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harrysfolklore · 11 months ago

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little bitch - cs55

summary: yn piastri and carlos sainz absolutely hate each other. carlos thinks she’s immature, yn calls him a little bitch on social media. they also kiss every now and then. PART TWO

word count: over 10k + social media posts

folkie radio: guys this fic is my baby okay 🥲🥲 please take care of it i spent like two weeks writing it. FEEDBACK IS ENCOURAGED AND APPRECIATED !!

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

2023 SEASON

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ynpiastri that’s my optimistic little brother cry about it 😚 see y’all after the break

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username1 LAJSIA SO MESSY

username2 yn really said you will NAWT mess with my little brother

lilyzneimer Love you forever 😂

↳ ynpiastri ilysm

username3 the sainz - piastri drama just spiced this season up

mclaren That’s our boy 🧡

username4 carlos sainz and yn piastri fighting on the internet and oscar is just 🧍

username5 the fact that daniel ricciardo and pierre gasly liked yn’s tweet too 😭

landonorris Stop fighting people on the internet please

↳username1 HELP HIS BESTIES ARE FIGHTING

↳ ynpiastri never 😤

oscarpiastri When nobody got me I know my messy sister got me

↳ username2 I LOVE THEM SM

↳ yourinstagram HE SAID NO PICKLES !!

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"You didn't have to tweet that," Oscar said, giving you a look from his seat.

You were currently traveling from Belgium to Monaco in McLaren's private jet after the race weekend, and the main topic of the day was your little message to Carlos Sainz after his statement about your brother.

"Osc, he's being a petty bitch," you shrugged, "He keeps blaming you for what happened on the track and we all know it was his fault."

"Lando, can you help me out please?" Oscar looked at his teammate, who was immersed on his phone as a way to avoid the conversation.

"Oh no, don't put me in the middle of this," Lando shook his head, "I have enough PR issues myself."

"We know you're siding with your bestie anyways," you said, making him roll his eyes.

This dynamic was nothing new. Lando and Carlos Sainz were best friends, and so were Lando and you. The issue? You couldn't stand Carlos at all, and Lando was always in the middle of your bickering.

Oscar sighed, rubbing his temples as he glanced out of the window. "Look, I appreciate you standing up for me, but sometimes it's better to let things slide. Engaging with him on social media only adds fuel to the fire."

He had a point. Deep down you knew it, however, your were short tempered and protective towards your loved ones, so it was natural that you took the chance to come for Sainz's neck when he gave you a reason to.

"I get it, Osc. I just can't stand seeing him drag your name through the mud when you're not even at fault," you stressed, "You're my little brother, I'll always get protective, you know?"

"I know, and I appreciate you having my back," Oscar said, softening his tone. "But it's not worth it. Like you said, I'm not engaging with whatever he's saying so there's no point of starting stuff."

"He started it, I'm just finishing it," you shrugged, and Oscar gave you a pointed look, you were older than him, but he was definitely more mature than you. "Fine, I'll try to hold back next time," you sighed, leaning back in your seat.

Lando finally looked up from his phone, a smirk on his face. "See, that wasn't too hard, was it? Now, can we all be friends?"

"If that includes Sainz then no, we can't,"

You could never be friends with Carlos Sainz. That was literally impossible.

For starters, you were pretty sure he didn't even know your name, he was always too full of himself to even acknowledge those around him.

And lastly, he was a bitch to your brother on and off track.

"I just, I would really like for you two to get along," Lando said and you immediately rolled your eyes at his words, "You're both important to me, and it sucks being caught in the middle. Plus I don't even understand why do you dislike him so much."

You knew the real reason why you disliked him so much, you perfectly did. However, that was a subject that you decided to ignore every single time.

"Honestly? I find him arrogant. He always acts like he's the center of the universe. He never takes responsibility for his actions and always tries to shift the blame onto others. It's frustrating to watch."

Lando sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I get it, but you have to understand, Carlos is actually a good guy once you get to know him. He's passionate and competitive, sure, but he's also loyal and a great friend."

"I get that he's like your hero or something," you teased, "But it's not going to happen, Lando. I don't think I'll ever like Carlos, and I really wish you’d stop pushing the subject."

"Look, you don't have to be his best friend or something," Oscar intervened, "Just promise me you won't punch him when you see him in the paddock after the summer break."

"No promises."

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ynpiastri a weekend in monaco with some of my favorite people 🤍 back to race cars soooon (love being a nepo sister)

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username1 SLAAAY

username2 ahhhh lily x oscar content thank u yn

francisca.cgomes having major fomo rn, love you all babies 🥲

↳ ynpiastri get over hereeeee

username3 she has the dream life

charles_leclerc Stop stealing my girlfriend from me thank you

↳ ynpiastri never

↳ alexandrasaintmleux We’re like this 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

↳ charles_leclerc Don’t do this to me

lilyzneimer 🤍

oscarpiastri I think you just invented the term “nepo sister”

↳ ynpiastri and i’m too iconic for that

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Going to Jimmy'z the last day of the summer break was a tradition among the drivers at this point.

You looked forward to it, for you, nothing could beat a night of loud music, drinks and friends. You thought that was the reason you got along with Lando and quickly became best friends.

“Ready to tear up the dance floor?” Lando shouted over the music, giving you smirk

“Always!” you replied, grabbing his hand and dragging him towards the center of the action, Oscar and Lily being their introvert selves decided to stay at the table with some of your friends.

After a few songs, you returned to the table to catch your breath and order another round of drinks.

Oscar looked up from his conversation with Lily and smiled as you approached.

“Having fun?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” you replied, taking a seat next to him. “You two should join us on the dance floor.”

Lily laughed softly. “Maybe later. Right now, we’re enjoying people-watching.”

“Suit yourselves,” you said, shrugging, "I'm going to the bar, does anyone want anything?"

Oscar shook his head. "No, thanks. I'm good."

"I'll have another gin and tonic," Lily said, giving you a warm smile.

"Got it," you replied, turning towards the bar.

As you made your way through the crowded club, you found an open spot at the bar and flagged down the bartender. As you waited for your drinks, you felt someone step up beside you. Glancing to your left, you saw the last person you wanted to run into tonight... or ever.

Carlos Sainz was standing there with what you called his "resting bitch face" and acting like he owned the place.

You knew chances of him being at Jimmy'z for the last day of the summer break were high and you had decided earlier that you were just going to ignore him for the night if you ever ran into him. After all, you were there to have fun, not to get into a confrontation. But you were known for being short-tempered, a stark contrast to your brother's laid-back demeanor.

When you heard Carlos order his drink without so much as a “please,” you couldn't help but call him out.

"Whiskey, neat," he ordered, his tone clipped and lacking any form of politeness, his Spanish accent that you found absolutely irritating coming through.

“A 'please' would be nice, you know,” you interjected.

Carlos turned to you, his brow furrowing. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” you replied coolly. “It's not hard to be polite.”

"Do I know you?" Carlos stared at you for a moment before recognition dawned. “Oh you're Piastri's sister, aren't you?”

“That I am,” you confirmed, your tone equally cold.

“Figures," Carlos scoffed, shaking his head, "You’re the one who sent me that lovely message on Twitter.”

“You deserved every word,” you replied, crossing your arms.

“Did I now?” Carlos leaned closer, his expression hardening. “You don't even know the whole story. You just assume I'm the bad guy because of Oscar."

“I know enough,” you shot back. “I know you never take responsibility for your actions. You always blame someone else.”

“And what about you?," Carlos’s jaw tightened, "Hiding behind your keyboard, throwing insults. That's real mature.”

“Someone had to say it,” you replied, refusing to back down. “You can't just go around acting like you're untouchable.”

“And you can't go around thinking you're some kind of vigilante,” Carlos retorted. “Can't your little brother handle things himself?.”

“Maybe if you weren't such a jerk, people wouldn't have to call you out,” you snapped, feeling your temper flare.

Carlos sighed, clearly frustrated. “Look, I don't have time for this. Just stay out of my way, alright?”

“Gladly,” you replied, turning away from him.

When you rejoined your friends, they noticed your tense expression. Lando shot you a questioning look, but you just shook your head.

"Ask you bestie," you simply said and Lando threw his head back in frustration, once again, he was in the middle of his two best friends tension.

“I’ll talk to him," Lando said, sipping on his drink.

"Don't bother, he's a bitch."

Later that night, Lando found Carlos near the dancefloor chatting with some friends. He pulled him aside, needing to get to the bottom of the latest incident.

“What happened with YN now?” Lando asked, trying to keep his tone casual.

Carlos shrugged before speaking, “I was minding my own business, ordering a drink, and she just came at me."

“And?” Lando raised an eyebrow.

“And she’s just so immature and arrogant,” Carlos continued, “She’s always ready to pick a fight over the smallest things. It’s embarrassing.”

Lando shook his head. “Look, Carlos, YN is protective of Oscar. She sees you two butting heads and she gets defensive. It’s not ideal, but it’s not like she’s completely unreasonable.”

“Well, she sure seems unreasonable to me," Carlos crossed his arms, "I don’t know how you deal with it.”

Lando sighed. “She’s my friend, and so are you. I wish you two could just get along, but I know that’s asking a lot. Just... try to give her a bit of slack, alright? She’s not a bad person.”

"She's insufferable."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

ynpiastri has added to their stories

carlossainz55 replied to your story

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ynpiastri little bitches everywhere, always a pleasure monza

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username1 HEEEELP

username2 she’s so messy we needed this 😭

lilyzneimer I can’t wait to hear this rant in person

↳ username1 LET ME INNNNN

username3 IS THIS CARLOS SHADEEEE

username4 not her adding the radio message

landonorris I would like to be excluded from this narrative

↳ ynpiastri scared of your boyfriend??

↳ username2 THEY’RE SO TALKING ABOUT CARLOS 😭

charles_leclerc Did you call me a little bitch?

↳ ynpiastri you’re literally the only ferrari i like..

↳ username3 she really hates carlos i’m screaming

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The Ferrari hospitality was the last place you wanted to be during a Grand Prix, the mere thought of it being the place where Sainz (or as you liked to call him, the little bitch), was most likely to be kept you away from it.

However, Alex told you to meet her there after the Qualifying so you could leave together for dinner. Oscar and Lando already left with the rest of the team, so you had no choice but to wait for your friend.

"Looking for someone, hermosa?" your eyes immediately rolled without even turning around to see who was speaking, the thick Spanish accent that you despised filling your ears.

"Not for you, that's for sure," you said, not even bothering to face him.

"Are you sure? Because this is not the McLaren garage, did your little bro finally kick you out or something?"

"Sainz," you retorted sharply, finally turning to face him, "Shouldn't you be busy making excuses for your next mediocre performance on track?"

"Ah, always so angry, Piastri," he chuckled, unfazed by your hostility, "Maybe you're just frustrated because you're not getting enough attention. I could help with that."

"I don't need or want anything from you," you shot back, your voice laced with irritation.

Carlos leaned casually against a nearby wall, his smirk widening. "Come on, hermosa, you know you've got a temper. Maybe you just need to let off some steam."

Hermosa, the word he used often when he wanted to get to your skin. When you first heard it, you had no idea of what it meant. You were never good at learning Spanish growing up. But after a quick google translation search you found out that it meant beautiful. And for some reason you felt like throwing up.

"Believe me, Sainz, you're the last person I'd ever turn to," you replied icily, folding your arms across your chest, "And don't call me that."

He chuckled again, seemingly enjoying your discomfort. You wondered how Lando could be friends with him when he was nothing but an arrogant little bitch, and you cursed Alexandra for taking so long to get her stuff from hospitality.

"I hope you know that you have some serious issues, Sainz," you said, your patience wearing thin as his cocky stare weighted on you.

"Issues? Me?," Carlos raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by your anger, "I think you're the one with the problem, querida. Like I said, maybe you need to get laid. I could help you with that, your brother won't find out."

Your eyes narrowed, your blood boiled to the point where you could feel your skin burning up. If it wasn't for the all the people around, you swore you could've punched him.

You took a step closer to him, your voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "I hope your car sets itself on fire so you're not able to race tomorrow."

Carlos's smirk only widened, he was well aware that he got into your skin and he enjoyed every minute of it. Before he could respond, Alex finally appeared, her eyes flicking between the two of you with a mix of curiosity and concern.

"Ready to go?" she asked, sensing the tension.

"More than ready," you replied, shooting Carlos one last glare before turning to leave with Alex.

The next day, news spread quickly through the paddock that Carlos' car had suffered a mechanical failure during the warm-up, rendering him unable to compete in the Qatar Grand Prix. Meanwhile, Oscar had won the Sprint and finished P2 in the race.

Karma got that little bitch, you thought to yourself

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

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ynpiastri season over and out. super proud of you, rookie of the year @/oscarpiastri 🥹

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username1 i’m going to miss this season sm

username2 proud sisssss

mclaren One for the books 🧡

username3 thank you for fighting sainz online all season long bestie

landonorris Little Oscar is all grown up now

↳ ynpiastri don’t say that i’ll cry

lilyzneimer 🫶🫶🫶

username4 highlight of the season was the piastri - sainz beef

↳ username1 not for lando 😭

oscarpiastri Thank you for always supporting me (creating drama online and all) Love you so much ❤️

↳ ynpiastri that’s what big sisters are for

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The end of the 2023 season was a blur of celebrations, laughter, and champagne showers. Oscar had closed off the season as the Rookie of the Year and you couldn't be more proud of him, you were grateful you got to be by his side through it.

And of course, with the end of the season a celebration at Jimmy'z was in order, all drivers, their girlfriends and friends pulling up to Monaco for one last night of partying before the winter break.

You had stuck close to Lando and Oscar for most of the evening, since it was a special occasion, you decided not to hold back with your drinking and have as much fun as you wanted, Lando being your partner in crime as always.

So by 2 a.m, you were pretty drunk, not to the point where you couldn't stand on your own feet, but drunk enough to make a couple of bad decisions.

With that thought on your mind, you decided that it was time to find your brother or best friend and call it a night. But for some reason, both of them were nowhere to be found.

Stumbling through the crowded dance floor, you made your way toward the back of the club, hoping to spot them. The alleyway was dark and you couldn't see a single thing, but they weren't definitely back there.

"Fancy seeing you here, hermosa," a voice behind drawled, almost making you jump.

"What the actual fuck!" you said, holding a hand to your chest.

Of course it was fucking Carlos Sainz, once again

"You scared the hell out of me!" you snapped, narrowing your eyes at him, "Do you hide in dark alleyways like a creep all the time?"

"Slow down, hermosa, why are you so angry all the time?" his Spanish accent was thicker than usual, a clear sign that he was as tipsy as you were.

"I'm not in the mood for your games tonight," you retorted, trying to brush past him.

"Relax, I'm not here to cause trouble," he said, blocking your path with an easy grace. "Though you do seem to find me wherever you go."

"Only because you insist on being everywhere I am," you shot back, folding your arms over your chest.

"Or maybe you just can't resist my charm," he teased, leaning casually against the wall.

"Charm? Is that what you call it?" you scoffed, "More like arrogance and an inflated ego."

"Arrogance? No. Confidence? Absolutely," he replied with a smirk, "And I think you secretly like it."

"You're delusional," you muttered, feeling the alcohol clouding your judgment. "I can't stand you."

"Is that so?" he said, stepping closer. "Because you seem pretty invested in this conversation for someone who supposedly hates me."

True

"Maybe because you won't let me leave," you said, your voice rising in frustration.

"Or maybe because you've spent the entire season trying to get my attention by being rude to me and blasting me on social media, calling me a little bitch and all."

"I was defending Oscar," you snapped. "You kept messing with him on track. Someone had to call you out."

Carlos shook his head, his cocky smirk even bigger now. "It was never about Oscar, and you know it."

"God, I hate you," you said, ready to walk away but he blocked your way one more time.

"No, you don't," he replied, a knowing smile on his lips. "You just hate that you can't help but get all hot and bothered whenever I'm around."

"You're really are such a little bitch," you spat, but even as the words left your mouth, you felt a strange thrill.

"And you're a firecracker, Piastri. That's what makes this so fun."

"You're so full of yourself," you retorted, but the words lacked their usual bite. The alcohol was making it hard to keep up your defenses, and Carlos's close proximity was doing strange things to your resolve.

"Maybe," he conceded, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "But I think you like it more than you let on."

Before you could argue back, Carlos took another step closer, his body almost pressing against yours. The tension between you crackled like electricity, and despite your best efforts, you found yourself unable to pull away.

"You're infuriating," you muttered, your heart pounding in your chest.

"And you," he said, his breath warm against your ear, "are insufferable."

Without another word, he closed the gap between you, capturing your lips in a fierce, almost desperate kiss. It was a collision of anger, frustration, and undeniable chemistry, and you couldn't help but respond in kind.

Your hands found their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you kissed him back with equal fervor. His hands roamed down your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

What the hell was happening?

For a moment, all the animosity, all the bickering, melted away. It was messy, it was intense, and it was everything you hadn't realized you wanted.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and dazed, you could see the same mix of surprise and desire reflected in Carlos' eyes.

Before either of you could say anything, you were interrupted by Lando's voice calling out your name. You quickly stepped back, putting some distance between you and Carlos as Lando approached, a curious look on his face.

"Everything okay here?" Lando asked, glancing between the two of you.

"Just fine," you replied, giving Carlos a final, challenging look. "Just fine."

Carlos nodded, his smirk returning. "See you around, Piastri."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

texts between lando and yn

texts between carlos and lando

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

2024 SEASON

Formula 1 was back and in full swing. And with that your "nepo sister" privileges, which included traveling with Oscar for races came back too.

You were excited for this season, Oscar was no longer a rookie and he had a lot to prove, and you couldn't wait to see him rise to the challenge.

In addition to that, this season was going to be extra interesting, since the news of your least favorite driver on the grid (or at least the one you swore you hated) being replaced by Lewis Hamilton in Ferrari were announced a few weeks prior.

"Did you hear the news?" Oscar asked, making his way to you.

"What news?" you replied, setting down your coffee cup.

"Lewis Hamilton is moving to Ferrari next season," Oscar said, watching your reaction closely.

Your eyes widened in surprise. "Wait, what? So the little bitch is out?"

Oscar nodded. "Yeah, it's going to be an interesting season."

Carlos Sainz was both a source of irritation and inexplicable attraction. You had tried to push the memory of that kiss at Jimmy'z to the back of your mind all winter long, but you just couldn't stop thinking about it.

Plus, Lando was firm on his mission of making wither of you confess that apparently you "liked each other", which made ignoring the whole situation even harder.

You just hoped that he would keep it chill this season, not bothering either you or Oscar so you could just pretend he didn't exist.

With that thought on your mind, you made your way back to the hotel. You spent the day exploring around Bahrain with Oscar and Lando, and now you were ready to unwind in your room. The boys deciding to spend a few more hours walking around before heading back.

Once in the lobby, you stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for your floor. Just as the doors were about to close, a familiar hand slipped in, forcing them open.

Carlos Sainz stepped inside, his ever-present smirk firmly in place.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear, they say.

"Not going to say hello, querida?" he said after a few seconds of complete silence from you, leaning against the elevator wall.

"Carlos. Still popping up where you're least wanted, I see," you rolled your eyes, folding your arms over your chest.

"Missed you too, Piastri," he chuckled, pushing off the wall to stand closer you, "How was your break?"

"Great, thanks for asking," you replied coolly. "Did you enjoy yours, planning how to be a pain to other drivers this season too?"

"Is that really how you want to start our first conversation of the season?" Carlos raised an eyebrow, "I though we've left that in the past, specially after what happened at the end of last year."

You tensed at his statement. More than once during the break, you wondered if he remembered what happened that night. He was as drunk was you were, if not more, so you convinced yourself that he had forgotten about it.

"I don't remember much from that night. Must have been the champagne."

Carlos leaned in slightly, his voice low and teasing. "Oh, I think you remember perfectly well. Especially the kiss."

Your heart skipped a beat, but you kept your expression neutral. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Playing dumb doesn't suit you," he said with a chuckle. "But fine, we'll pretend it never happened. For now."

"Good," you replied sharply. "Because I have no intention of discussing it."

"Maybe you're playing dumb because you want me to kiss you again," Carlos teased, making you throw your head back in frustration.

"I'd rather choke on my own spit, little bitch,"

"Ahh, missed hearing that," Carlos said, his tone cocky and satisfied with your frustration. You mentally cursed the elevator for taking so long to get to your fucking floor.

"You know what? I hope you don't find a seat for next season at all. You act like a total peacock when everyone knows you're basically unemployed right now," you spitted out before you could even think twice.

Carlos raised an eyebrow, his expression momentarily serious. "Low blow, Piastri. Even for you."

You held his gaze defiantly, refusing to back down. "Just stating the obvious."

The elevator finally dinged, announcing your floor, and you stepped out swiftly, eager to end the conversation before it could escalate further.

Carlos Sainz had a way of getting under your skin like no one else, and the season had only just begun.

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ynpiastri and we’re back 🏁 i promise to make this season drama free

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username1 ICON IS BACKKKK

username2 nooo we need you to keep dragging sainz

mclaren Our favorite nepo sister 🧡

↳ ynpiastri that’s meeee

username3 yn always gives us lily x oscar content bless her

charles_leclerc What if I need you to fight someone from the grid for me?

↳ ynpiastri you know there’s one person i would gladly drag through the mood

↳ username1 HER HATRED FOR CARLOS LIVES

lilyzneimer love youuu✨

oscarpiastri Cute picture of me and Lily, thank u sis

↳ ynpiastri i’m just here for my babies 🫡

landonorris I know your reasons

↳ ynpiastri you’re so strange sometimes

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It was a sunny day in Melbourne, and the paddock was buzzing with excitement. The Australian Grand Prix was always a favorite, and this year was no exception.

You felt good to be back home, you always felt proud when you saw Oscar on the track, but seeing him racing in your home country was something even more special.

Carlos was also back from his emergency surgery and ready to race again. And even though you would never admit it out loud, you were relieved to see him back and healthy. The news of his appendicitis had shocked you more than you’d expected, and you’d found yourself genuinely concerned about his wellbeing.

I'm just being a decent human being, you tried to convince yourself, It would be really scary if that happened to Oscar or Lando.

Walking through the paddock, you looked for a familiar face to hang out with before it was time for the track action to start, spotting Lando's back talking to someone you couldn't quite identify, you decided to approach him.

As you got closer, Lando shifted slightly, revealing the person he was talking to, Carlos.

He looked well, a healthy glow back in his cheeks, his smile easy and relaxed. He was wearing his team gear, the Ferrari red suiting him perfectly. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and despite the casual setting, he looked effortlessly handsome for someone who had a major surgery just two weeks ago.

Your stomach did a little flip. You hated to admit it, but lately your hatred towards Carlos had cooled down. Maybe it was the memory of that kiss, seeing him vulnerable after his surgery or the fact that he had been decent to Oscar so far. You couldn't deny that there was something about him that made you feel… softer.

However, you decided to ignore those thoughts and feelings every time they got to your head, because at the end of the day, there was no way he could ever feel or think the same way. It was better to keep hating each other.

Lando noticed you approaching and gave you a teasing grin. "Hey, YN! Look who’s back from the dead!"

Carlos turned to face you, his eyes lighting up when he saw you. "Hey, Piastri," he greeted with a warm smile. "Back to your home turf, huh?"

"Yeah," you replied, trying to keep your tone casual despite the flutter in your chest. "It feels good to be back."

Lando gave Carlos a pat on the shoulder. "I'll catch up with you later, mate," he said, winking at you before walking away, leaving the two of you alone.

You stood there for a moment, awkward silence filling the air. Maybe he was still tired from what he had been through, but he didn't show any signs of cockiness or wanting to annoy you this time.

"You look well," you finally said, your voice softer than usual. "I'm glad you're back."

Carlos chuckled, his eyes twinkling. "I heard you were worried about me."

"Don't let it go to your head," you replied quickly, though the usual bite in your tone was missing. You felt a bit embarrassed that he knew, "I’m just being a decent human being."

"Of course," Carlos said, his voice nonchalant, "Decent human being, sure."

"I’m serious," you insisted, though your voice lacked the usual edge. "But I am glad you’re okay. It must have been scary."

Carlos’s expression softened. "It was. But I had good doctors, and I’m ready to race again. Thanks for worrying."

There was silence again, and you noticed that this was the first time you and Carlos had an interaction that didn't include biting each other's heads off.

It felt nice.

"Well," you said after a minute of silence, "don’t expect me to go easy on you just because you had surgery. You're still on my watch."

"Wouldn’t have it any other way," Carlos smirked, "But for the record, it’s nice to see you care, even if you won’t admit it."

"Don't push your luck, Sainz," you warned, but there was a hint of playfulness in your voice.

"I wouldn't dare, Piastri."

"I should get going," you said, pointing towards the McLaren hospitality, "Good luck out there."

As you turned to walk away, Carlos's voice stopped you in your tracks.

You glanced back at him, eyebrows raised in question.

"You know, this is the first time you don't call me a little bitch," Carlos said, a small playing on his face.

"What, you miss it already? Does it turn you own?"

"Maybe a little," Carlos chuckled, "Keeps things interesting."

You shook your head, trying to hide the smile that threatened to spread across your face.

"Well, good luck out there, little bitch."

You didn't wait to see his reaction, but you knew he was grinning from ear to ear.

Later that day, Carlos crossed the finish line first and won the Australian Grand Prix, sending the crowd into a frenzy. You watched as Carlos celebrated on the podium, spraying champagne with Lando and Charles and holding up the winner's trophy with pride.

You swore you played it cool, but everyone around you noticed the huge smile on your face.

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username1 AUSSIE QUEEN

username2 omfg included a picture of sainz win??

↳ username1 how pissed do you think she was bc he won in australia

↳ username3 i love that she didn’t tag him tho 😭

alexandrasaintmleux Mama piastri >> 🫶

↳ ynpiastri our real queen

lilyzneimer the third pic is my faveeee

username4 surprised that she didn’t blur carlos in the podium pic

landonorris Please don’t make me do a shoey ever again

↳ username2 OMFG I NEED TO SEE THAT

↳ oscarpiastri Aussie traditions mate

↳ ynpiastri cry baby

carlossainz55 started following you

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"You're not my best friend," Lando said, sitting on the plush couch of your hotel room, watching as you put a sweatshirt on, "You've been replaced with an alien or an evil twin, there's no way you're YN Piastri."

"Can you quit being dramatic," you rolled your eyes at him, "It's no big deal."

"You're grabbing sushi with Carlos Sainz," he stressed, moving his hands to emphasize, "You hate Carlos Sainz, it's been an issue for me for the last year because both of you force me to pick sides and I have to make sure you don't kill each other. And now you're suddenly going on dates."

"This is not a date," you protested, "Don't even say that out loud, it's gross."

"Then what is it? Because he asked you out and you said yes, that's literally a date."

You didn't give him a reply right away, hiding behind your your busy hands as you pretended to adjust your sweatshirt.

Truth was, you didn’t have an answer, at least not one that made sense. You couldn't blame Lando for thinking you've been replaced with someone else, because you'd never accept anything from Carlos last year, let alone willingly grab dinner with him.

But here you were, about to head out to meet him.

"I just want free dinner," you shrugged, "And he offered to buy it, so I'm taking advantage of it."

"Sure, free dinner," Lando gave you a skeptical look, crossing his arms, "Because you’ve never had other options for free dinner before, right? Your brother is rich, he could buy you whatever you want."

You huffed, trying to sound annoyed but feeling a bit defensive. "It's just sushi, Lando. Stop making it a big deal."

"You know, it's okay if you like him," he said, his tone genuine. "I mean, I get why you're hesitant, but it's fine to have feelings for someone, even if it's Carlos Sainz."

"Are you out of your mind?" you immediately said, your voice sharper than intended, "We're talking about the little bitch, what on earth makes you think that I could have feelings for him other than disgust and irritation."

"I don't know, maybe the fact that you're getting ready to get dinner with him, or that you were on the edge of your seat worrying the entire time he was recovering from the surgery, or the time I almost caught you kiss-"

"God, just shut up," you interrupted him, "Oscar would understand. He knows I'm never going to get all lovey-dovey over Carlos."

"Oscar might buy whatever you tell him," Lando raised an eyebrow, "But that doesn't mean you're being honest with yourself. It's not the end of the world to admit you might have a crush."

"I do not have a crush on him," you insisted, your cheeks heating up. "It's just... complicated."

"Complicated how?" Lando pressed, leaning forward. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks pretty straightforward. You’re intrigued by him, he’s intrigued by you, and you both can’t seem to stay away from each other."

You let his words sink in, Lando might be a year younger than you, and often perceived as a carefree guy who didn't have a serious bone in his body. But in reality, he was a very wise person who understood the complexities of situations better than most.

That was one of the reasons why he was your best friend.

"Look, it’s not that simple," you sighed, rubbing your temples, "We have history, and not the good kind. I don't trust him, and I don’t think he trusts me either. We're just… trying to be civil for once."

"That's good," Lando stood up from the couch, sitting beside you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders, "Honestly I was tired of dealing with your constant bickering, if you didn't kiss and make up on your own, I was going to lock you up in a closet until you resolved it."

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username1 BESTIEEEE

username2 THIS LOOKS LIKE A DATE

alexandrasaintmleux I just texted you !!!

↳ username1 LET ME INNNN

f1gossip 👀

username3 CARLOS SAINZ ???

↳ username1 girl no way they hate each other

↳ username2 he’s in the likes tho 😭

landonorris IM FREEEEE WORST EXPERIENCE OF MY LIFEEEE

↳ username1 wtfffff

oscarpiastri Answer my texts right now please

↳ username1 IM SCREAMING

↳ username2 OSCAR 😩

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After a nice dinner and a couple of drinks, you and Carlos walked back to the hotel. The sushi had been surprisingly good, and the conversation… surprisingly pleasant.

The bickering between you was still present, but this time it wasn't harsh or spiteful, it was playful and and light-hearted. The tension that usually accompanied your interactions had lessened, and you actually acted friendly towards each other.

"I still can't believe you made me try that weird seaweed thing," you said, bumping your shoulder against his as you walked.

"You loved it, admit it," Carlos chuckled.

"Maybe a little," you conceded with a small smile, "How did you know this place anyways?"

"I like reading restaurant reviews online," he shrugged, "It's a random hobby of mine, and I'm going to need those in case I don't have a job next year."

You paused, his words sinking in. Carlos joked about it, but you knew the uncertainty of his future in Formula 1 must be horrible. The sport is cutthroat, and the thought of not finding a seat to race must be weighing on him heavily. It made you think about Oscar, and how that could happen to him too.

"I'm sorry for saying that I hope you don't find a seat next season," you blurted out, feeling a pang of guilt. "You're right, that was low, even for me."

"Are you really apologizing, Piastri?" he teased, "First you cared about my health, now you apologize. What's next? You'll stop calling me a little bitch?"

You rolled your eyes, but there was no malice behind it. "Don't push your luck, Sainz. Just take the apology and run with it."

"Alright, I'll take it," Carlos laughed, a genuine sound that made your heart skip a beat, "You must be praying I stay just so you have an excuse to argue with me, aren't you?"

"Don't flatter yourself," you shot back, grinning. "I can argue with anyone."

"But you like arguing with me the most," he said, his voice softening.

You didn't reply, the truth in his words making your heart race. From the corner of your eye, you saw the satisfied grin on his face.

Soon enough you reached the hotel lobby, and once you walked through the doors you spotted Charles and Alexandra by the reception desk.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Charles called out, drawing the attention of Alex, who looked at you with raised eyebrows.

"Just coming back from dinner," you replied, trying to keep your tone casual. "What are you two up to?"

"We were just about to head up," Alexandra said, linking her arm with Charles's. "How was dinner?"

"Surprisingly good," Carlos said, glancing at you with a smirk.

Charles raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "This is new. You two actually getting along?"

"Don't get used to it," you said, rolling your eyes. "I just wanted free dinner."

"Right," Charles said, not convinced. "Well, we're heading up, you coming?"

You all piled into the elevator, the small space filled with a mix of comfortable silence and light conversation. When the elevator reached your floor, you stepped out, Carlos following close behind.

"Goodnight, guys," Alex called out as the elevator doors closed, giving you a look that screamed 'TEXT ME ASAP'

Carlos walked you to your room, the hallway dimly lit and quiet. As you walked side by side, the occasional brush of his arm against yours sent small shivers down your spine.

"So, the only reason you agreed to come with me tonight was because you wanted free dinner?" Carlos asked once you reached your room.

"Exactly, what else do you think would make me want to spend an evening with you?"

Carlos chuckled, leaning against the wall beside your door. "I don't know, maybe my charming personality and good looks?"

"Charming?" you raised your eyebrows at him, "You're literally the most annoying person I know."

"Likewise, Piastri," Carlos shot back, his smirk widening, "But here we are, aren't we?"

"You really think you're that special, don't you?" you said, rolling your eyes.

"I know I am, querida," Carlos replied, stepping closer. "And you can't get enough of me."

You looked away from him, his stare suddenly becoming overwhelming. He was really close, as close as he was the night you kissed at Jimmy'z, and even thinking about it has your neck crawling away in sweat.

"See? You can't even deny it." Carlos grinned, his eyes locking onto yours again, his voice dropping an octave as he took another step closer.

"Don't get any ideas," you warned, but your heart was racing, and you were sure he could hear it.

"I can't help it," he said softly, his face now inches from yours. "You bring out the best in me, Piastri."

"I still hate you," you whispered, your breath hitching as he leaned in even closer.

"No, you don't," Carlos whispered back, his lips brushing against yours.

Before you could protest, he closed the distance and kissed you. It was gentle at first, tentative, as if he was giving you a chance to pull away. But when you didn't, the kiss deepened, becoming more intense and filled with a raw passion that took your breath away.

Your hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping tightly as you kissed him back, losing yourself in the moment. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you even closer.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, a small smile playing on Carlos's lips.

"Goodnight, Piastri," he whispered, his voice husky.

Unable to move from your spot, you watched him walk through the corridor and disappear into the elevator doors, your mind still blurry about what happened just seconds ago.

You were fucked.

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TWITTER

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A playlist full of pop classics played as you got ready for Lando's millionth win celebration.

He took the win at the Miami Grand Prix and the next following days were full of partying and champagne. You were beyond happy for him, and willing to put up with his multiple celebrations of his well deserved win.

This time, the setting was not that over the top, just a casual dinner at his place in Monaco with his close friends.

"Can I come in?" you heard after a knock on Oscar's guest bedroom, the place where you stayed when visiting Monaco.

"Sure," you replied, quickly meeting with your brother's figure.

Oscar entered the room, a casual grin on his face. He glanced around before his eyes settled on you. "Are you almost ready?"

"Yeah," you replied, adjusting an earring. "I hope this is Lando's last celebration, I can't keep up anymore.

"He's definitely on a roll," Oscar chuckled, "You know, Carlos is going to be there."

"I know," you said, looking away from him for a moment and trying to keep your tone nonchalant.

"You do?" Oscar raised a eyebrow.

"He's Lando's best friend, Osc, it's obvious he'll be there."

Oscar nodded slowly, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Right, of course. But you two have been getting close lately, haven't you? You didn't even come for his neck after Miami, and you always do that."

You sighed, knowing where this conversation was heading. There was no denying that there was something between you and Carlos, your friends might not know about the times you've kissed, but they definitely noticed the shift in your behavior towards each other.

You found yourself enjoying his company, looking forward to catch a glimpse of him every weekend and craving his touch. You don't know if he feels the same way, but the way he looks at you and finds ways to get you alone tells you he does.

Admitting this to Oscar felt like crossing a line, even though he had always encouraged you to be open about your feelings.

"We're just… getting along better. That's all," you muttered, "And you asked me to behave on social media this season, I'm trying to do that."

"That's bullshit, YN," Oscar shook his head, a teasing smile forming on his lips, "Come on, admit it. Maybe the real reason you didn't attack him this time is because you like him."

"Oscar, we're not having this conversation," you quickly became defensive, "I don't know why everyone insist on something that's far from the truth. I don't like Sainz."

"Sis, it's okay if you like him," Oscar said, his tone gentle but insistent. "You don't have to hide it from me."

You looked away, feeling conflicted. Ever since you first met Carlos, there was something about him that intrigued you, however, you were too caught up in convincing yourself that he would never see you as more than his brand new rival's sister. Things getting worse when his incidents with Oscar on track started and you took that as an opportunity to be reckless to him.

It was a self defense mechanism for your own feelings.

"It's complicated, okay?" you said, feeling vulnerable but knowing you could trust him, "We spent last year coming from each other's necks all the time, but now he's nice to me and I am too, we spend time together, we kiss. But at the same time, I feel like I can't trust him, that he's going to switch to little bitch mode again and I'll end up feeling stupid for potentially catching feelings."

"Holy shit you've kissed!" Oscar said, his eyes widening, "Lando was right all along."

"Oh god, I shouldn't have said anything," you threw your head back in frustration.

"Sorry, sorry," he put his hands up in defense, "But It's okay to feel confused. You can talk to me, you know. I'm your brother, and I just want you to be happy. I can tell that this is really bothering you."

You sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I just don't know what to do, Osc. One minute I think I might actually like him, and the next I'm terrified of getting hurt."

"Look, I know Carlos can be intense on track, but off track? He's a good guy," Oscar sat beside you, putting an arm around your shoulders, "When he's not trying to push me off the track, he's really supportive and a nice guy. There's a reason why Lando adores him. Plus, maybe he's figuring things out too."

You leaned into Oscar's side, grateful for his comforting presence. "Do you really think so?"

"Yeah, I do," Oscar nodded reassuringly. "And you deserve to give yourself a chance at happiness. If Carlos could make you happy, then why not see where it goes?"

"When did you become so wise?" you teased, giving him a small smile, "You're supposed to be my annoying little brother who picks his nose and runs around the house."

"Hey, I can be wise when I want to be," Oscar chuckled, giving you a playful shove, "But don't worry, I'll always be your annoying little brother, nose-picking and all."

You laughed, feeling some of the tension ease from your shoulders. "Thanks, Osc. I needed this."

"Anytime, sis," Oscar said warmly, giving you a quick hug. "Now, come on. Lando is probably drunk already and we haven't made it to his house yet."

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username1 so iconic tbh

username2 EXCUSE ME MISS IS THAT CARLOS SAINZ IN THE LAST PIC ??

↳ username1 i thought they hated each other 😭

danielricciardo 🙌

alexandrasaintmleux 👀 I see you

↳ ynpiastri and i don’t see you over her which means your boyfriend sucks for not bringing you

↳ charles_leclerc …..

landonorris IM V DRVNK OMG

↳ username3 i love him 😭😭😭😩

username4 carlos sainz and yn piastri the ultimate enemies to lovers lowkey

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You're not sure how it happened, but Carlos' arm laid casually in the back of your chair as you chatted with those around you. His fingers gently brushed your bare shoulder from time to time, his thigh pressed to yours under the table.

Maybe it was the couple glasses of champagne you both had, you're not sure. But you definitely didn't want to move from your spot.

No one dared to say anything about it, but your friends had teasing grins at the sight. You knew you'll have to deal with them later, but you decided to ignore it for the night.

"Alright, I think I'm calling it a night," Oscar said as he got up from his chair, Lando immediately booed, "Are you coming, YN?"

You looked at him with raised eyebrows, you definitely didn't want to leave yet, feeling too comfortable in Carlos' presence. In addition to that, you haven't had a chance to get him alone, and that was enough to not want the night to end.

After a minute of silence from you, Carlos spoke up, "I can give her a ride home if she doesn't want to leave yet," he offered, his voice smooth and nonchalant.

"Oh, a private chauffeur service now, Carlos? How fancy," Max teased from across the table, making the entire group laugh.

Oscar hesitated, glancing between you and Carlos, his protective instincts kicking in. "Are you okay with that, YN?"

"Yeah, I'm okay with it," you met Oscar's eyes and nodded, "Or I can just crash here, Lando is too drunk to notice anyway, don't want to cause much trouble."

"It's really no trouble," he insisted, his hand still resting gently on your shoulder. "I'll make sure you get home safely."

Oscar seemed to relax a bit, though you could tell he was still a little uneasy. "Alright then. Just... be careful, okay?"

"Don't worry, Osc," you replied, standing up and giving him a quick hug. "I'll see you tomorrow."

As Oscar left, the group continued to tease and laugh. You always enjoyed when the drivers were in a casual setting like this one, where they could forget about competition and teams and just hang out and have fun.

You stayed glued to Carlos the entire time, getting even closer as the night went on, you could feel your eyelids getting heavy, so you laid your head on his shoulder.

"You're falling asleep on me, hermosa," Carlos whispered to you, not moving your head from its place.

"I'm not," you protested, but at the same time you did a yawn escaped your mouth, which made Carlos laugh.

"Come on let's get you home," Carlos offered you his hand.

You took Carlos' hand, not even thinking twice about it. As you both stood to leave, your friends couldn't resist one last round of teasing.

"No funny business, Carlos," Charles called out, grinning widely. You couldn't help but roll your eyes at him. "We have Oscar on speed dial."

"Yeah, don't make me come after you, that's also my sister," Lando added, too drunk to even make sense.

You laughed, waving goodbye to everyone as you and Carlos made your way out. The cool night air was refreshing as you walked to his car, your hand still in his.

The drive to Oscar's place was quiet but comfortable. Carlos kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the center console close to you. You found yourself stealing glances at him, admiring the way the streetlights played over his features.

At one point, Carlos glanced over and caught you staring. "You're staring," he said, a smirk playing on his lips.

You felt your cheeks heat up but didn't look away. "Maybe I am," you replied, a teasing edge in your voice. "You have a problem with that?"

"Not at all, Piastri. Not at all."

When you arrived at Oscar's place, Carlos parked the car but you made no move to get out. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken words and lingering tension.

"Are you ready to stop pretending we hate each other?" Carlos asked suddenly, his voice low and earnest. "Because I am."

His words hung in the air, causing your heart to skip a beat. The intensity in his gaze made it clear he wasn't playing around or teasing you. He was being real and serious.

You took a deep breath, your eyes locking onto his. "Yeah, I am."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you closed the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a kiss. His hand cupped your cheek, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours with a mix of tenderness and hunger. The world outside the car ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the way his kiss made you feel.

Carlos' other hand found its way to the back of your neck, deepening the kiss as he pressed you closer. Your hands tangled in his hair, holding on as if letting go meant losing this moment forever.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to catch your breath. Carlos' eyes searched yours, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

"But… I'm not ready to stop calling you a little bitch, though."

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yumeka-sxf · 4 months ago

Text

Today's new chapter is the second part of the previous one where Anya is "getting acquainted with" her new classmates. And while I didn't find the last chapter to be all that good, I was cracking up in this one, mostly from Anya's hilarious expressions and antics...girl, don't ever change 😂

I especially love how we see her taking after Yor here 😅

And here!

Of course, she learned from the best about how lying is wrong 😆

Anya in people's imaginations is...something 😂

Girl is slowly building a harem too 🤣 Damian better get it together or they're gonna whisk her away!

Jokes aside, I wonder if Freddy and Tertius (Connie as well) will become more prominent characters, or just stay minor Eden characters like George and Bill. When Tertius was introduced last chapter, I thought his royal origin would somehow tie back to the theories of Anya having roots in royalty due to her knack for classical languages, but now I feel like Endo made Tertius a prince simply for the gags in this arc. I mean, the series is supposed to take place in a fictional version of Europe in the 1960s-70s, but Tertius' homeland looks like it's straight out of the medieval ages, lol. But the fact that Endo bothered to give his kingdom a name does make it seem like it could be important later 👀 We'll see.

By the way, the man seen training Tertius is the one he referred to as 爺や/��いや ("jiiya") in the last chapter, which the English version strangely translated as "Jeeves." As I mentioned before, it's an old term used to refer to an elderly male servant, so I can sort of see why the translators used the generic butler name "Jeeves," but it doesn't make sense when that's already the name of Damian's butler. The fact that this time the English version translated it as "steward" makes it even more confusing!

Anyway, like in many SxF chapters, this one ended with ambiguity about whether the arc will continue next time. With the revelation of Anya having more male friends, I see an opportunity for Damian to try to talk to her, and maybe the mind-reading confession will get brought up again. Lots of good stuff to look forward to!

#spy x family #sxf #spy family #spyxfamily #anya forger #damian desmond #sxf manga #sxf manga spoilers #sxf spoilers

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aeristudios · 7 months ago

Text

fated strut- pt. i

̗̀➛ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: greek god!Jeonghan x model!reader

̗̀➛ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: In a whirlwind fashion show, a part-time model's life takes a mystical turn when she becomes the muse for the captivating Greek God Jeonghan. Unbeknownst to her, she shares a deep connection tied to his past. As their chemistry ignites amidst secrets and rivalries, will love conquer their complicated fates?

̗̀➛ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, angst, smut, fantasy, doppleganger au, r 18+

̗̀➛ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: nocturnal emission (sex dream), unprotected sex, kissing, fingering, backshots, riding, oral, biting, hair pulling, multiple orgasms, pet names, sweet stuff, a lil bit of squirting, cream pie, oh and cursing 😂

̗̀➛ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 7.2k

̗̀➛ 𝐀𝐍: This fic has had me stressed for the last couple of months lol. I have always been into greek mythology (I even hosted a multi collab before for it) and I got the idea earlier this year to do another one but just for seventeen. Thank you Maren @wooahaeproductions for hosting the 13 Gods Of Olympus collab with me and helping it come to life. Also thank you to @hannieween and @hobeemin for beta reading this and giving me some much needed feedback. I knew what I had was good and with your help it made it better :) also thank you to @cheolism and @junkissed for letting me run some ideas with them about the greek mythology and the BC era lol. I hope you like this 🖤

Golden light filters through your curtains, casting soft shadows that dance across the room. The scent of something sweet—honey and vanilla—lingers in the air, pulling at the edges of your consciousness. Everything feels so real and vivid, so alive. There is a haze in the light that looks nostalgic.

You are sitting on a kline, handcrafted by Hephaestus himself, weaving away with a ball of twine in your hands. The clatter of sandals against the hard floor gets your attention. Looking up, Jeonghan is standing there, his blonde hair shimmering in the light, with a playful smile on his lips.

“Shouldn’t be off delivering those messages to the mortals?” You tease him playfully.

“They can wait,” he says, setting down his bag. “I have more pressing matters to attend to.”

“Oh?” You slowly set down your twine. “What is that?”

He walks over and kisses you deeply, sending ripples through your soul. You realize quickly that the “pressing matter” was that he wanted to be inside of you, and you were more than happy to oblige.

“Jeonghan, you’re going to get in trouble with Zeus,” you taunt him.

“I don’t care,” he grits, pulling you into another kiss.

You take off your gown, your nakedness exposed to him in all its glory. Jeonghan’s eyes you with adoration and lust, his hand palming the growing bulge under his toga. Sheer excitement runs through your veins, the thought of being roughly fucked on the kline making you wet with arousal. As if he read your mind, he tugs at your hair and bends you over, his fingers seductively playing with your sweet folds.

“You’re already so wet for me, my love?” He licks your essence coated on his digits. “I have to break the rules more often.”

Your laugh is light as the air, anticipating and craving him deeply. You find yourself pressing your clit, spreading your legs apart, and rubbing it so he can get a better view. Jeonghan licks his lips at the sight before him, his hand stroking his cock as he lines up to your entrance.

“Please,” your breathy moans floating in the room. “Give it to me.”

“As you wish,” he murmurs as he inserts himself in your clenching heat. Your back arches as his thrusts go deep, the clapping sound of your skin against his hard and loud enough to create thunder from the heavens. Jeonghan looks down in amusement, watching your ass bounce every time he snaps his hips. He’s turned on and seduced, and you could have him turn into puddy with just one look. That’s how much he is into you. That’s how much he loves you.

“You feel s-so g-good,” you barely sound out. “I-I love you.”

Jeonghan pulls you by your hair, his thrusts unrelenting as he kisses you hard. “I love you too.”

He raises his leg on the kline, pushing you back down, and strokes you from another angle. Your legs shake, your peak nearing as he continues to hit your pleasure points in all the right ways. “FUCK” is all you can scream out before you come undone, your essence squirting all over him and the floor. You are a whimpering mess, clutching the edge of the kline as he continues his onslaught until his release comes shortly after. He fills you up with his hot load, pumping his dick until he is spent, slowly slipping out of you. The loss is evident, and his cum starts to drip in between your folds.

“Uh, uh,” he frowns as he crouches behind you. “We can’t leave that to waste, can we?”

He swipes what’s dripping down your leg with his fingers, returning them to your mouth to suck. You suck them with earnest, your eyes closing with sexual gratification. He turns you wild, and you want more. You attempt to initiate another round, but you are interrupted by the sound of thunder just outside your window, scaring you half to death.

“Sounds like the big guy is mad,” Jeonghan reluctantly pulls away. “I have to go.”

“Yeah, I know,” you nod, kneeling down to grab your gown. “You’ll be back, right?”

He gazes at you with the softest eyes you have ever seen, letting him pull you close into another kiss. “Don’t I always come back?”

Your world shifts into a fading memory, the golden haze slowly replaced with stark brown walls and paintings. Jeonghan is gone. The thunder outside is as real as ever, followed by a bolt of lightning that feels too close to home. Reality slowly sets in, and you realize you are having a dream. This is the second one you have had this week with Jeonghan, the infamous Greek god. It feels natural, like you’re watching a memory of yourself, and you don’t understand it.

You frantically grab your journal, jotting down every moment before the details get fuzzy and lost forever. This has to mean something, right?

A few weeks later...

You feel the galvanic buzz of anticipation humming as you stand backstage at Paris Fashion Week. Models twirl past you, dripping in the latest haute couture, their expressions exuding fierceness. You? You were just happy to be there. As the last-minute addition, the unexpected wildcard about to open the show—your heart races, matching the rhythm of the music that spills into the warehouse. The scent of expensive cologne and crepitus excitement lingers around you.

You weren’t even supposed to be here at all. You model in your part-time to pay the bills, but your real love, your true passion, is classical studies—specifically, your focus on Greek mythology. Growing up, you’ve always heard the stories of the Gods who ruled the world and how slowly but surely they started disappearing because people quit believing in them. Your mom, who raised you pagan, would tell you about missionaries coming over and preaching the Bible and using it in force, and people started losing their way and adapting to this new life. There are still gods amongst us who will never go away, no matter what. People are still human and have needs, after all.

That’s what brought you here tonight—Jeonghan, the god of many things, keeps appearing in your dreams; scenes of a past life take up much of your night, and you can’t ignore it anymore. You have to see and know him, and you aren’t above using unconventional methods to get what you want. You cozied up to the right people and got yourself cast onto his fashion show. Sometimes, all it takes is a look, a touch of your hand, or very selective words to get what you want. You aren’t sure you would call it a power… let’s just say you are persuasive.

“Thank the gods you are here tonight,” the stage manager, Lea, says as she adjusts your dress. “I can’t believe she didn’t show up.”

The model that was supposed to open up the show, Penelopeia, partied a little too hard the night before. How do you know this? You were right beside her, dancing and drinking the night away. You knew her in passing, working for the same modeling agency, and talked here and there, but you two aren’t friends. But you were out with acquaintances last night, and she was there. Ultimately, she is a grown woman and can make her own choices, but you might’ve given her some extra encouragement when she complained about her being tired and “needing” a break. You told her it was “fine” to blow off some steam, which wouldn’t mean anything. The touch of your hand when you held hers and listened to her cry about how tough her life is and whispered nothings in her ear. It was perfect.

“Are you ready?”

You nod as the music changes, the lights dim, and you take your place behind the runway. Your heartbeat matched the drum's beat in your ears.

“I'm like some kind of supernova... watch out!”

On cue, you walked, every gaze drawn to you as your body moved to the beat, each step a spell cast upon the audience. Unbeknownst to you, Jeonghan stood backstage, mesmerized by the essence you exuded, a natural allure that made him curious with its intensity.

You circle the runway and walk back to where you came from, your body on autopilot as your linen dress sashes across your body. You are rushed backstage, the dress slipping off of you hurriedly, briefly exposing your breasts while you are putting on another. You feel eyes burning into the back of your neck, and you instinctively turn around, meeting Jeonghan's soft brown eyes. His warm blonde locks hang below his ears, touching his delicate neck. He smirked, raising his glass of red wine, and you meekly looked away, clearly affected by a god's presence.

Jeonghan watches you intently as you take another lap around the runway. The familiarity of your presence slowly creeps in, and curiosity is taking care of the cat. He’s been around for a long time now, and he’s seen a lot of faces, old and new. But you remind him of an old lover from his past life, someone he prefers to keep buried in the back of his mind. You were clearly a doppelganger of her, and watching you in the flesh unnerves him to his core. There is no need to bring up thousands-year-old drama now. You’re in front of him now, beautiful as ever, and despite every red flag— he will have you wrapped around his fingers by the end of the night.

You walk backstage and are dragged to the side by your dresser, who is adjusting your clothes one last time for your final walk. She fusses with your hair, a small annoyance you put up with because you know she is doing her job. You find yourself searching for Jeonghan through the slew of models, your eyes not resting until you see him talking to his stage assistant near the beginning of the runway. He is a god in every sense of the word. Butterflies flutter in the pit of your stomach when you see his soft, delicate features and how he carries himself. Very deific, very mindful.

“He’s mesmerizing, isn’t he?”

You slowly come out of your self-induced trance, meeting the eyes of your dresser, Helen, a younger woman who couldn’t be older than 21. Her doe-eyed look makes her look innocent, and you feel the need to protect her from this cruel industry.

“He’s okay,” you clear your throat.

“Oh please, he’s a divine enigma,” Helen chuckled, a playful smirk gracing her lips. “It’s perfectly natural to admire someone’s allure, especially someone so utterly enchanting as HIM.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at her outburst, knowing that deep down, she was right. Jeonghan is the sexiest man you have ever laid eyes on. It doesn’t help that he is the god of fortune, luxury, and all the other things that make him much more attractive.

“Okay, it’s time to do the final walk,” Helen announces as she finishes up. “You are going to walk out with him in front since you technically walked first in the show.”

You gaze at Jeonghan across the way, watching him wrap up his conversation with the stage assistant. “Is this custom? I thought usually the models walk out one final time, and then the designer comes out towards the end.”

“Usually, yeah,” Helen shrugs. “But that’s not how Jeonghan does things.”

She lightly pushes you towards the front, catching his attention as the strobe lights change colors. You glowed in your dress, symbolizing a halo of beauty that made it hard for Jeonghan to turn away. This catches him off guard, a strange chill running through his veins that he is unfamiliar with. Keeping himself in line, he saunters over to you, his close proximity filling your stomach with butterflies.

“Don’t be nervous, baby,” he whispers in your ear. “I don’t bite.”

The thought of his perfect mouth giving you love bites thrills you, and an intense longing starts to brew within your core. Feeling bold, you smile softly, responding in a tone only he could hear.

“Well, that’s too bad.”

Jeonghan chuckles lightly, impressed by your cheekiness. He slips his arm between yours, waiting for the curtains to open. The light touch of his arm brushing against yours gives you goosebumps, the exuberance bubbling inside you. You’ve studied him all your life, read the stories, and visited the ancient sites from many moons ago. You have never been near a Greek god, let alone touch one, and for a moment, you forget why you were really there. You were just a pretty model, attracted to the most successful man in the world, and the way he looks at you right now is setting your loins on fire.

The curtains finally open, and you walk with him arm and arm like you were his equal. The other models did as they were supposed to do, walking behind you as you two set the runway ablaze. You stood in the center while he gave his bows; the audience applauded in crescendos. Jeonghan then returns to your side, his presence intoxicating and making you almost lose your senses. You walk in unison until you reach backstage, and Helen is waiting for you to help you out of your dress. Before you parted ways, he lightly touched your hand, grabbing your attention and Helen’s, with raised eyebrows.

“I’m interested in sharing another stage with you,” he whispers, his brown eyes gleaming with desire. “Without all the light and people watching us. Beyond the runway.”

You cock an eyebrow playfully, putting on your best poker face, but inside, nervousness eats at you alive. You know you shouldn’t do this, as your sole reason was to find answers about him and why he encompasses your every dream. It took a lot of sweet talking and favors to get you in his lineup, let alone starting the show and inadvertently being his muse of the day. You knew you were going to have to mix your business with pleasure, and with the way he is gazing at you, the business is going further in the back of your mind.

“Where do I sign up?” You say coyly, rubbing your finger against the fabric of his shirt.

“Meet me in the back in fifteen minutes, and I’ll take you to my place.”

You nod, and he leaves you with a soft kiss on your cheek. “Don’t be late.”

You watched him walk away, still feeling his warm lips on your cheek. You kept it cool, casually grabbing your things, but inside, you were buzzing, excitement bursting through your chest like fireworks. You weren’t sure what the night would bring, but you would never turn down the possibility of being in the company of a Greek god.

You make your way to the back as directed, exchanging goodbyes with Helen and watching the models leave one by one. Fifteen minutes exactly, Jeonghan appears, twirling his car keys in his hands and opening the back door for you, leading you to a classic Mercedes Benz 250CE. He opens your door like the gentleman he is, making sure you are secure in your seat before coming over to the driver’s side.

“Are you ready to go, doll?”

You nod, your sparkling eyes matching your smile. “Yeah, let’s go.”

The car ride was a short one, but it felt like it was going on forever. He played smooth jazz, driving with one hand and conveniently placing his hand on your thigh. Your mind was filled with thoughts of your dreams—the intimacy you felt and the sadness that tormented you when he disappeared.

“You seem comfortable,” Jeonghan observed. “Most people would be scared to be with me.”

“Well, I have a feeling I am in good hands,” you answer honestly.

You had so many questions about him as a Greek god, as it's not often (or really at all) that you can talk to one. Despite these waves of emotions tugging at your heart, you maintained a flawless facade until you arrived at his residence, a beautiful hotel that housed penthouses only the wealthy lived in.

“Welcome in.”

The housekeeper greeted you as you walked into Jeonghan’s penthouse, located in the heart and soul of Paris. The interior was dripped in luxury, feeling more like an art gallery than a place to live. Everything has a place, and it makes you nervous about even moving around in the event you accidentally bump into something. The vinyl player played soulful jazz, a fancy concert piano was in the corner and hundreds of books lined up like his own personal library. Jeonghan guides you by your waist to the kitchen, a grand spectacle of the finest cooking ware, dishes, and appliances that were way above your budget. You sit on a stool while he pours you a glass of red, the finest from Chateauneuf du Pape.

“Nice place,” you sweet talk him. “I would say you must’ve worked hard to get all this, but I know better.”

“Do you?” He counters, handing you your glass. “Do you think you know everything?”

“I know what I know from books, archives, etcetera,” you explain casually. “It’s not like I can ring up Zeus and ask him to read me a bedtime story.”

His lips curve as he chuckles, watching you sip the rich ruby-red liquid in your glass. “You have a sense of humor. I like that.”

You smirked, leaving him to his thoughts as you walked towards the large picture window, looking at the Eiffel Tower. It’s late, but the city has so much life in it. The tall, grandeur buildings that have stood through the ages are accompanied by French lights and taxis flying back and forth at night. Between your studies, walking runways, and doing commercial shoots, it was a matter of time before you made it out of the United States and into Paris.

You aren’t this in-demand model agencies are banging the door down for. But when you come to work, you work. You know how to convince people to take a chance on you, whether it's your words of intellect or how you pose. Your mom always taught you to be observant and scope the scene before you act; that advice hasn’t stirred you wrong before.

In the window's reflection, you watch Jeonghan gently place his glass on the table, the soft clink barely breaking the serene silence. He strides to your right, his presence warm and magnetic as he stands beside you, eyes mesmerized by the sprawling cityscape before you.

“So why are you here? Aside from the obvious.”

Jeonghan’s question catches you off guard, stirring you out of your peaceful daydream.

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, baby,” Jeonghan cocks his head. “Don’t play coy.”

Your response hangs in the air as you search for the right words. How do you confess to a god that you've been dreaming of them without knowing why? You are sure they have heard it all before, and you wouldn’t be any different.

“Honestly speaking,” you start, taking another sip of your wine. “I’ve studied you all my life: the Greek Gods and the beings you used to be on Earth. Your stories fascinate me, and I want to put this master’s degree in classical studies to good use.”

“Uh huh,” Jeonghan hums. “Are you sure that’s it?”

“I mean, I may have other reasons… but I can’t tell you all my secrets.”

You finish the remnants in your glass, sauntering and setting it next to his. You glance up, your heart beating fast as you meet his gaze. He watches you intently, a spark of amusement dancing in his beautiful brown eyes as he watches you internally squirm. At that moment, it feels as though the world has narrowed down to just the two of you, and you feel yourself being sucked into his spell.

“Well, are you going to stare at me all night or show me around this place?”

You raise your hand, waiting for him to grab it and lead the way. He does just that, showing you around his massive penthouse. You don’t know if you could ever afford this place even if you had all the money in the world. Every room has its bathroom, and the balcony is beautifully decorated with a view to die for. You notice another room with more books than the collection you saw earlier, and you make a note later to ask about it… even hoping to take a peek at potentially ancient history.

Jeonghan slipped his hand on your waist as the tour went on, pulling you close like you were already his. His slender fingers held on to you kind of tight, like he was imprinting on you… You can’t say you don’t like that.

You stop in front of his bedroom, the dark forest green double-doored room paired with gold handles waiting to be opened. You gaze at Jeonghan, who leans against the door, casually putting his hands in his pockets.

“Is there a reason why we are just standing here?” You pose, playing with the hem of his shirt.

“No reason at all,” he responds, pulling you closer to him. “I just like looking at my bedroom door closed, that’s all.”

You raise an eyebrow, quite aware that he is teasing you. Being around him gives you a rush through your veins, a magnetic pull that sets your nerves and soul on fire. You know you should be doing a better job fighting this attraction between you two, but being around him makes you slowly lose all of your senses. He’s intoxicating; you feel hazy, like you are in a dream and don’t want to wake up.

“So, are you going to sweet talk me in front of this door all night, or are you going to let me in?”

He chuckles softly as he opens his doors, leading to a grand master bedroom that all of the words in the dictionary couldn’t come close to describing. You knew he was the god of luxury, but what’s in front of your eyes exceeds that. This is opulence in its purest form. His massive king-size bed was decked with the finest white blankets and pillows filled with goose feathers that looked handcrafted with care. Your toes bask in the softest fur rug you have ever touched. It felt like you were walking on clouds. Jeonghan motions for you to sit on the bed, taking your hand as he helps you climb up. Your dress rises a bit, exposing your inner thigh to your surprise and his delight.

“Don’t get any ideas,” you rib, crossing your legs slowly.

“Don’t worry, baby. You’ll give me an invitation by the end of the night.”

You roll your eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you adjust your dress. Watching him move with purpose to his shelf, he pulls out a vinyl and puts it in the player. Recognizing Billie Holiday's distinct and powerful voice, you lean back into the pillows and watch him approach the other side of the bed. With a snap of his fingers, the lights dim, opening the curtains and revealing another side of Paris, a quieter one that shows the city below. The ceiling separates slowly, revealing a twilight blue skyline with dark clouds surrounding you. It’s beautiful.

You feel the bed shift on your left, and Jeonghan climbs quietly, his movements as light as a cat. He lifts the comforter, a gentle invitation for you to come under as his feet disappear under the thick cover.

“Are you this friendly with all the women you bring over?” You smirk, raising an eyebrow.

“Nope,” his laugh is light as he rakes his fingers through his hair. “Just the ones I like.”

You nod, following his lead and slowly basking into the warm cover. You can still see him in the low light, his radiance shining through the dark room. Maybe it’s because of your extensive research of him and your knowledge, but he feels familiar. Every fiber in your body tells you to pull closer to him and confess every little thought swirling in your head. Is this what it’s like to be in front of a god?

“So, a master's in Classical Studies, huh?” Jeonghan probes, his index finger making a swirling motion on his sheets. “Let me guess, you have a focus on Greek mythology?”

Despite putting on your best poker face, you felt like something bitter went down your throat. He caught you off guard, and to be frank, it’s your fault. The god of many things and the most intelligent being to walk on this Earth would of course know who you are. He probably had your whole life story while you walked on his runway.

“Ah,” you exhale. “You must think I’m crazy.”

“Nah, I don’t,” he assures. “I’m very intrigued by you.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. You’re smart, carry yourself well, almost as witty as me, and very well-spoken. Why do you choose to model instead of working in something with your degree?”

You stare at him, his words chipping away at your exterior piece by piece. You could sit here and come up with a lie that sounds plausible and keep your secrets. But you want to know why he keeps plaguing your dreams, and maybe he has the answers you need to make sense of this. Some honesty can’t hurt, right?

“I… like the attention,” you confess. “I like the way people look at me when I walk by. I love being adored and wanted. I like that I am so educated and an effective communicator that I can talk myself into things I want to be in. That and my looks combined? I don’t get turned down often.”

Jeonghan gazes at you, wondering if he should be amazed at your self-awareness or frightened. Admittedly, your confidence turns him on, and you have the kind of intellect he likes on a deeper level. Your voice is calm and seductive without even trying, and not to mention, you have a timeless beauty that makes it hard to look away. When you walked down that runway, your stride was a beautiful masterpiece—it held him captive. It was as if you were trained by Aphrodite herself.

“Plus, I am not totally abandoning my degree,” you continue on. “I want to eventually write about the Greek gods and the legends behind them. So many stories and their lore have been forgotten as people worship other gods, and I don’t want that to be forgotten. It feels like a passion project, but I know this will benefit the world somehow.”

“How?”

“Well,” you clear your throat. “It will provide a different perspective of ancient civilization.”

You run your hands through your hair, causing the v top of your dress to shift slightly, partially revealing your cleavage. You reach down to adjust it, and Jeonghan eyes your every move as you gradually slide your dress back up. It’s your favorite dress, which you picked up at a thrift store a long time ago in New York. It’s a jade green evening dress that hugs your body the right way, with a mid-thigh split on the right.

“You’re quiet,” you observe, shifting your body closer to him. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing, just taking in what you said.” He pauses, his finger slowly sliding down to the slit of your dress. “I like the way you think.”

You nod, carefully choosing your next words. “I’m glad I made you feel that way.”

Your insides are on fire, begging for him to touch you in all the wrong right places. As if he could read your mind, he pulls you in for a kiss, his soft lips tearing down any walls you had. In a swift motion, he’s on top of you, hiking your dress up as he grinds his growing bulge against your sensitive core. A pleased hum escapes your lips, your body completely giving in to him.

“Mmm, you smell sweet,” Jeonghan utters, biting the bottom of your lip. “I’m sure you’ll taste just as good.”

His lips travel down your neck, sucking on your smooth skin until it's tender. Your hands desperately grab onto his silky blond hair as his tongue plays in circles along your collarbone, igniting a fire in you. You slowly lower the straps of your dress, tugging at the silky fabric until it lowers completely, revealing your breasts. Jeonghan marvels at the sight in front of him, his fingers brushing softly against your nipples.

“Ah, you’re a goddess,” he whispers. “I’m going to have fun with you.”

He kisses you again, his hunger for you hot and strong as he unbuttons his shirt, revealing his smooth chest and defined abs. Fire and desire burn between you two, and you thirstily tug at his pants, pushing them down so you can see his cock, threatening to break free in his boxers.

“You are an eager little thing, aren’t you?”

“I just know what I like, that’s all.”

Leaving you with one last kiss, he moves on your breasts, cupping them softly and sucking on your nipples with such tenderness as if they were prized possessions. Your perfume mix smells pleasant to him, like an aphrodisiac, and he cannot get enough. Jeonghan usually likes to play with his food a bit before he eats it, but you bring something out of him that he hasn’t felt in a long time: impulsiveness and passion. He wants you more than he cares to admit, making him act out of his cool, calm, and collected nature. He sucks on your nipples harder, earning a hard moan from you, the blend of pleasure and pain igniting waves of excitement that leaves you breathless.

His hand slips in between your legs, pushing them apart and sliding your panties to the side. His thumb rubs your clit softly, sending jolts of pleasure throughout your body. Jeonghan has you feeling like you are floating on air, unable to tell him what you want coherently.

“Mmm… fuck I can’t take this,” you mutter.

“Well, you will learn tonight, baby,” Jeonghan smirks as he lowers himself to your sweet entrance. “Tell me what you want.”

“F-fuck,” you cooed. “You know what I want.”

“Just because I am a god doesn’t mean I can read your mind,” he teases, biting softly on your thigh. “Tell me what you want.”

You feel hot and rabid, trying to chase a high you are so close to getting. Jeonghan removes his thumb from your nub, snickering as he watches you groan in protest. He is determined to make you beg for it, and watching you squirm and fall apart underneath him would be the highlight of his night. He inserts a digit inside your wet core; a sweet smile spreads across your face soon after.

“J-Jeonghan,” you sputter. “P-please just—”

“Say it, baby.”

“Fuck, just make me cum, please.”

Jeonghan slips a second finger into you, leaving small kisses on your thigh as he thrusts into your wet cunt. Your hands grip the sheets as he goes deeper, watching excitedly as your essence coats his fingers and his sheets. He planned to study you, explore what made you tick, and how your body liked to be teased. He wants to hear your perfect voice scream his name as your body shakes from being royally fucked by a god, and the way you are laid out in front of him, he is losing all composure.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs. “I think you deserve to cum now.”

Quickly removing his fingers, he dives into your wet folds with his tongue and up to your sensitive clit. His fingers intertwine with yours, eating you with such a craze, the hunger of a starved being who is eating his favorite meal for the last time. The vibrating hums of his mouth to your delicate flower sends you over the edge, your orgasm crashing down on you hard. He holds onto your thighs, holding you hostage as he takes everything you got. You proved him right—you tasted just as sweet as your perfume. He’s addicted to your aroma, a natural aphrodisiac that he will never get enough of.

“There you are, princess, ” he whispers. “Keep giving it to me.”

Your moans turn into whines and then screams, your fingers desperately clinging to the sheets as he drinks you in. Jeonghan’s appetite is insatiable, and the god’s thirst for you is getting stronger by the minute. His nails dig into your thighs as he licks up and down your folds, desperate to taste more of your sweet essence. You feel airy, your body floating on cloud nine as if you have never had this kind of pleasure before. Sure, you have had your experiences and what you thought was the best sex of your life, but those don’t even come close to this.

“Come on baby, give me another,” he goads you. “I know you have it in you.”

“J-Jeonghan,” you croak, desperation falling on your lips. “P-please. You win.”

“Win?” He chuckles softly. “ I haven’t even started.”

His fingers return to your entrance, thrusting into you while his tongue remains on your clit. His lips make lewd noises, slurping and smacking away as he bullies you into your second orgasm of the night. Your toes curl, the springs in your abdomen snapping as it ripples through you like a hard wave. Jeonghan moans into your sweet core as you surrender to him; his pupils dilate as he takes the remaining energy that you have left. His free hand furiously pulls down his boxers, liberating his cock, and he touches himself at last. He jerks himself to the thought of your mouth wrapped around his dick, tasting his cum as he shoots loads down your throat. He could easily stop and make his imagination a reality, but you just taste too damn good.

“Damn,” you curse, brushing his hair from his face. “You are so good at this.”

“Mmhmm,” is all he could say, his cruel tongue still playing circles around your clit. You lift yourself away from him, watching him pout as you take his meal. You can barely move, your legs still spasming from that earth-shattering orgasm. Your eyes travel lower to his freed cock, watching him pump himself with such eagerness, the precum oozing from his tip begging to be sucked. He was thick and girthy, his veins popping in places you liked. Your mouth salivates at the thought of tasting him in your mouth.

“Can I?”

You sit up, gently motioning for him to lay back on the pillow. Curiosity gets the better of him, and he does what he is told, relaxing his hands behind his head. Jeonghan isn’t used to his playmates wanting to take control in the bedroom; most of them just want to have a story to tell about being fucked by a god. You excite him, a confident woman who knows what they want and isn’t apologetic about it. The twinkle in your eye you have for him turns him on, and he is counting the seconds where he can finally be inside of you.

Your hand slides up his shaft, watching him shudder from your touch. You lean down, sucking on his tip and tasting his precum. You make eye contact as you take more of him, hallowing your cheeks and letting saliva drip out of the corners of your mouth. He tastes better than you imagined, and you feel gratification watching his lips part and low moans escape his pretty little mouth. You feel dirty, like his own personal whore, and you aren’t mad at that. Your very sensitive core still wants him, your clit pulsating at the thought of his very thick cock beating your walls down.

“You look so beautiful with your lips wrapped around me, princess,” he grunts, taking a handful of your hair. “Let’s see if you can handle me.”

Jeonghan fucks your mouth roughly with such a force and rhythm that was only his, tears streaking your face as you take him whole. His dick hits the back of your throat, and you are thankful that you have a mean gag reflex. It’s smooth, clean, and fits your mouth just right. It’s like it was molded and shaped just for you. Your hand sneaks in between your legs, playing with your nub and willing yourself to cum for the third time.

“Tsk, tsk, you dirty girl,” Jeonghan murmurs between grunts. “You do want me that bad? Do you want my cock inside your wet cunt?”

You nod fervently, your fingers increasing their pace. He pulls himself out of your mouth suddenly, lifting your head and kissing you with such an intense fire, his hands grasping your ass and giving it a tight smack.

“I want to ride you, baby,” you breathe between kisses. “I want to feel you inside of me. Give me that, please.”

He wants you as bad as you want him, his adrenaline pumping through his veins as he positions himself on the bed. His hands grab your hips, hovering over him as he aligns his cock to meet your entrance. The thought came to your mind about using a condom, but it went away quickly when you sunk onto him. He feels good; your walls tighten around him as you adjust to his size, rocking slowly back and forth to get a rhythm.

“That’s it,” Jeonghan groans as he cups your breasts. “Take me however you want me.”

You increase your pace while he bucks into you, biting your lip until it's crimson red. His nails dig into your hips, the pain mixed with the pleasure sending you soaring through cloud nine. You lose all inhibition, riding him harder and deeper, addicted to chasing that orgasmic high that you feel coming sooner than you’d expected. Your body is on autopilot, refusing to stop until you’ve cummed on him at least once. If you didn’t know any better, you would say you were falling in love with him. The sex you had with him in your dreams doesn’t even come close to the real thing. His cock consistently hits all the right places, and he pays great attention to your body, teasing you and pushing you to your limits until you are sent over the edge.

Jeonghan grabs you by your neck and kisses you deeply, thrusting deeper into you until you can no longer keep your composure. He loves watching you lose control, surrendering your body to him and screaming his name loud enough for the neighbors to hear. His lips are slightly parted, whispering sweet things in your ear, praising you for taking him so well and rewarding you with filling you up with his cum. You look every bit fucked out and heavenly to him, and he wishes he could stay buried inside of you forever. What he feels for you is risky, and if it were someone else, he would turn those feelings off. But with you and the way you are taking him so well, he is completely into you.

He helps you ride out your high, kissing you from your lips to your collarbone until you are overripe with sensitivity. Slowly lifting you, he lays you gently on his right, allowing you to catch your breath.

“I-I don’t think I have ever been fucked like that before,” you confess in between breaths. “Are you sure you’re not the god of love?”

Jeonghan chuckles, putting on a robe and heading towards the bathroom. Looking at himself in the mirror, he notices a few scratches you left, noticeable dig marks from your nails that dug into his skin. He shrugs them off, knowing that the next day, they will disappear, and it will be like they were never there. He’s been on this Earth for a long time and has slept his way through all the women and men he desired, but this night with you has topped all of them. He feels a connection with you mentally and spiritually, and after feeling you for the first time, he is determined to keep you by his side. By all means.

Your eyes are heavy with exhaustion, the day’s events catching up to you as your body acclimates with the sheets. You hear soft water running from the bathroom, and a few seconds later, Jeonghan appears in front of the door, his robe removed and naked. You glance at him and smirk, slowly getting out of bed and walking towards him. He is a divine enigma indeed.

“Don’t worry, darling,” he assures you. “It’ll be a nice, relaxing bath.”

His bathroom was definitely tailored to his taste. It had white and forest green marble floors, a shower stall big enough for more than three people centered in the middle, and two vanity sinks placed on opposite ends of each other. The tub was round and spacious, placed by the circular window that allowed you to see the stars at night. You slowly step into the foaming water, the sweet aroma of vanilla and bergamots filling your senses and pleasing your soul. Jeonghan comes in behind you, the water slightly splooshing around as his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you close. You relax on his chest, feeling at peace as you stare outside the window. It feels so natural, feeling this comfortable around him.

Your dreams of him show that you two had a successful relationship. You were partners in everything. He was good at communicating, and you knew how to support him and could persuade anyone if needed. You understood your roles, and you were perfect. So why do they always end with you walking away?

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Jeonghan’s voice breaks through your reverie.

He unwraps his arms around you, places his hands on your shoulders, and gives you a comforting massage. You close your eyes, letting the steam from the warm water relax your muscles.

“Heading back home,” you sigh heavily. “I have some go-sees to book and also continue my research. I have to put these looks and my big brain to use.”

“Yeah, no, you’re not,” Jeonghan declares smoothly. “I want you to stay here and work for me. Become my new muse.”

He watches you react closely, his eyes shining with mischief. “Just think about it. You would be my inspiration, my spark. Imagine the kind of magic we would create together.”

He catches you off guard but excites you nevertheless. Jeonghan wants to make you the face of his brand. You would be crazy to turn that down. Plus, it makes you so much closer to your research and figuring out your dreams. This was the universe giving you a sign.

“Yeah,” you say after thinking it over. “I would be open to that.”

You sink further into his chest, your tiredness getting the best of you, and falling into a slumber in the warm water. Jeonghan leaves light kisses on your shoulder, watching you sleep peacefully in his arms. He could go for another glass of wine, a perfect way to top off his night with you. He knows getting entangled with his ex-lover’s doppelganger is risky business, and eventually, he will have to deal with the truth of things. But tonight is not the night to open Pandora’s box and bring up the ancient feelings and heartache that he’s put behind. Instead, he will lay here with you, enjoying the sereneness while it lasts.

Thank you for reading ^_^ if you would like to join my taglist, sign up here.

#kvanity #kwritersworldnet #svthub #svt oneshot #svt scenarios #svt imagines #kpop fanfic #lapydiariesnet #svt fanfic #svt fic #svt fluff #svt angst #svt smut #jeonghan fanfic #jeonghan smut #jeonghan imagines #jeonghan one shot

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fastandcarlos · 1 year ago

Text

On Cloud Nine : ̗̀➛ Carlos Sainz

summary: your hundreds of miles away when you get the call, desperate to be at carlos’ bedside as soon as possible

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by carlossainz55, ybffusername and 593,606 others

ynusername: new york, new york 🗽🍏

39,403 comments

carlossainz55: I miss you so much, hurry up home! 🩷

username1: these photos look amazing, new york is definitely my dream one day

charles_leclerc: hope you’re having the best time, btw carlos is definitely lost without you

carmenmmundt: I can’t wait to hear all about this when I see you next ☺️

username2: next time take me with you omg

landonorris: you’ll go anywhere to get away from carlos won’t you?? 😂

ynusername: @/landonorris don’t spoil all my secrets 🤫

carlossainz55: @/ynusername it all makes sense now 😂

username3: wow new york looks insane yn 🤩

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

ynusername posted two stories

caption 1: get me home asap!!

caption 2: 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 738,504 others

ynusername: hi everyone, with carlos’ permission I wanted to share with you all that his operation this morning was successful and he’s recovering well. he also asked me to post a nice photo of him with this to remind you all just how handsome he actually he is 😂

I’m exhausted from rushing here, but just glad to be by his side as he starts the road to recovery 💞

78,503 comments

username4: sending carlos so much love - thank you for the update yn 🫶🏻

username5: poor carlos 😭😭

landonorris: tell me he still looks as handsome as ever to me!

maxverstappen1: get plenty of rest and see you back on the track carlos!

username6: only carlos would still care about his appearance despite being minutes out of surgery

username7: I’m just glad yn was there to be by his side for when he woke up 💞

username8: he’s got the best partner there to take care of him 🥰

alexandrasaintmleux: you guys know where I am if you need anything ❤️❤️

pierregasly: imo he’s never looked better 😂

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by danielricciardo, ynusername and 2,492,505 others

carlossainz55: thanks for all the support guys, pleased to say all is good and I’m recovering well so far. gutted to miss the race but I’ll be back on the track soon! biggest thanks goes to yn for dropping everything and travelling halfway around the world to be here with me - she makes a brilliant nurse 💕😂

103,592 comments

username9: how do you manage to look so good even whilst in hospital??

username10: we’re so pleased to see you’re on the mend carlos, take all the time you need 🥰

landonorris: stop flashing your stomach for sympathy 😂😂

username11: that looks so painful, hope you’re okay carlos!!

danielricciardo: made of tough stuff bro, see you real soon!

charles_leclerc: it’s not the same without you here 😭😭

carlossainz55: @/charles_leclerc do me proud my friend ❤️

username12: it breaks my heart seeing these photos

ynusername: couldn’t have timed this better, could you? 😂 just glad that you’re on the mend, ily 💞

carlossainz55: @/ynusername only thanks to you and the care that you give me 🩷

username13: don’t rush, take your time, your fans will wait for you!

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by pierregasly, carmenmmundt and 893,201 others

ynusername: carlos being at home resting has its perks 🥞🤩

39,124 comments

username14: stfu I’m so jealous

carlossainz55: you’re lucky I’ve got all this free time on my hands ❤️

ynusername: @/carlossainz55 turns out there are some perks to having your appendix taking out 😂

charles_leclerc: I’m already omw save some for me!!!

username15: welcome back boyfriend carlos aesthetic 🫶🏻

username16: all I want is to taste just one of carlos’ pancakes one day

alex_albon: next time we double date these have to me on the menu

ynusername: @/alex_albon there won’t be any complaints from me

username17: I’m happy to third wheel this date night btw

username18: THEYRE JUST SO FLUFFY

username19: @/username18 the pancakes or the hair???

username18: @/username19 EVERYTHING 😭

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 1,859,120 others

carlossainz55: back on the course doing what I love, an easy eighteen holes 🏌🏻⛳️

49,604 comments

ynusername: um I don’t think this is quite what the consultant meant when he said easy exercise 🤔

carlossainz55: @/ynusername what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him!!

ynusername: @/carlossainz55 can’t wait to throw you under the bus at your next appointment 😂

username20: we always knew it wouldn’t be long before carlos was back playing golf

landonorris: if yn is that worried about you, I guess next time I’ll just have to come with you…to look after you ofc

carlossainz55: @/landonorris I’m supposed to be taking it easy, you stress me out 😂

username21: poor yn must be so stressed looking after carlos

charles_leclerc: of all the sports you choose to go and play golf 🙂‍↔️

username22: imagine telling one of the most active people in the world that they have to rest

username23: counting down the days until he’s back out on his bike 😬

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by alex_albon, ynusername and 1,695,207 others

carlossainz55: back to full power soon, stepping up the recovery and fully focused on being back in the car soon 💪🏻

50,402 comments

username24: gym photos of carlos never get old

username25: and there he is back on the bike again 😂

ynusername: hmmm this looks more like the exercise you’re supposed to be doing 🙄

carlossainz55: @/ynusername 😂💞🤫

username26: if you need something to lift I’m happy to offer my services

landonorris: damn you’re putting me to shame sharing these carlos 😂

username27: I actually just squealed in excitement seeing these, now everyone’s staring at me

username28: yn is one lucky lucky girl wtf

alex_albon: ffs stop showing off how ripped you are

georgerussell63: at least go all the way and take the shirt off jeez

carlossainz55: @/georgerussell63 not all of us are as vain as you!!

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by ynusername, charles_leclerc and 2,403,705 others

carlossainz55: I should have more operations if this is what happens 😂 so proud to be p1 in aus, thank you for all the support ❤️🏎️

103,392 comments

username29: you’re a machine, we’re so proud of you!!

landonorris: booking an appointment to get my appendix taken out as we speak 🫡

username30: how do you do it??

ynusername: words fail me…you’re just the best 🫶🏻💞

username31: proud is an understatement to describe how I feel about this

danielricciardo: hats off to you sir that was one hell of a drive

charles_leclerc: I never realised I actually had a superhero for a teammate 😂

username32: this is the least you deserve after what you’ve been through

username33: to race like that whilst still in pain just blows my mind

maxverstappen1: huge congrats carlos, one hell of a race 💪🏻

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris and 792,032 others

ynusername: on cloud nine ☁️ after the trickiest couple of weeks you come back and pull this outta the bag - I’m so proud of you my love! 🩷

27,493 comments

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

978 notes · View notes

itsastrobixch · 10 months ago

Text

Astrology notes

- gemini / mercury / uranus / aqua change their identity a lot online. They place a lot of importance on their online identity and as they change so does their online personas.

- Mercury dominance if well placed Learnt to talk very early and saturn mercury aspects learnt to speak a bit late or may speak with a bit of hesitation.

- chiron in 1st have deep rooted identity issues and may also not be able to relax in photos and stuff. Some may even go to the extent of not wanting to take pictures at all.

- count yourself lucky if : air signs ask for your advice.. They don't ask option from everyone. Similarly if fire signs seek you out or show you their defeated side and depressed side. They Always want people to seem them as optimistic fiery and determined but like evryone they too go through down times but they tend to bounce back faster than others.

- Mercury saturn or Mercury rx may have great conversations with themselves in their heads but when it comes out it night miss the mark or.. Like not sound as good as it did in their brains.

- all mercury /gemini dominants open 3 to 5 tabs at the same time. And don't finish a single one completely. Change my mind.

- moon pluto tumultuous emotions. Whiplash. One extrene or the other. Mood changes just with a single event. The whole room can feel the shift as well. Moon and Pluto both give out unstable, watery and intense emotions. It can be difficult if negatively aspected. Even if positively aspected it can lead to the feeling overwhelming emotions.

- People with pluto in 1st, their emotions are hidden. No one knows how they feel. Mostly i see geminis get all the credit for their glib tongues. But have you ever seen a Pluto person toy with people when they know they truth ? They'll lie so effortlessly that even the people who know the truth will start to believe the lie is the truth. Their words and their facial expressions while lying is so controlled and natural it's scary.

- Asteroid Cerea shows is how we nurture. Aries ceres is the defender of the group and people who tend to protect people who are defenseless esp animals. Taurus is the comforter. And so on. But aspects and the house in which Ceres is in also plays a major role.

- Uranus / gemini in 3rd house have lots of ideas at the same time but many are unfocused and evrything is gone in a fleet. They may have a brilliant idea but Lose it in the next second. It'll be better if they scribble down their thoughts anywhere somewhere so they'll have a basic idea of what they thought.

- I fucking admire Aries women, esp as a Libra, like how tf..? i used to have a friend, she used to do some pretty controversial shit in high school but like never once let anything get iin her way and is now a part time business woman...like come on...how are you so headstrong ? And somehow things also tend to workout for them

- every mutable person has a box full of drafts all half done and of various types but all undone. Its a mess of ideas and posts half written and lost interest and motivation along the way...but I'll save it for another day when I will want to finish it up.

- If an air sign texts you daily, they like you. Especially instant replies . 🌝

- scorpio, and Venus Pluto aspects also tend to fall for someone who is out of their grasp. they like to torture themselves like that 😂 or they'll think that they don't deserve the person they're in love with. Its Always one or the other with them.

- venus neptune contacts produce the devoted worshipper type lovers. They will worship the ground their love walks on and will turn a blind eye to their faults. This is most definitely not a healthy patter of behaviour. Please don't indulge in this.

- mercury dominants can't fucking shut their brain off. they have a lot of nervous energy. And will Always be actively thinking about atleast two things at once.

- actually now that i think about it, my bffs in high are an Aries sun, me a sag rising and my frnd a leo sun. and i still wonder why the girls didn't like us 😂🌝 if fire signs get together whether they stir up drama or not, it'll either find them or people will hold them responsible for it even if they aren't.

- gemini and Mercury dominants can imitate very well especially the accents. Their adpative ability is out of charts and a bit creepy tbh. how they change acc to people, how they acclimatise to their surroundings ax cultures, they have this ability which allows to be another person if they like.

- mars - pluto negative aspects may have r*pe dreams often even if they haven't had any such encounters.

- pluto in 1st are ironically afraid of death and illness more so than the usual person.

- 11th house sign may show how we behave online.

-geminins have this weird ability to take and soak up information from all over the place and somehow put it together perfectly . they learn stuff from disorderly messes but they seem to understand it with clarity.

590 notes · View notes

andy-15-07 · 2 months ago

Note

Hi, may I send you a little request? (A little personal experience happened at Walt Disney World for us. Something similar happened with my niece. She wanted to bring back home some characters from Walt Disney World 😂)

Could you please write the reader is traveling with Pedro to Japan for Star Wars Celebration. She brings her kids with them and the younger one throws a little tantrum because he/she (you pick) wants to bring home Grogu. Older kids try to explain why they can't and Pedro decides to step up and surprise both of them with some Grogu & Mando dolls.

Bringing Grogu Home

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT:1788 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

You step off the plane into the warm buzz of Narita Airport, hand in hand with Pedro. The bustle of travelers around you feels electric,families reuniting, friends greeting one another, and costumed fans clutching lightsabers and themed suitcases. You glance down at your two little ones, their faces pressed against the glass barrier separating you from arriving passengers. Your eldest, eight-year-old Mateo, bounces on the balls of his feet, eyes bright behind thick glasses. Your youngest, four-year-old Luna, clutches a pink backpack embroidered with baby Yoda’s big, soulful eyes.

“Are you excited, Luna?” you ask, smoothing back her loose curls.

She nods vigorously. “I want to see Grogu! I want to hug him and take him home!”

Mateo nudges her gently. “Luna, you can’t take him home. He’s not a toy. He belongs to the show.”

“But he’s so cute!” she protests, pouting.

You sigh, exchanging a knowing look with Pedro. He flashes you that charming, warm smile that always makes your heart flutter,yes, you’re still married to Pedro Pascal, and yes, you are still in awe of how effortlessly charismatic he is both on-screen and off. He reaches out to ruffle Mateo’s hair. “Hey, bud, you’ll get to see me on stage, and maybe Grogu will make an appearance. But you can’t just pack him in your bag. He’s not a packable toy.”

Luna’s lower lip quivers. “But I really, really want him.”

You crouch down, opening your arms. “Come here, sweetheart.” She runs into your embrace, and you stroke her hair. “How about we get a photograph with Grogu, and then you can pick out one,just one,tiny souvenir to bring home?”

Her tears sparkle in the overhead lights. “But I don’t want just any toy. I want Grogu.”

Mateo steps forward, trying to sound grown-up. “Luna, Luna, listen. Toys have to fit in your carry-on. And we have other stuff,clothes, snacks,”

She cuts him off with a wail. “I don’t care! I want Grogu!”

Pedro steps in warmly. “Okay, how about this: when we get to the Celebration, I’ll see what they have in the official shop. If they have a Grogu plush that fits in your backpack, you can choose it. And if they don’t, I’ll see if I can surprise you with something special.”

Luna’s tears subside into sniffles. “Really?”

“Really,” he says, taking her hand and giving you a conspiratorial wink. You suppress a giggle.

–––

The shuttle ride from the airport to your hotel is a symphony of chatter. Mateo informs you at length about the latest Mandalorian theories, while Luna babbles about baby Yoda’s favorite snack (berries, in case you were wondering). Pedro listens with amused attention, occasionally interjecting a factoid or two: “Actually, the berries are called 'frogeater berries',from Sorgan.” The children lean in, as if they’ve just uncovered the galaxy’s greatest secret.

You glance at Pedro, heart full. You two have been together for seven years, married for four, and traveling as a family never fails to remind you both of how much you’ve grown. It’s the first time the kids are old enough to really appreciate the fandom, and Pedro is determined to give them an experience they’ll never forget.

At the hotel, you settle into a sleek lobby decorated with pop-culture memorabilia,life-sized starfighter models, framed concept art, and even a small tribute to Shuriken. Your room on the 15th floor overlooks a sea of neon signs in downtown Tokyo. Mateo presses his nose to the glass. “Wow, it’s like Coruscant!”

Luna jumps on the bed, giggling. “Look, Daddy! The lights shine like stars!”

Pedro sets down the luggage and opens his arms. “Who wants to explore the city? I heard there’s a Mandalorian-themed café a few blocks from here.”

Mateo’s eyes light up. “Can we go now? Please?”

You exchange a look. It’s only midday, you’d been planning to rest. But seeing your kids so excited, you can’t refuse. “Alright, team Mando, let’s go,after we freshen up!”

Room doors close, and soon you’re winding through Tokyo’s crowded streets: the smells of ramen and takoyaki filling the air, the chatter of locals, vendors calling out, bright buildings tower overhead. You spot the café’s sign, a stylized helmet of a beskar-clad warrior. Inside, animatronic Grogu replicas peer down from shelves, and Mando’s theme hums softly.

Luna tugs at Pedro’s sleeve. “Daddy, over here!” She points to a towering statue of Grogu reaching toward a floating silver orb. Pedro lifts her up. “Want to say hi?”

She strokes the tiny replica’s fuzzy ears. “Hi, Grogu!” she whispers.

Mateo orders kid-friendly ramen (with green pesto swirls to represent a frog’s legs) and you and Pedro sip lattes topped with edible silver glitter. Conversation drifts between mundane,what to pack, tomorrow’s schedule,and sentimental. Pedro reaches across the table, squeezing your hand. “I’m really glad you’re here with us.”

You smile, heart warm. “Me too.”

–––

The next morning dawns bright and clear. You and the kids line up outside the convention center before the doors open, the line snaking around the block. Pedro’s VIP passes let you cut through, so you bypass the masses and head inside. The cavernous hall is a fan’s paradise: massive screens loop scenes from the new show, merch booths overflow with T-shirts, caps, action figures, and collectibles.

Luna’s grip tightens on your hand as you pass the booths. “Where’s the baby Yoda?”

Pedro scouts ahead. “They said a special pop-up shop is here. Let’s find it.”

In the corner, you discover a small, curated area: limited-edition Grogu statues, replica helmets, and plush toys. Luna’s eyes grow wide. “There he is!”

She stares at a plush, about the size of her arm,perfect for fitting in her backpack. But bright orange price tag attached: $75 USD. You look at Pedro. Their allowance of souvenirs might not stretch that far if you splash out here.

She points. “Mummy, Daddy, look!”

Mateo steps forward. “It’s cool, Luna, but maybe it’s too big. They have smaller ones over there.” He gestures to a nearby shelf. On it, a baby Yoda keychain, barely two inches tall, with a tiny cord. Price: $15 USD.

Luna’s lip quivers. “But I want the big one.”

A small crowd gathers behind you, and Pedro motions for privacy. “Hey, champion,” he crouches beside her. “I know you want that big Grogu. How about this: you choose what fits your backpack and what you think you really want most.”

She considers the keychain for a moment. “But he’s so tiny.”

He smiles. “Tiny Grogu can still be mighty.”

She laughs. “Okay. But only if he’s the keychain size you can clip to my bag.”

You hand her the dollars she’s scooped from your wallet. She carefully picks the keychain, her small fingers turning it this way and that. Satisfied, she stashes it in her bag.

Mateo chooses a Mando helmet sticker set for himself. Pedro buys a matching one for himself. You grab a couple of postcards to mail to family back home.

As you head toward the stage area, Luna clutches her keychain. “I love him so much.”

Pedro nudges you. “Mission accomplished, right?”

You smile. “Mission temporary,unless he surprises us again.”

–––

The panel begins. Pedro strides onto the stage to thunderous applause, the lights on him soft and golden. You settle in the front row, Mateo on one side, Luna on the other, clutching her Grogu keychain. Pedro answers questions about the latest episodes, teases future storylines, and as the Q&A winds down, he turns to you and the kids.

He taps the microphone: “Hey, everyone,this is my family. These are my little Jedis.” The audience coos. Mateo and Luna wave shyly; Luna holds Grogu aloft. Pedro continues, “I wanted to do something special for them while we’re here, so I asked the merch team to send something…”

He gestures off-stage. Two staff members wheel out a cart covered by a black cloth. Pedro looks down at Luna. “Ready?”

She nods, confusion furrowing her brow.

He yanks off the cloth: a small display of three large plush dolls,two Grogu’s and one Din Djarin, life-size, each nearly two feet tall. The crowd gasps and cheers. Your heart squeezes.

Luna’s mouth drops open. “Daddy!”

Mateo’s jaw drops. “Oh my gosh!”

Pedro lifts down one Grogu plush and holds it out to Luna. “Here, sweetheart.”

Her eyes fill with tears as she takes it. “Thank you,thank you, Daddy!” She flings her arms around the plush, burying her face in the soft, green head.

Pedro turns to Mateo. “And for our big guy?” He hands Mateo the Din Djarin doll. “To guard the galaxy.”

Mateo almost cries. “This is the best surprise ever.”

Pedro tousles Mateo’s hair and then you. “And I saved one more for… us.” He reveals the second Grogu plush. “For you and me to cuddle on our hotel couch.”

You lean in, kissing him softly. “You are the sweetest.”

–––

Later, back in your room, the kids bounce on the carpeted floor, each hugging their new toys. Luna holds hers close as if it’s alive. Mateo practices mandalorian accents, shaking his helmet. You and Pedro curl up on the couch, the new plush nestled between you.

Pedro rests his head against yours. “I’m glad they’re happy.”

You smile, tracing patterns on his arm. “You’re amazing with them.”

He nudges you playfully. “Are you jealous?”

You feign shock. “Me? Jealous of Grogu?” You tap the plush between you. “He’s kind of stealing your attention.”

He pretends to pout. “I think Grogu deserves it,look at him.”

You laugh and pull him closer. The kids’ laughter echoes from the other room, lights from the Tokyo skyline flickering through the window. You close your eyes, heart full of love for this perfect, chaotic, wonderful family moment.

Pedro kisses the top of your head. “I love you.”

You press your lips against his. “I love you more.”

He smirks. “No, I do.”

Conversation drifts as you both relax,talking about dinner plans, tomorrow’s cosplay contest, and maybe a day trip out to the countryside. When Luna tucks herself into bed clutching her big Grogu, you catch her softly whispering, “Goodnight, Grogu.” Mateo follows, kissing his doll’s helmet.

Once the children are asleep, you linger in the hallway, peeking at their peaceful faces. Pedro slips his arm around you. “We did good,” he whispers.

You lean into him. “We did.”

Together, you step back into the suite’s living area. The city lights of Tokyo stretch in an endless twinkle before you,so many promises and adventures still ahead, both in this Celebration and beyond. But for tonight, you’re exactly where you belong: wrapped in each other’s arms, surrounded by laughter, love, and two baby Yodas who will forever remind you of this magical family journey.

199 notes · View notes

dreamwritesimagines · 2 months ago

Note

Currently torn between the idea of her coming back to work because seeing the way people were doing her job(s) was making her eye twitch and having to keep her relationship secret; Bucky is borderline heartbroken. "No, of course I don't mind. You were the best, everyone wants you back, baby I just- I wish you'd told me... did I do something to-"

"Do you think I'm trying to break up with you?"

"You're not?"

ASDGJKLL I CANNOT STOP GIGGLING-

Honeeey this is amazing! 🩷 Thank you so so much I LOVE THIS🩷

The way I can just see Bucky's heartbroken face and her being incredibly confused😂

"Do you think I'm trying to break up with you?" I JUST😂

She would just gawk at him for a couple of seconds and go like,

"Bucky?"

"Yes?"

"Did the super soldier serum run out and you hit your head somewhere?"

"I don't think so?"

"I'm not trying to break up with you, dumbass!"

"Are you sure?"

"I'm pretty sure. Are you okay? You look..."

"Yeah just give me a second, this is the first time I feel lightheaded in years."

"Aw!"

"Don't 'aw', that was worse than getting shot at."

"I happen to think it's very romantic."

"Is it?"

"Our relationship being more intense than battle, I feel like there's a poem about it somewhere. Anyways, we will have to keep it a secret, that goes without saying."

"We don't have to."

"We do have to. I don't want people joking about me working under the desk."

"Whoever jokes about that, will stop having teeth that very day."

"And that statement is why we're definitely going to have sex in your office after hours."

"Come again?"

"Oh I will. I mean, you and me both. You should get ready for your meeting by the way, I already checked your calendar."

"No no, wait-"

"Bucky, focus."

"You can't just say stuff like that and then expect me to focus!"

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #congressman!bucky #congressman bucky #thunderbolts #declassified hc

135 notes · View notes

lrithill · 1 month ago

Text

PASSENGER SEAT PRINCESS

Greetings to all the clowns of the second circle!

It is both my honor and my pleasure to offer you this new installment. This might just be the fanfic I've had the most fun writing, the one that made me the wettest, and the one that broke me the hardest… and the best part? It’s a REQUEST!!!

Wow… I truly have the best readers, because this idea never crossed my mind—AND I HAVE NO IDEA WHY. So, huge thanks to @partycityshowgirlfreak for trusting me and handing me this story like a loaded gun.

This is also a warning—a warning that any request you send me might be transformed into a full-blown work of art, because I don’t let go of a story until I’ve squeezed every last drop out of it… every last drop of blood and cum HAHAHA.

Also, a special thanks to @artstomfoolery, my primary gif dealer😂 . I could spend hours searching through Tumblr for that one specific gif—and it’s just NOT THERE, impossible to find. But then she swoops in and BAM, like magic—as fast as Art grabs the salt and bleach—, she sends me exactly what I need. Seriously, if you haven’t already, go check out her blog and follow her. She makes insane edits and videos, and her talent is the kind I can only dream of (we need to make a fic trailer one day 🤫 HAHAHA).

Now that the thank-yous are done… let’s get to the good stuff.

🖤Synopsis:

You and Art, after a night of unhinged slaughter, need an escape route before daylight hits. You need a car—but cars come with drivers, don’t they?

🚨 Warnings:

Unintentional voyeurism, humiliation, violence, and my general hatred for warnings because I feel like they’re spoilers… So let’s just say: A lot of sex, a lot cruelty, a lot of fun and a lot of blood, and all of it Art-style, which means a guaranteed thrill . Woohoo!

📊 Word count:

10,000 words (there were simply too many things for Art to play with)

You needed a car.

Urgently.

The sun was barely grazing the horizon, the night still reeked of gunpowder and scorched flesh, you were dragging a decent body count behind you—and it wouldn’t take long for the cops to start sniffing around.

In the distance—shining like a promise—stood the best place to find a ride: A gas station.

Bingo.

It wasn’t even 7 a.m.—the place was deserted, wrapped in that artificial silence and half-dead lighting. Still, odds were some idiot working the night shift was fueling up before heading back to their miserable little life.

Jackpot.

Next to one of the pumps, a big family car stretched lazily under the flickering yellow lights. A “Baby on Board” sticker decorated the trunk, along with some doodles that screamed “big happy family.”

The kind of car that smells like routine, bedtime prayers, and Thursday dinners with the in-laws.

You glance at Art—he’s already locked onto the target. Judgment has been passed.

You’re both soaked in blood. His clown suit isn’t black and white anymore—it’s black and red. A crimson trail stains the pavement behind you as you approach like wolves—soundless and certain.

You need the keys.

And there he is—your ticket. The driver, still inside the car, gently bobbing his shoulders to some soft blues tune—something mellow and catchy, the perfect soundtrack for a crime at dawn—utterly unaware of the evil creeping up on him.

Art looks at you, eyes gleaming—he gives you a light shove, lips curled in that twisted grin of his.

“Put on that pretty sad face of yours,” his mischievous look says—cruel.

You smile… you already know what to do.

CRACK.

You collapse right in front of the driver’s window, like a horror movie final girl—dried blood on your legs, torn clothes, perfectly timed gasps...

“Help… please…” you whimper. “I had an accident… I think my leg’s broken…”

The driver sees you—and freezes. His blood runs cold, his heart skips a beat—his face shifts, tightens, switches into action mode.

“Jesus! Hang in there!” he shouts, flinging the door open to help you.

You laugh on the inside. These idiots see a damsel in distress and immediately think they’re the hero of the story—they have no idea what kind of menace they’re dealing with...

You writhe on the ground—groaning, panting—, clutching your leg like it’s about to fall off in pieces.

“I’m calling an ambulance,” he says, pulling out his phone with trembling fingers.

He fumbles through his apps. Can’t find the dial pad—his pulse is betraying him.

And you already see Art approaching from the side—a shadow with teeth. But then, an idea slithers into your mind—a wicked one—so you shoot Art a look that says: ‘Not yet.’

“Wait,” you murmur.

He pauses, confused.

“I can’t see anything… can you turn on your flashlight for a second? I want to see the face of my hero before I pass out…” you whisper, sweet and soft like honey.

The guy blinks, visibly shaken, might even be smiling a little—and obeys. So well-mannered.

The flashlight clicks on—a white beam cuts across his face. He looks up, searching for your angelic face… but what he finds is something else entirely.

Nothing he could’ve prepared for: First, eyes—unblinking, wide, inhuman. Then the smile—two rows of jagged teeth, bloodstained and hungry. And then, hands like claws, snapping around his throat with the precision of a bear trap.

“Shame… I’ve always preferred villains,” you purr, lips pouting as you watch him choke.

You sit up slowly, unbothered, watching as Art strangles the man—his hands working with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine. The poor bastard kicks a little, but he doesn’t stand a chance—Art knocks him out in seconds.

Silence.

Only the soft murmur of blues music hums from the speakers—a cheerful little tune playing as the man slips out of consciousness.

Art fishes the keys from his pocket—there’s a keychain that reads “Cool Dad”—then grabs his phone, still buzzing with incoming messages.

“Perfect, darling. Let’s leave him here, we’ve got our ride home,” you say, letting out a satisfied sigh.

But Art doesn’t move. He’s somewhere else—lost in thought.

He leans into his bag and… is that duct tape?

You raise an eyebrow.

“Oh… I get it”

You wanted a getaway.

Art… wants a guest.

“Looks like he won’t be walking out of this… don’t worry, we’ll take good care of him” you giggle, and Art’s eyes light up like a child on Christmas morning.

—

RAAAHH.

Duct tape.

Hands bound behind the back.

Mouth sealed shut.

Knees tight together.

Ankles locked.

Torso disabled.

The only things left working: Eyes and ears—and you want them wide open.

Art—ever the gentleman—opens the passenger door for you with a theatrical bow. He slides into the driver’s seat, adjusting his blood-soaked suit like he owns the car. Grinning from ear to ear—so smug, so sure of himself—he checks his reflection in the mirror—the most illegal thing he’s done today? Being this fucking hot.

In the back seat, your new companion is starting to wake up. He stirs clumsily—bangs his head against the window—, trying to make noise, desperate to catch someone’s eye, to call out to a world that hasn’t woken up yet.

Art laughs—a sharp slap lands on his own thigh—, delighted by the uselessness of his struggle. He even has the courtesy to turn the music up—that dirty, sultry blues swallows the thuds and grunts, turning them into part of the rhythm.

The man stares—that stare: panic, defenseless, confusion. He has no idea how this happened, or why, or what’s about to happen to him. But he’s starting to understand that he’s trapped in a play he never auditioned for—and the two maniacs in front are the directors.

Art feels those eyes on the back of his head; and without turning around, he calmly adjusts the rearview mirror—until his gaze locks with the hostage’s.

And he winks—his tongue sliding over his teeth, his grin curling like a promise… a filthy one.

“You’re so bad,” you murmur, watching him do it—fully aware of the things that turn your psycho boyfriend on.

Art tilts his head toward you—amused. He bites his lower lip, eyebrows bouncing twice—a swirl of vicious thoughts brewing behind those eyes.

“I’m just getting started,” his look says.

And you know exactly what that means.

You start poking around the car.

A pine-scented air freshener hangs from the rearview mirror—the unmistakable stench of middle class.

You open the glove compartment. A photo: a smiling family at a water park. The dad—your passenger—and his wife hugging two little kids with duck floaties.

There’s also a canvas bag hanging off the passenger seat.

A crumpled grocery list.

Whole wheat bread, baby wipes, organic yogurt.

A forgotten parking ticket.

Art takes mental notes of the important things, of course—the night is young.

His eyes roam the dashboard, with restrained hunger gleaming in them—the car hasn’t shown him everything it’s capable of yet. He’s curious about the motor, he wants to hear it roar—he wants it to purr for him.

He slides the key in with intention—precise and firm.

BRRRUMMMMM.

That metallic growl pulls a smile from him. The car jerks and vibrates under his touch—obedient, like a beast under its handler.

And you… you feel it.

The hum of the engine crawls up your legs, coils in your pelvis. The vibrations buzz at your core—and your clit throbs, swelling from the involuntary friction. Your lip catches between your teeth, and your hips shifts in the seat before you realize it—just slightly… just enough.

He knows—of course he knows.

He wanted this—to warm up the engine, under the hood… and between your legs.

It’s getting to him too—not just you. He’s already picturing it: you trembling on top of him, the car growling beneath his cock, vibrating inside you with every thrust—like his body’s synced to the same pulse, throbbing with it.

He can feel it building—an undeniable erection is beginning to press against his pants—, shifting and swelling under the fabric as it takes shape.

“What’s the plan, baby?” you ask, biting your lips—your voice thick with smoke and want.

Art doesn’t answer with words—he simply raises a hand—elegant, dismissive… brushing your question aside like it’s nothing.

He’s telling you there’s no rush—just relax…

There’s so much to do… and he wants to savor every fucking second.

Art locks eyes with the rearview mirror again. The hostage is panting, his forehead pressed against the glass like he’s still trying to convince himself this is all just a nightmare—he looks like a rabbit cornered in a burrow with no way out.

Art stares at him—speaking volumes without a single word.

He can already taste it: the fear, the eroticism, the humiliation, the sex, the cruelty, the climax…

A full-course meal.

Then he looks at you: torn clothes, skin smeared with blood and sin—you look beautiful.

He wants you naked. Now.

But he won’t push—he’s not a brute.

He wants you to undress for him—wants the guy in the back to witness what it’s like to be craved like this—to see what it does to a woman, needing him like this.

So he lifts a hand—easy, unbothered, lazy—and presses a button.

Click.

The heater kicks in with a low hum… warm air starts filling the car, wrapping around you like an invisible tongue. The engine’s purr still buzzes beneath your thighs—deep inside you.

He smiles—a satisfied smile—like a magician pulling off a perfect trick. Without laying one finger on you, he already has you blushing, squirming, breathless, aching for him.

You know it.

He knows it.

And the hostage is starting to catch on too…

Your body grows sticky beneath the damp fabric. Every thread against your skin is torture—you need to get it off, you need to move, you need—

Art doesn’t even look at you. He’s still staring into the mirror—still wearing that smile.

Waiting.

And he does it—he reclines his seat slightly, spreads his legs, and folds his arms behind his head—clearly putting himself on disply… just so you’ll notice the erection straining against his pants—begging for your attention, impossible to ignore…

He’s sending you a message—saying everything without a single word… and you’re practically drooling at the thought.

“Strip for me—do it slow, do it sexy. Do it while he watches—I want him to see you… but only that. Fuck me.”

You nod, breath quickening. Your fingers glide across your torso—trembling from anticipation—over the dried blood, the torn fabric, as you begin to undo what’s left of your clothes.

Not for comfort.

Not because of the heat.

For him.

Because you want to show him just how obedient you are—and how feral when he lets you.

To both of them.

Art’s pupils twitch in their sockets—tracking your every move—, hunger burning behind his eyes as you begin to undress—you unbutton your shirt, slipping it off your shoulders to reveal a black-and-white lace bra (his favourite), your fingers reach for the zipper of your skirt...

But he stops you there. He doesn’t want you completely naked—not yet.

Your gaze flicks down to his hand on your zipper… then climbs back up to his eyes—so close, and still out of reach.

You see him bite down on his tongue, and he swallows hard—his Adam’s apple bobbing, the tension thick in his throat.

Touching you is the point of no return.

His hands move to your thighs—slow and deliberate—drawn to the fire he’s been stoking. His breath grows heavy—warm fog curling in the air between you. He feels how hard he’s getting, his arousal straining tight against his pants—an obscene bulge; twitching and dripping like a caged animal.

His hand moves upward, sliding along your thigh—he knows you’re melting beneath his touch—his fingers trace the edge of your skirt… and then slip beneath it, slowly—like a serpent.

You let out a soft sigh when you feel his cold fingers against your bare skin.

His fingers barely brush against your panties—right where you're burning, where you need him the most—and he feels the slick warmth of your arousal soaking through the fabric.

That jagged grin spreads across his lips like a wound.

Look what I do to you. thoughts swirl in his head as he brushes the moisture.

You let out a soft moan at that first touch, legs parting involuntarily—your body pleading for him to keep going—to explore you, enjoy you, lose himself in you…

Anything… but stopping.

His cold fingers move slowly over your clit, teasing it—making you tremble with that cruel kind of pressure—punishing you for wanting.

You can feel yourself dripping, your pussy opening for him like a sick flower.

Your head falls back, eyes fluttering closed, lost in the heat and the ache. You keep your legs spread perfectly wide for him—there’s no use pretending you have any dignity left.

You’re his.

“Art…” you whisper through clenched teeth, barely able to say his name.

But Art isn't looking at you—he’s watching the hostage through the rearview mirror. The victim stares back—wide-eyed, mouth sealed, face twisted in confusion, fear… and maybe something else?

And you feel it: the heat, the trembling, the need… Just his hand—just that—and you’re already soaked.

You need more.

Art slips his fingers under the band of your lingerie—finally breaching that thin, delicate barrier—and this time he goes for your wet entrance.

Two fingers ease into you, meeting no resistance.… and he starts fucking you with them—deep, firm—, those long, thick fingers that reach places you can never reach on your own.

How can hands so violent bring this much pleasure?

“Yes… yes…” you breathe, eyes shut, unraveling in his palm.

He finds your G-spot and presses—makes that motion, the one that drives you wild. He massages it in sweet circles, stroking it, pressing rhythmically,… the way he knows you crave.

“God… God… God…” you moan, each word a gasp timed with his thrusts.

Without thinking—driven purely by instinct—your hand slides to Art’s abdomen. You caress him, feeling the subtle tension in his muscles through the soaked fabric of his suit.

Art lets out his first sigh—needy for your touch, but still patient.

Your hands trail down his body—calm and deliberate. The heat from the car is making the dried blood liquefy again, coating your fingers like a sticky kind of lubricant.

Art tries to hold back… but he can’t.

In a sudden movement, he grabs your hand and drags it down—pressing it against his cock, still trapped behind fabric. His much larger hand wraps around yours, forcing your fingers to tighten around his aching manhood—right where he wants them.

He guides your hand up and down—dictating the rhythm—then releases you, letting you take control and stroke him on your own—just the way he likes it, feeling the weight of his need in your palm.

You work your hand along his cock, adding pressure with each pass—you love watching him unravel… live for the way he trembles under your touch.

With your thumb, you trace slow circles over the head—his most sensitive spot. You see his mouth fall open in a silent moan, his stomach tightens—abs rippling with tension—, his thighs tense without warning… His whole body betraying how much he feels it.

He wants to close his eyes… and yet, he doesn’t.

He wants to watch the hostage. No—he wants the hostage to watch him. To see him enjoying it, to see him moaning under the touch of a woman he’ll never have—no one will.

The car windows are starting to fog up from the heat radiating off your bodies—a humid, heavy cave of lust. It’s thick, stifling…

Inebriating.

Everything smells like sex, blood, and restrained desire.

Your breathing grows heavier by the second—the vibrations of the engine, the heat, the slick movements, the scent of sweat and iron, the hostage in the backseat...

And then—your eyes meet.

"Let’s show him how it’s done." You both think it, in perfect sync.

You straighten in your seats—and reach for each other.

You kiss.

Tongues tangled, mouths devouring one another in a filthy, hungry kiss—while the hostage watches every movement, eyes wide with disbelief.

As you both keep working each other: you, stroking his cock with devoted hands, desperate to feel him inside; and him, pumping his fingers into you in wet, rhythmic thrusts—opening you up, stretching you, preparing you to take him.

Art pulls back, eyes locking with yours in raw desperation—and in a sudden, urgent motion; he pulls his fingers out of your pussy, snaps the driver’s seat back into place and slips into the backseat—like a man who’s reached his limit, on the edge of breaking.

He leaves the keys in the ignition, but takes the small remote with him—he’s not letting go of control over his new toy.

He settles beside the hostage—just one seat of space between them.

And you follow—immediately.

You climb onto him, straddling his lap like it’s a throne. Being on top of this beast—riding him, dominating him—it makes you feel powerful, sexy, dangerous.

Your tits—still wrapped in your black and white lace bra—, sway close to his face. Teasing him, taunting him—daring him to claim what’s his with kisses and bites.

Your lover—pupils blown wide—licks his lips at the vision before him: Your legs spread wide over his hips, your waist rolls slow over his aching cock—your bloodstained body… so obscene, so evil, perfectly soaked in sin—yet untouchable…

It’s exactly how he wants you.

You smile as you peel off your skirt, leaving only your lingerie—his favorite set: black and white,

the panties featuring a manual opening he knows all too well... Warm blood splattered across your exposed skin drips like a baptism in violence.

Then you feel it—Art shifting beneath you, rocking his hips with need—urging you to move in that way—his way—the way only you know drives him insane.

He’s searching for you—needing you.

His body is begging for the heat of your cunt, for your wetness, your tightness—that divine prison that squeezes him down to the soul.

He grabs your hips—firm, greedy—and grinds you down against him. He’s smiling up at you—he wants you to know what you’re doing to him, how much he wants you, how badly he’s dying to fuck you right here, right now, in this stolen car, with this bound man watching, beneath this cunt that exists for him alone.

You moan when you feel his clothed manhood—hard rock—press against your entrance—thick, throbbing, threatening…

Irresistible.

You move with the rhythm of the soft blues still floating through the air—slow, sensual, evocative. You match the rhythm of the engine, letting it buzz through your core as you ride his cock—teasing him—, without letting him in just yet, denying him entry—keeping him just where you want… dragging your slick heat along his length with your soaked folds.

He’s pinned beneath you—helpless—, while you grind on him like he paid for the best lap dance of his fucking life—and you’re overdelivering. The stage is yours and he’s so lucky to be under you.

And the bound spectator right next to you? Trapped in the front row of the filthiest show he’s ever witnessed.

Art’s eyes light up as his hands trace the full length of your body, gliding over your curves,

smearing blood across your soft skin. Your body shivers under his touch—so seductive, possessive, demanding, masculine… Art.

Every move draws him in, pulls him deeper—impossible to look away from. And when you meet his gaze, what you see there… can only be described as obsession.

Pure, raw, sheer obsession.

Your hands slide down his torso, beneath his magnificent clown ruffle, searching for the front zipper of his suit—you tug it down, slowly… revealing his body—pale as snow after a murder.

You pinch his nipples, gently, but with wicked intent—you can’t help yourself.

Art lets out a harsh breath, teeth clenched. He says nothing—just lets his hand do the talking, landing a stinging slap on your ass.

SMAK!

The sound cuts through the air—louder than anything the hostage could possibly muster.

You laugh—and moan.

You lean in, take his face in your hands, and kiss him.

Deep. Slow. Damned. Making love to him with your mouth alone.

Your hips roll back and forth as you moan into his mouth, rubbing your swollen clit against the thick, dripping erection you've been teasing to madness.

Art’s hands tighten around your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh—right where they always do. He bites your lower lip with a hunger that leaves droplets of blood on your scarlet mouth, savoring you.

He growls as his tongue absorbs your essence—the one thing he aches for the most, and the one thing he can never truly claim.

You’re both floating in a toxic cloud of pleasure, wrapped around each other, losing yourselves,

burning together…

You are fire and gasoline—and this car is about to explode.

Then—a sound.

A dry, desperate sound.

The hostage is fumbling with the door using his elbows—trying to escape while you’re both too distracted—, a useless, clumsy, pathetic attempt.

Art chuckles, and presses a button on the remote.

Click.

Locked.

The last flicker of hope dies with a cheerful electronic beep.

The guy slams his head against the window in pure frustration. And Art—naturally—has to take it a step further.

He presses the button again… and starts to play.

The window goes down…

Then up…

Doooown.

Uuuuup.

Like he’s saying:

“You leave when I say so.” That grin of his stretches wide—every ounce of swagger in the world packed into one smug expression.

“Bet your wife’s never done anything even remotely like this to you, huh?” you taunt through a laugh, still grinding on Art, and you plant a hot kiss on his flushed cheek—which he accepts with a pleased smirk.

Art rolls his eyes and shakes his head, confirming your suspicions with mock exasperation.

Then he reaches out—arm casual, fluid—and pinches the hostage’s cheek. A playful, mocking squeeze—like a grandmother scolding her grandkid for being nosy and naughty.

“You’re probably so horny right now, huh?” you purr, voice thick with mockery. “You want this so bad, don’t you? But you know what? You’re not getting any of this. The only thing you can do is… watch.” You tell him, making sure he knows his place.

You slip one bra strap off your shoulder, tilting your head to reveal the imprint of a bite—deep teeth marks—already darkening like a brand.

“I belong to him. Only him,” you finish with a wicked, toothy smile.

Art sees it—and his mouth waters.

He leans in and licks it.

Not for you.

Not for pleasure.

He licks it for him—for the hostage.

So he sees it.

So he understands.

So it hurts.

“And now comes the best part,” you moan, eyes shutting—just as Art’s teeth sink into the imprint—driven by a mix of worship, lust and hunger.

His arms wrap around you like a perfect trap, his hands traveling with expert precision to your back.

Click.

The clasp of your bra pops open, the fabric slides down your arms, surrendering to him—like everything else. Your tits fall free—or into his captivity—as he lowers the straps with care, like unwrapping a present.

His hands trace over your bare back, and his mouth—God, his mouth—works its way over your neck, your collarbones, your shoulders. Kissing—devouring—every inch of skin he can reach.

You start pulling his suit down while he consumes you—as far as you can manage—letting him shrug his arms free, removing the hood from his head, kissing the pale skin beneath every piece of fabric you strip away.

And then—your world flips… upside down.

Art grabs your hair and yanks your head back, exposing your throat—that vulnerable stretch of skin, that one delicate spot where a single well-placed bite could bleed you out in minutes.

But no.

He won’t—he never would.

Instead, he licks you—slowly. Dragging his tongue up your throat, from the base of your neck to your chin—like a predator savoring his prey before the final bite… until he reaches your lips.

He kisses you—and smiles against your mouth.

And you melt into that smile—your spine arching for him, offering every inch of yourself.

You are his—and you want him to know it.

Then, without pulling away—still gripping your hair—he turns to look at the hostage. And he makes a gesture—a light tap under his eye with one finger.

Tap, tap.

"You don’t want to miss this."

Art releases you and turns back to meet your eyes.

You look at him.

No words needed—your gazes say everything

You lift yourself—just enough—and free him from the fabric yourself. It springs up, thick and heavy, smacking against his stomach—so hard it sure hurts. Promising you so many things…so much pleasure and pain.

You hold him in your hands like something precious—just like the rest of him—burning in your hands. It’s hot, pulsing, alive…

You spit into your hand and smear it across your chest, mixing your saliva with blood—his favourite lubricant.

You guide him to your soaked cunt, rubbing his head against it—preparing yourself to take him in. Your mouth parts with moans as you press his sensitive, dripping tip against your clit, and Art can’t help but close his eyes—he lives for this.

Precum, blood, and saliva mix, slicking your tight entrance—necessary.

You’re getting ready—you’re offering yourself.

You’re about to open for him like a beautiful wound.

Art takes the chance to cradle your face in both of his bloodstained hands—grateful—pulling you in for one last kiss before taking everything from you. Thanking you

And just like that, you sink down onto him—inch by inch—, your breath trembling against his mouth, moaning into the kiss as he fills you with his ruthless passion.

You break the kiss to breathe—your sighs and moans brushing against his shoulders like a fevered confession.

You whimper against his neck as you feel him push deeper—claiming more of you. His hands grip your hips like anchors, keeping you from pulling away. The only thing you can do is keep sinking… all the way down to hell.

The hostage can’t look away.

You close your eyes as he spreads you, splits you, fills you—destroys you with his love. Your insides part for him, bowing to his presence.

Your body yields to him completely—like always—, welcoming him once more.

“Fuck…” you mutter through gritted teeth.

It doesn’t matter how many times Art fucks you… it always hurts at first.

And you love it.

You’re full to the edge—can’t take anymore… but you know there’s still one last stretch to take.

Your body trembles, thighs tight like pulled cords, your back arches under the pressure, under the depth. You’re fully impaled—as deep as your body will allow.

You look at Art—and he’s smiling.

That arrogant, knowing smile—and you know exactly what it means. He’s holding back—just a little. He still has more to give, of course—he’s not done. He feels that last part of him, just out of reach... waiting for your warmth too.

He tilts his head, giving you that look:

“Stuck there again? God, I love it.”

And he knows you know what’s coming.

He bites his tongue, barely fighting the urge—but his abs tighten, his nails dig into your flesh.

And then—

SLAM!

He slams in—fills you to the hilt. No space left, just wet flesh locked tight—your body, an extension of his own. Your spine arches like a broken bow, and your scream finally bursts free.

You collapse against him—undone by him, wrecked by him. Clinging to his neck like you might fall off the edge of the world. A tear slips from your eye—uninvited—, and Art feels it land against his neck. His pupils blow wide—it turns him on more than any moan, any scream, any word. A tear… drawn from pleasure, from excess

For him.

“Everything about you is deadly… you can't deny it”, you whisper in his ear—trembling

He holds you close, crushing you to him—your bodies pressed together perfectly, completely.

One hand caresses your back, sliding through the blood and sweat with an affection so gentle it borders on insulting. The other lifts to his lips, and—with a single finger—, he makes a gesture:

“Shhh.”

It’s not to comfort you—it’s because he likes the contrast. It turns him on to silence you while he destroys you.

He’s a bastard—a stylish fucking bastard.

And you couldn’t love him more.

You stay like that, bodies fused. Kissing—your tongues whispering everything your vocal cords could never express, everything your voices would never dare to say aloud.

Even Art needs a second.

Even though you’re the one bearing the more brutal trauma, he has to adjust too—has to carve his way inside you… and you don’t make it easy.

Your walls clench around him, strangling him with pressure—but at the same time, massaging him with that exquisite mix of pain and pleasure—, while his tip kisses your cervix in the deepest intimacy your body has to offer—rooted deep inside of you.

You feel yourself start to relax—the pain slowly, melting into pleasure.

There’s nothing in the world that makes you happier than having him inside you, wrapping him in your heat…

And you can’t wait to have him trembling beneath you—to ruin him.

So you start to move—drawn into that delicious, rocking motion your body craves... your hips swaying over his hard cock—wrapped tight around him—, dragging your wetness along his length—lost in the rhythm that only the two of you know.

In, then out… In, then out…

Art exhales—a shuddering breath that trembles through his entire body—that vibrates beneath you as you begin.

His head falls back, eyes slide shut as he finally lets himself feel. His lips part—soundless moans escaping like breath—and his arms sprawl out wide and lazy along the car’s interior, offering himself to the moment, to you…

One of them resting dangerously close to your guest.

Close? No—he wraps it around the hostage’s shoulders, like a whore waiting for her turn to ride him too. Though truthfully…he’s already very much involved in the act—doing his part as the good little sex toy he is.

“God, you look so fucking sexy right now,” you murmur, watching the way your movements unravel him.

Art smiles—eyes half-lidded.

The truth is: as much as he loves fucking you, there’s something next level about watching you ride him—seeing you worship him without being told, offering yourself like that, dripping devotion. It’s like having the power to force someone to obey… but without needing a gun—just by spreading his legs.

The hand resting on the hostage’s shoulder moves. Art runs it through the man’s hair, tender and soft—like stroking a beloved pet.

Which, of course… he is.

The hostage flinches—recoiling with a shiver—, trying to shrink away.

You act immediately.

“STILL.” Your voice cuts like a blade. “Or you’ll regret it…” you say, lifting his phone with an evil grin curling your lips. “You don’t want anyone to get hurt, do you?” you say, giving him puppy eyes.

You open his gallery—rows of family photos. His two kids and his wife. You pick one—a birthday shot.

“Happy 10th, Marvin… ooohhh,” you coo sweetly. “Might be the last.”, you finish—dry, flat, final.

You show it to him.

Not with rage—but with tenderness.

Like you’re showing him the ending of his own movie.

Both men lose their breath. Their eyes snap open—but for very different reasons.

One is paralyzed by sheer terror.

The other… nearly cums.

You are—without question—, his most powerful weapon.

The hostage instantly returns to his original position—silent, obedient—like a scolded dog. He’s finally understood who’s in charge.

“That’s how I like to see you…” you whisper—poisoned sweetness dripping from your voice as you stroke his chin, like you’re rewarding him.

Meanwhile, Art is still threading his fingers through the man’s hair, playing, mocking him.

Then he looks at you—stunned. You’re the sexiest thing he’s ever fucking seen—and also the cruelest.

You’re a perfect match.

“If he disobeys,” you say sweetly, just loud enough for the hostage to hear, “we’ll kill them, right; sweetheart?” You ask it like a little girl asking for permission to cause mischief.

Art nods enthusiastically with a toothy smile. But it’s all theater—you both know exactly how this story ends.

BRRUUMMM BRUUUUUMMMM

Art presses the button on the remote again. The engine roars—like a beast awakening.

The vibrations intensify—the window glass rattles—shaking through your bones, ripping a moan from your throat that drowns out the soft background blues.

“ART—!”

Your hand flies to the window to brace yourself against the jolt. It leaves behind a perfect blood-red handprint smeared across the fogged-up glass—as beautiful as it is erotic.

A perfect signature on this masterpiece.

What Art’s really telling you is—he wants it louder.

He wants chaos.

He wants lust.

He wants blood.

He wants you completely unhinged.

“So you want me to hit the gas, huh?” you growl, eyes dark, voice hoarse with want, with power, with pure unfiltered lust. “You’re not ready for this ride… and I’ve already cut the brakes”, you finish by throwing him a defiant smile, trailing a finger lazily from his neck down to his chest.

Art mimics a bite in the air, baring every single tooth—all sharp and full of challenge. He’s dying for you, dying for your worst self.

You start to move—riding him with rhythm, your hips grinding in perfect sync with his. Your bodies separate and slam together again and again, filling the car with obscene sounds—wet, violent, animalistic.

Art holds you tight against him—your tits squashed against his heaving chest, your clit grinding against his vibrating pelvis with every relentless thrust.

Your eyes roll back, your mouth opens helplessly against his neck—obscene, slack, starving—your moans pouring into his ears and filling the car like a spell—like they’re trying to crawl under his skin.

You pull yourself free from his embrace for a moment—straightening up fully in front of him. Your perky tits bouncing up and down with your wild movements.

You look up at the ceiling like you’re praying… but all you do is curse.

“I’m your fucking whore,” you cry, drunk on him. “You ever seen a whore take your cock like this? This good? So obedient?! So fucking broken for you?!” you scream with your tongue out, drool spilling shamelessly down your chin.

Art closes the distance in a heartbeat, catching you in his claws again—as if you ever stood a chance. Pulling you back into his grasp like you never escaped in the first place.

And growls against your skin like an animal.

PLASH.

Another slap—sharp and loud—leaving five perfect red fingerprints. You deserved that—for being such a filthy little bitch.

His teeth sink into your neck—too hard. Skin splits, blood flows… God—there’s no name for how much this turns him on.

From your bleeding neck, jaw stained crimson, he looks up at you—devoted—, like you’re a fucking miracle.

He holds you like you’re his whole everything. Clutches you like the world would end if your flesh left his for even a second—like you’re part of him.

And by now—you are.

A red blur in the hostage’s vision—a distorted silhouette of blood and motion. A mess of flesh—writhing, breathing, groaning, laughing—reveling in its own depravity.

You kiss again—rough, messy, dripping with blood—as you keep riding him toward the end of the world. Which—coincidentally—, lies between his legs.

And then—one of your hands drifts toward the hostage.

He goes still. Paralyzed—he knows what happens if he misbehaves. You take him by the chin and force his gaze upward—to make him watch.

“Don’t even think about closing your eyes... We’ll sew them open.” You warn him with a sweet, venom-laced smile.

Art blinks hard.

“How the fuck did I not think of that before?” he wonders—but mentally files it away for next time.

With one firm shove, you rip him off your body—force his back against the headboard, right where it was, right where he belongs—and start moving on your own again.

You change the rhythm—start riding him faster… faster and deeper. You lift yourself until just his tip kisses your entrance—and then slam down to the base, over and over. Fucking every inch of him—every rise a damnation, every fall a sentence.

Art’s eyes roll back into his skull, whites flashing in ecstasy—he’s in a trance. This is the rhythm that kills him: savage, deep, frantic, punishing.

“This is how you like it, huh?” you gasp between moans, never letting your pace break. “I love dragging this devil to heaven… and letting him split me right back to hell.” You moan, unhinged for him.

And for the hostage, to make sure he doesn’t forget where he is.

You dive for his neck—and Art stiffens instantly… it’s his weakness. You kiss that spot with tongue, with teeth, with hunger. Your mouth pays back every favor—latching onto the muscle, biting skin, licking his Adam’s apple, sucking his jugular, devouring him—owning him.

Art growls, mouth open in voiceless agony and bliss, eyes clenching shut—your rhythm is wrecking him, your mouth is shattering him. His cock is rock hard inside you, every twitch giving away how close he is… but you’re not letting him finish yet—and neither is he.

Suddenly, he yanks you off his neck and stops you—right before it’s too late. He looks at you—panting, ruined,—gasping for breath. Head bowed… so ashamed and submissive.

Trying to hold himself together, like he's saying:

“Gurl… you can't do this to me—have some mercy ”, but he can’t even look you in the eye.

“Oh… is it too much for you?” you whisper like a lover, but it tastes like betrayal. “My poor baby can’t take it anymore? Feels too good?” you speak in silk, stitched with spite.

You turn to the hostage—offer him a smile as sweet as arsenic.

“You wouldn’t last either… But you won’t get the chance to find out.” you say, teasingly bringing a finger to your lips, amused.

And now, you lean in—toward Art’s ear.

Your warm breath caresses him, drowning out everything else—muting the world—, so that all that reaches him… is you.

Your tongue brushes the shell of his ear, lick the back of it, bite the lobe… And then—without warning—, you slide your tongue into his ear canal. Art melts, a shiver shoots down his spine, a guttural moan bursts from deep in his throat.

He drools—eyes fluttering, head slack, body limp. Your soft, wet moans reverberate inside his skull, a sensual echo that floods his brain—blending with the slow thrusts, the sweltering heat and your hands worshiping his body with criminal devotion.

He’s almost like a ragdoll—a puppet with its strings cut. All moans and drool and absolute surrender: eyes closed, eyebrows knitted in pleasure, a stupid smile on his parted lips... Utterly spellbound by your touch, barely clinging to consciousness.

And then—your voice.

A whisper—like a kiss… soaked in poison.

“Will you fuck me on top of him?” Just for him. So the hostage won’t hear—but to set Art ablaze again.

His eyes snap open—his pupils blown wide, his body tensing like a bow pulled tight.

“I want our faces—our climax—to be the last thing he sees. I want us to come while staring into his eyes.” you breathe sensually, tongue still working his ear like a wicked spell, your hands cradling his head.

The words pierce through him—a direct shot to the heart of his lust.

He rips you away from his ear and crushes your mouth with his teeth, letting you know just how badly he wants that—and more. He kisses you with madness, with sickness, with sadism.

And then his hips find rhythm again—furious, murderous, lethal—ready to strike again.

You cling to him with a grin—watching the world burn beneath you.

Your mouths part, leaving a viscous string of spit and lust hanging between your swollen lips, and there he is—your sex toy, your passenger princess—heart pounding, dignity in ruins.

Four predator eyes lock onto him.

Art licks his lips— so much slaughter, so much sex…

It makes a man hungry.

You both stare at him in silence—cheeks pressed together, bodies still joined, frozen in time… and then you see it—a shy little bulge in his pants.

“Aww… poor thing, looks like he wants a taste too,” you sneer right in his face, irony dripping from your voice. “Bet he’s jealous,” you say, glancing at Art. “Bet he’s imagining himself in your place.” You know exactly which buttons to push—which wires to cut.

Art’s expression darkens.

Is this fucker imagining what he shouldn’t? Thinking about touching you? Kissing you? Fucking you?

No… absolutely not.

He’s not allowing that.

He leans forward, bends slightly—slips a hand into his shoe… and he pulls out a pair of scissors.

You feel his cock twitch hard inside you as he holds them—sadism bringing out the very best in him.

He opens and closes them right in the hostage’s face—that grin stretching ear to ear.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

He only has one free hand—so you help him.

(Yeah!)

You pull down the hostage’s pants with a bloodthirsty smile.

You grab his balls.

The almost-princess squirms in the seat, trying to retreat from the inevitable steel approaching—with mechanical precision, cold and certain.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

But every tug makes his balls ache, making it worse—only adding to the torment. The skin tethering his balls to his body pulls tighter with every desperate thrash.

You laugh as you squeeze and tug at his balls, stretching that fragile strip of skin that holds them to his body—that perfect little point of breakage.

Art’s eyes shine, his mouth hanging open in a huge smile—he looks thrilled, he’s having the time of his life.

You're still riding him—still fucking him—while he brings the scissors closer, while the cold blade grazes the hostage’s delicate skin.

He’s just a heartbeat away from mutilating his scrotum, from stripping him of his manhood, from turning him into something new, from castrating him forever.

Art’s eyes are wide, crazed. Your smiles are the most wicked they’ve ever been. Laughter—psychotic, unhinged, echoing in your skull—fills your ears in a rush of delirium, your hands working in sync—like a human chimera.

Nothing seems able to change what's meant to be.

And just then—

“Incoming call: Samantha Wife,” announces the car’s robotic voice.

And what follows is the most absurd ringtone imaginable: a xylophone—cheerful, obnoxiously cheerful.

You and Art freeze for a second—just one second. You stare at each other, eyes wide, blank with disbelief…

And then you burst out laughing.

You’re still full of him, and each laugh sends a tremor through you—your pussy clutching his cock in involuntary spasms.

Art slaps his thigh, cackling, gasping, moaning and laughing. Each contraction makes him grunt and huff beneath you—equally turned on and amused.

The hostage can’t breathe, he can’t move. He just cries in silence, pathetically—pants pulled down to his thighs, his balls still dangling between your fingers.

“Samantha... Wife,” you repeat like you're naming a ghost that just passed through the room.

Art doesn’t waste a second—the xylophone is still chiming. That call won’t last forever.

He grabs your face with his bloody hands, pulling you to him, forcing you to look at him—and in his pupils, you see something desperate.

His eyes are overflowing wells.

And then—he starts nodding, manically—like a child begging for an impossible toy.

His hands guide your head in sync with his—nodding together, your eyes just centimeters apart,

like two birds mid-mating ritual.

“YES, YES, YES”

Suddenly, he lets go, collapses into you, buries his face between your tits like salvation lives there. He clutches you—he’s one sob away from crying.

And the xylophone keeps playing—time’s running out.

The hostage is anxious—pants down, balls in your grip, scissors awaiting.

His dignity hanging by a literal thread.

(Maybe… maybe this is his chance to call for help?)

“Accept call,” you say loud and clear, so the car’s AI picks it up like a loyal servant.

Silence.

Art still clings to you, face buried in your chest—he doesn’t want to look.

Then, a voice—feminine, tired, worried.

“Phil? Hello? Are you there? Why aren’t you answering?” She echoes through the cabin like a ghost.

You freeze. You have no idea what to say—your body stiffens, suspended.

And then the hostage—Phil, apparently—starts thrashing like a drowning rat. Grunting through the duct tape. Lunging forward, his torso slamming into the air, desperate to be heard, to create noise—to make that woman on the other end understand.

THUD!

Art’s fist slams into his gut—a clean backhand strike from the hand holding the scissors. Right to the solar plexus—precise, silencing.

Phil folds like a wet rag and falls silent—immediately.

How dare he interrupt? How dare he try to upstage the star of the show?

“Phil?! Are you there? It’s almost 8 AM. You have to take the kids to school.” Her voice pushes through the speakers—tense, rising.

Art exhales against your chest, frustrated by your hesitation—your silence. Then he grabs your nipples—hard—twisting them without mercy, like he’s trying to tune your voice in. Like your body is a radio and he’s searching for your signal.

“Samantha…” It’s the first thing that comes out—choked by the pain.

Art softens at the sound. He leans in and licks your nipples—an apology. He strokes them gently, like he’s saying:

“That’s it… good girl. Keep playing.”

And you do.

“So you must be Samantha, huh?” you purr—already sketching the direction you want this to go, like tracing fresh skin with a hot knife.

A dry silence from the other side… Then, the question:

“Who is this?” Her voice lands sharp.

You smile. You feel it—confidence blooms. Art feels it too, through your hips—and his hands encourage you.

He starts to move beneath you—just a little. A slow push, a subtle rhythm, a gentle thrust of support.

He rocks you slowly, just enough to keep you warm, stimulated, aware—paired with the ever-present vibration of the engine beneath you both. Your bodies radiate heat—sex-charged warmth, thick and tangible.

You smile.

“Mmmmmm... You didn’t know?” you reply, tongue gliding over your lips, your voice a velvet blade—sensual, wicked.

Silence on the other end—but she doesn’t hang up.

You feel her frozen, listening—processing.

Art’s licks become kisses, kisses and caresses—he massages your breasts as you speak—rewarding you. Telling you without words that you’re doing perfect.

His hips grind into you—deep, slow—shaping every syllable with his body.

He wants to see you shine—he wants you sharp.

And just then—

Phil lunges—a reflex, a desperate, final attempt. His torso bent, wrists bound, duct tape soaked on his mouth.

His body—weak, restrained—but driven by pure, feral panic. He thrashes, he jerks, he writhes like a dying animal. Maybe he’s trying to scream, maybe trying to break something—anything that will make Samantha suspicious.

But all he manages to do is brush your leg with his shoulder.

A stain on the masterpiece.

Art reacts like someone just spat in his face during mass.

First fantasizing about fucking you—and now actually touching you? Really?!

He smashes the glass of the side window with his elbow.

Grabs Phil by the hair—hard, brutal—and yanks him between you two, like a trussed-up piglet.

Then, with the remote, he lowers the now-broken window, shoves Phil’s head out of the car in the cold—and starts rolling the glass back up. The blade-like edge of the shattered window rises—slow, relentless, sadistic.

Phil’s throat gets trapped.

The pressure builds—and the razor-sharp glass starts tearing into the flesh of his neck, spilling blood down the window like a waterfall of pain. He fights to breathe, but the air leaks out through his torn trachea before it can completely fill his lungs—choking him from within.

Each movement forces the sharp edges deeper into his bleeding flesh, making it worse to resist.

And Art has no intention of letting go. His finger stays on that button—until Phil bleeds out, suffocates, or freezes.

Art has him by the balls—literally—, and Phil coughs, gags, spasms under the glass’s murderous edge—but Samantha hears nothing…. because her husband is now outside the car.

You cling to Art’s shoulders, gasping, your body still flushed and pulsing from before—but now caught in that delicious edge between murder and desire.

That razor line where you both live.

And then—with the call still active, with Samantha likely crying on the other end, believing her husband is cheating on her—Art starts moving inside you again.

Rough.

Powerful.

Devastating.

All while gripping Phil, all while staring into your eyes—his face twisted in bliss and brutality.

Because the suffocating, bleeding body wedged between you is just part of the entertainment. Because the gagging, the twitching, the sobbing—It’s just background noise for your moans, music to your ears.

“Phil’s been having a blast this whole time. You should’ve seen us, hahaha!” you laugh out loud—bright, mean, unapologetic.

You keep riding Art—who still has Phil by the hair and the balls—without stopping. Your blood-splattered hips slam against Art’s vibrating pelvis with every deep thrust.

“We’ve done things…” you murmur through heavy breaths, biting your finger playfully, “things that would leave your jaw on the floor.” You’re not lying, not even a little.

“And the best part is…” you drop your voice to a sensual whisper, “we’re not done yet. The best is still coming.” You shoot Art a look.

He’s losing it—laughing harder with every word out of your mouth. And the best part? He knows you’re absolutely right.

“Where is he… I want to talk to him, I need to…” comes the whisper from the speaker—a broken, trembling voice.

“Phil? Oh, he’s…” You glance at him—gasping through the window, barely conscious,

bleeding down the glass.

“He’s getting some air. It’s just�� so hot in here. Poor thing’s outside, pants down, trying to catch his breath…” You shrug your shoulders, like it means nothing.

Click.

The call ends—abruptly. She’s heard enough—she can’t take any more.

And Art cheers.

You’ve been flawless. He’d be clapping if his hands weren’t full of hostage. You never broke character—not once. And all the while, you kept fucking him, both of you using Phil like he was just part of the set design.

Art starts bouncing you on his cock with the momentum of his hips—like you weigh nothing, making you jump, then slamming you back down onto his length.

He celebrates you.

Every thrust feels like he’s saying: “Hip hip hooray!”

You both brace yourselves on Phil’s limp body, kissing with feverish desperation as your hips keep moving—he’s stopped resisting. He’s not fighting anymore.

You use him—like a table, like furniture—as if his useless body was made just to support you.

Art lowers the window all the way to free Phil’s lacerated neck—he’s dizzy, disoriented, fading.

And you both look down at him with something almost like… tenderness, as he writhes weakly across your naked laps.

The important thing is… your princess is still alive.

Oops! Did I say princess?

That reminds me...

SNIP.

We left off right there, didn’t we?

The—now official—Passenger Princess is fully conscious again.

Art moves fast.

He rips the duct tape from his mouth in one swift, dry motion—and in the blink of an eye… shoves his own mutilated scrotum back inside it.

Without hesitation—like forcing medicine down a rebellious child’s mouth..

And then, reseals it—tape back in place.

Well, he won’t be making any more noise now, will he?

Art slams him down against the leather seats. And taking full advantage of the position Phil’s in—flat on his back, humiliated, turned into both mattress and rug at once—you waste no time.

You pounce on him.

You get on all fours—right on top of him as Art strips off the last of his bloody suit and positions himself behind you.

He lines up—presses his chest against your back—and sinks into you from behind.

Doggy style.

You both moan from the pleasure of this new sensation, your bodies shuddering in response.

And from that angle—you both look down at your lovely victim. Your hands are planted on either side of his head, and Art’s face leans in over your shoulder, never taking his eyes off him.

You both smile down at him.

Your hair brushes across his face with every thrust, and Art bites his lip as he fucks you from behind—absorbed—, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist—over your stomach—pulling your bodies together as much as possible.

Your arms start to give out, buckling under the weight of Art pressing into your back—your strength is fading…

You let yourself fall without a second thought—you don’t care.

You both collapse onto him like a cross—settling atop him without missing a stroke.

You—body to body, chest to chest with the hostage. And Art—on top of you, inside you—pinning you both in place.

A human tower of sin: Three bodies, two lovers, one victim—one act.

A perfect threesome.

And beneath you, shifting like a ragdoll—his movements pulled by the rhythm of Art’s thrust… your princess.

Your soft, squirming mattress, creaking with every motion—your own private living bed.

Art doesn’t wrap his arms around you anymore—he takes the opportunity to wrap them around your hostage, just to make sure he doesn’t feel left out.

He hugs you through him—as if you were the steak, and the man-and-a-half were the bread in a meat sandwich.

And you gasp—between laughter and moans—feeling the weight of him crushing your back,

the burning heat of his skin, and his cock—unyielding—fucking the life out of you.

You smile—you close your eyes. Lost in the pleasure, lost in this madness you love—this chaos that is him.

Exactly this.

Exactly this is what you needed to come.

Your man giving you everything—on you, against you, inside you—filling you with himself like the end of the world depends on it.

You moan his name with a broken voice, drool slipping down your chin, eyes squeezed shut—your fists clutching the hostage’s shirt like it were a bedsheet.

That feeling—building deep inside you, rising higher and higher.

Art is holding you now—tight. So tight you can’t even move… All you can do is take it—take his cock until his grip finally breaks… until he cums.

Your bodies—naked, bloodied, overflowing, frantic—can’t take much more.

So close.

Art bites your shoulders—his teeth ache like a teething baby needing something to gnaw on.

God—he’s hitting every single spot, every place you need. And your tight walls clutch him harder with each thrust, a velvet trap begging him not to stop.

And he won’t—not for a second.

Not the fucking.

Not the biting.

His tongue finds yours in a frenzy. And you kiss like oxygen doesn't matter—like your tongues have to melt together before the end comes.

Your mixed spit drips down onto Phil’s face, who’s right there—just inches away—unwilling witness to your sexual apocalypse.

Moans, growls, gasps, filthy sounds fill the car—a hellish symphony.

BEEP.

BEEEEEP.

The seatbelt alert—triggered by Art’s brutal thrusting—like a child kept awake by the sounds of his parents fucking in the next room.

From the outside, the image is absurd: a car bouncing like a cartoon, that shrill warning screaming alone into the empty world.

But nothing—absolutely nothing—matters now.

You’re on fire.

He’s on fire.

The world is on fire.

And Art… Art doesn’t stop.

His arms locked around your body like he hates you for how much he loves you.

“Come for me, baby,” you soothe him. “Fill my body with your poison… spill into me… flood me.”

You whisper it with all the heat in your soul, but some part of you starts to wonder—is something wrong with him?

You look back at him for a second. And he’s wide-eyed, mouth hanging open, sweat dripping down his temples, saliva trailing from his lips—in shock. You can feel his heart pounding against your back, erratic.

And then—you get it.

You lunge for Phil’s throat. You want Art to see you—to see your mouth soaked in fresh blood—hungry, feral, sensual for him.

He loves the sight of you like this. This is his favorite you—your freak self.

And he can’t help but do the same.

The princess moans beneath the tape. No longer fighting—but still feeling… and that’s all that matters.

Art licks one side of his neck.

You lick the other.

One on each side—like two hyenas toying with a trembling fawn.

You feast on his throat with teeth and lust—leaving red, wet, gleaming marks—, sucking his skin like it’s candy, moaning as you devour the meat of his neck.

And then, the taste of fresh blood hits his tongue—seeping from the tiny cuts made by shattered glass… and he savors it.

That taste… Hot blood from fresh cuts, still full of life—slipping out of its vessel.

Art finds the wounds—and fucks them with his tongue. He plunges into the gashes, tongue twisting and probing, teasing the torn flesh before driving deeper into the raw, bleeding meat.

And then you feel it—a shift. The tension in his jaw, a tremor rippling through his entire body…

Art growls.

“No…” you whisper, already knowing what’s coming. “You’re not going to be able to stop, are you?” you say, already bracing for what’s about to happen.

And he can’t—his ragged breath, his blown pupils, his endless thrusting—they tell you everything.

It hurts you to see him like this—to know you can’t satisfy every one of his needs…

“This is exactly what you need to finish. I know… do it,” you whisper to him—calm, loving.

He nods, eyes locked on that pulsing throat—he can’t resist any longer.

CRUNCH.

Hot blood splashes your chest, your face, your hair, your neck.

Art’s teeth sink into the Princess’s neck like ripe fruit.

And he starts eating—tearing off chunks of flesh as large as his mouth will allow.

The Princess spasms beneath you, moaning like a dying animal—his body convulsing under your writhing, relentless fucking.

This is the end.

And you look at Art—mouth dripping red, eyes completely gone, face twisted in pure, carnal lust—fucking you harder, faster and deeper than ever.

And right then—he cums.

Inside you—violently, completely.

He closes his eyes, furrows his brow, his head drops to the angle of your neck, pressing his forehead against your skin. His mouth opens in silence—he’s screaming on the inside, riding the wave of his orgasm like it’s tearing him apart.

His cock pulses inside you like a second heart.

And you feel everything—under pressure.

All his sickness.

All his love.

All his hatred.

And you cum with him—as if your body has no choice.

Not with this image.

Not with this feeling.

Not with those final breaths brushing your neck, escaping his lips as he devours human flesh and clings to you like you’re his torture and the only relief from it.

You cum together—on top of the still-warm corpse.

Art’s thrusts don’t stop as you both ride out the climax—filling you with thick white ribbons of the most intense pleasure a man’s body can take.

He trembles as he clings to you, and you offer yourself completely—you stretch his orgasm out as long as you can—wishing it could last forever for him.

And he does the same for you, in that way only he knows—only he can.

This is the most beautiful part of sex: That moment when you trap each other in a cage made of pleasure. That moment when it feels like nothing exists outside the other.

The car finally stills.

The beeping fades.

All that remains is your breathing.

And the echo of madness.

Art slips out of you—just for a moment, just long enough to turn you over—and slides back inside with the little strength he has left… just enough to kiss you until he gives in to exhaustion.

“I love you…” you whisper against his lips, stroking his sinful, naked body. “More than anything,”

you continue between soft kisses that taste like human meat. “I’d do anything for you.”

And he holds you—not quite understanding what you mean, but utterly captivated by your sweet insanity.

He still moves inside you—soft now, but present—in a slow, ghostly rhythm. You close your eyes, letting the fading climax travel through your still-entwined bodies.

Foreheads pressed together, as he finishes unloading inside you—as he empties himself deep inside. The last of him—slowly trickling out in drops, like tears.

And then—a vibration: Phil’s phone.

A new notification.

Marvin Son: Dad, where are you? Mom’s acting weird and we’re going to be late for school.

Art sees it—squints—, and with fingers still trembling from the effort, he types:

Dad: I got lost, I think I took a wrong turn somewhere, and the GPS isn’t working. No clue how to get back home from here… Send me your location and I’ll be there in a sec.

Marvin: Ok. (location attached).

You lie there, eyes unfocused on the ceiling, utterly spent.

“Truth is…we need a nice, relaxing shower.”

Thank you for reading all the way to the end!!!

I hope you enjoyed this story just as MUCH as I did.

Although… I have to admit I might’ve gone a little too far with the poor guy.

There were moments when I genuinely started to feel bad…

Maybe I should’ve stopped after making his wife believe her husband was a son of a bitch.

Maybe I should’ve stopped when Art started choking him with a broken-glass-powered automatic window.

Maybe I should’ve stopped when Art cut off his balls (and stuffed them in his mouth…).

Maybe I should’ve stopped when Art was literally eating him alive.

Maybe I should’ve stopped before dooming an entire happy family.

Oh well. Terrifier things, I guess 😅 HAHAHA.

If you liked the story, please leave a juicy like—it seriously motivates me to keep writing and keep feeding you all.

Comments are also very welcome. I love talking to people as insane as I am.

And don’t forget about requests—I'd be more than happy to make all your dreams cum true.💋🩸

Thanks again for everything, and I’ll see you in the next Artventure.

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heytheredelulu · 11 months ago

Note

Hey i hope you’re doing well i have an idea for a one shot and was wondering if you could write it.

So basically Bucky hears the reader talking to Natasha or anyone that she thinks she’s too heavy for any partner and that she has given up on dating for a while because of that, and of course Bucky hearing that he starts lifting heavy stuff such as weights, machines or even Steve😭 around the reader to show her he can easily lift her weight as well because he has feelings for her and you can add or change whatever you like and make it smutty idk whatever you think is right i trust your skills.

Hi! I’m doing good, how are you?

This request? Uh, YES. 🙌🏻

I love this idea!

I wrote this fully intending on Steve being like, “She ain’t lookin’, Buck. Lift me.” and then changed my mind and rewrote it when it took on a life of its own. 😂

I live and breathe smut so I definitely threw that in there in the form of Bucky needing to blow off some steam when he thinks about the reader. 😉

Anyway, thank you for the request and I hope it’s what you were looking for!

💋Sj

Bucky Barnes x Plus!Size Reader

18+

Word Count: 2.9k

CW: Male masturbation while fantasizing about oral (f receiving) and sex

“Bullshit.”

Bucky’s ears perk up as he passes the garage and hears Natasha fussing at someone in a string of curses, but it’s your voice that has him peering around the concrete wall with interest.

“I ain’t lyin’ Nat.”

You’re bent over the open hood of an old hot rod, your ass accentuated by the denim jeans hugging your curves. You blindly reach out towards the red headed assassin wiggling your fingers at her that are blackened with grease. Natasha rolls her eyes, pushing off the wall and picking up a socket wrench that she holds just barely in your reach. You let out a sigh, standing upright and snatching it from her.

“Look.” You tell her pointedly, blowing a loose piece of hair back from your face with a huff from your pouty lips. “It’s been months. I’m sufferin’, I am, really. But I’m just over it, you know?”

“No, I don’t know.” She replies, leaning her hip against the side of the car, watching you with a skeptical frown. “If you’re suffering, just come out with me. We can hit up that rooftop bar downtown. Have a couple drinks, dance a bit, pick up some hot strangers and scratch that itch. Come on.”

Scratch that itch?

A muscle jumps in Bucky’s jaw at Nat’s comment and he can feel his jealousy simmering low in his gut.

He’s been pining after you damn near since you’d arrived at the compound. The sweet little engineer Tony brought on to help take on his workload was only supposed to stick around and help out for a few months but when the team expressed their disappointment in you leaving and Tony realized despite his astronomically sized ego that he could get twice as much done with your help, giving him the opportunity for more free time with his family- you were brought on full time.

“I can scratch my own itches, thanks.”

Your curt reply to Nat brought Bucky’s attention back to the conversation he was eavesdropping on while the implication caught the attention of his cock, his jeans suddenly feeling tighter as he continued to listen.

“You’re crazy. You need to get laid.”

“Nat.” You warn and turn your back to her to grab a hand towel.

“Come on.” She pleaded, crossing her arms. “You’ve been so wound up. Nothing loosens you up better than a big, thick-“

Nat’s cut off by the hand towel being tossed in her direction and she catches it with a chuckle.

“I don’t understand why you’re so hung up on this.”

“I don’t understand why you’re so afraid to get laid.” She counters.

“I’m not afraid.” You protest, raking a hand through your hair. “I’m just- I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”

Nat’s expression softens as she hangs the hand towel over the open hood. “Try?” She asks. “We’re friends, you know you can talk to me.”

Bucky watches you shift uncomfortably and for a moment he feels guilty for listening in, as it’s clear you’re debating on confiding in Natasha and it feels wrong to eavesdrop on something so private. But as soon as you let out that defeated sigh and begin to explain yourself, he’s so goddamn grateful that this was the conversation he had a chance to overhear.

“Men just don’t know how to handle me.” You admit, leaning back over the car and pretending to inspect something to avoid eye contact with Natasha but she isn’t having any of it, bending down to hold your gaze. “How so?”

“They just-“ You huff out a breath of annoyance, bracing your palms on the front of the car and standing upright. “I’m curvy, yeah? And I want a man that’s gonna pick me up, toss me around, hold me up and fuck me on a wall or somethin’ but the last couple guys I went home with they’re so.. boring. Missionary. Doggy. Like for once, would it be too much to ask for a dude to want to, I dunno, have me sit on their face? I swear, it’s like they’re afraid. I ain’t ashamed of my body, I like the way I look but shit, Nat. It really fucks with a girls head to feel like she’s too heavy or something to really be satisfied.”

Natasha’s moving closer to you, beginning to say something about ‘weak men with noodle arms’ but Bucky can’t hear it over the steady thrumming of his heartbeat in his ears.

He can’t believe that your experiences have been so lousy that you won’t even entertain the idea of going out with Nat if she was wanting to pick up guys. Honestly, he’s relieved by that, since the idea of you hooking up with anyone has the knuckles of his flesh hand bleached white with how hard he’s clenching his fist. He flexes his fingers, trying to relax his hand as he feels a wave of embarrassment wash over him. How could he be angry or even jealous when he’s been too shy to make a move?

C’mon Barnes, grow a pair.

She wants strong? You can show her strong.

He sucks in a breath, steeling his nerves before rounding the corner and strolling into the garage with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Hey Nat.” He says with a friendly nod before slowly swinging his gaze over to you. “Doll.” He drawls. “What are you ladies up to this morning?” Your cheeks heat under the warmth of his cerulean eyes roaming over your body and you fumble the socket wrench, earning a lopsided grin from the handsome brunette. “Just- just workin’ on my project.” You stammer, bending down to pick up the tool. Damn, one flash of this man’s pearly whites is all it takes for you to lose control of your fine motor skills? Maybe you do need that itch scratched more than you’ve let on to your best friend and she can tell too, her brow lifting as she watches the scene unfolding.

“Mustang?” He asks, planting his hands on his hips. His eyes follow you as you bend over and reach for the socket wrench that’s just out of your reach underneath the car. When you stretch, your baggy t-shirt rises up your midriff, giving him a glimpse of that cute little pooch tucked into the dark-wash denim jeans that are deliciously hugging your hips and thighs.

He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. “1960’s?” He asks, leaning down behind you. God, what he’d do to bring his palm down hard on your perfect, round ass and watch the flesh redden with each swat of his hand.

“‘62.” You grunt, your fingertips brushing the tool that’s just barely out of reach. Bucky shrugs off his leather jacket and tosses it lazily over the workbench before stepping in even closer to you. “Here, lemme get that for you, doll.” He murmurs, his vibranium hand settling on the underside of the Mustang. Before you can eke out a reply, he’s lifting the vehicle off the garage floor like a goddamn carjack with enough ease that it makes the 3500 pound car seem as if it were cut from styrofoam. You’re frozen in place on your hands and knees from the show of brawn so it’s Natasha that crouches down and quickly grabs up the socket wrench before you snap out of your trance and scramble to your feet.

Nat presses the tool firmly into your palm while giving you a look that screamed, ‘do not fuck this up’ and saunters backwards admist the low groan of your car being set back down on its tires. “I gotta meet Steve for a briefing.” She tells you, which you know is a damn lie- but you nod nonetheless and stutter out a, “Y-yeah, yeah. Catch you later.” She gives you a little wave and jogs off, her red waves bouncing in stride. When you turn back around, Bucky is leaning against the car with his arms crossed, his biceps testing the integrity of his black tshirt.

Goddamn, that’s some quality fabric.

His gaze is locked on you, making you sweat a little under the intense stare so you awkwardly begin picking up the rest of your tools and putting them back in their rightful place at your workbench. A strong arm comes into view in your periphery as Bucky plucks up his jacket and you nearly lose your breath at the scent of cedarwood and leather. He slings the coat over his right shoulder, holding it with his flesh hand, his vibranium hand reaching up to rake through his cropped hair. “Finished so soon?” He asks. “You ain’t gotta quit workin’ just ‘cause I stopped by.”

“Oh, no. No, I-“ You swallow thickly at the way the corner of his mouth twitches up into a smirk. “I actually was just getting to a stopping point.” You tell him, absentmindedly pulling your hair up into a ponytail. With your neck exposed, he wets his bottom lip at the thought of dragging his teeth across the skin and that little glimpse of his tongue flicking out has you struggling to focus anywhere but his mouth. “Got somewhere you gotta be?” He asks, his voice low and gruff.

Fuck, this man is sex on legs. On two thick, strong legs.

You nod quickly. “Yeah, I got a meeting with Tony about a new project.” You explain, though it comes out an octave higher than usual. He quirks a brow. “Yeah? You got a new project?”

“Yep. Yeah. I better get going.” You teeter on your heel, ready to flee.

Chicken shit.

“Hey, wait. Hold on.” He says gently, reaching to grab your wrist and setting your skin ablaze with the touch. You glance over your shoulder at him. “Hm?”

“What’re you doin’ tonight, doll?”

“What am I..?”

Holy fucking shit. Is he gonna-

No, no way. This is Bucky fuckin’ Barnes. You two are friends. He’s your friend. Your insanely hot friend that you’ve definitely had some filthy, sinful thoughts about, but he’s never led you to believe that he’s ever thought of you as more than a friend.

Or has he? I mean, you’ve caught his eyes lingering on you on a few occasions but that doesn’t mean-

“Lemme take you to dinner.”

Oh. Oh.

It takes you a few seconds to realize that you’re staring at him like an idiot with your mouth agape before you click your jaw shut and nod. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, alright.” You manage.

A slow grin spreads across his face. “Yeah? I’ll pick you up at 6?” He asks, stuffing his hands into his pockets as tries to reign in his eagerness.

“That sounds- that sounds great.”

“Great.” He repeats, toeing the ground with his boot before taking a step backwards towards the open garage door. He sweeps his eyes over you one last time. “It’s a date, then.” And he ducks out of the garage back toward the compound.

You said yes.

He slips into his bedroom, the door clicking shut behind him and he falls back onto his bed, letting out a breath of disbelief. He’s taking you out. He finally fucking asked.

Laying in silence for several minutes he replays the interaction over in his mind like he typically did after he was around you. He had a tendency to over analyze your body language, your expressions, hang on to your every word like it kept him afloat in his sea of anxiety; though sometimes, most times, he let himself drown. He drowned in the worry that maybe he was imaging the way your voice caught around him. The way you tensed when he got close.

But you said yes.

You wouldn’t have said yes if he was just imagining it, right?

He lets out a huff, scrubbing a hand down his face as your words to Nat echo through his head like a shout in a cavern.

“Like for once, would it be too much to ask for a dude to want to, I dunno, have me sit on their face?”

And there’s his cock again, straining against his jeans just from the thought.

He groans softly, flicking the button open and unzipping his fly to give himself some relief from the pressure as he stares at the ceiling, watching the fan spin round and round and..

It takes all of the self control he can muster not to reach into his boxers so his hands fist in the sheets in restraint.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s fucked his fist to the thought of you. Hell, it wouldn’t be the 2nd, 5th or even 10th time he’d done it.

He lets his eyes slip closed, imagining your plush thighs straddling his head as you smother him with your pretty, wet cunt. His aching cock twitching with need from neglect as he focuses all of his attention on delving his tongue into your tight, warm, hole.. closing his lips around that swollen button that makes you writhe in pleasure.. your puffy pussy lips grinding against his face as you use him to chase your release .. your sweet, sweet slick coating his chin and-

Fuck it.

He shifts his weight on the mattress, tugging his jeans down enough for his erection to spring free, spitting in his flesh hand and slowly stroking himself. He groans, squeezing the crown of his cock, a bead of pearly precum gathering at his slit that he rubs roughly with his thumb. Bucky can imagine you on top of him, your pouty lips parting with a soft gasp as you sink down onto him, maybe even a hiss or shit- a whimper from the stretch when he splits you open. He knows he’s thicker than most men, a side effect of the serum- everything about him is bigger, thicker, better. Fuck those other men who couldn’t satisfy you. Fuck them. He strokes himself faster, the thought of you bouncing on his cock making his toes curl. Your tits, those big beautiful tits, swinging, slapping together with every thrust.

He’d reach up and pinch one of your pebbled nipples, rolling the sensitive peak between his fingers, cupping the other with his hand to give it equal attention. It’d be heavy in his palm, he just knows it. Heavy, warm and filling his whole fucking hand. He imagines yanking you forward and burying his face in those perfect breasts before trailing sloppy, open mouthed kisses up through the valley of them. He’d trace the tip of his nose across the swell and sink his teeth into the supple flesh, soothing the sting with a lave of his tongue, making you collapse forward against him as you cry out in pleasure. He could fuck up into you deeper at that angle, feel the tip of his cock kiss your cervix over and over until you see stars and lose your rhythm as your orgasm tears through you.

Yeah, he’d make you come so hard you’re limp on top of him and he’d reach behind you, grabbing a handful of your plump, round ass and taking control, moving you up and down the length of him at a frenzied pace until he-

His fantasy fades as his climax crests and he grunts, thick ropes of come spilling over his fist and onto his pubic bone.

He lies still and silent, his heartbeat a metronome in his ear, keeping time of the minutes that stretch on while he steadies his ragged breathing. With a sigh he sits up, looking down at the mess in his lap as his euphoria dissipates and the shame starts to creep in.

He’s certain of two things in that moment-

One, he needs a goddamn shower and two, this will be the last time he fantasizes about fucking you.

Pulling himself to his feet, he glances over at the clock.

14:17.

He smiles to himself, crossing the threshold into the bathroom and twisting the shower on. His flesh hand tests the water, the warm spray cleaning the sticky release from between his fingers before he steps in, letting the water cascade over him.

Less than four hours. He thinks to himself.

In less than four hours he’ll be sitting across from you in a dimly lit restaurant, watching your eyes sparkle in the candlelight as he prompts you about your favorite things just so he can see the way you light up when you talk about your passions. He smiles to himself at the image of your hands gesturing wildly as you talk, the sound of your infectious laugh and the way your breasts bounce when it bubbles up from your chest.

He begins to stiffen again at the thought.

Goddamnit, his cock just won’t quit, will it?

He turns the knob, the water quickly growing ice cold and he grits his teeth at the temperature change, cursing the serum for making his refractory period so short. He’s grateful for it in the proper circumstance, but when he’s alone it’s a fuckin’ nuisance.

Bucky’s eyes slip shut, focusing in on the feeling of the frigid water splashing against the top of his head and rolling down the taut muscle of his back. Eventually the ache ebbs and he cranks the temperature back up, reaching for his shampoo. The cedarwood fragrance clings to the steam, filling his nostrils as he massages it into his scalp. Tipping his head back under the steady stream, he sighs contentedly.

Tonight’s the night he finally gets his girl.

#bucky barnes x plus size reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fanfiction #ask request #ask response

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