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moonlightrafe · 5 months ago

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Blood Lust

summary: With his ego inflated after Rook’s Rest, Aemond makes another move against the blacks — taking you.

pairing: Aemond x Niece!Reader

word count: 1.8k+

warnings: Explicit smut, dark!Aemond, incest, oral sex (f recieving), p in v sex, heavy dubcon, loss of virginity, mention of blood, knife play, angst!!! 18+ MDNI

Destiny was a fickle thing but Aemond Targaryen knew three things for certain: he was destined to lose an eye, destined to claim the largest dragon of the known world and destined to be with you.

For as long as Aemond could remember, he wanted you, dreamed of you. The mere thought of you made his cock ache at any moment.

It was not as if Aemond had no other options. There were plenty of Lord’s willing to send their daughters to King’s Landing to be married off to a prince.

As lovely as those girls might have been, they all shared the same detrimental flaw: they simply were not you. You were a member of House Targaryen — bastard born or not, the blood of Old Valyria ran deep within your veins. You were a skilled dragon rider, you carried yourself with grace, held a quick wit, spoke your mother tongue. Above all else, you had been there for Aemond when no one else was. You were perfect.

Aemond had no interest in being betrothed to a Baratheon or a Lannister, nor an Arryn or a Stark; even the most beautiful girl the Tyrell’s had to offer would simply never compare. After a denied proposal for a betrothal and you being taken away to Dragonstone Aemond felt powerless — until now.

Your entire body aches as you make out your surroundings. You had been taken in the middle of the night, forced onto dragon back with your hands and feet tied.

“Listen to me,” your uncle says as he crouches in front of you, “if you scream the guards will come and you’ll be thrown in the dungeons. You have no friends here except me. Do you understand?”

You nod your head in agreement, desperate to be free of the makeshift gag he had made for you.

“Aemond, this is treason,” you state plainly.

“Treason, would be betraying the crown, sweet niece,” he responds, “I am the crown.”

“Fuck you!” you grumble at him.

“Iksos bona skoros ao jaelagon?” Is that what you want?

Against your better judgment, you spit right in his face, observing him nervously as he wipes it away.

“Fiesty little thing you are.”

“What do you want with me, Aemond? Will you force me to kneel before you? Carve out my eye? Perhaps I’ll suffer the same fate as my brother?”

Ah, Lucerys. He was waiting for you to bring that up.

“While I’m sure that seeing you on your knees is a glorious sight, I have other plans for you.”

“I have no desire to bed you, Aemond. I am betrothed.”

The smirk on his face slightly drops at that. Betrothed.

“And where is Lord Stark now?” He questions casually.

“Preparing his army for war.”

“I wonder how it must feel?” he goes on, “to be whored out? Practically sold like a broodmare so that your pretender of a mother can build herself an army?”

“Better to be his whore than your war prize.”

The mask of cruelty on Aemond's face fades for a moment, and for a second, he almost looks hurt at your words.

“Is that what you think? That you’re merely a ‘prize’? You wound me, dear niece. Do you not remember that I love you?”

Ice fills your veins at his confession and your heart drops into your stomach. Things could’ve been different, they should’ve been.

“I don’t understand why things had to escalate in this way, Aemond,” you say as you start to cry, “you could’ve —“ you choke back a sob, “you could’ve had me.”

Aemond takes your chin in his hands as he lets out a laugh.

“I do have you, baby.”

Fear courses through you at his words. Aemond unsheathes a knife from his jacket pocket and holds it to your chest for a brief moment before pulling away.

“Hold still,” he demands as he cuts the rope that holds your ankles together.

You wince as Aemond forcefully spreads your legs apart, violently cutting a hole into your undergarments, exposing your cunt to him.

“Tell me, has Stark fucked this pretty little pussy yet?”

He knows he hasn’t, he knows you and Cregan still have yet to meet. He wants to hear you say it.

“N-no,” you stutter as you continue to cry. Gods, you look so pretty when you cry, Aemond thinks to himself. He only smirks in response.

“You are still a maiden, right, sweet one? You haven’t let little Lord Strong defile you, have you?”

“Gods, Aemond. No.”

“Hm,” Aemond frowns, “a shame for him, really. Now he’ll never have the chance being that you will never see him again.”

“They’ll come for you,” you tell him.

“If they wish to keep me away from you and your perfect cunt they’ll have to kill you,” he muses, “But even then…”

A darkness takes over your uncles face and you soon realize the Aemond you once knew is gone. You are dealing with a whole new monster. He is an animal, a beast — and you are merely prey.

“Do you touch yourself?” he asks, pulling you from your thoughts.

“S-sometimes,” you whisper, feeling ashamed, but finding it difficult to lie to him.

“What do you think about when you do?”

“Not you,” you retort.

He runs two fingers through your soft folds, causing you to gasp, before bringing his fingers up to the light.

“Liar,” he states as his fingers glisten, coated in your slick. “You know you don’t have to lie to me, baby. I think about you, too…”

You can’t help but notice the evident bulge in your uncle's pants, his cock strains against the delicate fabric. You can tell how big he is. You try your best to divert your gaze elsewhere.

“Now, I’m going to untie your wrists. Might I remind you of what I said earlier: You are far better off in here, with me, than out there,” he says, pointing to the door with his dagger.

You’re not sure if you believe him. At this point, you might prefer to be thrown in the dungeon with the rats, left to starve. Instead of arguing, you simply nod your head as Aemond cuts you free.

You feel wobbly as you stand on your feet, Aemond holds your hands as you gain your composure. Your ankles and wrists feel sore, but Aemond rubs his thumb against your wrist soothingly.

Your heart is practically beating out of your chest as that familiar ache between your legs begins to grow. You know you shouldn't be aroused by this behavior, but your body is betraying you.

Aemond picks you up swiftly and places you onto his bed. There was a time where you dreamed of this. If only your younger self could see you now.

Your thoughts are interrupted once again as Aemond’s large hand wraps around your throat. He squeezes lightly, trying to keep you in your place. You make a feeble attempt to push him away, but he is too strong and you can’t break free.

“Please, don’t be afraid of me,” he pleads, “I need you,” the timbre of his voice is so low that you aren’t sure if he meant for you to hear. His free hand moves to your breast, massaging it roughly through your chemise.

"You are so beautiful," he says, leaning over you. You feel him press himself against you, his cock rubbing against your leg, pre-cum leaks out of the tip and smears onto your thigh.

He pushes back and nestles himself comfortably between your thighs. His dexterous fingers part your folds ever so gently, exposing you to him completely.

“Gods, you’re perfect. The most perfect girl in the entire realm,” he groans before his face is buried between your thighs. His plump lips suck at your clit as he prods at it with his tongue before moving up and down your slit. You feel yourself getting wetter, arousal leaks from your core and Aemond laps it up eagerly. On instinct, you spread your legs even further apart, your body betraying you once again.

Aemond licks harder, and you feel the soft muscle of his tongue slip inside you. A loud moan erupts from your chest as a tight knot forms in the pit of your stomach. Your hand shoots down to to tug at Aemond’s silver tresses.

You’re so close, you’ve never been touched like this before and one final glide of his tongue pushes you over the edge. You cry out loudly as you cum, your vision going blurry as your cunt contracts around him.

Aemond pulls himself from your core and stands up, grabbing your hips. He harshly pulls you to the edge of the bed and you feel his cock pressing against you. You eagerly push towards him this time. There is no point in fighting him. You gasp as he enters you fully, filling you completely. The stretch is overwhelming, a tight burning sensation. The fullness begins to feel good as your silky walls flutter around him.

“Just relax,” he coos, “I know you want me.”

You feel his cock twitch inside you slightly as he groans, leaning down to bite your shoulder.

“Fuuuck,” he drawls, “you’re so tight and wet, baby, so perfect; just like I dreamed you would be.”

Your cheeks bloom crimson at his praise and you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him tightly as he fucks into you. The sharp pain soon fades into pleasure. The fat tip of his cock relentlessly bullies that sweet spot inside you that you were never able to reach on your own.

Aemond reaches up to paw at your breast, pinching at your nipple roughly, and a wave of pleasure crashes over you. Your spine tingles and your toes curl, causing you to moan in response.

"You think Stark could fuck you like this? Make you feel the way I do? That anyone could?" He rasps as his thrusts become relentless. He slaps your face when you fail to give him an answer. A shameful whimper escapes you.

"Answer. Me." he demands between thrusts, his teeth gritted together, his thumb swiping over the rosy, delicate flesh where he hit you.

“N-no, Aemond! Only you, just you! I'm sorry!” you all but choke out to him.

“That’s right, my sweet. You were fuckin’ made for me,” he grunts before pausing his thrusts, his hips stuttering before he pulls his cock out of you almost entirely. Making note of the blood that coats his shaft, hoping you don’t notice.

“You know it, I know it, your mother knows it,” he grits out, “you’re mine.”

“Yes, Aemond, I’m — fuck! I’m yours,” you mewl.

“Do you love me?" he asks, your mind is hazy, and stars blur your vision as he continues to drill into you. Even while he is taking control, his insecurity still has a way of shining through his cruel demeanor.

You loved him once, long ago. Maybe you could love him again? You know the answer he is looking for is not ‘maybe.’

"Kessa, Avy jorrāelan." Yes, I love you.

Aemond grins at this, impressed with your knowledge of your shared mother tongue.

He slams his cock into you full force, stilling as he presses hard against your cervix, making you cry out again. His hand tangles in your hair as he places his forehead against yours.

“I’m not gonna last much longer,” he tells you.

You grip at his hips, pulling him into you.

“C-cum inside me,” you moan through bated breaths, “claim me as your own, once and for all.”

“You’ve always been mine,” he says as he complies, pushing into you deeply as he shoots his hot cum inside of you, warmth blooming in your chest as he does so; before collapsing on top of you.

“What happens now?” you ask, as he gently pulls himself out of your heat, allowing his seed to seep onto the bed sheets.

“This is just the beginning.”

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eclipseslayer · 5 months ago

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DEEP IN THE VINES

➭ LAIOS TOUDEN X F!READER SMUT ONESHOT

➭ Summary: You and Laios get separated from the group and encounter a strange monster.

➭ CW: DUBCON! Tentacles, sex pollen, penetration, dirty talk, nipple play.

➭ WC: 4k

➭ A/N: Hello first Dungeon Meshi fic! Good to be here. Also I used the Greek word "plokami" which means "tentacle" for the monster. Idk. I made everything else about it up. ➭ Please like & reblog if you enjoyed!

"What a pain."

You groan, looking ahead of you as you view the endless sea of thick, long vines that hang down from what appears to be a very tall ceiling. The vines stretch all the way from the top, and don't stop stretching until they reach the floor, dragging on the dungeon floor like snakes, making it very hard to navigate your way through this maze that you and Laios fell into, thus separating yourselves from the rest of the group.

Laios has to agree with you as he lets out an exasperated sigh. He shakes his head as he figures Chilchuck is laughing with glee as Laios' curiosity for monsters finally lands him in a heap of trouble.

Laios draws his sword and grips the handle, and begins to cut through the thick vines, creating a pathway for you to follow him through.

"At least these vines aren't the man-eating ones," he grumbles as he cuts through a thick layer of vines.

You nod and you look around at the vines around you, taking in the different shapes and sizes of the vines, noting how some are thin and some are thick, and also noting how the colors are only brown and green, and then you look down at the array daggers strapped to your thighs. There's no way in hell you'd be able to cut through them with these daggers, so you just decide to let Laios do all of the work.

"Yeah... thank goodness," you say under your breath, replying absent-mindedly as you look around the vines again, your anxiety only grows as you see nothing but jungles of vines for miles. "Hey, Laios? How do we even know we're going in the right direction? I mean, we fell through a hole in the dungeon floor. We don't even know where we are."

Laios suddenly stops cutting and comes to a freeze, which makes you halt from behind him. He sighs again and rubs the back of his head, his fingers going through his blonde hair.

"Well..." He chuckles nervously. "I don't know if we're going in the right direction. I figured if I just started cutting then maybe we'd see some sort of clearing along the way that could at least give us some indication as to where we are, but... these vines are so dense..." His words fall off as if he already sounds defeated even though you can't possibly be more than twenty feet in.

You feel your heart clench at how defeated Laios already sounds. Usually—between him and Marcille—he's the optimistic one in the group, so to see him feel already so defeated makes you feel horrible. You reach up and with a small thunk, you put your hand on his shoulder and give him a sympathetic look.

"Hey. We'll make it out of here. I know Marcille is already panicking, finding some kind of magic spell that can track us down," you say with a chuckle, and that earns you a smile from Laios. "Don't worry. Let's just try to find some sort of clearing and we can rest, okay? I'll even..." You sigh, shaking your head. "...I'll even cook us up some of these vines for us, okay?" You tap one of the vines beside you.

With your words of encouragement, Laios' face seems to brighten up. He chuckles and looks down before slicing ahead with his sword again.

"You're right. Thanks. Let's go find us a clearing."

With another swing of Laios' sword, you continue the journey of trying to get out of this (literal) hellhole. The journey is long, and Laios has to switch arms regularly and also switches with you to chop the vines down because of how tired his arms had become, but, eventually, the thick sea of vines finally gets thinner and thinner, until finally, with one final swipe of the sword, you've reached a clearing.

It's a pond, a rather large one, that expands about forty yards. Surrounding the pond is nothing but lush, forest green with tall grass and trees with long, hanging leaves and limbs that droop down in a curling pattern. Mushrooms and flowers dot the forest floor, and sparkles of light seem to shimmer throughout the air. It's almost as if this space was right out of a storybook.

"Wow..." You step out from behind Laios, pushing away the vines from beside you and step into the grass, which is a huge contrast from that to the cobble from the dungeon floor.

"This is so strange," Laios notes, which breaks you out of your awestruck spell and turns you to face him. He's still standing at the boundary of the vines and the grassy area.

"Why would this area be here in the middle of the dungeon? I mean, it's not like we're on the upper levels of the dungeon anymore where you'd see grass," he mutters, and he slowly turns his head around to look at the pond ahead of you.

His logical way of thinking has you huff and you roll your eyes, as if dungeons were logical in the first place. They were ruled by magic and monsters—so why is this area any different?

"Oh come on, Laios. Relax." You look at him with an exasperated expression, your eyes droopy from how tired you feel from walking and cutting down vines. You rub your sore shoulder. "It's a dungeon, remember? Dungeons are weird. Maybe this is the dungeon seeing our poor, tired feet, so it decided to give us a break."

Your mind is already made up as you find yourself a big rock under a tree and sit yourself down in it, and you start opening up your bag to grab yourself a treat—that Senshi had made—to munch on.

You hear armor clinking and a sigh coming up from behind you as Laios takes a spot next to you to sit on the grass.

"I suppose you're right... still, though, let's be on our guard. Something about this doesn't feel right to me."

You raise an eyebrow at this as you take a bite of your honey-covered mandrake. You chew for a moment before speaking, and you turn to look at the blonde who's also taking out his treat from Senshi.

"Usually you're so excited about new monsters to find in these types of areas, Laios. Where's all of that excitement?"

He takes a bite from the food, and for a moment his face lights up but it soon fades away as he answers your question. "Oh, trust me, I'm excited about the monsters here, but, I'm just being cautious. I mean, as beautiful as this place is, it's surrounded by an endless sea of thick vines. Isn't it a bit eerie to you that this place just sticks out like a sore thumb?"

Well, when he puts it like that, you seem to have suddenly lost your appetite. You frown and put the mandrake back into your bag, closing the flap on it before you look up at the armored blonde. Maybe he's right. Maybe you should be more cautious, considering the things you and your group have ran into in the dungeon. For crying out loud, you fell into a gaping hole that led to this, so maybe Laios is right.

You huff and put your chin on your hand. "Maybe you're right... still, though." You look around the lush green surrounded by the wall of vines. "So far there aren't any threats so I think we should relax."

There's a brief moment of silence between the two of you, and you know that means the gears in Laios' head must be turning as he continues to chew on the mandrake. He stares off into the distance as he thinks, which you've picked up on as you've traveled with him, so you poke his side between the clunk and mesh of his armor.

"Hey. What is it?"

Laios is quiet as he continues to chew. His stare remains on the pond in front of you, and his eyes narrow. You raise an eyebrow, and slowly, you turn your gaze to where he staring and realization dawns on you when you see he's staring at the ripples in the water.

You feel your heart thump in your chest as you watch the water ripple. At first, you think it's harmless due to the ripples being small, but with each passing moment, they begin to grow, steadily.

"I've been thinking about what kind of monsters we might see here," Laios says suddenly, making you whip your head back to him. "And I've realized that only plokami tend to hang around environments like these..."

"Plokami?" Your voice quivers.

"Yeah... big monsters with tentacles that live partially in lakes but come out of the water to either hunt or mate. They have long talon-like claws that stick out of their tentacles to stab, and then squeeze and eventually sedate their prey with this toxin that emits from them," his words sound more excited as he continues, and he sits up straight as he keeps his focus on the rippling water, but your fear only increases as he goes into lengthy detail, "but when they mate, they use their suction cups and retract their claws to grab ahold of their mate, and they release that same toxin to sedate their mate so they have an easier time to coerce that mate into, well, mating with them! Isn't that neat?"

Laios' eyes are shimmering with excitement as he continues to stare out into the water, but all you feel is bouts of fear bubbling up inside you as he talks.

"Also!" Laios continues, not giving you a chance to respond. "When they come out of the water, they like to hang out in tall trees with big vines so it looks like they're camouflaging right in with their tentacles! Then, when the time is right, they snatch their prey up into the trees, and claw, squeeze, and sedate right there! Oh, also with mating, sometimes they don't care who their mate is! Sometimes they just pick up whatever they can to get out of heat if another one of their species isn't around."

Tall trees with big vines. That's all you could focus on as Laios rambled on about this plokami that you might see because this environment was certainly the type for it. Maybe the monster-obsessed blonde was right for being cautious, although, he doesn't look like he's being cautious now as his glowing face and shimmering eyes glimmer with so much excitement. Instead, it looks like he's going to hop up and go mate with this plokami himself.

"Yeah, their tentacles get all slick and lubricated whenever they're in heat, and—"

You gasp, interrupting Laios as you watch in horror as a big glob of something lands on Laios' shoulder. You quickly stand up and point at the oozing, clear liquid that has landed on his armor. You feel yourself trembling as your worst fear has possibly come true.

Gods. You're going to be eaten alive.

"L-Laios... y-your s-shoulder..." Plop. Another glob right onto his head. "...Y-Your h-head..."

Slowly, Laios puts down his mandrake and back into his backpack and stands up. The two of you slowly back away from the tree, and Laios wipes the glob off of his face so he has a clearer picture of where your eyesight has landed.

You stand there, stunned as your eyes remain on the tree before you, your body trembles as you look up at the large monster hanging in the tree with its long, tendrils of tentacles hanging like vines, its green skin blends into its surroundings perfectly. If it didn't have the large, squid-like head, you wouldn't have been able to point it out—you're sure of it.

You watch, frozen in a standstill as the monster heaves, its breath blows the leaves in the tree, shaking them as they fall to the ground, and the tree itself is coated in a clear liquid that seeps from the tentacles of the monster.

"I-Is... t-that..." You stutter out, but Laios finishes it for you.

"Yep... the plokami, and..." He pauses. "... it's in heat."

Laios almost sounds excited when he says that last part, which rips you out of your fear-ridden state. You whip your head towards him and you see his eyes, glimmering with curiosity once more like he always does when he sees a monster.

"Laios you freak!"

"I've always wanted to know... heh. Can you blame me?" He asks, but, with the way he's asking, it's more like he's just making a proud statement that he knows he's going to finally get what he's dreamed of for years.

He's going to fuck a monster.

He takes a step forward, almost as if he's offering himself to it, and he opens his arms, welcoming the plokami.

"Laios you're insane! What if it eats you after it—" Your worries are nothing but moot to him as he takes another large step forward the tree.

"Plokami!" He shouts to the tree where the monster lays, and another glob of that lubricant falls onto Laios' shoulder.

There's a big whoosh that sweeps through the air before you can realize what's happening. A gust of wind almost knocks you over which stirs you out of your fearful state, making it dawn on you that Laios has been swept up into the monster's grasp.

You groan, hating that your monster-obsessed friend is too curious for his own good, so, despite him wanting to fuck a monster, you quickly grab a dagger from its sheath. You grip it tightly and you throw it at the monster as it hits, and sinks down into one of its tentacles.

Unfortunately for you, however, this seems to make the monster more mad as it lets out a low, rumbling sound, and, before you know it, you're immediately hit with a large tentacle that almost knocks the breath out of you as it grabs you by your ribs and sweeps you up into the air, squeezing you tightly as its wet, sticky suction cups glide over your skin, making wet popping sounds.

"Laiooooos!" You curse your friend's name as you let out a groan, completely grossed out of your mind as the monster's wet slick drips all over you. You whip your head toward him and narrow your eyes as you see him completely relaxed as the monster rubs its tentacles all over Laios' body, slowly shrugging off his armor, making it hit the ground with a metallic thunk.

"Why did you have to fuck the monster?!"

"Because I'm curious!" He retorts, which, was the response you unfortunately expected from him.

"Well, I wasn't! I was perfectly fine, on the ground, and not slimy!" You shout back, and you wince when you feel a slimy tentacle glide around your throat. You swallow thickly.

Laios huffs and he rolls his eyes. "One, you were the one who angered it so it picked you up, and two, it's not slime! It's arousal fluid!"

You groan and you try to move your limbs around in an attempt to free yourself, but the hold of the plokami's tentacles is too strong, and to only make matters worse, they tighten around you as you struggle.

"Stop struggling! You'll only make matters worse. It'll squeeze you to death if you struggle. Just..." Laios sighs, "Let it happen."

You stare at him with your mouth agape as you watch him, clearly enjoying this as he relaxes in the monster's arms.

"You're crazy, Laios! I—" You struggle again, but this time the monster squeezes you again, tighter than last time, so you have no other choice than to relax. However, something is off when it squeezes you again. You smell something—something sweet. You sniff it, and you turn to Laios again, who's a blushing mess under the touch of the tentacles.

"Laios, do you smell that?" You ask, and you sniff it again.

He nods, and, as you watch him, a tentacle slips under Laios' shirt and slips it off, exposing his chest. Your face heats up at the sight, and he hangs his head back with a groan as one of the tentacles moves to rub his cock, which, you could see was hard through his tan pants.

"Y-Yeah... it's the sedative I was telling you about..." He mumbles, clearly already drunk under the spell of the sweet sedative. "This is why I was sayin' to just let it happen..."

Not like I have a choice, you think to yourself as you remember Laios saying that the beast used the sedative to coerce its mates.

The sedative lingers in your nose, the scent sickeningly sweet as it slowly starts to make you dizzy, almost as if you're drunk. You let your head fall back, and the tentacles slowly relax around you as they feel you start to relax as the sedative works its magic on you.

Your head feels so light, and you feel so weightless under the effects of the sedative. You sigh, accepting more and more of the tentacles as they glide around your body, and a few more join in to help slide off your clothes. You watch as the thick, slimy tentacles drag themselves up and down your body, leaving trails of wet, lubricant. It slowly slides itself up under your shirt and it pushes up against the fabric so it slowly slides it off, leaving your breasts exposed.

Normally you'd want to cover up with your arms in a situation like this, but, your head feels so light, and dizzy that you'd just rather relax in this. You hum contently, and a lazy smile forms on your face as you feel the tentacle glide down your pants, brushing over your pussy through the fabric which makes it throb with a silent need.

"Mmm... this is good, Laios..." You say softly, drunk on the sedative.

"I know... told you," he sighs in a heavy breath, and you tilt your head back to look at him.

He's laying with his legs spread open as the monster holds them open, and his pants have been taken off, leaving his cock pressed against his stomach.

You swallow thickly as you realize you've never seen Laois like this, all laid out and naked before you. You'd honestly never thought you would, but now... you let out a shaky breath.

"Laios..." You watch as the plokami moves one of its long tentacles up and down his body, rubbing over his nipples and tracing over his thighs with another tentacle, slowing inching toward his cock.

Laois shifts his drunken gaze to you and his eyes widen when he sees your top off, and the tentacle rubbing you between your thighs. His cock twitches at the sight.

"Gods, you look so good like that," he says with a sigh, and you feel your body heat up from the praise.

"Y-Yeah? Was about to say the same thing to you..." you reply in a soft voice, and Laios blushes again.

"Y'so sweet... always have been," he mutters through a drunken daze, and he groans as the tentacle finally wraps around his cock, slowly pumping it, coating it in nothing but the tentacle's slick.

You feel yourself throb with need as you watch the monster jerk off Laios, finding the image hot as you watch the blonde tilt his head back, his eyes fluttering to a close and his jaw drops open. He looks so good like that, you think to yourself and you let out a whine, wanting nothing more than to go over there yourself and sit yourself down on his cock, but the plokami has you in a tight grasp.

"L-Laios... I want you..."

You don't know where the admission came from, but, its the truth.

Laios' eyes open slowly when you admit that, and he groans as the monster seems to pick up the pace on his cock. You whine, wishing it was you once again so you buck your hips up, grinding against the monster pathetically as you feel the ridges of the tentacles grind against your cunt over your pants.

You look away from Laios at the moment to focus on the pleasure that the tentacle is giving you, and finally it slips inside your pants to take them off.

The wet fabric slips down your legs and off with a few swipes of a tentacle before returning to glide up and down your cunt, making sure to glide perfectly over your clit.

You let out a whine, and at that, Laios curses under his breath.

"Fuck, I want you too..." He replies to you, and he bucks his hips up into the tentacle, chasing after what he wants with heavy breaths.

You tilt your head back to get a good look at him, and, as you see his chest heaving, his skin red from the heat, and his throbbing, hard cock pulsing under the weight of the tentacle—it's almost enough to make you cum yourself.

You grind yourself against the tentacle, the wet, big, ridges from the suction cups make you moan as it glides against your sensitive clit, and, to add to the pleasure, a tentacle slowly makes its way toward your breasts, where it snakes its way around your nipples, slowly stimulating them which sends a shock of pleasure down to your pussy.

"Nnngh!" You look up at Laios as you grind against the tentacle with begging eyes as you wish it was him who was making you feel this good, and not some monster.

You're about to say something else to Laios when suddenly you feel a tentacle thrust into your poor, sopping-wet pussy, earning Laios a loud moan as it begins to thrust in and out of you.

Your head falls back, and you let out loud moans as you feel the tentacle move in and out at a harsh pace, and the thickness of it stretches you out so deliciously. You feel nothing but bliss as your head feels full of stars, and gliding into what feels like another plane of existence as you get fucked out on this tentacle.

Fire rises along your skin as you're enveloped into that feels like heaven as the beast pushes in and out of you, releasing moans out of you that you never thought you'd felt before. All of this pleasure slowly builds up, and you feel that fire kindle in your stomach as your breaths start to pick up.

You moan Laios' name. "Fuck... Laios... need to cum..."

"Yeah?" Laios groans and he thrusts up into the hold of the tentacle, feeling like he's on his last strand, too. "Me too... need to cum... wanna cum together?" He says under a rough grunt as his fingernails dig into the palms of his hands.

You nod eagerly, barely able to respond yourself as your head feels so light and dizzy from needing to cum.

"Y-Yeah..."

"A-Ah... cum. Cum for me." He lets out a low groan as he finally cums, his white seed spurts all over the tentacle around him and onto his stomach as he lets out a loud moan.

Just as he cums, you whine, squeezing around the tentacle as you finish, making your legs shake as you feel that fire roar inside your body, and, soon after, you feel a rush of warm liquid flush into you.

You look down, hardly unable to pick up your head as you see a huge load of milky white cum flow from the tentacle and into you, and you feel your cheeks heat up at the sight. You swallow thickly as you watch it all drip out of you.

There's nothing but a moment of heavy breathing exchanged from the two of you as you slowly regain your consciousness as the sedative has worn off now.

The plokami slowly sets you and Laios down onto the grass before it sinks back away into the tree, and down into the water in the pond.

Laios groans and sits up, rubbing his head as he looks over at you, who's panting and still laying against the grass, all fucked out.

He sees the cum from the tentacle monster, and slowly, he reaches over, before he can do anything, you quickly grab his wrist.

"Don't you dare, Laios."

"What?! I just wanna know what it tastes like."

#🌑 my fics #dungeon meshi smut #delicious in dungeon smut #dungeon meshi x reader #delicious in dungeon x reader #laios touden x reader #laios touden smut #laios touden x you #laios smut #laios x reader #laios x you

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waitimcomingtoo · 7 months ago

Text

The Way That You Were

Pairing: fratboy!Peter Parker x reader

Synopsis: you and Peter reunite at a college party and discover he is no longer the sweet nerd you knew in high school

Masterlist

“I’m gonna pee.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Your friend asked you over the sound of the music of the party.

“I’ll be fine. But hold my drink, please.” You kindly requested and handed her your red solo cup.

“Have fun.” She called after you as you left for the bathroom. You adjusted your dress and leaned against the wall as you waited on the bathroom line. You looked around the frat house you were in and decided the walls were not actually something you wanted to lean against.

“God damn. If your ass blew me away I cannot wait to see your face.” A voice suddenly came from behind you. You scrunched your face in disgust and turned around to see who the voice belonged to. Your eyes met a boy in a backwards hat with curls spilling out of it on either side. But what made you lose your breath was the fact that you recognized the eyes staring back at you. The smug grin on the boys face instantly dropped when he recognized you as well.

“Peter? Peter Parker?” You asked and felt your heart ache just a little. You both slowly processed what he had just said and he turned a bright red.

“Y/n?” He asked in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

“My friend invited me. What were you saying about my face?” You asked and folded your arms.

“Nothing. Something stupid.” He said quickly before breaking into a smile. He suddenly stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug. You blinked in surprise and hesitantly patted his back.

“I can’t believe you’re here.” He said into your ear.

“Neither can I.” You laughed dryly as you pulled out of the hug. You stepped back and took a moment to take him in. His arms were much bigger than you remembered from back in high school and you had a full view of them in his white cut off tank top. Everything about his outfit was different from his typical style, down to the shoes he was wearing. You would’ve thought he was wearing a costume if he didn’t look so natural.

“God, look at you.” He sighed as he looked you up and down. A dopey smile remained on his face and he shook his head as if he trying to shake a thought out of his mind.

“Me? Look at you. You look so different. What are you doing at a party like this?” You wondered.

“Oh, this is my frat house. We throw parties like this every weekend.” He replied and you laughed. He didn’t laugh with you and you realized he wasn’t joking.

“You live here?“ You asked as your eyes darted to the poster of a girl in a bikini riding a beer can barely covering a hole in the wall.

“That’s not mine.” Peter said quickly.

“The hole or the poster?”

“Can I get you a drink?” He asked to change the subject.

“I’m kinda waiting for something.” You laughed awkwardly and nodded towards the bathroom door.

“After? I’ll wait.” He offered. He seemed very eager to talk to you and you couldn’t deny that you had been desperate to talk to him ever since you graduated high school.

“Okay.” You agreed. “Sure.”

“Wait, don’t use that bathroom. It’s probably disgusting. It’s actually most definitely disgusting. I have a bathroom in my room. It’s much cleaner. Come on.” He said and nodded towards the stairs.

“Oh. Okay.” You looked around at who was watching before following him up the stairs. You stayed close behind him until the two of you reached his bedroom. You would never normally follow a guy up to his bedroom at a party without telling anyone where you were going but you grew up with Peter so you trusted him. You entered his bedroom and you discreetly took a look around. You’d been to his apartment in high school and were saddened to see his posters of the periodic table and Star Wars were replaced with patched up holes in the wall and a poster of Goodfellas next to a tapestry that said “Saturdays are for boys” over an American flag.

“I’ll guard the door.” Peter told you as he showed you where the bathroom was.

“Thank you.” You shot him a smile before going inside. Peter’s bathroom was much more akin to the Peter you once knew. You smiled at the miscellaneous artifacts on his bathroom counter and did what you came to do before leaving.

“Hey.” You smiled awkwardly at him when you left the bathroom.

“Hey.” He smiled back. “I kinda can’t believe you just used my bathroom.”

“I kinda can’t believe you have pink hand towels and Darth Vader shampoo.”

“Hey, hey, hey. That’s not Darth Vader. It’s the Mandelorian.” He corrected. “And they’re only pink because I washed them with my Chiefs jersey.”

“You own a jersey?” You raised at eyebrow at him.

“I do now that Taylor Swift said it’s okay to watch football.”

“You still listen to Taylor?” You smiled in surprise.

“Obviously. I was listening to Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus while I pregamed for this party.”

“Jesus.” You chuckled. “Who hurt you?”

“I just like the line about wondering.” He laughed as well but didn’t meet your eyes.

“So do I.” You admitted and he finally looked at you. You shared a moment of lingering eye contact accompanied by a comfortable silence. He looked different, and not just because of his outfit. He looked older. His baby face had hardened and he looked more like a man now and not the boy you once knew. But as different as he was, his eyes were the same. So was his laugh. And despite the years that had gone by without you seeing each other, you slipped right back into your friendship.

“Can I make you that drink now?” Peter asked after a beat.

“Okay.” You smiled and he slung his arm around your shoulders.

“Stay close to me. The people that come to these parties haven’t had all their vaccines.” He whispered in your ear as he led you back downstairs.

“I will.” You laughed and felt relieved his sense of humor was still in tact. A few people from Peter’s school turned to look at the two of you as you made your way to the kitchen but Peter didn’t seem to notice.

“This is the kitchen. All the healthy cereals are mine.” Peter said proudly and pointed to a box of Mini Wheats on top of the refrigerator.

“By healthy do you mean the frosted strawberry Mini Wheats?”

“Those really hit after a nightmare.” He insisted. “Plus, strawberry is a fruit and wheat is good for you. God, what do they teach girls in school?”

“Not the important stuff, apparently.” You laughed and he smiled as he caught your eyes. He pulled out a fresh red solo cup and got some ice.

“Do you still like Shirley temples?” He asked you.

“Yeah. You remember that?”

“Of course I do. I remember making makeshift ones out of sprite and strawberry syrup at Ned’s Halloween party Junior year because you told me they were your favorite.”

“Those were not bad.” You recalled. “Or maybe they just tasted better because I was 17 and drunk for the first time.”

“That was my first time drinking too. White Claw does not taste as good on the way out as it does the way in.” Peter grimaced and grabbed a beer from the ice bucket on the counter. You watched him crack it open with ease and felt an ache of nostalgia for those few nights of getting drunk as teenagers off alcohol from 7/11 that someone’s older brother bought.

“But I see you’ve outgrown White Claw.”

“Yeah. My friends and I pretty much only drink beer.” Peter nodded and took a swig of it.

“Don’t you worry about getting a…” You trailed off when Peter lifted his shirt to wipe his mouth with, giving you a full view of his abdomen. Peter’s sweaters and nerdy t shirts never let on that he was carved by the gods underneath his clothing.

“Beer gut.” You barely got the words out and blinked a few times to get back into reality.

“I seriously can’t believe you’re here. I always wondered what happened to you after high school.” Peter admitted as he made your drink for you.

“I know. I dropped my phone on the subway tracks a few years back and got a new number. But I always wondered about you too.” You told him.

“You did?” He smiled in relief.

“Of course I did. I tried to find you on social media but I couldn’t find anything.

“Yeah. I never really got the hang of it. I did try to find you in a phone book once. But the librarian called me a nerd and told me to go back to the 90s.” Peter replied, making you laugh.

“Well that wasn’t very nice of them.” You said.

“No it was not. So I am very pleased that I find you in my house tonight. That’s why I made you the most delicious Shirley Temple in the world.” Peter said and proudly held out the red solo cup.

“Oh, my. Thank you.” You giggled and accepted the cup from him. You took a sip and felt your eyes water.

“Jesus Christ. Is there any Sprite in here or just vodka?” You said through a cough.

“Sorry. That was out of habit. My boys and I are heavy pourers.” Peter sound genuinely apologized and added more Sprite to your cup to make it less strong.

“It’s all right.” You shrugged. “So I have to ask you, how come you’re no longer at MIT?”

Peter looked a little frightened when you mentioned MIT and quickly looked over his shoulder. He stepped closer to you and looked around again.

“I wasn’t happy there so I transferred last semester.” He said in a quiet voice.

“Why are we whispering?” You whispered back through a light laugh.

“People here don’t really know that I was like that.” He admitted and looked a little disappointed to even be saying it.

“Like what? Smart?” You asked at full volume. He looked around again and waved his hand in dismissal.

“I’m still smart. I just don’t let my boys know that.” He told you, making you raise your eyebrows in surprise.

“Your boys?” You laughed dryly.

“You know. My frat brothers.” He explained and gestured to the party.

“Right, right. I think I met a few tonight when I walked in on their farting contest and they asked me to join. Do you still talk to Ned?”

“Oh, no.” Peter shook his head. “We kept in touch for a while after high school but we kinda fell off somewhere after I transferred here.”

“Wow, really? You guys were so close. I thought you’d be friends forever.”

“Yeah. I guess I did too.” Peter realized and stared down the barrel of his beer bottle.

“Are you still studying biochemistry?” You asked him. “It was biochemistry, right?”

“It was. But now I’m undeclared. I’m not really sure what I want to do anymore.”

“Really? But you’re so smart. You were the smartest guy I ever met. You still are.”

“I’m not that smart.” He laughed and shyly rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yes you are.” You insisted. “You always knew the answer to every question before I even processed what was being asked.”

“You’re smart too. In an original way that I still think about.” He replied, catching you by surprise. You took a sip to your cup for a little bravery and looked into his eyes.

“You still think about me?” You asked him with a coy smile.

“I do. All the time.” He answered without breaking eye contact. You sucked in a sharp breath and he smirked before moving same hair off your forehead. His hand stayed on your face and you felt your heart rate start to pick up. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to kiss him, it was that you had always wanted to kiss him. Now that he was standing in front of you and it might actually happen, you felt too nervous.

“Where are your glasses?” You blurted and ruined the moment. Before Peter could respond, me of his frat brothers walked in and clapped Peter’s on the back.

“Glasses? What’s this bird talking about, Parker?” He asked as he slung an arm around Peter and roughed him up a little.

“Shut up, Flash. She’s not a bird. She’s my friend from high school.” Peter defended you angrily and pushed the boy off.

“Oh shit. This isn’t the chick you were in love with, is it?” Flash gasped and looked at you.

“Who were you in love with?” You immediately asked Peter and felt a little jealous bubble up inside you.

“No, dumb ass. That was a different girl. This is Y/n. Don’t call her a chick either. Thats just another kind of bird.” Peter grumbled. Flash gave you an unapologetic once over before smirking.

“Nice to meet you, sweetie. I’m Flash. I hope you’re enjoying the party. But I do have to ask that you keep it down later because my room is right next to his and I have an 8 am class tomorrow.”

“Don’t, man.” Peter warned.

“Keep what down?” You wondered.

“Well, you know. Parker has girls in there so often I had to start charging them rent. Especially because they drink all the orange juice in the morning. And they tend to keep me up all night due to all the bed squeaking, so I ask that you’re considerate of the class I have tomorrow.” Flash said to you. You gulped and looked to Peter for an explanation, but Peter was busy glaring at Flash.

“Shut the fuck up, okay? Like you even go to class.” Peter scoffed. “Get out of here. Go drink some water. And take a bath. You stink.”

“All right. Just go easy on her, okay Parker? She seems like a nice girl. She deserves to be able to walk out of here in the morning.” Flash clapped him on the back again and you let out a shocked laugh.

“Fuck off. Now.” Peter demanded. Flash held up his hands and shot you a wink before walking away. You looked to Peter for an explanation for what just occurred. You have never heard him swear before and definitely never heard him get angry with someone like that. You also couldn’t help but wonder if there was any truth to what Flash had said about all the girls Peter slept with. You knew it shouldn’t bother you, but the Peter you knew had never even had his first kiss. Something about the guy you’d always pined after going from never being kissed to a guy with a long line of girls leaving his bedroom made your tummy hurt.

“I’m sorry about him. He’s such a dick sometimes.” Peter apologized to you.

“Yeah. I picked up on that.” You laughed nervously.

“Why’d don’t we get out of here? It’s too loud.” Peter’s said and gestured to the rest of the part. You sucked in a sharp breath and thought back to what Flash had just said. As much as you’d wondered about Peter, you were not ready to “get out of here” with him.

“I should probably get back to my friend.” You answered. Peter smiled politely and nodded in understanding but felt disappointed that your time together was ending.

“I’ll help you find her.” He offered and you agreed. You brought him to where you last saw her and found her making out with someone on the couch.

“Oh!” You said in surprise but your friend didn’t come up for sit.

“I think she’s okay for now.” Peter joked.

“I guess she is.” You agreed.

“Do you want to take a walk?” He asked and you felt relieved that he wasn’t asking to go back upstairs.

“Sure. I could use some air.” You agreed and followed him outside. The two of you walked down the sidewalk together and Peter stayed on the side facing the street to keep you from stumbling into it on accident. It felt easy to talk to him despite the years of being apart from each other and the longer you talked, the more you realized he hadn’t changed all that much. Sure, he swore a lot more now and made some dumb jokes, but his character was the same.

“Are you cold?” He asked you at one point.

“No. I’m okay. The fresh air feels good.”

“Good. Because I don’t have a jacket to offer you. But I would give you my jacket if I had one.”

“I appreciate that.” You laughed and looked over at him.

“So how long are you visiting your friend for?” He asked you.

“I go back to school on Tuesday.”

“So soon?” He stopped walking and frowned.

“Yeah. I’m just here for the long weekend.”

“Oh, shit, really? I was hoping we’d have more time together. I’d really love to see you again. Maybe we can get dinner tomorrow or something.”

“I don’t know.” You laughed nervously and folded your arms out of self consciousness.

“Why not?” He asked, sounding a little hurt.

“It was really good to see you again tonight. But I don’t think we have anything in common anymore, Pete.” You admitted without looking at him.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Look at us. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other. I don’t know if we’d get along anymore. Not like we did in high school, anyway.”

“Just because it’s been a long time doesn’t mean we won’t get along. We have history together. I’m still the guy you competed with in the decathlon.” He insisted. You looked up at him and stared at him under the light of the streetlight. He sounded like the guy you once knew, but he looked and acted so different now.

“Are you?” You asked quietly. Peter blinked a few times and smiled sadly.

“You don’t think so?”

“Don’t get me wrong, you look great and you seem happy with where you are now.”

“But?” He asked, sensing there was more. You smiled sympathetically because there was in fact more and it wasn’t exactly nice.

“I don’t know. I guess I’m just a little surprised to see you tonight. I always wondered about you and assumed you were halfway to becoming a scientist or Nobel prize winner by now. I never expected all this.”

“All what?” He asked, sounding a little annoyed now.

“You know. Frat boy. Undeclared. Chugging beer. Long line of girls coming out of your room…” You trailed off and looked down at the ground again.

“Flash was joking about that. The only time I’ve had a girl in my room was when we had to get a maid after the New Year’s party because there was an unidentified goo on the floors. I’m still me.” He insisted and stepped closer to you. You still didn’t look up at him because you didn’t want to say what you were about to say.

“You commented on my ass.” You said quietly. You didn’t see it, but Peter’s face dropped. He had felt annoyed that you were judging him until he remembered his opening line to you tonight was about your body. He felt guilty for reducing a girl he knew so well to an object for him to comment on.

“I’m sorry about that. I really am.” He apologized. “I’m way drunk right now and not using my head.

“The guy I knew in high school was not the kind of guy who says things like that to girls.” You said and finally looked into his eyes. To your surprise, he looked genuinely apologetic.

“I know. I’m not like those guys. I swear, I never normally say things like that. I’m drunk and a fucking idiot. I’ve made a total ass of myself all night. What can I do?”

“Peter, it’s fine. I’m not here to judge you. And you don’t owe me anything. I’m being stupid anyway. I’m not the same person I was in high school so I don’t know why I expected you to be. Thats not fair to you. I guess I’m just little drunk and upset I never got to see my Peter again.”

“Your Peter?” Peter asked with a sad smile.

“Come on, Peter. I was crazy about you back then. The whole school knew. By senior year, everyone had figured it out but you. And I always regretted not telling you. So I’d fantasize about all the cool things you were doing in college. This just isn’t what thought it would be like when we found each other again.”

“For me either.” He admitted as he stared at you starry eyed.

“No?”

“I liked you too. You were the girl Flash was talking about. I was in love with you in high school.” He confessed. You knew you should be happy to hear that but all you could think of was the wasted potential of a relationship that never got to happen.

“You never told me.” You said softly.

“How could I?“ He laughed. “You were so beautiful I could barely get an intelligent word out when you were around. You still are. And I still can’t.”

“I wish I knew. Now I’m always gonna wonder what would have happened if I had just told you how I felt.” You smiled sadly.

“So will I.” He said as his eyes filled with sadness. You stared at each other for a moment with the quiet understanding that at one point you wanted the same thing at the same time.

“Maybe we don’t have to wonder.” Peter said after a beat.

“What do you mean?” You asked him. Peter stepped closer suddenly and tilted your chin up with his pinky.

“Please.” He pleaded. “Just give me one night. I’ll take you to dinner and prove I’m still me.”

“And suppose you do.” You shrugged. “I’m only here for the weekend. What does it matter anyway?”

“It matters to me. Because I’ve always wanted you. Even if I just get one night.”

“Peter, I’m not trying to be one of your girls.” You shook your head and stepped away from him.

“I told you. There are no girls. You are the only girl who has ever taken my breath away. I never stopped thinking about you after high school. Just give me one chance.” He asked and pulled you back into his arms. You stared into his eyes for a moment and found yourself unable to say no.

“Please.” He whispered and sounded irresistibly desperate. You could see his gaze dropping to your lips and felt your heartbeat pick up again. But this time, you didn’t feel nervous.

“I shouldn’t.” You said quietly.

“But don’t you want to stop wondering and know for certain?” He asked, and you nodded. Your eyes fluttered shut and just as you were expecting his lips to meet yours, he cupped your face and kissed your cheek.

“I’m not going to kiss you tonight. Because I’m drunk. And you’re not.” He said when you looked at him in confusion. You were disappointed to not be kissed but smiled knowing he made the responsible decision.

“Oh. Yeah. Good call.” You cleared your throat and stepped out of his embrace.

“But I will be on my best behavior tomorrow for our date.” He assured you.

“I never actually agreed to a date.” You smiled coyly. Peter grinned and pulled you back into his arms and let his hands rest on your hips.

“You agreed when you closed your eyes to kiss me.” He said with his face close to yours. You gulped again but never broke eye contact with him.

“You’re kinda an asshole now.” You teased him.

“Yeah, but in a good way.” He shrugged, making you laugh.

“We’ll see.” You said pointedly. Peter pulled put his phone and handed it to you.

“We will see.” He insisted. “Here. Put your new number in. And don’t drop it on the subway this time.”

“I won’t.” You playfully rolled your eyes and typed your number into his phone. When you handed it to him, your hands touched as he took it back.

“You better not.” He said and slipped his fingers into yours as he pocketed his phone. You stared into his big brown eyes and felt like you were right back in high school.

“You could kiss me, if you wanted to. I had a drink too.” You said in a soft voice.

“I do want to. But I’ll save it for when my lips don’t taste like cheap beer.” He said with a smirk. He leaned in and kissed your cheek one more time before walking you back to the house. You stepped inside the frat house and just as your friend was heading to the door.

“Hey. The guy I was making out with tried to explain the stock market to me and laughed when I said I’m an economics major. I’m over this party. Are you ready to head out?” She asked you as she slung her purse over her shoulder.

“Oh, yeah. We can go.” You replied and felt disappointed to leave Peter so soon.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He leaned down and whispered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“Goodnight.” You said as you turned around to see him.

“Goodnight.” He replied and cupped your chin one more time.

Ten minutes after Peter said he would pick you up, he still wasn’t there. You checked your phone for the hundredth time as saw the minutes adding up. You should have known it was all too good to be true and he wasn’t the exception he claimed to be. He joined a frat and they poisoned the once sweet boy you knew. Just as you were about to go inside, Peter sped down your block and rolled down the window.

“I’m late. I’m sorry.” Peter called out the open window. Since he didn’t even bother to get out of the car, you got off the front steps you were sitting on and bent down to look at him through the window.

“I was starting to think you weren’t coming.” You said and didn’t try to hide your annoyance.

“I’m sorry.” He said and pouted. “God damn. You look hot.”

You opened your mouth to scold him for objectifying you once again but he wasn’t done yet.

“I’m so sorry I was late. I bet you spent a long time getting ready dry. And I’m sure you’ve been waiting for a long time. I remember you saying you get ready with time to spare and sit by the door until the person picking you up gets there so they don’t have to wait outside for long. And I’m an asshole and came late.”

You had planned to walk away and go back inside to punish him for being late, but you just couldn’t. Him remembering that little detail about you combined with the way he looked in his jersey made you want to stay.

“Well maybe I’ve changed.” You said pointedly as you climbed into his car.

“You have. High school you didn’t wear rings or have sexy red nails. But I figured some things would stay the same. Hello.” He greeted and leaned in to kiss your cheek. You felt your face burning and turned away so he wouldn’t see your smile.

“I thought some things would stay the same too. Yet I met you last night with a backwards cap on. The Peter I knew wouldn’t never be caught dead in a hat. Let alone one representing a sports team.” You teased him.

“It’s not actually a sports team. Look.” Peter took his eyes off the road to reach into his backseat and get his hat. He handed it to you and your eyes widened.

“Oh my God.” You said as you turned over your old black hat you got at the Gap freshman year.

“You let me borrow that at the senior skip day at the beach because I forgot sunblock.” Peter recalled. “And when I tried to give it back to you, you said I could keep it since it looked better on me.”

“It did.” You smiled fondly at the memory.

“I wear it all the time now because I don’t know how to do my curly hair now that it’s longer.”

“I like it longer.” You told him. “But I also liked your short gelled look. With your cute little button downs and sweaters.”

“Yeah. I outgrew those.” He chuckled. “I started working out more and they looked silly on me once I got bigger. Then Flash showed me how to cut my shirts to show off my arms.”

“Yeah. I can’t imagine those arms in a little sweater.” You agreed.

“What about my arms?” He looked over at you with a smirk.

“Nothing.” You said coyly. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“It’s a surprise. But I’ll give you a hint. You wrote about it in your letter to your college self.”

“What?” You laughed in surprise. “Do you have a photographic memory of something? I don’t remember anything I wrote in that.”

“I told you. I was in love with you.” He said and looked over at you. You locked eyes and smiled until a car hocked at him for drifting into their lane.

“How come you’re so comfortable saying it now yet I had no idea back in high school?” You wondered. Then Peter got a text and pulled out his phone to read it. You eyed him but didn’t say anything as he replied to the text while driving. You’d never been in a car with him behind the wheel before and it was starting to make you a little nervous.

“I don’t know. You’re different too.” He answered finally. “I can tell from looking at you. So I guess I don’t feel like I’m telling the girl I was in love with how I feel because I don’t really know you anymore. It makes it less scary.”

“I didn’t think about it like that. You’re right. I guess we don’t know each other anymore.” You said with a sad smile.

“I want to, though. Because you seem like a cooler version of the girl I liked in high school. Who was already cool.” He said and looked over at you again. You smiled at his compliment and stopped worrying about hai driving for a moment.

“I have so many questions for you.” You to him.

“Shoot.”

“Why’d you leave MIT?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t what I thought it would be. I realized I was a big fish in a small pond back in high school. Everyone seemed so much smarter and more experienced than I was. I felt so alone all the time. So I drove home one night and never looked back.”

“Yeah. I get that. I was always told I was a smart kid growing up and then I just felt so burnt out in college. At least you know you got into MIT and gave it your all.

“Thank you for saying that. I like the way you see things. I’ve been missing your perspective in my life.” He told you and you felt your face heat up again.

“How’d you end up at your new school?” You said to distract him from how flustered he made you.

“They had offered me a full ride if I joined the academic decathlon team. Which I do in secret. Don’t tell my frat please.” He chuckled and looked at you to see if you’d keep his secret. You feigned a smile and internally missed the boy who was a proud captain of the decathlon team.

“How’d you end up in a frat anyway? That seems so opposite of your personality.”

“It kinda happened by accident. I was in a group project with Flash and he invited me to a party after I did his half of the work. And it wasn’t the worst once I had something to drink so I started going to more parties. And then I started drinking a lot. I made friends with a lot of frat guys that Flash knew I so ended up pledging.” He shrugged. You nodded your head but were less than impressed with his story. You and Peter had shared many conversations about not wanting to be at the parties you were never invited to anyway back in high school and now he was the one throwing them.

“I still can’t wrap my head around you being in a frat. I really never imagined you’d be into something like that.”

“How did you imagine me?” He asked with a coy smile.

“I imagined you’d be student teaching a biochemistry class and have a devoted fan base of nerdy students who hung on your every word like in Dead Poets Society. And you’d have circular glasses and wear ties and cardigans like Spencer Reid.

“Wow, Dead Poets Society. I totally forgot about that movie. I haven’t seen it in forever.”

“Really? I thought it was your favorite movie?”

“It used to be. I just watched this movie last week where Seth Rogan and one of the Franco brothers were smoking weed and then they witnessed this murder so they were worried the murder was gonna find them-“ Peter started laughing as he remembered the plot but stopped when he noticed you weren’t laughing along with him. The plot was far from the science fiction films he used to talk extensively about during lunch in an effort to convince you to watch them. It wasn’t much, just another reminder of how different he was from when you knew him.

“It was stupid. Anyways.” He changed the subject. “What have you been up to lately? How’s school?”

“School is good.” You shrugged. “I don’t know how I’ll ever work a job once I graduate because now having one class at 12 pm drains me for the remainder of the day, but I enjoy it. I like the freedom.”

“Good, good. I’m glad you’re enjoying it. I like the freedom too. I can eat macaroni at any hour and no one can tell me otherwise. And your friends are nice?”

“Yeah. I’ve found a good group of girls. It was really lonely at first like you said but I eventually found my people. It’s been a lot better now.” You answered as your eyes watching his thumbs type something on his phone. You looked at him in confusion but he was too busy switching back and forth between watching the road and texting to notice.

“I totally get that. I ate alone so many times that I started it get used to it. But it gets better when you find a few good people to spend time with.” He said after a minute. You nodded your head and tried not to be bothered by how distracted he was.

“Are your frat brothers good people?”

“I know you probably have a million and one presuppositions about frat guys but I promise we’re not as bad as you’ve been told. Lots of frats are crazy and have those worst kind of guys in it but were not like that. We have a no bullshit policy.” He informed you.

“Oh yeah? What kind of bullshit do you not tolerate?”

“All sorts of bullshit. We just kicked a guy out last week because he cheated on his girlfriend. And we banned the girl from our parties because she knew he had a girlfriend and slept with him anyway. We do not tolerate that kind of bullshit. Plus, Flash told me they once found out a guy was a bully in high school so they took turns farting on his pillow and then he got severe pink eye and had to drop out of school for the semester. Isn’t that hilarious?”

“That’s nice to hear. Except for the fart stuff. That’s really gross. But not tolerating bullshit is cool. I guess I assumed all frat guys were Brads and Chads who chugged beers and creeped on girls. And I assumed that because a frat guy at my school had sex with a pumpkin and put it on his Snapchat story.”

“Ew, what?” Peter laughed. “Who uses Snapchat still?”

“That’s the part you found gross? Damn, how many pumpkins are you having sex with?” You teased him.

“A gentleman never tells.” Peter said poshly, making you laugh. He got another text and pulled out his phone to read it.

“Peter-“ You began.

“I can’t believe you’re in my car. Do you know how many times I tried to awkwardly ask you out in high school? But I was so vague you never realized? And now you’re just in my car and you smell amazing and I barely had to do anything.” He cut you off and grinned at you as he put his phone down. Every time you got annoyed with his behavior, he pulled you back in some compliment.

“Thank you. It’s my perfume.” You smiled and held your wrist out. Peter caught it with ease and held your wrist to his nose.

“Oh, wow. I like that.” He complimented. “Usually I wake up and walk into a cloud of axe body spray in every area of the house. You’re a nice relief from that.”

“Thank you. You smell good too.” You chuckled.

“Thanks. I stole Flash’s expensive cologne.”

“For me?” You gasped and touched your heart.

“Hell yeah.” He scoffed. “I’ve been waiting on this date since I was 14.”

“I never said this was a date.” You said out of the corner of your mouth.

“I’m pretty sure you did.” He said and dragged the word “pretty” out.

“You would have been on time if it was.” You teased him, making him look at you with narrowed eyes.

“Okay, yes, I was late.” He admitted. “But I had good reason.”

“And what was that reason?”

“I was setting something up.” He said simply.

“Really?” You smiled. “What is it?”

“You’ll see.” He said coyly.

“Okay. Weirdo.” You chuckled. “So, where are we eating?”

“I know this great burger place a few blocks from here. You’re gonna love it.” He replied. You nodded and head and smiled until he pulled out his phone again to answer another text. His car swerved into the other lane and he barely noticed, making you shoot him a look.

“Who are you texting?” You finally asked him.

“Nobody. One second.” He answered as his eyes flipped back and forth between his phone and the road. He started to drift again and a car honked at him as it passed by to get away.

“Peter, you really need to keep your eyes on the road.” You said as another car shouted something at him out their window.

“What was that?” Peter asked and looked up from his phone. You looked at him incredulously and let out a short laugh.

“If you have someone else you’d like to be talking to right now, maybe you should go be with them.”

“Woah, woah, woah. Babe, chill. I don’t have anyone else. I want to be here with you.” He insisted.

“Don’t call me “babe”. Its condescending. And you’re putting both our lives in danger because you’re so busy texting. And if you want to be with me, why are you so distracted by your phone?”

“I just needed to respond to something. Sorry. I won’t do it anymore.” He grumbled and put his phone away. His lack of an apology and heavy attitude in his voice was the final straw for you.

“Just pull over.” You told him.

“What? No. We’re almost there. I won’t text anymore.” He promised.

“Peter, pull over.” You said sternly. “I do not want to be in this car anymore.”

“I’m trying to take you on a nice date and you’re gonna bail because I answered a few texts?”

“Pull the damn car over.” You raised your voice. Peter rolled his eyes and pulled over to the side of the street.

“Before you get out-“ He began. Just then, his phone rang with a girls name on his screen and his face dropped. You raised your eyebrows at him and he smiled sheepishly.

“Answer it.” You dared him. Peter gulped and looked between you and the phone before picking it up.

“I’m sorry. One second.” He said and answered the phone. You scoffed in disbelief and glared at him as he took the call.

“Hello? No, I’m not doing anything. I can talk. What’s going on?” He asked into the phone. You had seen enough and got out of the car and started walking down the street. Peter watched you get out and opened his car door to talk to you.

“Where are you going?” He called after you.

“Peter, I’m not gonna sit here while you text other girls. I’m leaving.” You answered and continued down the street. He quickly explained his situation over the phone and hung up before running after you.

“Wait, please don’t leave. I’ll put my phone away.” He promised but you didn’t stop walking.

“You can text whoever you want. I don’t care. You’re just not gonna do it and think you can still take me on a date.” You told him before storming off. You turned the corner and started heading towards a nearby park.

“Wait.” Peter called after you so you walked even faster. He eventually caught up and caught you gently by the arm.

“Damn, you’re fast for a girl in heels.” He said as he caught his breath. You pulled your arm away from him and went into the park to get away from him. He caught onto you again and this time, you had tears in your eyes.

“Where are you going?” He asked. “What about our date?

“This was a mistake.” You shook your head and looked down.

“What? No it wasn’t.” He said, sounding genuinely hurt.

“Yes it was. Look at us, Peter. We don’t have anything in common anymore. I really liked you back then but you’re not that guy anymore. That guy wouldn’t show up late, call me “hot” and “babe”, text and drive, forget his favorite movie, stop talking to his best friend-“

“Oh. I get it.” He cut you off. “You’re disappointed because I’m not the same person I was when I was 17.”

“Yeah. Maybe I am.” You snapped and folded your arms when you heard his attitude return.

“Yeah, well. You’re different too.” He insisted. “The girl I knew in high school was not this judgmental.”

“I am not judgmental.” You scoffed.

“Yes you are. You’ve been judging me since the moment you turned around at the party. Just admit it.”

“Maybe because you commented on my ass like you were one of the dickhead boys you used to make fun of I’m high school. God, what happened to you?”

“I said I was sorry about that.”

“But you still did it.” You laughed sadly. “And then showed up late. And then remembered things about me from high school. And then texted other girls. And then kept the hat I gave you. I don’t understand you, Peter. I can’t read you anymore. This is too confusing. And it’s all for nothing because I still go back home on Tuesday and we’re never going to see each other again.“

“It doesn’t have to be like that.” He said and put his hands on your shoulders. You were surprised by how desperate for you to stay he sounded since it contradicted his behavior thus far.

“I think it does, Peter. Goodbye.” You shook your head and walked away again.

“Wait. There’s snakes out there.” He called after you.

“No there’s not.” You called back. You kept walking through the park until you came across a picnic blanket surrounded by fake candles. Surrounding the blanket were printed out caricatures of celebrities strung up and tapped to trees.

“What is this?” You asked when you heard Peter come up behind you.

“Oh thank God. No one stole it.” He sighed in relief and walked over to the picnic blanket.

“Wait, you set this up?” You asked in disbelief.

“Yeah. Ellen’s Stardust Dinner turns out to be insanely difficult to get into so I made us one.”

“Ellen’s Stardust Dinner?”

“In your letter. I remembered you said it was your dream to eat there one day.” He said with a sheepish smile. You couldn’t help but smile as well and started to walk around to look at all the photos he had printed. Peter lingered behind you and kept a comfortable distance since you were upset with him.

“Is this Joey Graceffa?” You laughed and pointed to one of the pictures.

“I took some creative liberties with the celebrities I chose to showcase once I ran out of ones I knew you liked. Do you still like Dylan O’Brien?”

“Do bears still shit in the woods? The answer is yes. Sorry. That wasn’t funny.” You quickly corrected yourself and Peter snorted.

“It was a little funny.” He admitted. “Not really, though.”

“I see the entire cast of Modern Family made it.” You chuckled and touched one of the photos he had tapped up to a tree.

“Of course they did. It’s the best show ever.”

“You’re not wrong.” You looked over at him with a smile. Peter took that smile as a sign you were forgiving him and stepped closer to you. You could feel his presence behind you and turned around to face him.

“You set all this up for me?”

“I did. That’s why I was late.” He explained. “I started early but then I ran out of magenta ink so obviously I couldn’t print the rest of my photos despite them having no magenta parts.”

“What about all the texting?” You asked him.

“My aunt is getting a mammogram today. Her mom had breast cancer so she was really nervous. I was checking in with her. But don’t worry, she’s okay. She just called to tell me. And that doesn’t excuse me texting while driving which I normally never do but she was anxious in the waiting room and I didn’t want her to be alone with her thoughts.”

“You didn’t tell me that.” You said softly and immediately felt guilty for snapping at him.

“You would’ve told me to go be with her.” He shrugged. “And I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to see you before you left.”

“Well that’s very noble of you but it sounds like she needed you more than I did today.”

“Don’t worry. She insisted I come here instead. I would have just made her more nervous with my anxious pacing.”

You looked around at everything Peter had set up for you and all the details he had put in. You’d misread everything and judged him off of things you knew little about. You looked at him with guilt in your eyes and smiled sadly.

“I don’t know what to say.” You admitted. “You went through a lot today for me and I just threw a fit and stormed off.”

“I can’t say I didn’t give you good reason. I should have told you these things sooner. I’m just not good at this sort of thing. I wanted so badly to impress you that I ended up making you think I didn’t care.”

“Can we just start over then? And enjoy this set up you made?” You asked him.

“I would like that.” Peter smiled and sat down on the blanket. You sat down beside him and leaned into his side. Peter wasted no time in wrapping both arms around you, making you both fall backwards onto the blanket. You both laughed and stayed in each others arms as you rolled over to look into his eyes.

“I’m sorry I judged you.” You said and fixed his hair.

“It’s okay. I know I’m not what you thought I’d be.”

“You’re not. But you’re still you. You still have your heart and your humor. And those were always my favorite parts of you anyway. I don’t know why I got so hung up on the other things. Who cares what movies you watch or what you do with your free time now? None of that stuff matters.”

“Do you still like me? Even though I’m different?” He asked as he stared into your eyes.

“Look at what you did for me today. You’re not different. You just wear different clothes. I shouldn’t have been so quick to judge you. It wasn’t fair. And I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay. Honestly, I miss who I was too. I miss Ned. And being around people who know what amino acids are. And I missed you. God, I missed you so much. In the years since high school, there have been so many times when I’ve come across something I wanted to show you or thought something I wanted to tell you. I missed hearing your laugh when I made a stupid joke or hearing your thoughts on the bad movies I’d beg you to watch. I never made a friend like you again. And after a while, I realized I never would.”

“I never found someone like you either. No one ever had me like you did. I’ve been dreaming about the day we met again since the day I last saw you.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” He joked.

“Please. How could I be disappointed in this?” You playfully rolled your eyes and traced your fingertips up and down his arm. Peter reached forward and placed his hand on your face to stroke your cheek with his thumb.

“When do you leave on Tuesday?” He asked in a quiet voice.

“Late. My train is at 5.”

“Maybe we can get breakfast then.” He suggested without looking at you as he laced his fingers through yours.

“I’d like that.” You smiled and started to lean in.

“I can cook it.” He added. “After we wake up in my room.”

“Don’t push it.” You chuckled and rubbed your nose against his as you got closer.

“I won’t.” He replied before closing the gap between you and kissing you. The kiss that was years in the making was worth every minute of the wait. His right hand found his way to your hip and he squeezed it.

“Maybe you can push it just a little bit.” You said against his lips. Peter took that as his chance to pull you by the waist on top of him and deepen the kiss.

“That’s how I know you’ve changed. Nice boys don’t kiss like that.” You said when you pulled away to catch your breath.

“Yes they fucking do.” Peter said against your lisp before pulling you back into a heated kiss. You weren’t sure how much time passed as you kissed him but you only stopped when you Peters stomach let out a loud growl. You pulled away and rolled onto your back as you both laughed.

“Sorry about that. We never actually got any food.” He realized.

“Oh yeah. Maybe we should go do that.” You said and rolled over to face him.

“Yeah. We probably should.”

Despite the agreement to get up and go get some food, neither of you moved. You just laid on the blanket and stared into each others eyes with a comfortable silence in the air.

“In a minute?” You suggested after a minute and Peter smiled before leaning in to kiss you again.

“In a minute.”

PSA: DON’T TEXT AND DRIVE. it’s never worth it. It takes one second to get in an accident. Any text can wait. Your life is more important

Tag List 🏷️

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valkyriexo · 1 month ago

Text

Friday Night Lights | Lee Know

ᑉ³pairing; Jock Lee Know x Nerd Reader

ᑉ³genre; Fluff, Smut

ᑉ³warnings; SMUT MDNI ,dirty talk, swearing, oral m reciving,

ᑉ³Authors Note; 1k event Commisson giveaway winner Louie <3 (sorry it took so long :((( )

You’re used to staying in your lane.

In college, that means your nights are spent at the library, working on assignments, attending study groups, or listening to the whispers of people about crushes, weekend plans, and sometimes, the star athletes on campus. You don't usually pay much attention to that last one—until the whispers turn to Lee Minho. Lee Minho is… different. Confident, popular, and utterly untouchable. He’s the star of the football team, the guy people can’t stop talking about, but also somehow your friend.

Well, sort of.

You met through Jisung, your mutual friend, who has a way of pulling people together. You’ve spoken a few times—mostly polite hellos and small talk whenever Jisung ropes you into attending his hangouts—but every time you do, you find yourself tripping over your words.

You tell yourself it’s nothing—he’s just another guy, after all. But the way your heart races every time his attention flickers to you says otherwise.

“You’re coming to Minho’s game this Friday, right?” Jisung’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

You blink, caught off guard, and turn to face him. “What?”

Jisung leans back in his chair, balancing it on two legs like he always does, completely unfazed. “The game. This Friday. You’re coming, right?” He grins, as if your attendance is already a done deal.

“I don’t know...” you trail off, trying to avoid his expectant gaze. Crowds aren’t really your thing, and the idea of sitting through a packed football game is enough to make your stomach churn.

“Oh, come on,” he groans, dropping the chair back onto all four legs with a loud thud. “You’ve been holed up in this library all week. You need a break.”

You frown, shuffling your notebook to pretend like you’re busy. “I don’t really do... games.”

“You don’t have to ‘do games.’ You just have to show up. Cheer a little, look cute, and maybe—just maybe—have fun.” His tone is light, but the sly look he shoots you suggests he’s up to something.

Your suspicion grows. “Why do you care if I go?”

“Because it’s the homecoming game,” he says. “You know, one of the biggest games of the year? Minho’s going to kill me if you don’t show up.”

When you don’t respond, he rolls his eyes. “You know, Minho? Our mutual friend? The guy you can barely form a sentence around?”

“I do not—”

“Yes, you do,” he interrupts with a smile, leaning forward on his elbows. “And I think he’d appreciate the support. He’s been working really hard this season, and besides...”

You tilt your head, confused. “Why would he care if I’m there? I’ve never even been to one of his games.”

“That’s exactly why he’d care!” Jisung groans, throwing his head back dramatically. “Do you know how many times he’s asked me why you never go? He thinks you hate football or something.”

“I don’t hate football,” you say defensively, though the thought of navigating the chaotic energy of a packed stadium doesn’t exactly fill you with joy. “I’ve just... never really had a reason to go.”

Jisung smirks, leaning forward on his elbows. “Well, now you do.The entire campus is going to be there—students, alumni, even the marching band’s pulling out all the stops. It’s a whole thing. You have to come.”

You hesitate, nibbling on your bottom lip. It’s not like you don’t want to support Minho—he’s always been kind to you in his own aloof, confident way. But showing up at a game, where everyone’s eyes will be on him—and by extension, anyone he cares about—feels overwhelming.

“I don’t know, Ji. Crowds aren’t really my thing.”

“Crowds aren’t the thing,” he says, cutting you off with a sly grin. “Minho is."

Your stomach flips at the thought. You’ve never seen him play before, never witnessed the version of Minho everyone talks about when they say his name with awe. The star athlete, the leader on the field.

“I’ll think about it,” you mumble, quickly shuffling your papers as an excuse to avoid Jisung’s knowing look.

“Uh-huh,” he says, sitting back with an exaggerated shrug. “Just don’t be surprised when I text you the details anyway. You’re not getting out of this that easily.”

So, somehow, you find yourself in the bleachers that Friday night, bundled in your warmest jacket, pretending you’re not scanning the field for one particular player. It doesn’t take long for you to find him. Even among his teammates, Minho stands out, laughing with them, helmet under one arm as he warms up. It’s a little surreal, watching him from here; he’s all focus and intensity, so different from the relaxed, teasing guy you usually see at Jisung’s hangouts. You can’t help feeling your heart race a little faster.

As the game starts, you find yourself getting drawn in, caught up in the energy around you. The team is good, and Minho, even better. It’s not hard to see why he’s the star. Every play he’s part of feels....different. He’s practically flying across the field, tackling opponents, calling shots, making everything look effortless. You can’t keep your eyes off him.

And then it happens.

It’s fast—too fast, really—and at first, you’re not sure what’s wrong.

One second, Minho is sprinting down the field, his face set with determination as he cuts through defenders like they’re nothing. The next, there’s a collision, hard and brutal. The sound of it echoes in the stadium, a collective gasp rising from the crowd.

Your breath catches as you see him go down, gripping his ankle. For a moment, everything else disappears—the noise of the crowd, the whistle from the referee, even Jisung’s voice shouting something beside you. All you can see is Minho on the ground, pain written across his face.

Your heart pounds as players gather around him, the medics rushing onto the field. He tries to get up, but it’s clear he can’t put any weight on his leg. The sight twists something deep in your chest, and before you realize what you’re doing, you’re halfway to your feet.

“Hey,” Jisung says, grabbing your arm and pulling you back down. “He’ll be okay. It’s probably just a sprain or something.”

But Jisung’s words do little to calm the panic bubbling inside you. From this distance, you can’t hear what the medics are saying, but the way Minho shakes his head and slams his fist into the ground tells you it’s bad.

The game pauses as they help him off the field, his arm slung around a teammate’s shoulder, his usual confidence nowhere to be found. Your stomach churns, and for the rest of the game, no matter how loud the crowd gets or how exciting the plays are, you can’t focus. Your eyes keep drifting to the sideline, where Minho sits with his head down, his ankle wrapped in ice.

And all you can think about is how you wish you could do something to help him.

The rest of the game feels like a blur. The energy in the stadium surges back eventually, but not for you. Your eyes keep flicking toward the sideline, where Minho sits with his injured leg propped up, his arms crossed and a stormy expression on his face. Even from a distance, you can see the tension in his shoulders, the way he’s forcing himself to stay composed despite the obvious frustration simmering beneath the surface.

Jisung nudges you with his elbow, breaking your trance. “Relax. Minho’s tough. He’ll be fine.”

You nod stiffly, not trusting your voice enough to reply. Jisung’s probably right—Minho is strong, the kind of guy who shrugs off pain like it’s nothing. But something about the way he looked when they carried him off the field makes your chest feel heavy.

When the game finally ends, with your school securing a narrow victory, the crowd erupts in cheers. Students flood the field to celebrate, but you can’t seem to share their enthusiasm. Instead, you find yourself lingering near the bleachers, watching as the team huddles together, Minho still sitting apart, his helmet resting forgotten at his feet.

“Come on,” Jisung says, tugging on your sleeve. “Let’s go check on him.”

Your heart skips. “What? No. He’s probably surrounded by people—he doesn’t need me there.”

Jisung rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re his friend too. Besides, if you don’t come, I’ll just tell him you were too shy to say hi, and then he’ll feel bad.”

You glare at him, but the teasing glint in his eyes leaves you with no room to argue. Before you know it, you’re weaving through the lingering crowd, your pulse quickening with every step closer to the team’s bench.

When you reach him, Minho is leaning back against the bench, his jaw clenched and his eyes distant. His ankle is now heavily wrapped, a crutch resting beside him.

“Minho!” Jisung calls, grinning as if nothing’s out of the ordinary. “You okay, man? That hit looked brutal.”

Minho glances up, his expression softening slightly when he sees Jisung—and then landing on you. His gaze lingers for a moment, and you suddenly forget how to breathe.

“I’ve been better,” he mutters, managing a wry smile. “But I’ll live.”

“You scared the crap out of them,” Jisung says, jerking his thumb in your direction. “They were about to jump the fence and carry you off the field themself.”

“Jisung!” you hiss, smacking his arm, but Minho chuckles, the sound low and warm despite the situation.

“You were worried about me?” he asks, tilting his head as he looks at you.

Your cheeks burn, and you scramble for a response that doesn’t make you sound ridiculous. “I mean... you went down pretty hard. Anyone would’ve been worried.”

His smile widens, a hint of his usual confidence returning. “Well, thanks for caring.”

The simplicity of his words, paired with the way his eyes soften when he looks at you, sends your heart into overdrive. You want to say more, to ask if he’s really okay, but the weight of his gaze and the teasing grin tugging at his lips leaves you tongue-tied.

“Anyway,” Jisung cuts in, oblivious to the tension hanging in the air, “you should let them take care of you. They're great at worrying—practically a professional.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands as Minho chuckles again.

“Noted,” he says, his tone lighter now, almost playful. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that.”

And just like that, you realize you might be in deeper than you ever thought.

Over the next two weeks, Minho’s injury changes things. He’s benched for practices, forced to watch from the sidelines while his teammates run drills and scrimmage. The ever-present crutches are a constant reminder of his temporary setback, though he still somehow makes them look effortlessly cool.

The trouble starts when Jisung complains one afternoon, flopping dramatically into the seat next to you in the library.

“I can’t keep babysitting Minho,” he groans. “We don’t even have the same classes, and Coach keeps glaring at me every time I’m late because I’m helping him to practice. You should do it.”

You frown. “Me? Why me?”

Jisung grins slyly, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “You’re the only other person he talks to as much as me. Besides, you’re better at dealing with his diva moments.”

“Diva moments?” you ask, incredulous.

“Oh, you’ll see.”

Despite your protests, Jisung isn’t one to take no for an answer, and by the next morning, Minho’s waiting for you outside your lecture hall, leaning on his crutches with an easy grin.

“Hey,” he says casually, as if this is the most normal thing in the world.

You blink at him. “What are you doing here?”

“Jisung said you’d help me get to practice,” he replies, his grin widening when he sees the look on your face. “Don’t worry. I’m not that high-maintenance.”

You sigh, already feeling like you’re in over your head. “Fine. Let’s go before I change my mind.”

Helping Minho quickly becomes a routine. Every afternoon, you meet him after his last class to walk—well, technically hobble—to the field. At first, it’s awkward, mostly because Minho seems determined to act like his injury isn’t a big deal, even when he’s obviously struggling. But over time, the walks become... easier.

Minho, for all his bravado, is surprisingly easy to talk to. He asks you questions about your classes, your favorite things, even what made you decide to go to the homecoming game. His teasing is still there, but it’s lighter, less guarded, and you find yourself opening up to him in ways you didn’t expect.

One afternoon, as you’re walking back from practice, Minho turns to you suddenly.

“You don’t have to keep doing this, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

He gestures to his crutches, his expression unusually serious. “Helping me. I know it’s a hassle.”

You stop walking, frowning at him. “It’s not a hassle, Minho. I don’t mind.”

He looks at you for a long moment, something unspoken passing between you. Then, he smiles—soft and genuine, the kind that makes your heart skip.

“Thanks,” he says quietly.

You’re about to keep walking when he doesn’t move, shifting his weight awkwardly on his crutches. His expression tightens like he’s debating something with himself, and before you can ask, he speaks again.

“You know... I'm not kidding,” he says, his voice lower now.

“Kidding about what?” you ask, genuinely confused.

“About this being a hassle,” he replies, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “But not for the reasons you think.”

You tilt your head, frowning. “Minho, that doesn’t even make sense.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, the sound more nervous than amused. “What I mean is... it’s a hassle because I’m trying really hard not to screw this up.”

Your heart skips. “Screw what up?”

“This,” he says, his dark eyes locking on yours. “Us. Whatever this is. Because, honestly? I like you.”

The words hit you like a wave, and you’re left standing there, staring at him as your brain scrambles to catch up.

“You… like me?” you echo, your voice barely above a whisper.

Minho nods, shifting his grip on his crutches as if they’re the only thing grounding him. “Yeah, I do. I’ve been trying not to make it obvious, but these past couple of weeks? Spending time with you, talking to you... it’s just made it harder to ignore.”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, you’re not sure what to say. “Minho, I—”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he interrupts, his tone gentle but firm. “I just needed you to know. Even if you don’t feel the same, I... I couldn’t keep pretending I didn’t care about you like this.”

The raw honesty in his voice takes you by surprise, and before you can second-guess yourself, the words tumble out.

“I do feel the same,” you admit, your cheeks burning as you look at him. “I just didn’t think you would.”

Minho blinks, clearly startled, before his lips curve into a slow, disbelieving smile. “You mean that?”

You nod, unable to stop the small smile creeping onto your face. “Yeah, I do.”

For a moment, he just looks at you, his expression soft and full of something you can’t quite name. Then, he exhales a laugh, shaking his head.

“Well, that’s a relief,” he says, his grin widening. “I was starting to think Jisung would kill me if I didn’t say something.”

You laugh, the tension between you melting away. “He probably would.”

Minho straightens up, his confidence sliding back into place. “So, does this mean I can keep making you carry my stuff to practice? You know, since you like me and all.”

You roll your eyes, already regretting this. “Don’t push your luck, Minho.”

The days blend together, and somewhere in the middle of it all, you realize you’ve started looking forward to your time with him. The walks, the conversations, the way he glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking—it’s all so much more than you ever thought it could be.

But today feels different.

When you show up to meet Minho after practice, the field is empty. His crutches aren’t propped up by the bench where he usually waits, and there’s no sign of his teammates. You glance around, your chest tightening with a mix of confusion and unease.

“Minho?” you call out, but the only answer is the faint hum of fluorescent lights from the building nearby.

Frowning, you decide to check inside. The locker room is usually bustling after practice, but as you step in, it’s eerily quiet. The air smells faintly of sweat and detergent, and the echo of your footsteps makes the space feel even emptier.

You turn a corner, and that’s when you see him.

Minho is sitting on one of the benches, his crutches leaning against the wall beside him. His head is bowed, his hair falling into his face as he stares at the ground. There’s a tension in his posture, his shoulders hunched like he’s carrying the weight of the world.

“Minho?” you say softly, stepping closer.

He doesn’t look up right away, but you see the subtle way his shoulders relax at the sound of your voice. “Hey,” he mutters, his tone lacking its usual spark.

You sit down beside him, your knee brushing against his. “What’s going on? I thought we were meeting outside.”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I just... needed a minute.”

You wait, giving him the space to speak. When he finally looks at you, his eyes are shadowed with something you don’t see often—uncertainty.

“I hate this,” he admits quietly, gesturing to the crutches beside him. “Sitting out, watching everyone else practice, knowing I can’t do anything. It’s... frustrating.”

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his voice. “Minho, it’s okay to feel that way,” you say gently. “But this is temporary. You’ll be back out there before you know it.”

He scoffs, his lips pressing into a thin line. “What if I’m not? What if I come back and I’m not as good? Or worse, what if I get hurt again?”

“Then you deal with it,” you say firmly, surprising even yourself. “Because you’re Minho. You don’t let anything stop you. And besides...” You hesitate, your voice softening. “You’re more than just football. At least, to me you are.”

He blinks, his eyes searching yours. “You really mean that?”

You nod, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from his face. “Of course I do. You’re amazing, Minho, even when you’re not on the field.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his expression unreadable. Then, he reaches for your hand, his fingers warm as they curl around yours.

Minho’s thumb traces over your knuckles in gentle circles, and he looks down at your intertwined hands with a soft, almost shy smile.

There’s something unspoken hanging in the air between you, a feeling that’s been growing with every passing day, but now, in the quiet of the locker room, it’s impossible to ignore.

You feel it too—the shift, the tension, the undeniable pull drawing you closer. His gaze lifts from your hands to your face, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.

For a moment, neither of you moves. The world outside seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you in the stillness of the locker room, the soft sound of his breath mingling with yours.

“You know,” Minho starts, his voice low, almost hesitant, “I’ve been wanting to do this for a while.”

Your heart beats faster, your pulse quickening. “Do what?” you whisper, even though you already know.

Minho doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he leans in slowly, his face inching closer to yours, his lips barely brushing against the air between you. His hand moves to your cheek, his fingers warm and gentle against your skin.

And then, without another word, his lips are on yours.

It’s tentative at first, soft and uncertain, as if he’s waiting for you to pull away, but you don’t. You tilt your head, your free hand reaching up to rest on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. When you kiss him back, it’s like everything clicks into place—like this was always meant to happen.

The kiss deepens, slow and explorative, as if you’re both savoring the moment. His lips are soft, warm, and he smells like freshly cut grass and the faintest trace of cologne. His hand moves to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and you respond in kind, your other hand finding its way to his waist, holding him against you.

For a long moment, it’s just the two of you, lost in the feeling of something new and exciting, something neither of you ever expected. And when you finally pull away, breathless and slightly dazed, Minho rests his forehead against yours, his smile lazy but full of warmth.

“I think,” he murmurs, his voice low, “I could get used to this.”

You smile, feeling a quiet thrill at the thought. “Then I guess we’ll have to make it happen.”

Minho's grin softens, his hand still warm against your cheek, and he leans in once more.

This time, the kiss is different—deeper, more certain. There’s no hesitation, no wondering if this is okay. His other hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer until there’s barely any space between you. His lips move against yours, gentle yet deliberate, as if he’s making up for all the times he’d held back.

You respond, feeling braver now, your fingers finding their way to his collar, tugging him just a bit closer. The locker room is completely forgotten; it’s just you and Minho, the world melting away around you.

You wanted him, of this you were sure.

"Darling, why don't you let me help you forget about it all?" You purred, as your hands made their way down his chest stopping at his waist. You pulled him towards you and kissed him harder, your need for him overpowering any doubt that was left in your mind.

You knelt between his legs, the anticipation building between you. You place both of your hands on his legs and slowly began to push them apart, allowing yourself to slide in between.

"Y/n…" he said, placing his hand on top of yours, almost as if to stop you. His fingers lingered, trembling slightly. "A-Are you sure? " he said "I don't want to pressure you"

"Shh... let me," you replied softly, as you began to unbuckle his belt, your eyes never leaving his. "I want you, Minho. I want this."

He groaned as you palmed him through his boxers. You could feel him getting harder under your hands.

"Y-you don't have to, baby" He said through his moans. You slowly pulled down his boxers, his erection springing free. "We can take it slo-OH," You leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to his pink tip.

You continued by placing a trail of kisses down his cock, keeping eye contact with him. You licked your way back up to the tip and took him in your mouth, your tongue swirling around the sensitive tip, tasting his pre-cum as it seeped from the top.

He couldn't help but throw his head back and lean further onto the bench. His breath caught in his throat as his ears began to turn a shade of red. You bobbed your head up and down, your tongue swirling around the sensitive head of his cock.

The only thing heard in the locker room is the lewd sounds coming from your mouth along with his whimpers.

Minho moaned loudly, his hips bucking involuntarily. You took him deeper into your mouth and sucking harder than before. You reached up to cup his balls, rolling them gently in your fingers as you continued to pleasure him.

"Fuck, Y/N," He moaned. "That feels so good. You're so good."

You responded with a low growl, taking him even deeper, his tip kissing the back of your throat.

Your lips were locked around his shaft. You choked slightly around his cock, tears beginning to fall from your eyes as his tip hit the back of your throat continuously.

He whined for more, almost sobbing when you completely removed yourself from around him, removing your lips from him with a pop.

You lick your way up his cock, once again paying extra attention to his swollen tip. His gaze locked onto yours, he began to thrust his hips forward, his thick, hard cock pressing against your lips. You parted them slightly, allowing him to slide inside once again.

He began to fuck your mouth roughly, his cock sliding in and out of your throat with each thrust. You could feel the saliva dripping down your chin, but you didn't care - the only thing that mattered was pleasing him.

"I'm go-gonna.... fuck.. gonna cum." he said, his thrusts beginning to slow down.

You feel the familiar slip of your glasses down the bridge of your nose, threatening to fall off completely.

Before you can react, Minho’s hand gently brushes against your nose, and with a soft chuckle, he reaches up, pushing your glasses back into place. His fingers linger just a moment longer than necessary, his touch warm against your skin. You felt his cock twitch in your mouth, your glasses sliding sending him overboard, and his cum paints your throat. You swallowed, your eyes never leaving his as you sucked him dry.

He pulled his cock out, and you pressed your thumb down onto his dripping red tip.

The lower half of your face glistens, your features wet with your his cum.

"Fuck you're pretty" he said hold your chin with his hand. “I didn’t know you knew how to do that," his voice a mix of amusement and admiration. “You’ve always seemed like the super nerdy type—guess I was wrong.”

You laugh, feeling a bit shy under his gaze. “Well, I do have my moments of... unexpected skills.”

Minho’s smile softens, and he brushes a strand of hair from your face. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” you reply, a grin tugging at your lips. “Guess you’ll have to stick around to find out more.”

He chuckles, leaning in again, and you both fall back into the moment, the world outside fading away once more.

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sweet-as-an-angel · 2 years ago

Note

Hiiii, I loveeeee ur work ❤️

I was thinking about a head cannon of how some of the mw2 characters (ghost, soap, König, etc) would react to their partner sending them a nude photo?👀👀👀

Sorry if you did this already but I’m pretty sure you haven’t tho cuz I definitely would have read it already 😭

MW2 Reaction to Receiving a Special™ Photo from Their S/O

Warnings: 18+ (just to be safe), Non-Specific/Explicit Implications of Smut, No Pronouns used for Reader except 'You', Singular Mention of Graves Throwing Himself off a Cliff, Dominant! MW2, Submissive! MW2, Dominant! Reader, Submissive! Reader, Profanity, etc.

Ghost

He will literally stare bug-eyed at the picture you’ve sent him like 👁️O👁️

Since it’s a physical photograph, he keeps it on him like a chapstick, which is to say all the time.

He isn’t risking ANYONE besides himself seeing it.

And when he’s about to embark on a mission, he keeps it tucked into his vest right where his heart is so that it’s practically part of him.

He likes to think that, somehow, you can hear – feel – his heart beating, know that he’s still alive and fighting so that he can come home and see you.

And when he returns from a mission and goes to his quarters, he has some…alone time.

You know, to really study the picture.

Not that he doesn’t know every curve and edge of your body already.

But that doesn't stop him growling your name into the pillow as he rocks against it, a hole cut into the bottom of it – a poor imitation of you.

A makeshift lover.

If anyone ends up seeing that picture – if they stole it from him, if by some act of God (because that’s what it’ll take) it slipped out of his vest or pocket – they are in for a World of Pain™.

There won’t be a time they won’t flinch upon hearing Ghost’s name, or when they see his shadow like an omen on the wall as he commandeers the halls. Prowling.

He’d feel pretty guilty about someone else seeing you how he does, even if it was only for a fraction of a second.

So he’s definitely going to make it up to you when he gets back <3

König

His heart can’t take this kind of torment.

He’ll be looking down at his phone, the image of you burning into his skin like a holy artefact.

He definitely gets more jumpy around people when he has his phone on him.

Will literally clam up and shove it into the deepest recesses of his pocket if someone comes too close.

Even when your picture is safely stored behind a password-protected photo album.

He has to excuse himself from training or other commitments whenever his mind wanders back to you, and subsequently that image (which is basically all the time).

Sometimes he calls you while he’s sorting himself out.

He just needs to hear your voice – to feel closer to you.

It’s the only way he can finish.

“Engel,” he rasps, his breath stuttering, “I need you,”

And everyone just looks at him like he’s grown a third eye when he returns because, unbeknownst to him, König can’t keep quiet, and everyone who has never heard even a peep from him is suddenly aware of the carnality that lies beneath his skin, wired into his soul.

And at the centre is his love for you, boundless and overflowing so that the rest of his teammates know it, too.

Not that they mind all too much.

They all sit and think that you must be one beautiful person to evoke such a response from König.

Soap

Will tease you back.

Sends a mirror pic of him in a tight black shirt, saying something like ‘You’ll see the rest when I get home.’

Is absolutely ravenous when it comes to you.

No cap, goes absolutely ham in the shower when the image of you in nothing flashes in his mind.

His low moans are enough of a warning for the rest of the 141 to stay away for the next half an hour or so.

Aside from that, he’ll just look at the picture because he finds you beautiful.

Stares at it while he’s in bed. Laments on how much he misses you ☹️.

He’s counting down the days until he can see you again, and with each that passes, he can feel your silhouette becoming tangible in his hands, as if you were stepping out of the photo.

Sometimes, he dreams that you’re there with him, nestled between his arms.

Other times the dreams are a little more…graphic.

But Johnny can’t help it.

He just can’t contain himself when it comes to you.

Valeria

If you thought her violent tendencies could never extend to you, prepare to be amazed.

The second this woman sees what you’re trying to do – or, rather, what she thinks you’re trying to do – she is not happy.

You could have sent that image with the purest (within reason) of intentions; just letting Valeria know that you miss her, wishing her a good day – whatever.

What she sees is you trying to manipulate her by using your body as an instrument of destruction.

Dramatic, yes. But Valeria has never been one to take chances.

She’ll be deceptively calm over text: ‘Don’t tease me, Darling. You know what happens when you do.’

All day, all she can see is that image.

Whenever she turns a corner, you’re there; whenever she’s talking to someone, you’re peering at her over their shoulder; when she’s alone, you’re sat with her – on her – trying to take her attention away from her paperwork.

Redemption is a baseless concept when Valeria returns home that evening.

You will not know rest until she’s done with you.

Price

“Fuckin’ Hell, Love,” he’ll say, the darkness hanging on his voice tangible even through the voice note.

“What’ve you been up to while I’ve been away, hmm ?”

Will not rest until he knows he’s got you hot and bothered.

This entails him sending increasingly risqué images of himself; first, just one of him flexing, his arms thick and crawling with veins.

The next is of his shirt raised just below his chest, the dim light of the room keeping enough of him shrouded that his identity is unknown to all but you, his wide silhouette taking up most of the picture.

And, if you decide to be resilient against his attempts to make you feel as you have him, you’ll receive a series of menacing messages.

‘Don’t get too comfortable, Angel’, he’ll say.

‘You never know when I’ll come through that door–’

He grins as he sees you’ve read his message, hanging on his every word.

‘And ravage you.’

And you know he means it, too.

Meanwhile, he’s multitasking; keeping a clear, professional head and giving orders while resisting the primal urge to drop everything and find you.

And no amount of pleading or tears will spare you from his wrath when he returns.

Horangi

Regardless of how well the military life trained his self-discipline, nothing can dampen the sheer need Horangi feels whenever he receives a special picture from you.

I’m talking: he will literally sit in silence for ten minutes because he’s got a raging issue he needs to take care of but can’t risk anyone else seeing it.

Will thunder down the hall to the nearest bathroom when the meeting’s over and take out his frustrations there.

When he calls, you’d better pick up the first time.

If you don’t, you’ll have Hell to pay when gets home.

“Baby,” he breathes down the phone, the fog already making his mind frost over, his body burning up.

“What have you done to me–”

These brief encounters are the only thing keeping him sane while he’s away; they make him feel closer to you.

And, repaying you in kind, he returns one night, in the silence of the moon hours.

He finds you, pulls you to him, clutching on tight as you begin to wake.

And, between delirium and consciousness, his voice is all you can hear.

“Shouldn’t have tested me, Sweetheart,” he says, whispering as though partaking in a secret.

“Now I’m going to have to challenge you.” His arms are snakes as they constrict you.

“Fall asleep before I’m done with you, and I promise there will be no end to your suffering.”

Alejandro

Teasing a man as passionate as Alejandro is not going to end well for everyone involved.

Expect to receive a barrage of very choice texts back.

‘You have no idea what you’re doing to me’, he’ll say, followed by a photo of the tent in his trousers.

And a sinister: ‘But you will’.

If he’s away on business for even just a few days, he’ll go practically feral whenever he sees that picture of you.

To everyone else, he’ll be the leader Alejandro Vargas they all know him as – ruthless and righteous.

Yet, there’s something different in the way he walks as he excuses himself from the table, his destination unknown.

His gaze is narrowed and his teeth are grinding, rabid in disposition.

And when he gets home, no matter how long of a day it’s been, you’re in for a very long night.

He’ll appear behind you, a spectre, clamping a hand down on your shoulder.

“You shouldn’t test a soldier, Love,” he says, his grip tightening.

You don't turn around, an exhilarating fear keeping you frozen.

He leans down, his mouth just at your ear, his breath hot.

“Because you never know when he’ll snap.”

Rodolfo

This man is usually rather quiet and submissive when it comes to the more personal aspects of your life together.

But when you send him a picture that makes him question how long he can keep his composure for, you’re in trouble.

You’ll be receiving a phone call from a very exasperated Rodolfo, who, despite his best efforts, has succumbed to your charm.

Definitely a growler when he’s in a dominant mood.

More of a whimperer when he’s not.

At times like these, you get both.

“Darling,” he breathes, the back of his head pressed against the cold cubicle wall. “Look what you’ve done to me…”

His whining is more than enough to let you know the effect you’ve had on him.

And it’s what he says next that makes your blood run cold.

“I won’t let you get away with this.”

The husking baritone in his voice tells you he’s being truthful.

And if you try to clap back with something witty, or even an apology, Rodolfo just laughs.

“The time for mercy is long past, mi Amor,” he tells you.

“All you can do now is prepare for the Reckoning.”

Graves

This smug idiot.

Definitely smirks to himself when he gets that picture.

Has to resist the urge to show it off to everyone in the boardroom because he’s just that proud to have you as his partner.

Yes, he is hard. Yes, he��s still going to give this presentation in front of all the major shareholders.

Why ?

Because he’s Graves. Also, because he knows he has more money than everyone else in that room, and, consequently, more power.

Will shoot you back a text like: ‘Mighty fine work, Babydoll’, followed by, ‘You’re getting a promotion when I get home.’

Yes, he uses corporate jargon when discussing intimate matters.

He’s a businessman at heart, he can’t help it.

Definitely more playful than most of the others on this list.

The type to take his time with you and make you laugh while he does so.

But when he wants to be rough (and when you want him to be), he can be.

And he gets mean when he’s like that.

I’m talking hair-pulling, name-calling – basically just bullying you, but consensually.

Does his best to take care of you, though.

If he found out that he’d actually upset you, he’d literally jump off a cliff – he wouldn't be able to forgive himself.

Expect many lavish gifts if this happens, though.

But don’t tell him that I told you that 👀.

Gaz

Will nearly drop his phone – it turns to butter in his hands.

He looks over his shoulder at least fifty times before he’ll allow himself to look at the photo again.

Poor boy’s face is turning red, his palms are sweating, he can’t think straight.

Paranoid 24/7 that everyone knows he has that picture of you.

But it doesn’t intimidate him enough for him to even try to keep quiet in the barracks when he has some alone time.

Similar situation to Soap; everyone knows to steer clear of whichever room Gaz was last spotted walking into for a while.

It would take him a few days for him to send a picture back.

More than likely, it’ll be of him in a scarcely lit bathroom in nothing but his boxers with a very prominent outline in them.

Followed by a text with something to the effect of: ‘Been thinking about you all night, Sweets’

And God forbid you send him another image of yourself. And definitely do not send a message saying ‘Aww, has my good boy been behaving himself ?’

Will literally send him over the edge.

The rest of the 141 can’t commandeer the bathroom for the rest of the day after that.

And when Gaz gets home, just know that your phone screen can’t protect you anymore.

Not when you have a man made of pure intellect and solid mass running full-force at you with all the pent-up energy seen only in a nuclear reactor.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

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pucksandpower · 8 months ago

Text

Legends Never Die

Carlos Sainz x Senna!Reader

Summary: sometimes the hole in your heart left behind by the passing of your father becomes almost too much to bear, but Carlos and his family never fail to ease the ache

Brazilian Grand Prix, 2023

The roar of the crowd is deafening as you step out onto the podium at Interlagos after winning your home race — the Brazilian Grand Prix — for McLaren.

You wave to the sea of fans, trying to keep your emotions in check. But it’s impossible. Everywhere you look there are reminders of your father.

Fans wave Brazilian flags emblazoned with his iconic yellow and green helmet. Others wear t-shirts bearing his name and race number. Signs reading “Senna Forever” make your chest tighten.

He’s everywhere … except where you need him most. In your memories.

You were just a baby when he died in that fateful accident at Imola in 1994. You only know the sound of his voice through crackling video footage, his infectious smile from yellowing photographs. But you don’t actually remember him. Your own father, the man whose immense legacy you carry on your shoulders each time you slide into the cockpit of a Formula 1 car.

By the time the national anthem plays and the champagne corks pop, you can barely see through the tears welling in your eyes. You blink them back rapidly, hoping the cameras don’t pick up on your emotional state. As soon as the ceremony ends, you practically run off the podium, heading straight for the sanctuary of your driver’s room.

You barely make it through the door before the sobs start wracking your body. You sink down onto the couch, drawing your knees up and burying your face in your hands as the tears flow freely.

How can you feel so alone when surrounded by so many who loved him?

A soft knock at the door cuts through your cries. You know immediately who it is without having to ask.

“Come in,” you manage to choke out, swiping at the dampness on your cheeks.

The door opens and there’s Carlos, looking concerned but unsurprised to find you in this state. Of course he knows. By now, he can likely sense when these waves of emotion are about to crash over you.

Carlos crosses the room and settles onto the couch, gathering you into his arms. You immediately curl against his chest, comforted by his familiar warmth and scent. One of his hands comes up to soothingly stroke your hair as the other rubs circles across your back.

“Let it out, mi amor,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m here.”

The gentleness in his voice is your undoing. You let out a gasping sob, tears soaking through the material of his firesuit as you finally allow yourself to unravel completely in his embrace.

“I-I don’t remember him,” you hiccup between harsh breaths. “I w-won my home race and all I could see out there were ghosts. He was everywhere b-but in my own mind!”

“Shh, I know,” Carlos soothes, rubbing your back. “I know it hurts, mi vida. But he’s here.” He places his palm over your heart. “Your dad lives in here, just like you live in his.”

You lift your head, seeking out his warm brown eyes through your tear-blurred vision. “How can you be so sure? I don’t have a single first-hand memory of him. I know Ayrton Senna the legend, but not my own father.”

A small, sad smile tugs at the corner of Carlos’s lips. “Because that’s how it is for all of us who didn’t get the chance to really know him.” His thumb brushes away a stray tear trailing down your cheek. “We keep him alive in our hearts through the way he inspired us, the lives he touched without ever realizing it. And for you ...” His expression turns amazed, eyes shining with an emotion you can’t quite place. “For you, he’s here.” He runs his hands over the sides of your body, splaying his fingers wide. “A part of him lives on, in you and through you each time you drive. You embody everything he represented behind the wheel — passion, adrenaline, an unquenchable desire to be the best. That’s your father’s legacy beating within you.”

You stare at him, trying to make sense of the jumbled tempest of feelings swirling inside you. Part of you wants to protest, to insist your longing for a tangible connection to your father can’t be satisfied by philosophical musing.

And yet … Carlos’ words reverberate within you, striking a chord. You think of the split-second decision making, the fearless way you attack corners, your refusal to ever give any less than your full effort.

Those are all traits you’ve been told time and time again you inherited from Ayrton. And maybe Carlos is right — maybe that is how you’ll know him best in this life.

Slowly, you reach up to cradle Carlos’ face in your palms, searching his caring gaze. “How did I get so lucky?” You whisper, a few rogue tears spilling over. “To have someone who understands me, understands this hole in my life, and loves me enough to fill it as best he can?”

The look of utter adoration on Carlos’ face steals your breath. Gently, he leans in to capture your lips in the softest, sweetest of kisses. The tenderness, the depth of emotion in that one simple gesture is enough to make your knees go weak.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. “I’m the lucky one, mi amor,” he murmurs, the words ghosting across your lips. “To be loved by you ...” He shakes his head slowly in seeming awe of you. “You make me feel blessed every day just by letting me share in your existence.”

You let out a watery laugh, rolling your eyes but unable to fight the giddy smile blooming across your face. Trust Carlos to somehow make you feel like the luckiest, most special person in the world after you’ve just spent who knows how long crying on his shoulder.

“You big sap,” you tease, booping him on the nose. You search his expression, your chest filling with warmth at the laughter lines crinkling around his eyes. “I love you, you know that right?”

The words hang there, heavy and significant. You realize you’ve never actually said them before, not with such simple yet loaded sincerity.

From the look of surprise and unbridled joy that overtakes Carlos’ features, he realizes it too. His hands come up to cradle your face, fingers threading through your hair as he holds you tenderly.

“Mi alma ...” he breathes out reverently. “Te amo, mi vida. I love you with all my heart.”

The depth of emotion in his voice, the Spanish words of love and adoration tumbling from his lips, it’s all too much. You surge forward, claiming his mouth in a searing kiss as the last of your tears, these born of happiness and love rather than sorrow, streak down your cheeks.

Carlos kisses you back with an intensity that leaves you lightheaded. His fingers tighten almost possessively in your hair as the kiss deepens, growing more heated and passionate. You’re vaguely aware of him shifting until you’re nearly in his lap, bodies aligned and thrumming with a very different kind of electricity than you’re used to on the track.

Eventually, the need for air becomes too insistent to ignore. You break apart, both of you panting heavily. Carlos’ lips are red and swollen, his pupils blown wide. He looks like a man thoroughly ravished.

You can’t help the impish grin. “So I take it you feel the same way?”

His laugh is low and gravelly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “Oh mi amor ...” he rumbles, nuzzling his nose against yours. “You have no idea.”

You bite your lip, about to suggest taking this celebration elsewhere more private. But a new thought suddenly occurs, giving you pause. Slowly, almost shyly, you meet his heated gaze.

“Carlos … do you really think he would be proud of me?” The uncertainty in your voice is painfully obvious. “My father, I mean. You think he’s ...” You swallow hard. “You think he’s watching over me and approving of the person I’ve become?”

The seriousness of your question douses some of the blazing desire in Carlos’ eyes. But it’s quickly replaced by a look of such fierce conviction, such affection for you, it makes your breath catch.

“Cariño,” he begins, voice thick with emotion as he tucks an errant strand of hair behind your ear. “Your father was the embodiment of passion and integrity in the pursuit of greatness. On the track, he gave everything. He put his heart and soul into being the best driver, the best competitor he could be. And that’s exactly what I see when I watch you race.”

Carlos leans in, resting his forehead against yours as his fingers tenderly trace the line of your jaw. “You drive with the same fire, the same refusal to let anything less than your full ability shine through. And off the track?” He lets out a soft huff of laughter, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well, let’s just say the determination, the sheer force of will I see in you would make any parent proud.”

You bite your lip, struggling against the swell of emotion building in your chest at his words. “Really? You don’t think he’d be … disappointed? That I’m not living up to his legacy or-”

“Hey.” Carlos cuts you off firmly, holding your gaze. “Your father didn’t just leave a legacy of winning championships or setting records, mi amor. He left a legacy of spirit. Of personality. Of being a loving, passionate human being who inspired millions.” His thumb strokes along your cheekbone as his eyes shine with complete sincerity. “And let me tell you — in that way? You are so perfectly your father’s daughter it’s unreal.”

The tears that have been threatening finally spill over, but this time they are born of relief, of love and reassurance. You manage a watery smile, curling your hand around the back of Carlos’ neck to pull him close until your foreheads touch.

“Thank you,” you whisper fervently. “For understanding. For loving me through the shadows and the ghosts. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His arms tighten around you, holding you flush against his body in an embrace filled with devotion. “Well, you’ll never have to find out,” he murmurs lowly, lips brushing tantalizingly against the sensitive skin just below your ear. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

A delighted shiver runs through you at his tone, at the deliciously possessive edge to his promise. Shifting in his lap, you capture his lips in a searing kiss filled with all the love, the passion, the longing you’ve been holding at bay.

Carlos responds with equal fervor, one hand burying in your hair while the other maps searing paths across your back, your sides, pulling you ever closer until there’s no space between your bodies. The room seems to simultaneously tilt and burn away until there is only the two of you, tangled together in a heated spiral of want and need.

At some point, you become vaguely aware of Carlos rising to his feet, your legs winding instinctively around his waist as he lifts you effortlessly. Your back presses against the nearest wall and you moan softly into his mouth at the delicious friction. His hands are everywhere, stoking the fire burning through your veins with every scorching caress.

Finally, and reluctantly, you pull your lips from his with a gasp. “Carlos … if we don’t get out of here soon, I can’t be held responsible for what might happen.”

He grins wolfishly at you, pupils blown wide with desire. “Is that a promise, mi amor?” His voice is low, gravelly, and sends sparks of pure hunger fluttering through your stomach.

Holding his heated gaze, you slowly drag your nails down the back of his neck in a deliberate tease, relishing the way his eyes darken even further. “Take me home, Carlos,” you purr, leaning in to brush your lips against his once more. “And I’ll show you just how promising I can be.”

His response is to capture your mouth in another bruising kiss, pressing you harder against the wall as a growl rumbles up from deep in his chest. Then, without warning, he’s turning and striding towards the door, carrying you easily as your legs remain locked around his waist.

Breathless with wanting, you finally pull away as he reaches for the doorknob, laughing softly. “I see someone’s eager.”

Carlos’s eyes gleam with pure, undisguised hunger as he looks at you over his shoulder. “For you, mi alma?” He leans in, lips hovering tantalizingly close as his beard brushes your tingling skin. “Always.”

With that, he’s swinging the door open and striding out into the hallway, completely uncaring of who might see. His focus, his entire world, is solely on you in this moment. Just as yours is on him.

As the adrenaline of victory fades and the ache of longing for your absent father eases into a dull, familiar ache, you’re reminded once more of the incredible gift you’ve been given.

Carlos’ love, his understanding and acceptance of every broken, yearning part of you is a blessing. One you vow never to take for granted.

Winding your arms securely around his neck, you let yourself get lost in the heat of his gaze, the depth of emotion shining there. And you realize — with him, you don’t feel so alone.

Even if your father isn’t here in person, some piece of him does live on. Not in memories or old recordings. But in the love you hold in your heart. The love you pour into everything you do, every dream you dare to chase. The love that connects you to Carlos so wholly.

Maybe, just maybe, your father is prouder than either of you can fathom as he watches the remarkable life you’ve created together unfold.

Smiling softly, you lean in to feather a kiss along the sharp line of Carlos’ jaw, breathing in his familiar scent.

“Take me home, meu amor.”

Australian Grand Prix, 2024

The podium ceremony is pure pandemonium. Carlos stands on the top step, beaming and cheering, having just claimed his first win of the new season. You’re on the second step beside him, arm raised in celebration of your own P2 finish. The energy from the crowd is electric, filling your veins with the same adrenaline rush as when you crossed the finish line.

You should be deliriously happy. Scoring such a strong result alongside your boyfriend at the third race is the dream start to your championship chase. And yet … something feels off. A strange melancholy tugs at the corner of your heart even as the champagne sprays and camera flashes bombard you from all angles.

Then you spot him — Carlos’ father, beaming at his son from the front of the crowd gathered below the podium. His chest is puffed out with undisguised pride, eyes crinkled at the corners behind his designer shades.

As you watch, father and son’s gazes meet and lock, and the sheer depth of emotion in that one look breaks something inside you.

Oh.

That’s what’s missing.

The realization hits you like a punch to the gut, stealing your breath. You barely register the Spanish national anthem playing as your eyes stay glued to the tender scene before you.

Carlos shooting his father a brilliant grin, chin dipping in acknowledgment of the pride shining through. Carlos Sr.’s face split by the biggest smile you’ve ever seen him wear. It’s such a simple gesture, but one utterly steeped in parental pride.

You should look away before it gets to be too much, but some masochistic part of you can’t tear your gaze from the heartwarming display. Seeing that effortless bond between father and son, witnessing their silent communication and affection laden with years of inside jokes and childhood memories … it awakens a hollow ache, one you’re terribly familiar with.

By the time the ceremony finally winds down, hot tears are stinging your eyes. You blink rapidly, ducking your head in hopes that the dark tint of your sunglasses conceals your fragile state. But of course, Carlos notices immediately.

He pauses mid-celebration, halfway through accepting some prize filled with the event sponsor’s product. Frowning, he leans in close under the pretense of thanking you for pushing him all the way. “Mi alma? What’s wrong?”

You nearly choke on your own breath at the naked concern in his voice. Trust Carlos to pick up on your inner turmoil even in the middle of what should be an incredibly joyous occasion. Steeling yourself, you manage a smile that you hope passes as genuine.

“Nothing, I’m just ...” Your excuse dies in your throat as you look past him towards the crowd once more.

Carlos Sr. is shouldering his way through the mass of staff and media, pushing towards his son. He’s waving and grinning from ear to ear as Carlos straightens up, delight overtaking his features. The second the older Sainz’s feet cross the barriers, Carlos drops everything and bounds over, hauling his father into a tight embrace.

They laugh and cheer as Carlos pumps a victorious fist in the air, the other arm wrapped securely around Carlos Sr. You can’t hear what they’re saying over the noise of the crowd, but it doesn’t matter. Their body language says it all.

Pride. Joy. Celebration. A bond forged in the fires of hardship and sacrifice, of a lifetime pursuing the most elite level of a deadly sport.

Father and son, reveling together in the sweetness of hard-earned success.

Your throat constricts painfully as you watch them, your own arms wrapping protectively around your middle. How many times had you dreamed of recreating this exact moment as a young girl? Crossing the chequered line in first place, only to be swept up in a boundless hug by a beaming, triumphant father?

You remember pretending with your childhood race cars, standing on an overturned bucket that served as your make-believe podium. You’d mimic the anthems and champagne sprays, then launch yourself off the “top step“ and into the arms of an imaginary Ayrton, dreaming about what it would feel like to bury your face in his shoulder as he swung you around, both of you dissolving into happy laughter as you celebrated together.

Of course, those were only childish fantasies even then. By the time you were old enough to understand racing, to grasp what your father did and meant to the world, he was already long gone. You never got the chance to make those podium daydreams a reality.

And you never would.

The harsh truth is like a bucket of ice water over your head. You’re vaguely aware of your sunglasses slipping down your nose as your eyes burn with unshed tears. Angrily, you blink them back, steeling your jaw.

Now is not the time.

You plaster on the brightest smile you can muster as Carlos and his father turn back towards you. Throwing propriety to the wind, Carlos Sr. comes up to engulf you in a tight hug, the scratch of barely-there stubble rasping against your cheek.

“Another stellar drive, mariposa,” he praises in his thick, warm accent as Carlos laughs in delight beside you. “Keeping this one on his toes, I see.”

Despite your fragile emotional state, you can’t help but grin at his spirit and affection. “Always,” you reply, squeezing him back firmly before pulling away to make room for Carlos.

Almost automatically, you take a step back to give them space. You have no wish to intrude on what should be their private moment together. And sure enough, no sooner have you retreated than Carlos is wrapping his arm around his father’s shoulders, guiding him towards the edge of the pit lane where Ferrari representatives are waiting.

You hang back, a sad smile playing across your lips as you watch them go. All the teasing and laughing, the play-fights and unbreakable bonds of family you wish you could have experienced for yourself play out in vivid detail before your eyes.

Off to the side, almost like an afterthought despite your place right beside him on the podium. Just … watching.

Slowly, you turn away, the roar of the fans and celebrations fading into the distance as you head up the ramp to the McLaren motorhome.

A thousand wistful memories drift through your mind. Muted footage of you as a newborn cradled in your father’s arms, grinning up at him in pure innocence and adoration. Photos of Ayrton gazing down at his infant daughter with a look of such unconditional love that it breaks you all over again.

No matter how many trophies you win or records you break, that will always be the one achievement he never had the chance to witness. You’ll never experience a father’s unadulterated pride at his child’s success.

Your breath hitches as you finally reach the solitude of your private room, sinking onto the plush sofa as the tears begin rolling in earnest. Who are you kidding? As much as Carlos and his family envelop you in their warmth, as much as you are unquestionably part of their clan now … there is always going to be an empty space in your heart where a father’s love should be.

You bury your face in your hands, ignoring the wet streaks smearing across your knuckles as you try in vain to compose yourself. You can’t be like this, falling apart every time. Carlos deserves to revel in one of the greatest wins of his career. He shouldn’t have to devote energy to consoling you, not after a spectacular drive like that.

A soft knock at the door startles you. Swiping hastily at your cheeks, you suck in a shuddering breath and call out. “Come in.”

The door opens, and of course, it’s Carlos. Because even in the midst of unbridled jubilation, he senses your inner turmoil. He steps inside, the happiness draining from his expression as he takes in your blotchy complexion and reddened eyes.

“Mi amor,” he breathes, crossing to you in two quick strides and gathering you into his arms. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his sweat-damp race suit as he rubs soothing circles across your back. “Talk to me, cariño. What’s got you so upset, hmm?”

You want to explain, but the words stick in your throat. Instead, you simply shake your head, a few errant tears slipping free to wet the material covering his shoulder. Carlos doesn’t push, just holds you close and lets you cry it out against him.

Eventually, you find your voice, thick with emotion. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your celebration like this. You should be out there enjoying your win, not consoling your mess of a girlfriend.”

“Hey now,” he chides gently, tipping your chin up to meet his concerned gaze. “None of that, mi alma. Your feelings are never something to apologize for.” His thumb brushes away a stray tear from your cheek. “I know today was … difficult. Seeing me with my dad, it brought up a lot of old hurts, didn’t it?”

You let out a watery chuckle, amazed as always by his intuition when it comes to your innermost struggles. “Am I that obvious?”

“Only to someone who knows and loves every facet of you,” he replies simply, stroking your hair back from your forehead. “Will you tell me? Let me in on what you’re feeling so I can try to understand?”

Taking a shuddering breath, you nod and disentangle yourself enough to sit beside him on the couch. You keep one of his hands linked with yours, anchoring you as you gather your thoughts. “It’s just … out there on the podium, when I saw you and your dad together ...” You pause, blinking rapidly against a fresh swell of tears. “It reminded me all over again of what I’m missing. What I’ll never get to have.”

Carlos’ expression softens with understanding and he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, silently urging you to continue. You draw strength from his presence beside you.

“You two have this … bond. This connection, like you’re the only ones who truly understand each other’s perspectives. And I’m envious, Carlos. So envious of the lifetime of love and memories that exists just in the silent communication between you.” You let out a mirthless chuckle, swiping at the dampness on your cheeks. “God, that sounds so pathetic when I say it out loud.”

“No, mi vida.” Carlos is firm, his eyes shining with sincerity. “Not pathetic at all. You’re allowed to feel that longing, that sadness over being deprived of something so integral.” His free hand comes up to cradle your jaw, calloused thumb stroking along your cheekbone. “You miss your dad. You mourn not having that relationship in your life. Those are entirely valid feelings to have, especially on days like this when I got to share my joy with my own father.”

You lean into his touch, fresh tears spilling over at his words as your breath hitches. “It’s like … no matter what I accomplish, no matter how successful I become, there will always be this hole.” Your hand comes up to clasp his wrist, holding him close. “Because he never got to see it. He never got to be that person cheering me on, taking pride in my achievements. Instead, I’m left imagining what it would be like, watching you and your dad and aching for something I can’t have.”

Carlos’ eyes turn molten, brimming with empathy and sorrow for your pain. Slowly, he guides you forward until your foreheads are pressed together, his breath fanning across your lips.

“Mi amor … I can’t replace what you’ve lost, or take away that regret and heartache. All I can do is promise to spend every day showing you how proud I am of you.” His fingers thread through your hair, cradling your head tenderly. “You are the strongest, bravest, most amazing woman I have ever known. Watching you out on the track, giving everything you have with that same fire and spirit as your father … words can’t express how awestruck I am. How honored I feel to witness your brilliance and passion race after race.”

You suck in a sharp breath at the reverent tone in his voice, fresh tears streaking down your cheeks at the depth of feeling behind his words. Carlos tugs you even closer until there’s no space between your bodies, until you’re sharing the same air in an intimate embrace.

“I only wish he could see you the way I do,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours with each word. “I wish he was here to feel the immense pride and adoration I feel every single time you leave me breathless behind the wheel.” A tender, lingering kiss punctuates his words. “You are your father’s greatest legacy, mi alma. And I will spend every day showing you that, if you’ll let me.”

A choked whimper escapes your lips as you surge forward, capturing Carlos’ mouth in a searing, fevered kiss. You pour every ounce of overwhelmed emotion, every bit of ardor and heartache and gratitude into the heated glide of your lips against his. His arms band around you like steel cables, holding you impossibly close as the kiss turns bruising, desperate, all-consuming.

When you finally pull apart, you’re both panting harshly. Carlos’ pupils are blown wide, lips red and swollen and thoroughly kissed. He stares at you with such naked adoration, such devotion, that it steals what little breath you have left.

“Thank you,” you rasp, cradling his face in your trembling hands. “Thank you for loving me so completely. Despite all my broken pieces, you see me at my core and still chose me.”

He leans into your touch, lips brushing your palm. “There is nothing to thank me for, mi amor. You are the sun, I’m merely lucky enough to orbit you and bask in your warmth.” He places another soft, lingering kiss to your wrist, right over your thundering pulse. “I am yours, corazón. Every piece of me, for every piece of you. Never doubt that.”

A fresh wave of emotion rises up, this one filled with pure, dizzying love and affection for the incredible man kneeling before you. Pulling him up, you simply hold him for a long moment, relishing his solid strength surrounding you in the protective circle of his arms.

Here, in his embrace, the ache of your father’s absence dulls to a faded echo in the corners of your heart. Here, you can breathe easy, reassured and loved down to your very core.

Eventually, the sounds of celebration filter in through the door — your team must be getting restless waiting for their driver. Carlos seems to hear it too, huffing out a quiet chuckle against your hairline.

“We should get out there, hmm? Before both of our teams send a search party for their drivers.”

You nod, but make no move to disentangle yourself, soaking up his warmth and steady presence for a few more selfish moments.

When you do finally pull away, there are fresh tear tracks on your cheeks but also a peaceful smile gracing your lips. Reverently, you run your fingers through the sweat-damp curls at Carlos’ temples as his eyes flutter closed, savoring your touch.

“I love you,” you murmur, the words seeming impossibly inadequate to convey the depth of feeling they represent. “Endlessly, meu amado.”

Carlos’ gaze when he opens his eyes practically glows with emotion, pure elation and adoration radiating from his expression. “As I love you, mi alma,” he husks, stealing one more searingly tender kiss. “Always.”

With twin smiles and your hands linked tightly, you exit the room together into the raucous cheers and celebrations. Outside, you can see Carlos Sr. surrounded by a sea of red, laughing and beaming with incomparable pride and joy at his son’s success. Your breath catches when he spots the two of you emerging, arms flinging wide.

“There are my superstars! Vámonos, we have a victory to toast!”

As Carlos tugs you forward into the chaos, his father enveloping you both in a crushing embrace and peppering your cheeks with scratchy kisses, you feel a sense of peace settle over you.

Yes, there will always be an absence where your father should have been, a hollow space in your heart shaped perfectly to his memory. But you’ll never truly be alone.

Not with Carlos beside you every step of the way. Not with his family’s boundless love and affection enveloping you, treating you as their own daughter. They are the salve for when that empty ache becomes too much to bear.

So you let yourself sink into the celebration, into the warmth of the Sainz clan and the sheer euphoria of your personal success. As long as Carlos keeps chasing his passion with the same fanatical devotion as his father … as long as you chase your own with every ounce of vigor and spirit that your father passed down through shared blood … then Ayrton will never stop watching over you both with immeasurable pride and a heart overflowing with love.

And for now, for today, that will simply have to be enough.

Days Before the Miami Grand Prix, 2024

The Miami sun sinks lower in the sky, bathing the hotel balcony in a warm orange glow. You lean against the railing, staring unseeingly at the cruise ships dotting the horizon. Your eyes are glassy, your mind a million miles away.

It’s been thirty years to the day since your father’s life was snatched away. Thirty years of living in his immense shadow, constantly reminded of the racing legend you never truly knew.

Your phone buzzes incessantly in your pocket, a steady stream of texts and calls offering condolences. Old acquaintances you haven’t spoken to in years, suddenly reaching out on this morbid anniversary.

What can you possibly say that the world doesn’t already know? That they haven’t already dissected and analyzed a million times over?

The harsh truth is that so many strangers have more vivid memories of Ayrton Senna than his own daughter. It’s a sobering reality, one that reopens that wound all over again every May 1st.

You feel numb, gutted, emptied out.

“Amor?” The familiar voice pulls you from your reverie. You turn to find Carlos staring at you with soft concern in his warm brown eyes. “Are you alright?”

You try for a reassuring smile, but it feels stale on your lips. “I’m fine, just … thinking.”

He sees right through you, the way he always does. Crossing the balcony, he wraps his arms around you from behind, his chin resting atop your head. You lean back into his solid embrace, drawing comfort from his presence.

“You know you don’t have to put on a brave face for me, right?” He murmurs against your hair. “Not today.”

You let out a shuddering breath, blinking back the sting of tears. “I know. It’s just … it never gets any easier, you know? All these years later and the wound still feels fresh.”

His arms tighten around you. “I’m so sorry, mi amor. I wish I could take the pain away.”

“You help more than you know, just by being here,” you reply thickly. A tremulous smile curves your lips as you cover his hands with yours. “Thank you for putting up with my melancholy every year.”

“You never have to thank me for that,” he says fiercely. “I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

The sound of the balcony door opening draws your attention as Carlos Sr. steps out onto the balcony, his eyes kind but assessing as he takes in the two of you embracing.

“Ah, lo siento,” he says apologetically. “I did not mean to intrude on a private moment.”

“No, no, you’re not intruding,” you assure him, reluctantly extracting yourself from Carlos’ arms. You turn to face his father, subtly wiping at your damp eyes. “What’s going on?”

Carlos Sr. hesitates, shooting his son a questioning look. Carlos nods almost imperceptibly.

“Actually, hijo, do you mind if I borrow Y/N for a few minutes?” Carlos’ father asks. “Hombre a hombre, as they say.”

Your brows knit in confusion, but Carlos just smiles faintly and drops a kiss on your temple. “Of course. I’ll be inside whenever you’re ready, mi vida.”

With a final squeeze of your hand, he disappears back into the suite, leaving you alone with his father on the balcony. The older Sainz settles into one of the plush lounge chairs with a slight groan.

“Please, join an old man,” he says, patting the chair beside him. You hesitate briefly before sinking into the indicated seat. An awkward silence stretches between you both.

“You’ll have to forgive me,” Carlos’ father begins at last. “I am not usually at such a loss for words. But I find myself struggling to know what to say on a day like today.”

You manage a watery chuckle. “Trust me, you’re not the only one at a loss. I don’t even know what to say to myself half the time.”

He regards you with such tender understanding that it steals your breath away. “My dear girl, you have carried such a heavy burden on those young shoulders for far too long. No child should have to grow up in the shadow of tragedy the way you have.”

Tears well up anew in your eyes. “I just … I wish I could remember him, you know? Really remember him, not just what I’ve seen in videos or heard in interviews. It feels so unfair that the whole world has vibrant memories of who he was, but I’m just … left with echoes and fragments of a man I never truly knew.”

Carlos Sr.’s eyes glisten with empathy as he reaches over to take your hand, enveloping it in his calloused grip. “Listen to me, mija. While I cannot begin to understand the depth of your loss, I do know this — it is never strange to mourn someone you loved, even if you cannot recall the time you spent together.”

His words are like a soothing balm on the ragged wound of your heart. You squeeze his hand fiercely, struggling to keep your composure as he continues.

“Your father was ...” He pauses, seeming to carefully weigh his next words. “Your father was an incredible man, one who touched countless lives all over the world. But to you, he was simply your father. And that bond, that love between a parent and child, transcends memory. It lives on in here.” He taps his heart with his free hand. “In a way that no amount of biographies or documentaries could ever capture.”

The tears spill over, streaking down your cheeks. You make no effort to stop them this time. Carlos’ father merely watches you with infinite tenderness, his thumb brushing soothingly over your knuckles.

“I know I cannot replace the father you lost,” he continues softly. “Nor would I ever try. But I hope you know that our family … we love you as one of our own, mija. You will always have a home and a family with us, for as long as you desire it.”

A broken sound escapes your throat and Carlos Sr. immediately rises from his chair to gather you into his arms, his embrace warm and secure and achingly paternal. You bury your face in his shoulder, body shaking with muffled sobs as the floodgates finally burst open.

“That’s it, let it all out,” he murmurs, one broad hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Holding in such grief for so long, it’s a wonder you did not crumble beneath the weight of it long ago. You are stronger than you know, mija.”

You cry until you’re completely spent, until the front of Carlos Sr.’s shirt is damp and your eyes are swollen and puffy. When at last the tears subside, leaving you wrung out but strangely peaceful, he produces a handkerchief from his pocket and gently dabs at your cheeks.

“There now, that’s better isn’t it?” He asks, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles down at you. “I think my son may have plans to cheer you up, if you’re amenable?”

You let out a watery chuckle, feeling lighter than you have in days … weeks … months maybe. “That does sound nice.”

The elder Spaniard presses the handkerchief into your hand, then steers you back towards the balcony door with a gentle hand on your back. “Then what are we waiting for? That boy may look like me, but his sweet tooth is all his mother’s doing.”

You pause in the doorway, impulsively turning to throw your arms around the man who has, in many ways, become a second father to you. “Thank you,” you whisper shakily against his shoulder. “For everything.”

His arms tighten around you briefly. “De nada, mija. That’s what family is for.”

When at last you disentangle yourself, Carlos is waiting just inside, a bright smile lighting up his face at the sight of the two of you. On the counter, a cheerful array of pastries and confections beckons, the delicious aroma of fresh Brazilian baked goods enveloping you in a warm, sugary hug.

Carlos’ eyes are shining with love and relief as you cross the room to plant a lingering kiss of gratitude on his smiling lips.

“I love you,” you murmur when you finally pull back, cradling his face in your palms. “Thank you for being you.”

His forehead drops to rest against yours. “Always, mi alma. I’ll never stop loving you and being here for you, no matter what.”

You hold him tightly for a long moment, savoring his warmth and solidity. When you finally part, Carlos’ arm stays looped around your waist as he turns towards the dessert spread.

“So, I may have gone a little overboard at the bakery,” he admits with an unrepentant grin, waving his free hand at the sugary bounty. “But it’s been a rough day and you deserve to indulge a little.”

You can’t help but laugh, feeling some of the lingering heaviness dissipate at the pure, infectious joy on his face. Leave it to Carlos to try and solve everything with baked goods and affection.

“Well, when you put it that way,” you tease, leaning into his side, “I suppose I can’t say no to that face.”

“That’s the spirit!” Carlos crows, beaming at you with such adoration that it makes your heart squeeze. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he scoops up one of the frosted confections and holds it up to your lips. “Open wide, mi amor.”

You obediently take a bite of the sugary pastry, the rich flavors of doce de leite and buttery dough melting over your tongue. Carlos watches you with rapt attention, his eyes darkening slightly as you slowly lick a stray bit of frosting from the corner of your mouth.

His father clears his throat loudly behind you. “Ay dios mio, get a room you two!”

Carlos has the grace to look abashed, but you just grin unrepentantly at your future father-in-law as he shakes his head in mock exasperation.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Carlos says cheekily, surprising you by suddenly sweeping you up into his arms bridal-style.

You let out a squeak of surprise that quickly dissolves into delighted laughter as he starts carrying you toward the bedroom, peppering your face with noisy kisses. Over his shoulder, you catch Carlos Sr.’s indulgent smile and parting wink before the door swings shut behind you.

The rest of the evening passes in a sugary, affectionate haze. For the first time in as long as you can remember, the grief feels bearable, soothed by the love of your chosen family.

While the ache may never fully heal, you have a newfound sense of lightness in your heart.

As you lay tangled in the sheets later that night, Carlos’ arm a grounding weight around your waist, you send up a silent thank you to whatever cosmic forces brought this incredible man into your life.

And maybe, just maybe, your father can finally rest easy knowing his little girl found her way to happiness after all.

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