter nor does he want to be, but the strong surge of protectiveness in him overrides his usual aversion to violence. He'd fight anyone for you, if it meant you were respected, protected, safe. He doesn't care that Dubois gunned for him out on the ice, all he cares about is the way he got into your face out in the corridor.

"Am I okay? Are you okay? He almost took you out on the ice!" Even as you say it your voice is shaky. Quinn knows you better than he knows most people, he can hear that shake a mile off, knows that that shake is a sign you're not okay, that that shake usually comes before a break.

It's why he doesn't answer you, it's why he pulls you fully into his arms, wrapping them around you until you're chest to chest.

So he asks again, "Baby, are you okay?" Only to feel the way your body starts to shake aggressively in his arms, like your body has just caught up to the situation, like the adrenaline has fully left your system, leaving only the after effects.

His voice is soft as he mutters to you, "Oh, you really worked off instinct, huh? Just now realising you nearly fought a 6ft 2 hockey player for me?" Quinn's quick to pull you tighter against him, a full body crush, rocking you side to side as his cheek presses into your hair. His hands rub up and down your back, attempting to sooth you as the reality of it all fully kicks. As you realise how stupid it was of you to do that, how scary the situation actually was, how you should have just walked away.

"Fuck...did I just really do that?" Your voice is shaky, almost wet, like you might start crying.

"Uh huh...yeah, you did, baby." His voice is almost amused, sympathetic, now the worst of it is over Quinn can't help but find your actions endearing. The way that you, of all people, decided you'd go toe to toe with a massive hockey player on his behalf.

"Fuck." You press your forehead against his chest, letting out a shaky breath as he rocks you from side to side. You don't regret it, not really. You'd defend Quinn to the death, you love him and that meant protecting him, just like he'd protect you. But, you have to admit, it wasn't perhaps your smartest idea or your finest moment.

"It was kind of hot, baby, but please don't do that again. I nearly had a heart attack seeing you nose to nose with him." Quinn's actually certain his heart stopped when he walked out of the locker room. You'd seemed so...fragile in comparison to Dubois and while he knew you, knew you weren't weak, it had scared him. The idea of you getting hurt was one of his nightmares, even more so you getting hurt because of him.

You pull back as far as he'll let you which really isn't very far, tilting your head back to look at him, "You nearly fought him for me..." your voice is almost disbelieving like you can't understand why he'd step in like that for you, his girlfriend.

"Yeah, I did.." Quinn's smile is soft, loving, eyes crinkling at the corners as you practically gape at him.

"But you don't fight." You look so confused that it almost breaks his heart because who taught you that you were unworthy of protection, who taught you that the people who love you wouldn't step in when needed?

"I'd fight for you. Any day. Any week. Any time. I'll always fight for you, baby. You're my girl." He says it like it's just a fact of life. Like 2 +2 = 4 or that water is wet. He says it like it is the most natural thing to exist.

"But...you don't like to fight." He hates fighting, you know because whenever he gets in one on the ice or has to break one up, he complains when he gets home. You know because everything about Quinn is gentle and soft, always slow to anger and quick to find a diplomatic solution.

"Yeah, I know." Quinn smiles at you amused, "But I love you and if the choice is between protecting you or not fighting, I'm always going to pick you. That's what you do when you love someone. You'd protect me, right?"

"Of course." You don't even hesitate because it's like breathing, that instinct to look after him because you love him because he's your person.

"Then there's your answer, sweet girl" He watches the way you nod like it is starting click, like it makes sense. His hands brush cross your shoulders, tugging you into his side, twisting so his arm is slung over your shoulders. Your shaking has long since stopped and whatever anger both of you felt has since faded under the sweetness of realising you're both loved, both protected.

"You wanna go back to the hotel? Enough excitement for one night, huh?"

"Mmm, yeah...You're okay though, right? Your hand?" You shift under his arm, eyes looking to his left hand and the brace there, watch the way he flexes his fingers as if to remind himself he can.

"I'm okay, baby, especially knowing I have you to fight my battles for me." Quinn kisses the crown of your head, the scent of your shampoo filling his nose as he pulls you tighter to his side.

In that moment the hotel room sounds great, home would sound even better, but you think home might actually just be Quinn and wherever he is.

#huggy bear writes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes/reader #nhl imagine #nhl x reader

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cheftsunoda · 1 month ago

Text

heal your heart—cl16

part four (a hefty amount of words)

smau + real life

carlos sainz x !sister singer reader

charles leclerc x sainz reader

catalina sainz has it all— she is a successful grammy award winning artist, her brother is a well known formula 1 driver, she has an amazing family and wonderful friends. she was also blessed with a fiance and a beautiful baby boy.. she had everything.. until she didn't. her fiance disappears and takes her son with him. catalina watches as her world crumbles...who will be there to help pick up the pieces?

fc : kali uchis

⚠️ATTENTION : TRIGGER WARNING! mentions of abuse, kidnapping, depression. ⚠️

part one here

part two here

part three here

f1gossipgirls

834,741 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Catalina Sainz had her custody hearing today and gave a raw and emotional testimony opening about years of mental, verbal and physical abuse by the hands of her fiance. Catalina was awarded full custody with absolutely no visitation rights for the father. Charles Leclerc - her suspected partner- and Carlos Sainz were by her side the entire hearing. Along with Lando Norris, Pierre Gasly, George Russell, Lewis Hamilton and more. Baby Mateo will return to the paddock soon!

username00 : i am SOBBING. she did it. she FOUGHT and she WON. queen mother catalina sainz we salute you

username10 : the fact that she stood in that courtroom and relived all that trauma… and STILL protected her baby boy. hero status.

username5 : charles, carlos, pierre, LANDO, LEWIS??? she really said “assemble the avengers” huh

username15 : OUR BABY MATEO IS COMING BACK TO THE PADDOCK

username0 : carlos sainz as big brother of the year. no further questions. the man was READY to go feral.

username1 : lando didn’t speak ONCE during that press conference after the hearing. just stared down the reporter that asked if the ex will appeal

username0 : literal death glare

username20 : I hope whoever said “she was being dramatic” when she left the spotlight chokes on this news. SHE WAS FIGHTING FOR HER LIFE

username17 : “suspected partner” lmao pls. charles was holding her hand, wiping her tears, AND glaring down the ex like a villain origin story. it’s not a suspicion. it’s fate.

now back to where we really left off...

charles pov

The laughter inside the house had faded, replaced by an unbearable silence. Carlos and I exchanged a look — the kind that says, something’s wrong. Horribly wrong.

“She went outside a few minutes ago,” Carlos said, his voice tight, nearly breaking.

My chest tightened. “Where is she?”

We ran out into the night, the cool air suddenly feeling sharp against my skin, like a warning. The streetlights flickered overhead as we scanned every shadow.

Then Carlos’s voice cracked, pointing ahead. “There.”

I followed his gaze and saw it — Catalina’s phone, smashed against the cracked sidewalk, its shattered screen reflecting the harsh light like broken promises. My heart lurched. I dropped to my knees, fingers trembling as I reached out, terrified of what this meant.

Carlos’s voice was rough, raw with fear and anger. “Who would do this? Where is she?”

I pulled out my phone, frantically dialing the number to her business phone, over and over. Each ring echoed like a countdown to despair. No answer. No signal.

"I think we both know who would do this." I managed to choke out.

Carlos’s jaw clenched so hard I thought it might shatter. “This... this isn’t just some stupid fight. He is gonna hurt her. Or worse.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked at Carlos. The pain in his eyes mirrored my own — helplessness, guilt, and a burning need to fix this.

“We have to find her. Now,” I said, voice low but fierce.

We called her name into the darkness, our voices raw, desperate. Every second felt like an eternity, every shadow a cruel reminder of how much was at stake. Carlos’s hand found my shoulder— a steady anchor amid the chaos. We wouldn’t stop until she was safe. We had to.

I was running before I even knew it—phone clutched in one hand, the broken pieces of Catalina’s still burned into my mind. Carlos was close behind, yelling her name into the darkness like it could somehow bring her back.

“Catalina!” I shouted, heart thundering, lungs burning. “CATALINA!”

No answer. Only the eerie quiet of the night, like the world was holding its breath.

We split up, scouring the streets, knocking on neighbors’ doors. Pierre and Lando had followed us out, confusion quickly turning to fear as we told them what we found.

Pierre’s jaw was tight. “Do you think it was him?”

“It has to be,” Carlos said. “He’s the only one who’d do something this reckless. He knows he’s lost.”

Lando pulled out his phone. “I’m calling the police.”

“I’m calling the lawyers,” Carlos added, already dialing. “And her security team—where the hell were they?”

I didn’t wait. I kept running. Past the corner. Past the line of hedges where we used to walk Mateo in the stroller. Past every version of safety we’d tried to build around her. My heart was in my throat. I couldn’t stop picturing her terrified, alone, in danger. I had promised her she was safe now. I had promised. The second I got signal, I pinged her phone’s last location. The dot blinked. Then vanished.

“She was taken,” I whispered. “This was planned.”

Carlos’s face hardened like stone. “Then he’s going to regret it.”

Sirens began to wail in the distance — too far, too late. The rest of the drivers had gathered by the time we returned to the house, George, Alex, even Lewis. No one had to ask what was happening. They saw it in our eyes.

“She’s family,” Lewis said quietly. “We’ll find her.”

“I won’t stop until we do,” I replied, and I meant it.

catalina's pov :

At first, I thought I was dreaming. Everything was muffled. My head throbbed. The last thing I remembered clearly was the buzz of my phone, a number I didn’t recognize, the instinct to step outside for air. Then — nothing. Now it's-- dark. cold. Something scratchy pressed against my skin — the seat of a car, maybe? My wrists were sore. Duct tape. My heart started to pound. No. No no no. I opened my eyes slowly. Blurry shapes. The interior of a van. The smell of cheap air freshener barely masking gasoline and something else — sweat and fear. Then I heard it. His voice.

“I told them this wasn’t over.”

The chill that ran through me was worse than anything I’d felt in that courtroom. Worse than childbirth. Worse than the endless nights I’d spent replaying years of him trying to erase me.

“You think some judge can take my son from me?” he growled. “You think Carlos and your boyfriend can protect you?”

"You think you can just get up there and make me look horrible in front of everyone? You are a lot more stupid than I thought, Bitch."

I didn’t respond. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing my fear. But I couldn’t stop the tremble in my limbs. My baby. Mateo. Was he okay? Was he safe? Where was Charles? Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them away. I needed to stay clear. I needed to survive.

“You should’ve stayed quiet,” he hissed.

"But you didn't and now I have to ruin your life...or end it."

I turned my face away. I wouldn’t cry for him. Not this time. Not anymore. I breathed, slowly, counting in my head like Charles taught me. Like I had done on the nights when Mateo wouldn’t stop crying and I was sure I was unraveling.

1… 2… 3…

He could hurt me. He could scream. He could drag me into the dark. But he wouldn’t win. Not this time. And somewhere, I knew — Charles was looking for me. Carlos was raging. Lando was running. Pierre was calling every contact in Europe. My family was coming. I just had to hold on. Just a little longer.

charles pov :

The sun was rising, but the world still felt dark. I hadn’t slept. None of us had. Carlos looked like he’d aged ten years in one night. His jaw was set so tightly it looked like it hurt to speak. He hadn’t said much, anyway. Just made calls. Punched a wall. Made more calls. I sat at the kitchen table, her phone laid out in pieces in front of me like a puzzle we couldn’t put back together.

“What was she doing out there alone?” I muttered, more to myself than anyone. “Why didn’t someone see something?”

Lando walked in with two coffees and handed me one. “She probably thought it was safe. Home. It was just a step outside. Who would’ve expected—?”

“She should’ve expected,” Carlos snapped. Then immediately winced. “Not her. I meant him. He waited for a crack. That’s how he always was.”

I nodded. My fingers were still trembling.

Pierre came in next, phone to his ear. “Interpol is involved now. That’s something.”

“Interpol,” Carlos repeated, rubbing his eyes. “Jesus.”

We had nothing. No new footage. No new leads. Just her broken phone and an eerie silence. No ransom note. No contact. Just... gone. And Mateo — God, little Mateo — he was upstairs in his crib with Rebecca and Kika taking turns holding him, like keeping him close would somehow keep Catalina safe, too. My heart physically ached. I kept thinking of the way she looked at me that morning, just before she went outside. Her eyes were soft. A little tired, but brighter than they’d been in weeks. She had finally seemed steady. Like she was climbing out of the wreckage of the last year. And now… she was out there somewhere. In pain. Scared. Maybe worse.

“We’re missing something,” I said suddenly. “Something small. Something stupid.”

Carlos looked up. “Like what?”

I gestured to the remains of her phone. “She wouldn’t have picked up a random number. She blocks everything that isn’t saved.”

He nodded. “Unless—”

“Unless she knew it. Maybe it was disguised.”

We both lunged for the laptop at the same time. Minutes later, we found it. A call routed through a system. Masked, but underneath… an old number. One she’d deleted. One she had asked me to delete from her contacts months ago. But one that, maybe, in a split-second of familiarity, she answered out of instinct. His number. We had a trace. Not much. But it was more than we’d had an hour ago.

Carlos stood. “We take this to the team. And to the police. Now.”

I followed him to the door, turning one last time to glance at the stairs where Mateo was sleeping.

“Hold on, Catalina,” I whispered. “We’re coming.”

catalina's pov - two days later

I think it’s been two days. I can’t be sure. The light doesn’t change much in here. A sliver of sun cuts through the boarded-up window in the corner, but it doesn’t reach me. Nothing does. My mouth is dry. My head is pounding. Everything hurts — my cheekbone, my ribs, my wrists, my pride. Hunger gnaws at me in dull, endless waves, but worse is the thirst. And worse than that is the silence. Except when he talks. He doesn’t yell. Not yet. That would require energy. He speaks slow, calculated. Like a man who’s convinced he’s won.

“I told you they’d never protect you,” he said this morning, crouching in the doorway like a shadow. “Where are your drivers now, Lina? Where’s your precious brother? Where’s Charles?”

Charles. The name hit me like a breath I couldn’t take. He doesn’t know what Charles is capable of when he loves someone. He doesn’t know that Carlos would burn the world down for me. That Lando would fly across oceans in a heartbeat. That Pierre has too many ghosts of his own to let me become one. That I am not alone. But… in this room, in this silence, it’s so easy to believe him. So easy to believe I was stupid to think I could ever win. I close my eyes and press my forehead to my knees, curled up on the floor like a child. My body is screaming, but I’m too numb to listen. My lip is split. My shoulder might be dislocated. Or maybe just badly bruised. It doesn’t matter. None of it feels real anymore. Maybe I should’ve just kept quiet. Maybe I shouldn’t have testified. Maybe this was always going to be the end. A quiet room. A locked door. And him winning. I hear his voice again — lazy, mocking.

“They’ll forget you. They’ll move on. I told you. You were never strong enough for this.”

I grit my teeth and hold back the sob clawing up my throat. My hand presses to my stomach, not for comfort — just to feel something. And then…A whisper of a memory. Mateo’s laugh. Tiny and warm and real. Charles’ arms around me, steady and strong. Carlos’ voice in the courtroom, cracked and furious. “She is not alone.” Maybe I was stupid to think I could have peace. But I’m not stupid enough to give up now. He hasn't won. Not yet.

charles pov :

We were running on fumes and adrenaline. Carlos hadn’t slept more than twenty minutes at a time. He was in full-blown survival mode — locked in, eyes cold, voice clipped. I don’t think I’d seen him this terrifyingly focused since our first years racing together. But this wasn’t a track. This was his sister. It had been 56 hours since Catalina vanished. And every minute she was gone, something in me frayed further. We’d been in Spain, back and forth between the coast and the countryside. Carlos had a private investigator running traces off her ex’s last known associates. The police were treating it like a domestic abduction, which gave us some pull — but not enough. Not fast enough. The break came from a toll booth camera. A grainy shot of a rental van heading into a remote wooded area northeast of Zaragoza — the driver matched the rough description of him. Catalina wasn’t visible, but Carlos knew. We both knew.

“He’s taken her off-grid,” he muttered, studying the map spread across the kitchen table of his parents’ house. “This road here — barely anyone uses it. There are old farms, vacant cottages.”

“Hideouts,” I said.

“Exactly.”

The investigator confirmed an abandoned property registered under a fake name. The kind of thing he would’ve set up before the trial — a plan B, just in case. He was always a few steps ahead. But not anymore.

Carlos stood up, clenching his fists. “We go now.”

I didn’t ask if we were waiting for the police. I didn’t ask if it was legal. I just grabbed my jacket and followed him out the door, lando following behind.

catalina's pov :

It’s getting harder to stay upright. I’m bleeding. Dizzy. My arms are shaking so badly I can barely keep them up, and he’s still coming. He has beaten me to the point where I can slowly feel the life draining out of me. I keep fighting. He’s enjoying it now. Enjoying watching me fight for what life I have left.

His voice is a cruel hum in my ear, saying things I’ve stopped registering. I just keep thinking about Mateo — the weight of him on my chest when he sleeps, his tiny laugh when I make the dinosaur voice, the way he says “mama” like it means everything. I feel the anger and strength in my core. If I die here, he won’t remember me. I scream and thrash as hard as I can, even though I know I won’t win. He throws me against the table. My shoulder hits first. The pain’s white-hot, and the world blurs. He steps over me. Knife in his hand. A jagged edge. My blood already on it.

“No one’s coming,” he spits. "You thought you won, huh bitch?"

"Well time is up." He said and pressed the knife against my jugular. The cool blade snaps me into reality. This is really it - this is my own chance.

BOOM.

The front door slams open like it’s been ripped off the hinges. I barely register the sound before I hear him.

“CATALINA!” Carlos. My brother. His voice is hoarse, shaking, wild with panic.

“Where is she?!” Charles.

“Oh my god—there!” Lando.

The three storm toward me and rip him off of me. I pull myself up, adrenaline being the only thing keeping me up straight. Charles rushes over to me, taking in my appearance.

“Cat, Cat—baby—it’s okay. I’m here.” He’s fussing, his hands moving over my arms, my face, checking me, grounding me—but my mind is only on one thing.

Revenge.

Revenge for the years of abuse and trauma. Revenge for stealing my son. Revenge for bringing me to the edge of death. Revenge for tearing me away from myself.

I can barely hear Charles. My vision has narrowed, tunneled in. I see the blade on the floor, slick with my blood. I reach for it.

“Catalina—wait—” I hear behind me, but it’s faint.

I wipe the blood on my pants. Cold. Mechanical. My heartbeat isn’t even racing anymore—it’s steady. Deadly steady. I push past Carlos, who startles as I move. My eyes lock on him, crumpled on the floor. Whimpering. Pleading. Just like I had, minutes ago.

His voice breaks. “Please—Cat—please—don’t—”

“I begged you too,” I whisper.

“Catalina—” Charles says again. This time closer. His voice is shaking now.

Carlos grabs at my arm, and pulls me towards him. His lips against my ear.

"It isn't worth it, Lina. I will have him dealt with, trust me." He said in a whisper.

The blade clattered against the floor. It echoed louder than I expected. Louder than his cries. Louder than my heart, which had finally begun to beat again, now in chaotic thuds against my ribs. I didn’t even feel Carlos pulling me against his chest until I was there — until the heat of his palm curled behind my head and my forehead met his collarbone. I was shaking. Violently. My knees buckled under me, and he held me upright.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, low and fierce. “He’s done. He’ll never touch you again.”

Behind us, I heard the sickening crack of Lando’s fist connecting with his face. Then the shuffle of movement—Lando swearing as he pulled his belt off to bind the bastard’s wrists behind his back. But my body wouldn’t move. My eyes were wide open but I couldn’t see anything. I heard his voice again. Choked. Spitting blood through split lips.

“A fit mother wouldn’t think about ending someone’s life, Catalina.”

The words sliced deeper than the blade ever could. My spine tensed. I started to turn back—but Carlos held me fast.

“Don’t give him what he wants,” he said. “Don’t let him take this moment from you, too.”

I was trembling, mouth parted in disbelief. In rage. In grief. I didn’t even realize I was crying until I felt the wetness slide over my chin. Charles was suddenly in front of me again, his hands on my face, gently guiding my eyes to his.

“Look at me,” he said softly. “You’re safe. You’re safe now.”

I searched his face—his beautiful, worried, furious face—and nodded. Barely. Carlos stepped in closer and wrapped his arms around both of us. His hand rested between my shoulder blades like a tether. Behind them, Lando was still working, his jaw tight as he finished tying the man’s ankles and muttering to himself in disgust. The air was thick with blood and the heavy fog of aftermath. No one said anything for a long moment. Then— I whispered, barely able to form the words.

“He tried to break me.”

Charles leaned his forehead to mine. “But he didn’t.”

Carlos nodded, voice sharp. “He never will again.”

Lando pulled the car up to the front, tires crunching over gravel, and I barely registered the sound. Everything was dimming now — the adrenaline had drained from my system, leaving behind only pain, exhaustion, and a hollow ache in my chest. Charles lifted me into his arms again, holding me bridal style as if I weighed nothing, though I could feel how careful he was being with every step. My body ached in ways I couldn’t describe, and it was getting harder to keep my eyes open. I clung to his shirt, my head pressed into the crook of his neck. As we approached the car, I spotted two unfamiliar men standing near Carlos — tall, serious, armed. Definitely not security. Not bodyguards. Something… darker. Carlos handed one of them a large, worn leather bag without a word, just a nod. The man accepted it like they’d done this before.

Carlos turned to us. “Get her to the medic. She’s fading fast.”

Lando didn’t hesitate—he slipped back into the driver’s seat, engine already rumbling. Charles eased me into the back, laying me down as gently as if I were made of glass. He didn’t let go of my hand. Not for a second. Carlos leaned into the open window, his eyes sharp but softening when they landed on me.

“Go get well. Go hold that beautiful baby of yours. I’m keeping my promise, hermana.”

He pressed a kiss to my bruised forehead, lingered there for a breath.

“See you soon. Love you.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, voice cracking. “I… I don’t even know what to say—”

He cut me off gently. “You don’t have to. My job is to protect you. Let me do it.”

I nodded, swallowing the knot in my throat. He tapped the roof of the car, and Lando pulled away. I kept my eyes on Carlos in the side mirror, watching him grow smaller, more distant. The two men flanked him as they entered the building. The door swung shut behind them. Five seconds later, a sound split the silence. Gunfire. Rapid. Merciless. Then screaming — awful, blood-curdling. I flinched. Charles squeezed my hand tighter.

“Don’t look back,” he said softly.

And I didn’t. I closed my eyes and let the darkness take me. Because for the first time in a long, long while…I wasn’t afraid anymore.

The car jolted to a stop, gravel crunching beneath the tires. I was barely aware of where we were, my head lolling to the side as the pain surged again, sharp and punishing. My body had become one deep bruise. My breath came in short, shallow gasps.

“We’re here,” Charles whispered, his voice close, grounding.

Warm arms gathered me again, lifting me from the back seat. I tried to speak—tried to ask if Mateo was inside—but the words wouldn’t come. Everything was static. Charles and Lando carried me through the gates of my childhood home, now transformed into a place of refuge. Safe. Familiar. It smelled like lemons and wood polish and my mother’s old perfume. We entered through the back, where the lights were dim and someone had already cleared a guest room. A woman stood waiting—middle-aged, with kind eyes and medical gloves already on. The medic.

“She’s lost a lot of blood. I need to check for internal injuries,” the woman said to Charles in a low voice. “You can stay, if she wants you to.”

“She wants me to,” he replied instantly, like it wasn’t even a question.

They laid me on the bed. The pain exploded when I moved and I couldn’t hold in the sound that tore from my throat. Charles was instantly beside me, holding my hand, brushing my hair back from my face.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, again and again. “I’ve got you, mon ange.”

The medic worked quickly—stitching a gash near my ribs, wrapping the bruises around my midsection, checking for concussion signs, forcing water down my throat in small sips. I tried to focus on Charles. On the way his eyes never left mine. On how he murmured soft things in French like a prayer under his breath.

When it was over, and I was clean, bandaged, and trembling in fresh clothes, the medic nodded at him. “Let her rest. Stay with her. She needs to know she’s not alone.”

I wanted to say thank you. I wanted to say everything. But exhaustion crashed over me. Charles climbed into the bed beside me without hesitation, pulling me carefully into his arms. I tucked my head beneath his chin. My whole body ached—but in his arms, I finally felt warm.

“You did so good,” he whispered against my hair. “You survived, mon cœur. You’re home.”

“I don’t feel like myself anymore,” I mumbled, my voice small and wrecked.

“You will. Piece by piece,” he said, kissing my forehead. “We’ll find her again.”

I clutched at his shirt, letting the sobs rise now that it was safe to let them. He held me through every single one. And in that room, in the house I’d run from and come back to, I started to believe maybe healing was possible—because Charles was holding my broken pieces like they were sacred.

The room was bathed in golden dusk, the last traces of sunlight curling around the edges of the curtains. I was curled beneath the blankets, every muscle in my body sore and frayed, but the pain was quieter now—held at bay by bandages, medicine, and the steady presence of the man who had barely left my side since I’d been carried out of hell. Charles had stepped out to take a call. It was quiet now. Too quiet. The door creaked open. I didn’t look up—I didn’t need to.

Carlos.

He stepped in with the same careful energy he always used when I was hurting, like he was afraid one wrong move might crack me open again. He didn’t say anything at first. Just dragged the chair beside my bed a little closer and sat.

"Hey," I said softly, turning my head toward him.

He looked tired—bone deep. There was dried blood on the sleeve of his sweater. I didn’t ask whose it was.

“You okay?” he asked. The words were simple, but his eyes were swimming with something far heavier.

I nodded slowly. “Getting there.”

He gave a slight nod back, jaw tight, like he was holding something inside he couldn’t quite let out.

“You got me back,” I whispered.

He exhaled hard. “Yeah.”

A pause stretched between us.

"Thank you, Carlos. For… everything."

He didn't answer at first. Just leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. Then, without looking at me, he said, "There are some things a brother shouldn’t have to forgive himself for. And there are some things… a man shouldn’t be allowed to walk away from."

My breath caught. My stomach twisted—not from fear, but from understanding.

“You don’t have to say it,” I whispered.

He finally looked at me, and for a moment I saw something behind his eyes—something dark, final, and brutally calm.

“I know,” he said quietly. “But I need you to know you’re safe now. Really safe. No one’s ever going to touch you again.”

"I knew that if I let you do it, you'd live with it the rest of your life and that haunted me. I need you to be able to grow from this, to move on, to get married to someone who actually loves you, to raise my nephew."

A slow silence fell between us. My throat felt raw, my chest too full to breathe.

“Carlos…”

He shook his head and stood, coming to the edge of the bed and brushing a strand of hair from my face. “You rest. Be with Mateo. Be with Charles. Let yourself come back.”

I reached for his hand and squeezed it. He didn’t pull away.

“You always knew how to clean up my messes,” I said softly, trying to smile.

He gave the faintest smirk, but his eyes were glassy. “You were never the mess, Lina. He was.”

He leaned down and kissed my forehead gently—just like he had when we were kids and I’d fallen off my bike or woken from a nightmare.

“Te amo, hermana.”

And then he left—quiet as he’d come in. He didn’t say what he did. He didn’t have to. I knew. And for the first time in a long time, I felt safe enough to close my eyes and sleep.

The house had gone still. The kind of stillness that comes after a storm—the air heavier, quieter, like even the walls were holding their breath. I lay curled under a soft throw blanket in my childhood bedroom, every inch of my body aching, stitched together by gauze and silence. My heart, though—my heart was still trying to remember how to beat. How to believe I had made it out. That I was still here. That I was whole enough to hold him. I heard the soft pad of footsteps outside the door. Then a knock. Not Charles—his knock was always gentle, hesitant. Carlos had already come and gone. This one was quieter. Then came a second sound: a soft, hiccupping whimper. And I knew.

“Come in,” I rasped, barely above a whisper.

The door opened slowly. Rebecca stepped in first, eyes kind and brimming. In her arms, bundled in a soft blanket, was Mateo. My breath caught in my throat. He was heavier than I remembered. Bigger. His curls had grown, messier, darker. But his eyes—those wide, soulful eyes—were still the same. He looked at me like he wasn't sure if I was real.

"Hey, mi amor," I whispered, my voice shaking. "Hi, baby."

Rebecca crossed the room slowly and knelt by the bed, lowering him into my arms. The moment his small body rested against mine, it was like the world cracked open. He blinked up at me. Then touched my cheek with his chubby fingers, right where a bruise was fading. I cried. Quietly. Without restraint. The kind of cry that comes from a place buried deep—where grief and joy and relief live all tangled up together. And he—my beautiful boy—just nestled into me.

“I missed you so much,” I whispered, kissing his forehead, over and over again. “I looked for you every second. I didn’t stop. I never stopped.”

He made a small cooing sound, like he understood. I wrapped my arms around him tighter, careful not to press too hard against the bruises still healing, and rocked gently side to side. Just the two of us. The rest of the world melted away. I didn’t care that my body still throbbed or that I hadn’t eaten more than toast and soup. I didn’t care that my phone was buzzing somewhere or that tomorrow there would be lawyers, reporters, whispers. Right now, I had him. And he had me. And we were safe. Rebecca stood back quietly. I caught her eye and mouthed, thank you. She gave a soft nod and slipped from the room, closing the door gently behind her. I curled myself around Mateo and hummed the lullaby I used to sing to him when he was a newborn—broken, uneven, and trembling, but still a lullaby. His breathing slowed. His body relaxed. And as his tiny fingers curled into my shirt, I finally let myself believe -We were home.

The room was dim, lit only by the golden spill of late afternoon sun through gauzy curtains. Mateo slept against my chest, one small fist still tangled in the fabric of my shirt, his cheek warm against my collarbone. I hadn’t moved in over an hour. I didn’t dare. I’d forgotten what it felt like to just breathe with him in my arms. To feel the rise and fall of his tiny chest. To know he was safe. That we were safe. The door creaked slightly, and I looked up. Charles stood in the doorway, quiet as a shadow. He didn’t speak—just leaned his shoulder against the frame, arms folded, eyes soft. A look on his face like he was witnessing something sacred. I gave him a tired, barely-there smile.

“You’ve been standing there a while,” I whispered.

He smiled back. “Didn’t want to break it.”

I looked down at Mateo, brushing my lips against his forehead. “He didn’t cry once,” I murmured. “Just... curled into me. Like he remembered. Like he knew.”

Charles stepped in slowly, his movements careful, reverent. He crouched beside the bed and reached out, brushing a curl from my cheek. His fingers were gentle, but the way he looked at me—like I was breakable and invincible all at once—nearly undid me.

“You’re his entire world, mon cœur,” he said softly. “Of course he remembered.”

Tears welled in my eyes, and I let them fall. For once, I didn’t feel the need to apologize for them.

I leaned into Charles’ touch, closing my eyes. “I didn’t think I’d ever get this moment,” I whispered. “I thought... he’d grow up without me. I thought he’d forget my face.”

“He won’t,” Charles said. “He won’t forget. And you’ll remind him every day.”

I opened my eyes and looked at him.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” I said, my voice cracking. “For everything. For not giving up on me. For finding me. For staying.”

Charles leaned in and kissed my forehead, just next to a fading bruise.

“I would’ve searched every corner of the world,” he said. “I would’ve burned it down to bring you home.”

Mateo stirred slightly and let out a small sigh, his little hand patting against my chest before settling again. Charles smiled, his hand now resting gently over Mateo’s back.

“Is this what you want?” he asked quietly, almost like he was afraid to break the fragile peace in the room. “This... life. With him. With me.”

I blinked at him. “Charles,” I whispered, “You are the only thing that has felt safe in the middle of all this. I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

He nodded, pressing another kiss—this one softer, lingering—against my temple.

“Then we start here,” he said. “The three of us. One step at a time.”

And in that moment, for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, I believed we could.

p4:)))

i decided i will add a part 5 just to show how cat has healed and her relationship with charles and her happy ending!! will be posted shortly

@omgsuperstarg @msliz @samanthaofanarchy @mayax2o07 @goldenstrawberryx @1800-love-me , @htpssgavi , @babygirl-4986 , @star73807-blog , @glow-ish , @just-tingz-virgo , @majapapaya4 @lina505 , @hc-dutch , @lost4lyrics , @angelluv16 @dilflover44 @awritingtree , @widow-cevans

@ninass-world , @blackmage24 , @cinderellawithashoe @sarx164 , @greantii

@charli123456789 @anunstablefangirl @hadids-world @jkoooooooookie @ @mischiefmanaged21 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @bravo-delta-eccho @cxlpxrnia @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @yara011 @kodzuvk @yawn-zi @rorabelle15

@bunnisplayground @rtyuy1346

@novelswithariana @heyyurl @charizznorizz @sassy-persona @literallysza @charlesgirl16 @emneedshelp @destinyg237 @nichmeddar

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nightpoemz · 2 months ago

Text

★☆*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡. . .｡.:*･' ૮ .◜◡◝ა '･*:.｡. . .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*☆★

bsf!jeno when camgirl!you ask him for help

pt. 2 of bsf!dreamies when camgirl!you ask them for help (lowkey requested, but i kinda wanted to try writing smth)

wordcount: ~2.1k

smut, consensual filming, dom-ish!jeno, groping, hair pulling, hickey, scratching, missionary and doggy, idk just fucking in general

an: uhh so i blacked out and wrote this… it took me 3h _:(´ཀ`」 ∠): so let's all be nice about any mistakes that i made. minors dni! ★

★☆

knock, knock.

you glanced at your phone- 8pm sharp. jeno was 30 minutes early. "a little overexcited, aren't we," you mumbled to yourself. you pushed yourself off the couch and walked to the door. before jeno could knock again, it swung open.

"you're early," you smiled and gave him a quick hug.

"wasn't sure if i needed to prepare anything besides condoms, so i showed up early just in case." jeno took off his shoes and stepped into your apartment.

he looked around and chuckled at the mess. "don't laugh, i was going to clean in a bit…" "when? five minutes before i was supposed to arrive?"

he clocked you. of course he knew- he was your best friend, after all.

"don't worry, the streaming room is pretty well-organized and clean, if you ask me."

he raised an eyebrow. "your streaming room?"

you pointed at your former guest room. "turned it into a streaming room. needed more space and privacy."

"so no more guests unless you're fucking them?"

"i haven't had any guests that slept over in ages. and you're the only one i've asked to fuck so far."

"so far?"

you smacked his shoulder and shook your head. with one swift movement, he grabbed your hand and waist, pulling you closer.

"don't worry, i'll make sure you won't need to ask anyone else to be your 'guest'."

you were speechless. had he always been this bold? you knew how attractive jeno was, but this was a completely different side of him. the tension was unbearable- dizzying even.

"uhm- how about i go change and get ready real quick, so i can explain what i had in mind for today."

jeno let go of you with a smirk and gave a small nod.

"make yourself comfortable. i've got drinks and snacks on the counter." you quickly shuffled to your bedroom and shut the door behind you.

"get a grip. it's just jeno… 'just jeno'- who am i kidding?"

was it excitement or regret creeping over you? you shook your head and gave yourself a couple of smacks to calm down. rummaging through your closet, you grabbed your favorite lingerie set and a silk nightgown- just enough to tease without exposing everything.

after a quick shower, you stepped out of the bathroom to find jeno lounging on your couch, scrolling on his phone. when he looked up, his mouth parted slightly, his eyes unsure where to land.

"what? never seen a woman before?"

"never seen such a beautiful woman before."

his words were smooth like butter, and you couldn't help but blush. he stood up and walked toward you to get a better look. the closer he came, the hotter the room felt- or was it just you?

his hands instinctively landed on your waist.

"so, what did you have in mind?" his eyes never left your body.

you put a finger under his chin, raising his gaze from your cleavage to your face.

"since i wasn’t sure how this would go, i thought we could film offline today. if anything turns out awkward, i can just cut it and use the rest as a bonus for my subscribers."

"sure, whatever works for you. mind if i take a quick shower too?"

"no, go ahead. fresh towels are on the shelf. i'll set up the camera in the meantime."

jeno nodded and released your waist again, but his touch lingered.

—————

you set up the camera on a tripod, facing the bed, then grabbed a couple of towels and waited patiently.

not long after, the door opened. jeno stood in the doorway- wet hair dripping, towel loose around his hips.

you gulped.

you'd seen him shirtless before, but this was different. your mouth watered like a victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time. the water trailed slowly over his defined muscles, the towel barely hanging on for dear life.

"thought it was kinda pointless to get dressed if i was just going to undress again," he said, running his fingers through his hair.

you snapped out of your daze and nodded.

"just lay down while i turn on the camera."

you were more flustered than you'd like to admit.

jeno got comfortable on the bed and tossed the towel aside. you hit record. turning back around, your whole body screamed to jump his bones.

"i wasn't lying when i said it wasn't teeny tiny," he chuckled.

it was long and girthy. not even fully erect, and you already knew you couldn't go back after this.

"don't worry. i can handle it," you winked.

climbing onto the bed, you settled on his lap. jeno sat up, placing both hands on your hips.

"how do you wanna start, pretty girl?"

"a little makeout session wouldn't hurt," you said, placing a hand on his cheek.

without hesitation, he leaned in and kissed you. his grip on your hips tightened, making you wince.

you started slow and tender, but it wasn't enough. you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulled him closer, and gave his bottom lip a soft bite, running a hand through his hair.

a low moan escaped his lips as you slipped your tongue into his mouth. his hands explored more, moving down to your thighs, giving them a squeeze before sliding under your nightgown.

the cold touch made you shiver but only turned you on more. your hips shifted.

"fuck," you whispered, slipping off your gown.

this was the first time he'd seen you so exposed. your lingerie barely covered anything, and he could already feel you dripping onto his shaft.

"touch me more," you pleaded, grabbing his hand.

"no need to tell me twice."

his hands cupped your boobs, slowly massaging them. jeno's hands were big and manly, but his touch was gentle. his thumbs brushed over your barely clothed nipples, making your breath hitch.

you couldn't wait.

you unclasped your bra and tossed it aside.

"someone’s impatient," he whispered, lips brushing your skin.

"just enjoy it. i won't be gentle for long."

"is that a warning or a promise?"

"however you want to take it."

from the sound of his voice, it was definitely a promise.

he kissed your neck, drawing moans from your lips.

"i'll give you a little souvenir," he said, sucking until a bruise formed on your skin.

your moans were music to his ears. he couldn't get enough, he wanted to hear it more.

he wanted to hear you moan his name more.

jeno moved you off his lap. now you had a full view of his fully erect dick- your stomach dropped.

"lay down," he said, voice low. you followed.

he grabbed a condom and rolled it on with ease.

"ready?" he hovered above you.

"yes, please," you nodded, never feeling more ready.

he aligned himself with your entrance and slowly slid in. the stretch made you grimace.

"don't worry, i'll go slow," he reassured you with a soft kiss.

inch by inch, he filled you completely.

"are you okay, baby?"

the way he made you feel safe; it was the hottest thing alive.

"y-yeah… just give me a couple seconds to adjust. then you can start moving."

he waited patiently until your breathing was calm enough for him to move. and as he looked at you, his heart skipped a beat.

"gosh, you're so tight," he groaned as he began moving faster.

he hit every spot you couldn't reach yourself. toys had nothing on jeno's dick.

"nngh- faster, please," you gasped. this is exactly what he wanted to hear.

he bit his lips as he held back a moan. you grabbed his face. "no- jeno, i-i want to hear you. d-don't hold back."

he chuckled. of course you wanted that and who was he to deny you?

he pressed his forehead to yours, picked up the pace, and when he finally moaned something in you snapped.

"jeno-" you choked out, twitching beneath him as you came.

he didn't stop. you didn't want him to. you wanted more, you needed more.

"more… jeno… more…"

his thrusts turned rougher. your nails dragged down his back, making him groan.

"kiss me," you begged.

one look into your pleading eyes and he lost it.

he kissed you like he was trying to ruin you and it matched every single thrust.

you moaned into his mouth.

"i'm gonna-"

before you could finish, he pulled out and flipped you onto your stomach.

"ass up," he ordered, giving you a firm spank.

once in position, he grabbed the camera off the tripod and slid back inside.

one hand held the camera above your ass; the other gripped your hip, making sure you took every inch.

the faster he moved, the louder you got. you tried to bury your face in a pillow, but jeno wasn't having it.

he tossed the camera back on the tripod, grabbed your hair, and yanked your face out of the pillow.

"don't muffle yourself. i want everyone to hear how i'm making you feel."

"je-" you couldn't even form full words at this point, without being interrupted by your moans.

he let go of your hair, gripping your hips with both hands, nails digging into your skin.

every thrust rougher than the last.

your eyes rolled back, almost seeing the pearly gates of heaven. your fists clenched the sheets until your knuckles turned white.

"this is what i wanna hear."

your moans were unstoppable now.

you'd lost count of how many times you came, while this man had endless stamina.

"ugh- i think i'm gonna cum," he groaned, throwing his head back.

his pace got sloppier. both your bodies tensed.

finally, he slowed down, riding out his orgasm.

he pulled out carefully and your body collapsed. jeno lay beside you, laughing softly.

"what's so funny?"

"i thought you said you'd be able to handle me." he leaned in, kissing your forehead.

you glared, flipping him off. if you weren't so exhausted, you'd have something smart to say.

your mind was hazy. your body throbbed.

meanwhile, jeno looked perfectly fine.

"alright, ready to stream now?"

"b-but… i just-" you mumbled.

he gently took your chin and made you face him.

"you'll be fine. they'll love seeing you like this."

☆★

masterlist

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nekomaniac · 4 months ago

Text

just one time ~ bokuto

characters: Bokuto x f!chubby!reader content: (nsfw!!) established relationship, face sitting, mild weight insecurity (but dw he's got you), sweet and sloppy oral f! receiving word count: 2.3k a/n: i don't write smut a lot so let me know what you think! 🖤

⊱ ─────── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─────── ⊰

"But Y/nnnn~" You'd gotten used to Bokuto's signature whiny tone whenever he wanted something, but today he was particularly unrelenting. Wide, pleading yellow eyes stared up at you as he hunched over by your side. "Come on... just one time? Just to try it! Just one time, I promise... please?" Reaching out to take your hand in his much larger one, he squeezed softly while toying with your fingers.

"Bokuto... I think you underestimate-" You start to open your mouth only to be cut off by a louder whine, Bokuto's head going in his hands.

"Pleasepleaseplease-" He chants into your hand, kissing each finger and knuckle between whiny pleas for you to succumb to his latest desire. Falling to his knees in a dramatic display, he looks up at you with the biggest puppy-dog eyes you'd ever seen.

"I am not going to sit on your face-"

"PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE!!!" Head snapping toward the ground, eyes squeezed shut, and brow furrowed, he repeats the word like a prayer as both of his hands enveloped your own.

"I don't want to hurt you!" You finally force out the truth. Bokuto immediately goes quiet, quickly pulling himself from his knees and straightening up to stare down at you with that intimidating, watchful gaze that still makes your heart race no matter how long you've been dating. Looking down at you through a furrowed brow, he crosses his arms menacingly over his broad chest.

"What, you think I can't handle it or something?" He raises an eyebrow, his petulant tone long gone and replaced by something much more daunting. Uh oh... You know that look, that prideful, challenging look that Bokuto gets whenever he feels slighted.

"It's not that I think you can't handle it. I'm just..." You mull over your words, your own brow starting to furrow. "One, I don't know that I have the core strength to hover over you like that-"

"Sit. Not hover. S-I-T, sit." He says firmly, not reading the room.

"Okay well I don't want to 'S-I-T, sit' either because I'm gonna hurt you or worse." Your mind conjures images of him struggling under the plush of your thighs, causing a deep grimace to dig into your lips. "I'm just not built like the girls that do that kind of thing, Bo... I'm too heavy for all that..." The words sting as they leave you, a sudden, uncharacteristic feeling of insecurity bubbling up. Once you finally look up to meet Bokuto's gaze, you notice the subtle scrunch of his nose and the squint of his eyes. "What?"

"So you do think I can't handle it." He grumbles, unconvinced by your reasoning. You sigh lightly, ready to do damage control. Regardless of whatever explanation you concoct, whether valid or otherwise, it's inevitable that Bokuto will take whatever you tell him and translate it into 'my girlfriend thinks I'm weak'. Taking a small step towards him, you raise your hand in a placating gesture.

"Boku-TO!" Before you can finish you feel two large hands squeezing your waist as he lifts you up easily, no struggle, no grunting, just your vantage point getting a whole lot taller. He slings you over a muscled shoulder, your body effortlessly folding in half over his hulking form.

"What do I go to the gym for if I can't lift a pretty little thing like you, huh?" The voice leaving him is sickeningly sweet and deeper than normal. "Should I cancel my membership? Stop wasting my money?" You swallow, eyes still blown wide as your mind races to formulate some kind of response. A sharp, stinging tap on your thigh prompts you to spit out an answer. "Hm?"

"Uhh... n-no..." Your voice comes out a bit softer than intended. Seconds feel like hours as the silence settles in the room. Then, just when it starts to feel unbearable, he lets out a strong, masculine laugh. Confidence oozes off Bokuto and now was no different, his moods were fickle. But God help you when he sets his mind to something.

"So then what's the problem, pretty girl?" He grins, his eyes half lidded and teasing. "You say you don't have the core strength." He turns his back to a mirror, the reflection of your form slung over his back staring back at you. Curling a bicep and flexing, he flashes a toothy grin, "Well I have the arm strength." You gasp as a warm hand reaches up, squeezing the plush of your ass briefly. Grinning to himself, he gives the thick cheek a soft love tap.

"Come on... Just one time for me. If you don't like it we'll stop, no biggie..." He shrugs nonchalantly. Before you have the chance to even think of an answer, the cocky grin starts spreading across his features. And when he hears that little exasperated sigh...

Bokuto knows he's won.

⊱ ─────── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─────── ⊰

Mentally you were already cursing yourself for letting it get this far, a scarlet blush burned across your cheeks as you spread your legs, looking down to where Bokuto's head laid on the cottony pillow case. A big, dumb smile graced his lips, oblivious to your inner turmoil.

"C'mon, baby! No more teasing~" He grins widely, so full of himself already, the cute teasing lilt that's painting his tone making the heat in your cheeks even more unbearable. You looked down at him, gripping the headboard with an iron tight grip, the wood shaking softly. He cranes his neck slightly to look at you. "You nervy?" He asks, keeping that soft, silly tone. Between his relentless playful teasing and your brain going worst-case scenario, you couldn't seem to follow through.

"Y/n" A softer expression graces his owlish features as he rubs soothing overlapping lines up your thighs. "I'm a big guy, I can take it. Come on, pretty girl..." You look down, seeing the familiar eager smile stretched across his lips. His massive hands trail continue trailing over your thighs, temptation and soothing comfort dripping off every word and motion. Sensing your continued hesitation, he offers another solution.

"Panties on for now?"

You let out another shaky sigh before squeezing your eyes shut and nodding.Without loosening your grip on the headboard, you slowly scoot further up the bed, hips getting closer and closer the tantalizing tongue that glides over his chapped lips. "Tell me if you can't breathe, Bo. Smack my leg or something." You say shakily, the impending humiliation of Bokuto realizing that this was a terrible idea already twisting in your stomach.

"Give it to me, pretty girl... Don't go shy on me now." He flashes a white row of perfect teeth in a signature carefree smile, though the thickness of his need gives his low voice a slight edge. Large, slightly roughened hands gingerly scoot your hips closer to his face.

As your knees settle on either side of his face, he reaches up and gently spreads them further apart. Watching closely for any signs of genuine discomfort, he watches as your body gradually lowers toward his eager mouth. Slowly, he leans forward enough just to press soft butterfly kisses over your clothed core, inching up towards your apex.

"Mmn~!" You gasp softly. A small noise of approval and surprise slips out, thighs attempting to squeeze together reflexively. He cups his hands against your inner thighs, keeping them spread as he presses a firmer kiss against the lace covering your clit. The thin layer of fabric doing little to shield your sensitive bud from his soft prodding. His tongue darts out, swiping quickly against the fabric before pressing flat, giving you just enough stimulation to crave more.

He licks lightly, tongue darting out to guide the thin material between his lips. The soft sucking against the fabric serves to further weaken both your knees and your resolve. Your hips dip down lower autonomously, chasing his tongue.

He toys with you, your clothed cunt diving after him as he flicks his tongue just beside your favorite spots. A short, pathetic whine falls from your lips as you feel his lips curl into a cocky smile. He chuckles softly, his face buried in your gradually dampening panties. His own hips subtly lifting off the mattress occasionally to search for some hint of phantom friction.

"You ready to give me what I want yet, pretty girl?" The teasing lilt in his voice causing a soft tremor to wrack your unsteady legs.

"J-just let me know if you need me to move." Your voice shakes with uncertainty.

"I won't." With a teasing smirk plastered on his face he snaps the waistband of your underwear, causing you to jump and let out a soft yelp. His owlish eyes now half-lidded, but no less alert. Watching for any sign of hesitation, he slowly slides them to the side.

"You wanna sit down for me? I know those legs are getting tired..." He teases lowly, but desperation stains every word out of his mouth. "Please?"

With a nervous and slightly humiliated awkward laugh, you sink down slowly. You move to cautiously settle your weight directly onto Bokuto's wide smile. As you start to relax and get comfortable he clutches onto your thighs, letting out a throaty groan. Immediately your mind floods with regret, assuming the worst. Your thighs tense reflexively on either side of his face as you start muttering quick embarrassed apologies about not meaning to hurt him.

As you try to move off him, his strong arms lock around your thighs before his hands spread over them. With a firm yank and what can only be described as a growl, it hits you that his initial noise might not have been one of discomfort.

"Bo?" You say gently, brushing through his hair, he hasn't moved since you settled onto him and knowing how eager he typically is to please it's a bit concerning seeing him so... quiet. "You okay...?"

Another muffled satisfied groan vibrates your legs, causing you to tense up. He licks a slow stripe, parting you on his tongue as he savors your sweet, saccharine arousal. His eyes flutter open halfway to look into yours, crinkling at the corners as he smiles against you. An airy hum of approval leaves your lips as he nudges his nose against your clit, grabbing your hips to grind you down on his face.

Tangling your fingers in his hair, you swirl your hips subtly, his gaze narrows for a second before his tongue delves deep into you. Skillful flicks and delicious pressure have your breath hitching and your fingers tugging lightly at his locks.

The gentle rocking of your hips has his eyes fluttering closed. He reaches up to your shoulders, grabbing anywhere to try and pull you down harder, to get more of you in his mouth. He lets out a gravelly moan, the flicks of his tongue becoming gradually more aggressive, the hunger behind the motions palpable.

"Nggh!" A strangled cry leaves your lips, your thighs squeezing desperately on either side of his face. Strong arms curl into your inner thighs, wrenching them with such force that you topple forward. Slamming your hands against the headboard, you catch yourself just as the soft skin of your tummy bumps against his forehead.

You try to sit back up but his hands are quicker, locking you into this new position as his tongue lashes wildly inside you. Whether strictly calculated or operating entirely on instinct, his mind-numbing ministrations were bringing you closer and closer to satisfying the growing craving deep in your core.

Reaching one hand down to tangle in his hair, you grind desperately at his face. A soft whine of his name leaves your lips, breathy and high as your head turns toward the ceiling.

"D-don't fucking stop~!" Your voice sits at a delicious point between whimpering and growling, causing him to let out a low snarl of his own. The vibration sending electricity racing up your lower half as you press harder against him, anything but him and his perfect mouth fading to nothing around you.

He doubles his efforts over, the intense slurping hitting your ears. His entire head moves as he licks you over, all of his focus and energy taken up by the dizzying thought of you falling apart on his tongue. The heat between your thighs slowly spreads, becoming more and more all-consuming.

"Bokuto~!" You choke out, sweat beading at your forehead. His hands squish into your thighs, dimpling the skin as he digs into you. Tongue lathing over your clit in smooth quick circles, he draws you closer to your climax. He pushes you back up into a sitting position before smacking your thigh lightly, drawing your eyes down to his.

All it takes is a particularly harsh suck to send you tumbling over the edge. You tremble, collapsing against your hands as they grip onto the headboard. He holds you steady, lapping at your release as he works you through it. Tingles erupt through your lower half, the world around you going mute as you desperately cling onto the headboard, the sheets, fuck, anything to ground you.

His tongue gets lazier, breathing out his own soft happy sigh as he slows his once unrelenting exploration. Soft noises of contentment dribble out of your mouth as you come down from your high, panting heavily. You roll over next to Bokuto, laying face up with your arms out.

He sits up on his elbows, and you feel your breath get stolen again right as you're catching it. Bokuto looks up to the ceiling, taking in a deep breath as if rejuvenated. You watch fondly as a proud smile graces his features, his lashes kissing his cheeks as he cranes his neck upwards. He glances over at you, giving you a lopsided grin, the lower half of his face still glistening with remnants of you.

"Told you I could handle it."

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p1astr81 · 4 months ago

Text

teenager!oscar blurb🙈

۶ৎ ۶ৎ ۶ৎ

It was spring, one of those unbearably cold nights. Your bedroom windows were latched shut, the purple curtains pulled shut in hopes it would block any draft.

There was a knock on your window, startling you, hidden under your stack of heavy blankets; the bottom of which being a heated blanket, cranked to the highest setting.

You ignored the knock, clutching onto your blankets to revel in the security.

Another knock came, this one more desperate.

Erroring on the side of caution, you slid from the blankets to receive your old metal bat from your closet.

Steps were taken on the tips of your toes, stuttering when another—even more desperate—knock rattled the window.

Your fingers wrapped around the fabric of the curtains, throwing them to the side while you had your bat ready.

The face your eyes laid on drew a small gasp from your lungs, followed by a hushed laugh.

Oscar, sat on top of a tree branch and clinging on for dear life, was waiting outside your window. His cheeks were pink from the chill of the wind.

Carefully, you placed the bat against the wall, and opened the window.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in your dorm? Asleep?” Despite your hushed inquiries, there was a considerable blush on your face along with a smile. You tucked your hair behind your ears.

Oscar was struggling to hold on. “Let me in before I fall to my death, please?” He gave a half-hearted, nervous laugh. His breath fanned in a hazy fog of smoke.

“Yeah, yeah. Come in.” You stepped back.

Loud as ever, Oscar entered your bedroom. You hushed him, glancing back at the door, straining your ears for any incoming footsteps. There was none.

He apologized in hush tones, securing the window closed.

“What are you doing here?” You asked again in whispers and laughs. The risk of getting caught made you giddy. You took Oscar’s hand, dragging him to sit on the end of your bed with you.

Oscar laughed at your current state. “I was staying at one of the guys, and I realized your house was only a few streets away, so I cut through the yards and now here I am.”

You tilted your head. “Who are you and what have you done to my Oscar?”

He laughed.

“Because my Oscar would’ve never done something so rebellious.”

He smirked. “Your Oscar, hm?” He teased.

Hand on his chest, you gave him a small shove. “Shut up,” you rolled your eyes. To make up for your shoving, you leaned forward to connect your lips. Oscars hand took hold of your cheek.

The both of you, so immersed in the other, did not even register the sound of the door opening until your fifteen year old sister’s gasp shattered your shared delusion.

Whipping around, you stumbled after her as she progressed down the hall. You caught up with her, tugging her back down the hall. “Please, don’t tell them.” You begged her. Them being your parents. It seemed the little snitch’s favorite hobby was getting you into trouble.

She considered your pleas. “Only if you let me borrow your white top with the blue lace and buy me food tomorrow.” She demanded, smug as ever.

“Fine.” You seethed, releasing her.

When you returned to your bedroom, Oscar was lying on his side along the length of the bed. He had his head propped up in his hand, relaxed form while flipping through one of your decorative magazines. He paused. “This is scandalous.” He commented, an unreadable expression. He flipped the magazine around so you could see; a hot model in skimpy lingerie.

You snatched the magazine from him, tossing it on your nightstand. “Bet you liked it too, weirdo.” You grinned, joining him on the bed. You sat beside him, legs tucked beneath you.

“Was thinkin’ ‘bout how you’d look in it, actually.” He sat up.

Your face burned. “Creep.” You stated, leaning in once more to kiss him on the lips. A sweet connection.

You settled down, lying with your head on his shoulder.

Exhaustion pulled you towards the depths of sleep. You fought it off, hand momentarily tightening around his hoodie. “When do you leave for Italy?” You asked in tired murmurs.

“A week and a half.”

Something between a whine and a hum vibrated your chest. “Don’t go.”

He ran a hand through your hair. “I’ll be back before you know it, pretty girl.” He paused. “How about I bring you back a souvenir?”

You didn’t answer, at which point Oscar peered down to see your face. Completely at rest in your sleep.

He kissed the top of your head.

#f1 x reader #f1 #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #f1 blurb #f1 fluff #op81 #f1 x you #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri one shot #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri #osacr piastri #oscar piastri blurb

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hitomisuzuya · 12 days ago

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roomate scara who has a crush on reader, sneaks into her room to steal her used panties so that he could jerk off with them. Later, he leaves for work or whatever and when he comes back he finds reader masturbating in his room or humping a hoodie of his on his bed. 😳

roommate!scaramouche x fem!reader. smut. male and female masturbation. dirty thoughts. desperation.

i am feeling a little better.

scaramouche never thought you would leave. sometimes, he didn't know what he was thinking when he chose to accept you as a roommate. earlier, you were wearing that cute little skirt with the pleats that bounced as you walked. giving him a tempting peek at your thighs, framed by thigh high stockings.

he wanted to eat you out while you while you wore only those stockings. to hook his finger through the band and snap it back against your skin, his tongue buried so deep in your pussy, teasing your clit until you whimper. your fingers clutching at his hair as you fuck yourself onto his pierced tongue.

naturally, you always left your bedroom door open. it is always so easy for him to sneak into your room and grab a pair of used panties off your laundry pile to fist his dick into.

watching you walk around in that little skirt, one he wanted he wanted to lift and fuck you raw bent over the counter, made him almost unbearably hard. he'd had to sit at the kitchen table until you were gone to hide his hard on.

flopping onto your bed, he groans in relief freeing his cock. "do you know what you do to me?" he hisses, folding your panties around his cock, "walking around, looking like a slut and teasing me," he moans, pinching his leaking cock head.

his cock throbs as he fists it into your panties. "yeah, twitch, and cry for me while i fuck you," the fabric of your panties creates delicious friction on his cock, sending his body to twitch as he tries to swallow his moans.

fuck, how he wants to hold you down. feel you squirm in his hands while his cock bullies your sweet spot. hold your thighs apart while he reduces you to a drooling slut.

"shh, shh, it'll fit," he'd soothe when you start babbling about how his cock might not fit, "just take it like a good girl," his cock spurts cum into your panties, fantasizing about hearing you cry for him to fuck his cum deeper inside you.

"fuck, now i gotta get ready for work," he pants once he is satisfied. rolling his eyes, he kept your panties in his pocket. he doubted you would notice they were gone. your head seems to have been in the clouds a lot lately.

did he dare to think that you are thinking about him?

"scaramouche?" you call out, feeling relieved that he wasn't home. you glance at the clock seeing that he is supposed to be at work now.

you had the day off today, but you had to leave and gather your thoughts. ever since you had a wet dream about riding his face, you couldn't stop thinking about him. just thinking about the dream made you extremely wet.

you head upstairs to his room. you couldn't believe you are doing this, but he wasn't home and you needed relief. you stood in doorway of his room, ashamed as you spotted one of hoodies thrown into a corner.

picking it up, you put it on his bed and stripped off your clothes. your already soaked panties peel from your pussy. dropping your bra to the floor, you crawl to lay down on his hoodie and spread your legs.

the cool feeling of the fabric settles under your back as your fingers find your puffy clit. your eyes drift closed, rubbing the pads of your fingers over clit, thinking about him holding your head down into your pillows while he fucks you from behind, smacking your ass and demanding you to be louder for him.

getting lost in the pure pleasure of fucking you, and commanding you to thank him for fucking you this good.

your hips rock into your fingers, scissoring your walls apart. you writhe, desperately trying to reach your sweet spot. you whimper with the effort, alternating between pinching your nipples and rubbing your clit.

thing is, work was really slow that day, and scaramouche's boss sent him home earlier to keep the percentage down. not that many people need to working when it was slow. which was fine with him.

most especially fine with him when he freezes in the doorway of his room and is treated to the sight of you moaning, and writhing on one of hoodies, hastily pumping your fingers into your sloppy cunt.

"i'm..i'm sorry," you whimper, playing with your clit, entirely unaware he was standing right there, "i can't stop thinking about you," your hips buck into your fingers as your thighs tremble.

scaramouche's mouth salivates thinking of how tight your walls are clutching around your fingers. "fuck, i am getting hard again," he hisses, his eyes trained on your body twitching in the throes of pleasure.

your eyes fly open, startled by the sound of his voice. "oh my god! i didn't think you would be home yet!" you exclaim, pulling your fingers out of your pussy and scrambling to cover yourself up with his hoodie. "i can't believe this," you mutter, flushing from embarrassment.

scaramouche levels you in his intense gaze. "oh no, don't you stop just because i want to close the door behind me."

#genshin impact #genshin smut #fem!reader #genshin imagines #scaramouche #scaramouche smut #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x y/n #modern au

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moonstruckme · 9 months ago

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hey lovely girl!!! i am formally requesting a james x depressed reader with lots of comfort if you’d like to write it!!! maybe reader is just like super overwhelmed by how sad and teary she feels and maybe a bit worried that james won’t get it but he’s so understanding and patient and kind and lots of comfort ensue, i feel like he’d be soo tender and gentle and when she’s crying just give the best hugs which i know we’ve discussed at length privately but it needs to be shared with the world

lots and lots of smooches,

rosa xxxx

Hi Rosa my love!! Thanks sm for your request, there's a bit of reader feeling guilty which I know we hadn't discussed but I hope doesn't hamper the experience for you

cw: talk of depression, self-loathing

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 780 words

You don’t know precisely how long ago you told James you were going to get ready for bed, but eventually he comes looking for you. He finds you drooped over the bathroom sink, a slow dribble of tears dripping from your nose.

His arms are warm and solid as they come around your middle, squeezing just enough to let you know he’s there as he turns his head to kiss your face.

“It’s okay,” James shushes you gently, warm nose to your warmer cheek. “You’re okay, sweetheart.”

He doesn’t sound surprised to have found you like this. He knows you’ve been hurting lately, though sometimes you hate that he does. You’re steeped in gloom, sad and guilty and at times scared that it’s never going away. Sometimes it all converges on you, like now, becomes something that feels too dense to carry. James wasn’t made to deal with your melancholy. His caring makes you feel worse.

You punish yourself in small ways. Not allowing yourself chapstick even when your lips crack and bleed. Staying away from any foods you really want. Forcing yourself to sit in feelings of guilt and worthlessness long past when they become unbearable. You’re not sure to what extent James is aware of it, but he makes up for it as best he can. He’s doing it now, soft kisses mushed into your jaw, climbing up to your hairline.

“I’m sorry,” you croak out.

An especially gentle press of his lips to your temple. “Don’t say that.”

“I’m okay.”

“It’s okay if you’re not right now,” he says. “I didn’t mean…I just want you to know that you’ll be okay, you know? It’s going to be. Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

You think he means to sleep, but when you get on the bed James works his arms around you, drawing you in close, holding you tight. You worry sometimes that he thinks you’re crazy or overreacting, but it’s hard to hold onto that belief when he touches you like this, like he knows all the contours of your soul even when it aches. He fits himself to them perfectly.

You press your face to his shoulder to feel the warmth of his skin on your cheek. Tears slip past your lashes, and James encourages you with soft sounds and kisses to the side of your neck and murmurs of I’ve got you.

He’s receptive to your needs. When your crying wanes, he stops squeezing you quite so fiercely and starts sweeping his hand over your back in broad strokes. The press of his palm has a tranquilizing effect, and you melt against his front, exhausted.

You don’t know what to say. Thank you feels too small, and sorry isn’t allowed, but James doesn’t seem to have any expectations from you. He keeps rubbing your back until you bring your hands to his shoulders, ready to sit up, and then he brushes the tears from your face with his thumbs.

“It’s going to be okay,” he tells you. James has a sincere face. He means everything he says, and it’s easy to believe him when he looks at you like this, brimming with earnest conviction.

You know he doesn’t mean it as a platitude, or that he’s going to somehow muscle his way through your feelings until you’re alright again, only as a simple reminder: You’ve done this before, and it’s hard, and it’s awful, but you’ve always come out of it. It’s never been forever.

“Yeah,” you say. Your agreement sounds emptier than his promise did, but you know that when it comes to certainty James is more than willing to pick up your slack. “Sorry, I’m just tired.”

James lets out an exasperated puff of air, though his kiss to your nose lets you know he’s not truly upset with you. “What did we say about sorry?”

“It slipped out.”

He hums happily at the edge of humor in your dry tone. Encourages you back into his arms and lays down so you’re on top of his chest. “I’m tired, too. Do you think if we both think really hard about the same stuff, we’ll show up in each other’s dreams?”

You ponder this, the ache in your chest ebbed for the moment. “Depends on what you believe about dreams.”

“I think it’s worth a try.”

James talks you all the way to sleep, his hand moving over the curve of your spine until you’re heavy atop him, deep breaths whistling in and out of you. In the morning, he’ll put your chapstick on for you in the bathroom and flirt with you until you tell him what you really want for breakfast.

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lovemomhatepolice · 7 months ago

Text

cravings - carlos sainz jr.

navigation taglist requests

pairing: carlos sainz jr x fem! reader

warnings: established relationship, pregnancy sex, needy!reader, cursing, p in v, fingering, tits playing, pet names, creampie, English is my second language!

type: smut! with small plot

word count: 2,8k

belonging: NO NUT NOVEMBER

summary: after dinner with his parents, carlos must properly take care of his pregnant fiancée

more content: formula 1 masterlist, carlos sainz masterlist

a/n: I encourage you to give requests in the Christmas marathon! click here :) and my first thousand celebration PLEASE I AM DESPERATE, I HAVE TO WRITE SOMETHING!

Ever since you met Carlos' parents, you've loved them. And they have loved you. You always had a nice time, the conversations never stopped, and your cheeks hurt from laughing.

And so it was today, too - despite your almost seventh month of pregnancy, where your belly was already quite large and your uterus was pushing against your other organs inside, which was damn tiring, you had a good time at dinner with his parents.

“Eat up, darling. You’re eating for two, remember,” Reyes said with a playful wink.

You chuckled softly, but as you tried to make room for even one more bite, you couldn't help but let out a tired sigh. The baby had been particularly active today, and now, after a full meal, the pressure on your ribs and stomach was becoming nearly unbearable.

Carlos leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. “You okay, amor?” he whispered softly, his eyes full of concern.

“Yes, it's just that Ava is giving me a hard time today,” you laughed under your breath, stroking your belly.

Yes, you had a baby girl whose hair on examination was as thick and dark as Carlos'. Even though they had only recently grown into her. And you could have sworn you saw tears in his eye when he saw that on the screen at your gynecologist, too.

Now, as you caressed your belly, Carlos placed a tender hand over yours, feeling Ava’s little movements beneath your skin. "She’s a fighter already, just like her mamá," he murmured with a soft chuckle, his voice filled with admiration.

Carlos's Sr eyes sparkled as he watched the two of you. “Ava is already making sure everyone knows she's a Sainz,” he said with a proud smile.

Reyes reached across the table to squeeze your hand. “I can’t wait to meet her. She’s going to be beautiful, just like her mother.”

“Just say the word, and we’ll leave whenever you want. I’ve got you.” Carlos said to you, whispering.

And with these words Carlos smiled at you and put his hand on your thigh, gently stroking the hem of your dress with his fingers. You immediately became hot for this activity. Your fiancé always managed to make you ready in an instant. And so it was today, too, and all the exhaustion Ava was giving you disappeared.

You shifted slightly in your chair, fighting the urge to press your thighs together as his fingers continued their teasing strokes just beneath the tablecloth, hidden from everyone else. You shot him a warning look, trying to convey that this wasn’t the place, but Carlos, ever the playful one, only smirked, his dark eyes sparkling mischievously.

“Carlos...” you whispered, your voice low and breathless, as if the very air between you crackled with electricity. “Behave"

Carlos merely grinned, leaning back in his chair as if nothing had happened, though his fingers still lingered for just a moment longer before he finally pulled away. The absence of his touch left you feeling almost bereft, but it also sent a silent promise for later, when you would finally be alone.

And although you often had cravings for sweet things, this time you wanted something spicy and hot...

~ The road home was quiet. Your hormones had subsided, and Carlos was no longer going crazy with his fingers. Everything seemed to stop. You were a little tired, but happy. You loved the time with his parents, who were to become your family in the near future. Carlos was also terribly happy - for a while he could forget about his driving duties, the impending end of his Ferrari career and the whole that world.

“Thank you for tonight,” you said softly, breaking the comfortable silence. “I really needed that.”

Carlos glanced at you with that gentle smile that always melted your heart. “Me too, carino,” he replied, his voice hushed, almost reverent. “Being with my parents and especially with you is always amazing"

You just smiled at him and both of you entered the house. Your shared house, where you had not so long ago moved in. It was quiet inside, and the only sound you could hear was the water Carlos turned on for tea. This had been your ritual since you became pregnant - every day you drank tea before bed.

You stood in the doorway for a moment, watching Carlos move around the kitchen with ease.

“Which one do you want today?” he asked, although he knew the answer well. But he asked anyway, in case you changed your answer or wanted to surprise him. “Peppermint,” you muttered, smiling sincerely at him. It was your favorite, especially now that you were pregnant.

When you heard the whistling of the kettle, you turned around and slowly began walking toward your living room. You sat comfortably on the couch, adjusting the cushions under your back, and waited for your fiancé, watching the view outside the window.

Carlos soon joined you, carrying two mugs of steaming tea. He set them on the coffee table and then sat down next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. Instinctively, you leaned into him, resting your head against his chest. A few minutes of longed-for silence passed, when Carlos spoke up.

“Wait here for me,” he muttered, kissing you on the forehead. In the blink of an eye, he disappeared from your field of vision and rushed upstairs, where your bedroom, bathroom and many other rooms were located. As you drank the last sips of your tea, you heard the water in the bathtub begin to run, and Carlos ran down the stairs. He joined you on the couch for another second before he easily lifted you in his arms, obviously being careful not to hurt either you or Ava, and started walking up the stairs. It was as if you weighed nothing.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound light and breathless as Carlos carried you up the stairs with such ease. “You really don’t have to carry me every time, you know,” you teased, even though you secretly loved it. It made you feel cherished, protected.

“You're my queen, you deserve it,” he laughed, kissing you lightly on the neck, tickling with his stubble. “Oh, and you're my Prince Charming,” you laughed, seeing his boyish grin.

"So here I am"

He carried you over to the bathroom, where the sound of water filled the air, gentle and inviting. The bathtub was already nearly full, steam curling up to fog the mirrors, and rose petals floated on the surface, turning the water into a delicate sea of pink and red.

“How did you do it so fast?” you asked as he gently set you down. Your bathroom had never been so beautiful before. Even if it wasn't quite as clean now as it was at first, that was definitely not the point. “I'm fast,” he muttered, placing his large hands on your hips. “Maybe not so fast as to win the championship, but you have your charm.”

You hit him lightly on the shoulder, giggling. Even at a time like this, he was able to laugh at himself. That's exactly what Carlos was - loving, caring for his loved ones. He was the sunshine that was often missed. “You'll win again someday,” you said, standing closer to him and smacking him gently on the lips. “In my eyes, you win every time.”

He helped you out of your dress with such tender care, his hands never lingering too long, though you could feel the heat in his gaze as he admired your body—rounder, softer, growing with the life you were creating together. Once you were undressed, he guided you carefully into the warm bath, making sure you were comfortable before joining you.

As you made yourself comfortable in the tub, Carlos' hands immediately found a place on your belly, gently stroking it. The water around you was pleasantly warm - not as hot as always and not too cold. It was just perfect, surrounding your swollen body as it should. Its scent was unearthly, gently teasing your nostrils, but enjoyably so.

“Does that feel good, mi amor?” he asked softly, his voice barely more than a whisper against your ear.

"Mhm" you mumbled, tilting your head to look at him.

“Ava’s been really active tonight, huh? She must be trying to get your attention,” he teased, his tone filled with wonder as his fingers brushed against a spot where she shifted slightly beneath your skin.

You smiled, covering his hand with yours as you both felt your daughter move. “She definitely takes after her daddy, always wanting to be the center of attention,” you teased back.

“Or after her mommy, who cries out for my attentions every time,” he muttered, looking into your eyes. “Oh, for real?” you asked teasingly, raising your eyebrows.

The atmosphere around you became hot, and it was not due to the warmth of the bath. Or the steam that was rising throughout the bathroom. “Mhm, look how wet you are” he whispered, directing his hand to your clit. You sighed as his fingers touched your tender skin where you needed it most. Your libido during pregnancy was not lower at all. Especially when you saw Carlos as he was now. A wet body that was properly trained, the messy hair you loved so much and softly rosy cheeks from the warmth that surrounded you.

“Carlos,” you groaned, involuntarily tightening around his fingers, which entered you. Carlos moved them rhythmically inside you, his thumb teasing your clit, which had become even more sensitive to his touch during your pregnancy. You couldn't resist it, and especially when his other hand slid down to your hard nipples. He caressed your neck with his lips, alternately placing subtle kisses and bites on it.

“Shh, cariño,” he murmured, his lips grazing the edge of your jawline. “I just want to make you feel good… let me take care of you,” he added, his voice low and husky, filled with that sultry tone that always drove you wild.

You didn't need much. Looking at how sensitive you were, you soon became a moaning mess around his fingers. Carlos knew what he was doing. He hit the perfect spot with them, circling his thumb around your clit, which accelerated your waves of ecstasy even harder. On the other hand, he continued kissing your neck, leaving there the love bites he most likely loved when you were wearing it. His dexterous hands squeezed and stroked your large breasts, which ached more often and harder. And your strained nipples, where milk was being produced.

"Good girl" he muttered against your neck, feeling your orgasm around his fingers.

“Carlos, please,” you muttered, turning your head to him. Your man joined your lips in a passionate kiss, slightly biting your lower lip to give him access to your mouth. Your tongues fought a fierce battle, but you wanted one thing. Without hesitation, you corrected your position on top of him and touching his cock, directed him to your entrance and gently leaned on him, your other hand catching on his neck. “Shh, fuck,” he moaned into your mouth, starting to move inside you.

“Oh,” you moaned, catching his neck more firmly with your right hand. With your other hand you held your breast, squeezing harder than Carlos had done before. Today you didn't want it to be gentle. You felt such a great need to fuck inside you that you were off limits. “Carlos, don't limit yourself,” you muttered into his swollen mouth.

“I don't want to hurt you,” he whispered with caring eyes. His hand wandered to your clit again, even though he knew full well how it would end. Before the pregnancy, you mostly came at similar times, but now you knew that tonight would not just be your second orgasm, but one in a row. “You won't hurt,” you said, grabbing his face tighter and looking straight into his beautiful chocolate eyes. “Just fuck me harder.” There was a hunger in his eyes that you hadn't seen in a long time. The bathroom was getting hotter by the second, even though the water was evaporating faster and faster. Carlos clung harder to your lips, kissing you with the great passion that had been between you from the beginning. You have always wanted each other in the same way, without letting it get any worse - it just kept getting better and better. And as if on cue, Carlos sped up, hitting you with his full length where he was supposed to hit. You moaned into his mouth, and he was not indebted to you. Although he was focused on giving you and himself physical pleasure, all the while he was muttering sweet nothings to you.

“You are so beautiful,” he purred into your mouth. “All swollen with my baby inside your beautiful body, fuck”. You moaned at his words. It was true, of course it was true. You were all sore and swollen, but it was his baby you had inside you. Your longed-for child, the one you had been trying for not so long, but she was the one you had been waiting for.

“Carlos, I'm so close,” you muttered into his mouth, pulling slightly away from him to look between you. Oh, that view was compelling every time. Carlos was going in and out of you with deadly speed, making the tub shake, and you could have sworn that if there had been neighbors around you, they would have definitely heard what was going on with you. “I know, carino, I know,” he said, and his gaze landed on the same spot as yours. By this time, your juices were blending together perfectly, making an unusual mess in the tub. His cum combined with your juices and you could watch it pour out of you.

You have never been bored by this view. It might have seemed strange to someone, but you and Carlos, once you could admire your liquids spilling out of your pussy, were in cloud nine. It was a kind of quiet promise, a moment of privacy and intimacy you shared with no one else.

"I love you so so much" he muttered, kissing you now lightly.

He continued to move inside you, but this time only so you could come down from your orgasm, just as he did. Your pussy clamped down on him, pleasantly enveloping him with its tightness. You both loved the feeling - you then finally felt as full as possible, and Carlos felt that he had found his place. However silly it sounded. You guys loved it.

When you cooled down and the water became unpleasantly cool, you decided to get out of the tub. Carlos did it first, so that he could safely help you. He carefully wrapped you in a soft, fluffy towel, his hands remaining on your wet skin, warm and soothing as he gently dried your shoulders and then your hands. His touch was slow, deliberate, as if he was savoring your touch, making sure every inch of you was taken care of.

You stood in front of the mirror, your reflection soft in the dim light, your body round with Ava, the little life growing inside of you. Carlos moved behind you, his chest brushing against your back as he gently ran his hands over your shoulders, his touch lingering with care.

He leaned in, his lips grazing your ear. “You are beautiful,” he purred, kissing the lobe of your ear. “I can't wait for Ava to get here and see it too.” You smiled with emotion at his words and turned to face him, placing your hands on his cheeks. You stood on your toes, gently kissing him on the lips. You felt him smile under the pressure of your lips, which you shared. “She will be even more beautiful. After all, her father is Carlos Sainz Jr, the fucking Prince Charming of Formula One.”

A/N: how I love pregnancy content!! AND CARLOS, OMG, my favorite driver, and I only have one one-shot with him, what's a shame (open orders, feel free to give ideas!)

please do not copy and translate my works! in case of any issues related to this - I invite you to discuss privately :)

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hellobykittys · 7 months ago

Text

𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄 ✦ 𝐋𝐇⁴⁴

SUMMARY: Upon discovering you’re pregnant with your boyfriend’s child, you find yourself spiraling into a wave of insecurities, fearing his potential negative reaction and the impact it could have on your relationship. NOTES: English is not my first language, so there might be some writing mistakes. I apologize for that, and feel free to point out any improvements. PAIRING: Lewis Hamilton x Reader! Girlfriend. WARNING: Established relationship; mild angst; unplanned pregnancy. WC: 2.8k

MASTERLIST | THE (IM)PERFECT PLAN SERIE

It was the second time that day you found yourself leaning over the toilet, your stomach churning relentlessly. Breakfast and the light snack you’d had earlier—both meant to be simple—had already made their way there, and with each passing moment, your suspicions grew harder to ignore. Yet, you stubbornly refused to acknowledge what was right in front of you.

Two weeks had passed since your period was supposed to start, something completely out of the ordinary for you. Your cycle was always regular. In its place came the nausea and constant vomiting.

You didn’t know what to do. The thought of taking a test was too terrifying. It felt easier to pretend this was just a passing illness. After all, how could you possibly be pregnant? You and Lewis were always careful, taking every precaution.

“You need to take a test,” your friend Anne said as she held your hair back, preventing the mess from worsening.

“Anne, I don’t know if I want to know the answer.” You spoke between breaths, rising to rinse your mouth at the sink.

“Eventually, you’ll have to face it,” she said gently, her hand brushing over your back in a gesture of comfort. “If it’s true, you’re going to have to tell him.”

“I don’t even know if he wants to be with me, let alone a child. He’s going to hate this news.” Your tired, worried eyes stared back at you in the mirror. “I don’t know what to do.”

“He won’t hate it. He loves you, and I’m sure he’ll love having a child with you,” Anne said, trying to ease your anxiety. “Y/N, don’t believe what people say online. They just want to bring you down.”

“You don’t understand.” You turned to her, your eyes full of doubt. “We’ve never talked about it—about starting a family. Whenever the subject comes up, he changes it. At first, I thought it was because we’d only been together a short while, but now… I think he genuinely doesn’t want anything more serious.”

“But you’ve been together for two years! How could he not want something more serious?”

“He was with Nicole for seven years, and that wasn’t enough for him to marry her.” You lowered your head, your chest tightening. “Deep down, I think the media’s right. He probably just wants to stay free until the last day of his life. His whole world revolves around Formula 1. Family isn’t part of his plans. Only the eighth title matters.”

You took a deep breath, trying to keep the tears at bay. The weight of your words felt unbearable, but you couldn’t stop thinking them. The fear that this was all a mistake, that Lewis simply wasn’t ready for more, consumed you.

Anne noticed your distress and stepped closer, her hand resting on your shoulder in a comforting gesture. “I know it seems hard right now, but you can’t make these decisions on your own. You have to talk to him. He deserves to know, and you deserve to hear what he has to say.”

You turned to face her, your expression reflecting the emotional storm you were caught in. “And if he doesn’t want it? If he tells me he’s not ready, that what we have isn’t enough? What am I supposed to do with this baby? With this… life?”

“Then you’ll deal with it in your own way. This isn’t about what he wants—it’s about what you want, what you need. He may be the person you love, but don’t forget who you are and what you deserve.”

Anne’s words echoed in your mind, but the truth still felt distant, shrouded in uncertainty. It felt like you were standing at a crossroads with your life taking a direction you’d never planned for. Lewis, with his fast-paced existence of racing, titles, and adrenaline, seemed worlds apart from your quiet longing for stability—perhaps even a family. Something you weren’t even sure he shared.

In the end, you knew you couldn’t avoid reality any longer. The test needed to be done. Procrastination wasn’t an option anymore. The fear was overwhelming, but the uncertainty hurt worse. And, above all, the result would only be the beginning. The real challenge would be telling Lewis.

“Will you do this with me?” Your voice came out softer than expected, almost a whisper filled with vulnerability. You looked at Anne, searching her expression for a strength you felt you’d lost. “I mean, will you buy the test and wait for the result with me?”

Anne smiled reassuringly, taking your hand in hers with a firm grip. “Of course. And if you prefer, we can do this at my apartment. No rush, no pressure.”

You shook your head in refusal. “I think it’s better to do it here. He’s not coming back today… probably not until tomorrow night. Maybe even later.” The emptiness of the house felt less oppressive when you spoke aloud, but the apprehension was still palpable. “I just need the courage to go to the pharmacy.”

Anne squeezed your hand, her eyes full of understanding. “You don’t have to do this alone. Let’s go together. Let’s get this over with.”

The trip to the pharmacy was quick, but each step felt like a monumental challenge. The way back home seemed even longer, with the weight of the small package in your bag growing heavier by the second. Back at the apartment, you locked yourself in the bathroom while Anne waited outside, offering encouraging words that barely penetrated the storm in your mind.

You held the test in trembling hands, your eyes scanning the instructions like they were an impossible puzzle. Time seemed to freeze as you waited for the result, the silence broken only by the relentless pounding of your heart.

When you finally looked at the small display, reality crashed over you like a tidal wave. Positive.

Your breath caught in your throat, tears welling up in your eyes as you stared at the lines that confirmed what you already suspected. Silent tears began to stream down your face as a flood of emotions—fear, anguish, and an inexplicable love for the new life now connected to you—washed over you.

“Well?” Anne’s soft, hesitant voice called from the other side.

You opened the door, holding the test in your trembling hand. Anne’s expression softened at the sight of your tears. She said nothing, simply pulling you into a tight embrace.

“What now?” you asked quietly, your voice laden with uncertainty.

Anne pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, her expression calm but firm. “Now you take a deep breath, Y/N. Then, you tell him. No matter the fear, no matter the doubts. He deserves to know, and you deserve to be heard.”

You nodded slowly, but the lump in your throat remained. Her words were logical, exactly what you needed to hear, but the fear still loomed, beating loudly in your chest. How would you tell Lewis? How would you find the words that would change both your lives forever?

“Anne…” Your voice came out shaky, barely a whisper, as you wrapped your arms around her tightly, searching for any fragment of comfort. “I’m so scared. What if he… what if he doesn’t want this baby?”

Anne sighed, her hand gently rubbing your back with patience. “Y/N, even if he doesn’t, which I honestly find hard to believe, you’ll move forward. You’re stronger than you think.” She pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, her gaze full of conviction. “If you want to have this baby, that’s all that matters. We’ll take care of it. I won’t leave you alone, ever.”

You closed your eyes, trying to absorb her words, but the weight of the situation still felt unbearable. “But what if he leaves me, Anne? What if he thinks this was a mistake? That I was careless?”

Anne cupped your face with both hands, forcing you to look at her. “He loves you. And even if the idea scares him at first, he’s a good man, Y/N. But more than anything, you need to remember that his love isn’t the only thing that matters here. What do you feel? What do you want? That matters, too.”

Her question hung in the air, echoing in your mind as you tried to find an answer. Deep down, you knew what you wanted. You loved Lewis with all your heart, and despite the fear consuming you, you already felt an inexplicable love for the life growing inside you. But bridging those two feelings felt impossible.

As you stared at the positive test sitting on the bedside table, your heart pounded relentlessly, racing with uncertainty. That tiny object seemed to carry the weight of all your doubts and fears. You knew you couldn’t put off talking to Lewis forever, but the thought of confronting him was paralyzing. Each passing second only tightened the knot in your throat.

He was supposed to return the following morning, giving you one night to organize your thoughts, find the right words, and somehow gather the courage that felt so far away. But now, as the reality began to settle in, you decided to push it aside for a while. You needed to distract yourself, to focus on taking care of yourself—and the baby you now carried.

In the kitchen, you started preparing something simple to eat. The thought of being responsible for another life made every small action feel significant. You couldn’t ignore your health or choices anymore. Everything you did was for two now. And though the anxiety still throbbed in your mind, there was a small, strange comfort in that realization.

You were slicing fruit when the sound of the front door opening suddenly broke the silence of the house. Your heart nearly stopped for a moment. He wasn’t supposed to be back until the next morning.

“Y/N?” Lewis’s voice echoed from the living room, heavy with exhaustion and surprise.

You turned to see him standing in the hallway, still holding his travel bag. He was dressed casually in a black jacket and his signature travel cap. His eyes locked on you, then shifted to the plate of fruit on the counter before softening into a smile.

“I decided to come back early. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” He approached, leaving the bag by the wall to pull you into a warm hug. The heat of his body against yours brought immediate comfort—but also a new weight.

You weren’t ready. Not yet. But the moment seemed to have chosen him—or fate had.

“Are you okay?” Lewis asked, pulling back just enough to study your face. His expression was laced with concern.

“I’m… I’m fine. Just tired.” Your voice came out low, but you knew he would sense something was off. Lewis always did.

His brows furrowed slightly as he tilted his head, his gaze probing. “You sure? You seem a little distant.”

With him standing there, just a few steps away, the idea of telling him felt even more daunting. Fear wrapped itself around your chest, squeezing tighter and tighter. Fear that the news could change everything between you, fear that the love you shared wouldn’t be enough to face what was coming. So, for at least one more night, you decided to delay. Tomorrow would be the right time. Tonight, you just wanted to savor your last moment of peace with him—if everything changed afterward.

But the memory of the test sitting on the bedside table sent a fresh wave of panic through you. If Lewis went into the bedroom now, he’d see it. There was no way to hide it in time.

“Nothing’s wrong, love.” You forced a smile, leaning up to kiss him, his lips still warm from the chill outside. “Why don’t you sit down? I’ll take your bag and be right back, okay?”

Before you could grab his bag, Lewis held onto it firmly, shaking his head.

“You don’t need to do that. I can carry my own bag.” He smiled, the kind of smile that always made your heart flutter, and slung the strap back over his shoulder. “I’ll shower and then we can pick a movie, yeah?”

“No, seriously, let me.” You insisted, your voice slightly too quick. “You must be exhausted. Just relax, I’ll handle it.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly noticing your unease, but didn’t argue further. “Y/N, I’m not made of glass. I can carry my own luggage.”

Without another word, you followed him to the bedroom, your heart racing with every step. Lewis placed his bag by the wardrobe but lingered, his gaze drifting back to you.

“You’re acting weird,” he commented with a small smile, though he didn’t press further. “I’ll take a quick shower and be back. Pick us a good movie.”

As soon as he entered the bathroom and the door closed, you let out the breath you had been holding and quickly made your way to the bedside table. With swift movements, you grabbed the test and hid it in the deepest drawer, pushing it down beneath a few papers. When you finished, the relief was immediate, but brief.

You left the room and returned to the kitchen, trying to distract yourself with anything else. You prepared a bowl of fruit and placed it on the counter, but your mind couldn’t help but drift back to the inevitable moment that was coming.

Minutes later, sensing something was off with Lewis’s delay, you decided to return to the bedroom. When you opened the door, your heart nearly stopped at the sight before you. Lewis was sitting on the bed, his eyes fixed on the pregnancy test he was holding in his hand.

“Lewis…” your voice came out weak, barely a whisper.

He looked up, and for a moment, you couldn’t read his expression. It wasn’t anger, but it wasn’t relief either. It was something in between—confusion, perhaps.

“How long have you known?” he asked, his voice low but firm.

The question hit you like a punch. “What? Lewis, I—”

“Were you hiding this from me?” He stood up, his brow furrowed in a mix of frustration and hurt. “Did you think you could handle this alone?”

“I didn’t… I just found out!” you retorted, feeling your eyes well up. “I didn’t even have time to think, to process. I was going to tell you, Lewis!”

But he didn’t seem to hear you. He ran his hands through his hair, clearly trying to organize his thoughts.

“I thought we were a couple, Y/N. That we trusted each other.”

Those words hit you cruelly, a blow to your vulnerability. “Lewis, I wasn’t hiding anything! I just… I didn’t have the courage to take the test until today. I needed a moment. A second to process what was happening to me.”

He paused, studying your face, his dark eyes softening as his anger dissolved into understanding. Finally, he shook his head, the weight of the tension lifting from his shoulders.

“When were you planning on telling me?” he asked, his voice quieter, but still firm.

“I was going to tell you tomorrow,” you rushed to explain, almost pleading for him to believe you. “I just… I didn’t know how to do it. Lewis, please, believe me.”

His expression changed completely. Without saying another word, he walked over and pulled you into a tight hug. The warmth of his body was comforting, but what struck you the most was the soft sound of a sob. He was crying.

“You should’ve told me as soon as you suspected,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I wanted to be here with you when you took the test.”

“Are… are you happy?” you asked hesitantly, the words coming out in a whisper full of doubt.

He pulled back slightly, cradling your face in his big, warm hands. A smile broke through the tears streaming down his face.

“Of course I’m happy, my love.” His voice was low, but full of conviction. “This baby is a piece of our love. How could I not be happy?”

You collapsed into his arms, your head resting on his strong chest as tears flowed freely down your face. The relief and love you felt in that moment were overwhelming.

“You have no idea how scared I was,” you confessed through sobs. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t want this baby… that you wouldn’t want me anymore.”

He held you even tighter, impossibly so, and kissed the top of your head, lingering in the gesture.

“I would never do that, Y/N. Never.” He sighed, his voice thick with emotion. “You mean everything to me. And now, we’re going to be a family. I just wish I’d been there with you from the start.”

His words were a balm, soothing the storms that had built in your heart over the past few weeks.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, still hidden against his chest.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he replied, gently stroking your hair. “We’re both learning. But now that I know… I promise you’ll never face any of this alone again.”

You stayed like that for long minutes, not needing any more words. The moment was just for the two of you, and nothing seemed more important than the future you were beginning to build together.

#f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 x you #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 x y/n #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton x you

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glowplumes · 4 days ago

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really obsessed with the idea of resonating making MC super horny

I'm baaaaack....

warnings: suggestive content, sylus x mc, no smut though, they're both just dummies that want each other real bad, sylus is a consent king

For all the work you’d put in to finally be able to resonate with Sylus, you sure wish you hadn’t. You’d resonated with plenty of people before, so why? Why did resonating with him have to make you so damn horny? You’re struggling to keep it a secret from the insufferable man, but you’re suddenly consumed by the need to sit on his damn face… or carve his stupid eye out. Or both.

You hiss, pulling your hand back as if you’d been burned. It’s been months, and you’ve finally figured out how to resonate with Sylus. But oh, how you wish you hadn’t. You feel as though you’re ready to faint, the pounding in your head and the ache between your thighs nearly unbearable.

But you’ll be damned if you let Sylus figure out how affected you are.

“Is something the matter, sweetie?” Sylus asks, his eyebrow raised.

“No,” you say, far too quickly. He chuckles lowly.

“Funny, you can never quite look me in the eyes whenever we resonate. Scared of what I’ll discover?” He goads.

“No! Since when am I required to look you in the eyes anyways,” you grumble.

“You’re not required to, but I can only assume that you’re afraid to look because you’re hiding something from me. Nothing too scandalous, I hope?” he says, his voice dripping with false innocence.

Damn that man.

“I am not afraid,” you insist, but Sylus only laughs- the sound going straight to your core.

“Then look at me,” he says, his tone almost pleading.

Damn that man.

You sigh, knowing it was only a matter of time before the man in front of you knew your secret.

Bravery, or perhaps, stupidity, is what finally pushes you to look Sylus in the eyes. His crimson eyes that belonged to you.

His eye seems to glow for a moment, and his lips part, the softest of gasps leaving him. You half expect him to pounce on you, for him to tease you and call you out for trying to pretend that you didn’t want him, that you didn’t crave him desperately.

Instead, shaky hands enter your vision, his eyes widening. It’s as if he’s hesitant to even touch you, his hands hovering near your face.

“You- why didn’t you- you should have said-” he begins, starting several sentences and not finishing a single one of them.

“If you’re gonna gloat then you can just fuck right off,” you say, immediately getting defensive. But he’s already vehemently shaking his head, letting his hands cup your cheeks.

“Do you really want that? Do you want me to take care of you right now?” he asks, his eyes searching yours as your face flushes.

“You saw my stupid desires, why are you even asking me that?” you grumble, unable to stop a pout from forming on your face.

He shakes his head again, his thumbs caressing your cheeks.

“It’s not like I’m going to jump you just because I can see your desires, kitten. You still have the power to tell me what you do and don’t want,” he murmurs, his tone surprisingly gentle. His demeanor brings you up short.

“Let me say this, though. If this is what you want. I’m all yours. Whatever you want, whenever you want,” he says.

#lads sylus #love and deepspace #lads #sylus x mc #sylus x reader #lnds sylus #qin che #l&ds sylus #sylus love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #sylus #sylus is a loser #resonating #sylus qin #suggestive #canon typical violence

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gojoest · 3 months ago

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thinking about your first kiss with satoru being under the rain in the middle of the street . . . him turning off his CT and getting wet with you as you both melt into the kiss . . . the world stops for you. to those who pass by in a rush, you look like a crazy couple in love, to be standing under the pouring rain, without an umbrella, kissing. they’re not wrong, but there’s so much more to it.

satoru thinks,

come closer to me. come unbearably close

i am ready to stay under the rain with you, under any rain that falls on us — be it water, be it bullets

i am ready to be drenched to my bones and bleed to my death, for you

and no matter how hard it pours, my lips will always find yours

#— ai rambles #YEARNING #do you understand how important this is to me #he’s ready to die if it means you will touch him #[ ♡ ] — satoru

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daryltwdixon · 6 months ago

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Feral

Daryl x Reader

Summary: You’ve been teasing Daryl all day—brushing up against him, bending over just enough to give him a view, and letting out soft, breathy sighs during your run at the warehouse. You didn’t know what would happen when he finally snapped. But when he does, you’re not ready for just how unhinged he can be.

notes: hope you're okay with some dark!daryl

Warnings: SMUT: Daryl calls you a bitch but not like that you’re a bitch but in reference to like a dog, feral af daryl. animalistic daryl. biting, dirty talk. unprotected sex, 0 pull out. Rough. ooc. again uhhhh sorry! enjoy!

The warehouse is dark, lit only by thin streams of fading daylight that cut through broken windows high above. The air smells stale, tinged with rust and dust. You’ve been weaving through rows of abandoned shelves for hours, scavenging for anything useful, but the real tension isn’t in the run. It’s in him.

Daryl’s been unusually quiet today—not just his usual quiet, but simmering, brooding. You’ve felt his eyes on you more times than you can count, catching the way his jaw tightens every time you bend down to inspect something or brush past him in the narrow aisles.

To be fair, you hadn't exactly been subtle about it all day.

Maybe, just maybe, you’ve been bending down just enough to let the cheeks of your ass peek out under your shorts, reaching a little too high on tiptoes to make your shirt ride up, sighing softly when your fingers finally grip something from the shelves.

You’re playing with fire, and you know it. And with the occasional sway of your hips, the quick glances over your shoulder—it’s all to see if he's looking. You’re testing the waters, seeing how far you can push him before he snaps.

And snap he does.

It's when you squeeze past him in another narrow aisle, the swell of your ass brushing his lap does he freeze like a predator catching a scent.

“Enough,” he growls, his voice echoing low in the cavernous space.

You freeze, not even fully past him, glancing back at him over your shoulder. He’s standing stock still, shoulders rigid, his crossbow hanging loosely in one hand, the other clenched into a fist at his side. His eyes burn into yours, dark and smoldering, his chest rising and falling a little too fast.

“Enough what?” you ask, feigning innocence as you widen your eyes.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doin’?” he rasps, leaning in closer, so close you can feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek.

You carefully, at an agonizingly slow pace, begin to lean back into him, craning your neck as you sit back on your heels, feet firmly planted. He leans in, one hand gripping firmly on the shelf beside your head, caging you on one side. His scent—earth, sweat, and leather—fills your senses, making your head swim.

“What am I doing, Daryl?” you murmur, tilting your head up to meet his gaze, your lips betraying you as they curl into a whisper of a smile.

His eyes darken, flicking to your mouth for the briefest second before snapping back to yours. “Been gettin' under my damn skin,” he says, his voice a low growl that makes your pulse quicken. “Every look, every word—hell, even the way yer walkin',”

You arch a brow, feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His jaw works, the muscle flexing as his nostrils flare. He steps in close, crowding your space even more, his chest pushing up into your back. The other hand plants itself on the edge of the shelf beside your head, now completely boxing you in. His breath is warm on your neck, and your mind begins to melt at the closeness, at the way he leans in closer, like he can smell your arousal. “Yeah, ya do,” he mutters, his voice rough, almost guttural.

The tension is unbearable, the air between you electric. Your heart races as you squeeze your eyes shut at the sudden rush of heat in your veins. “Then say it,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He pauses, and the way his breathing quickens makes you wonder if he’s waging a war with himself.

His lips hover just above your ear, “Say what?” he bites out, his tone rough, but there’s something else there too—something raw, barely masked.

Your open your eyes to look into his again, challenging: “That you want me.”

For a moment, the world feels suspended. You’re both holding your breath, the cold bite of the shelving against your chest, contrasting with the furnace of his body pressing against you. His hands tighten on the shelves, the tension in his body vibrating through the air between you.

Then, as if time catches up, he’s on you, spinning you around with his large hands, and his mouth crashes against yours in a way that’s all heat and desperation.

The kiss is searing, all consuming, and you barely have time to process before Daryl’s hands find your hips, pulling you against him. You shamelessly hike your leg around his waist, his one hand holding you steady by the thigh, his grip nearly bruising. The thought flickers across your mind that you hope the shelves will hold you if he were to fuck you against them, as you didn't need a loud crashing noise to draw in outside walkers.

As the thought leaves you, the shelves creak as your body presses into them, but all you can focus on is him—his mouth, rough and demanding, and the heat radiating off his skin. His tongue is possessive as it leads the kiss, surprisingly confident and fervent on exploring your mouth.

His lips trail down, planting kisses along your jaw, then your neck. Each press of his mouth is deliberate, almost punishing, like he’s letting out all the frustration you’ve stirred up in him. His scruff scrapes against your skin, leaving it tingling, and when he nips at the sensitive spot just below your ear, a gasp escapes your lips.

“Daryl,” you manage, your voice breathless, but he doesn’t let up. His hand grips your waist intently, sliding beneath your shirt, the roughness of his calloused fingers are electric and heated, a stark contrast to the softness of your skin.

“You been drivin’ me crazy all damn day,” he mutters against your throat, teeth grazing as his voice registers low and gravelly. “Every little thing—every damn look.”

Your back arches instinctively as his lips continue their descent, brushing along your collarbone. His palms are cupping your breasts, pushing under your bra. Heat engulfs the space between your bodies as he kneads with roughness. You gasp as his fingers find your nipples, pinching and twisting. Your own hands find the edge of his vest, fisting the worn leather as you try to ground yourself, but it’s no use. He’s overwhelming, consuming, and the fire building inside you feels like it’s about to consume you whole.

“Thought I wasn’t gonna do anything, huh?” he murmurs, his voice dripping with that rugged confidence that’s so uniquely him. His hands grip even tighter your breasts, like he can't get you close enough against him, and you can feel the strength coiled in his body, barely restrained.

“Maybe,” you whisper, your lips curling into a breathless smile.

His eyes meet your hooded gaze, dark and primal, and the intensity in them makes your breath hitch. He leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a whisper of a kiss, before he pulls back just enough to make you chase him. The smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth is almost taunting, and it makes your pulse quicken even more.

“You like teasin’ me,” he says, his voice barely more than a growl. “That it? You like pushin’ me ‘til I break?"

Your breath catches, but you don’t back down. Instead, you let your fingers trail up his chest, brushing against the exposed skin at the base of his throat as you grind yourself into him. “Maybe I do,” you reply, your voice trembling but steady enough to meet his challenge.

His gaze holds yours for a long, agonizing moment, and the raw, unspoken emotions swirling in his eyes leave you breathless. Then, with a sudden, deliberate motion, his hands drop to your hips, and he spins you back around, your chest pressing again against the cold metal shelving. His hands are firm but not unkind as they guide your movements, and the sharp contrast between the roughness of the metal and the press of his body makes your skin prickle with anticipation all over again.

The warmth of him vanishes as he suddenly kneels behind you, and before you can twist around to see what he’s doing, his fingers hook into your waistband and tug your shorts down in one swift motion. You yelp, the sound echoing softly in the empty warehouse. The cool air bites at your flushed skin, heightening the contrast as his hand lands sharply on your ass, the sting spreading deliciously.

A second slap follows, then a third, leaving your skin tingling as your knees wobble under the intensity. Daryl's hands steady you, gripping your hips as his breath ghosts over the sensitive skin of your thighs. Then, his face presses between your legs, his nose brushing intimately against you, and you’re no longer worried about keeping balance—just consumed by the sensation.

His tongue makes contact, and it's like a spark igniting deep inside you. His nose nudges at the delicate crease between your folds and your ass, the pressure melting into pleasure as he tongues at the apex of your thighs.

His mouth makes sinful, debaucherous noises as he slurps and laps and laves at your sex, his primal groans echoing in the empty warehouse around you. You bring your own hand up to your face, covering your mouth to keep yourself quiet as pressure builds in your lower abdomen, your knees nearly giving out as he pushes his face further into your cheeks.

The emptiness inside you aches as your walls clench around nothing, the longing for him almost unbearable. His tongue is relentless, sinful in its ministrations, and the tension coiled in your core finally snaps, pleasure washing over you in waves. You cry out despite yourself, your legs trembling as you cling to the shelving for support.

Daryl doesn’t stop, his mouth working you through every last pulse of your orgasm until your thighs shake with overstimulation. Only then does he pull back, rising to his feet in one fluid motion. His hands slide up your sides, teasingly slow, leaving your pants pooled at your ankles. The heat of his breath against your ear sends another shiver rippling through you.

"Like a bitch in heat," he says thickly, voice filled with arousal. You whimper, arching your neck to catch his lips in yours, the tang of yourself on his lips now coating your tongue as he kisses you with fierce need. “Gonna fuck you like one now, okay, baby?” he murmurs, his voice molten against your lips.

You nod vigorously, your anticipation mounting as he fumbles with his belt. The clink of metal and the low zip of his jeans send a fresh wave of heat coursing through you. The blunt tip of him presses against your entrance, and you brace yourself, squeezing your eyes shut as he begins to push inside.

Your walls clenched against him, even just the tip as it slips into you, the tug of your pussy making him suck in air through his teeth, "Fuck," he breathes, "that's it, nice n'easy,"

He moves slowly at first, inch by inch, letting you adjust to him, but the moment he’s fully seated, he's moving. His hand grips your waist, the crescents of his nails digging into the soft skin of your curves as he pulls his hips back, the vice of your walls around him making both of you curse. You probably should've gotten a look at just how big he was before agreeing to this, because the way he was stretching you out on his cock was going to ruin sex with anyone else for the rest of your life.

Daryl still hasn't bottomed out into you when he continues moving, the slap of skin and grunts and your whines echo through the warehouse as you grip the shelving with all your life. He has a sort of predatory grace as he continues pounding into you, his animalistic grunts only adding to the pleasure, your body trembling under the onslaught. Every rough drag of his cock against your walls drives you closer to another release. His movements are raw, untamed, and utterly feral, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you.

His thrusts suddenly begin to become mindless, words and curses incoherently slipping past his lips. From praising you, You feel so good. What a good pup, good girl. To cursing you, Fucking tease.

“Daryl, please—” you gasp, glancing back over your shoulder, but you see his blue eyes flash with menace, teeth bared as he leans closer into you.

Suddenly, his teeth are sinking into the flesh of your neck.

You cry out as his growls rumble against your skin, the sharp bite of pain blending seamlessly into a tidal wave of pleasure. Daryl had always been aloof, always more wild than the rest of the group. But this--this was absolutely feral, and you loved every fucking second. Each guttural grunt from him feeds the raw, primal energy between you, leaving you feeling like nothing more than two feral creatures in the wild, chasing your highs with reckless abandon. Your mind blanks completely as his hips slam into yours, his cock driving deep and relentless, stretching you so completely it feels like he’s splitting you in half.

Your fingers slip from the shelves as your knees weaken, but his grip on you is unrelenting, keeping you steady as he continues to take you with wild need. The coil in your core tightens unbearably, your free hand slipping between your legs to rub tight circles against your clit.

“You’re gonna take it,” he growls against your neck, his breath hot and ragged. “Every last fucking bit.”

You hear his grunts turn into a low, whispering chuckle as his teeth tighten in your flesh when you moan in return, unable to form words. You're sure he's going to leave marks if not blood bruises in your skin very soon. His thrusts become more and more violent and aimless as he continues, but you can feel his rhythm faltering. He's close, and you are too.

“Cum for me, Daryl, please,” you beg, your voice trembling with desperation. “I want to feel it. Feel all of you.”

His teeth release your neck, leaving a wet trail of kisses along your jaw as he groans in your ear. “You want me to fill you up, huh, that it?” he rasps, his voice thick and gravelly.

“Yes,” you moan, the word spilling from your lips like a prayer.

His lips curl into a wicked grin against your skin. “Good girl,” he murmurs before his teeth nip your earlobe, sending you spiraling into your second orgasm.

Your body clenches around him, milking him as his hips falter. With one final thrust, he stills, his arms locking around you as he spills inside, a guttural growl tearing from his throat.

Stars burst behind your eyes as the intensity of your climax leaves you trembling, your legs barely able to hold you up. Daryl keeps you pressed against him, his breath hot and ragged against your neck as the two of you come down together, the warehouse filled with the sound of your labored breathing.

He doesn’t move for a long moment, his arms still wrapped around you as if anchoring himself. When he finally gets his bearings back, his grip loosens, though his arms still hold you close. His touch is gentler now, almost reverent.

"Goddamn," he breathes against your shoulder, his lips brushing over the marks his teeth left on your neck until he finally slips himself out of you to return himself to his jeans. "You’re perfect. S'like you were made for me."

You hum in approval, a shaky laugh slipping past your lips.

"What?" he asks, his voice raspier than usual, tinged with exhaustion.

"Nothin’," you say, tilting your face to look up at him. “Just think you might’ve ruined sex with anyone else for the rest of my existence.”

“That's alright,” he chuckles, the sound low and rough. “’Cause now yer all mine. Ain’t nobody gonna touch you like this—like I do.”

“So… this isn’t the last time?” you ask, aiming for casual but failing miserably, your voice betraying the anticipation and hope bubbling inside you.

"Only if you want it to be," he whispers, his eyes searching yours.

You shake your head quickly, your breath hitching as his words sink in. “I don’t,” you admit softly, your voice carrying an edge of vulnerability you hadn’t expected.

A small, crooked smile tugs at his lips, and his hand comes up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. “Good,” he murmurs, his thumb trailing gently along your cheekbone.

Though he doesn't say much, his words send a shiver down your spine, his tone low and heavy with promise. You lean into his touch, letting your eyes flutter closed for a moment as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“C’mon,” he says after a beat, his voice still gruff but tinged with something warmer now. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

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