#I don’t know if it’s the mics or where the mics are placed but his voices comes out in a way I really personally like in these interviews | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gothcsz · 2 months ago

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Summary: Caught in a charged and unexpected moment with Javier Peña, you struggle between resisting his relentless seduction and giving in to the tension that has been building since the last shoot.

Tags: smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, no use of Y/N, reader is shorter than javier but other than that no physical descriptions, some dirty talk, semi-public sex (we're in an elevator this time around), reader really doesn't like javi, steve being steve, other shit i’m probably forgetting.

A/N: this was supposed to be a short lil thing but then my ass had to drag it out just a little because their dynamic is very fun to write 😭 he's like whyyy don't you like me and she's like how much time do you have? lmfao. this is dedicated to @auteurdelabre 🖤 #1 pornstar javi stan, i almost submitted this for your trope off but decided to save that honor for my other story! anyways, i hope you guys enjoy javier begging to eat you out 🥂 let me know what you think 🖤 mandatory mutual tags: @almostempty / @miss-oranje-disco-dancer

You sit in the cramped waiting room outside of Robbie’s office, the stale air clinging to your skin as you shift uncomfortably in the worn-out chair. The place is too quiet, save for the muffled sounds of the city outdoors.

You glance at the clock on the wall, anxiety creeping up your spine. You have a shift at the bar in an hour, and time is slipping through your fingers. The laundry, the groceries, the endless list of errands— it all piled up today, and now you’re cutting it too close.

But you need this check. It’s the only reason you’re here, tapping your foot in impatience. If you don’t get it today, the money won’t hit your account in time to cover rent, and you really don’t want another lecture from your landlord. It’s bad enough you’re already behind— no need to give him more ammunition to chew you out.

You sigh and lean back, eyes closing as you try to drown out the frustration swirling in your head. That’s when you hear the unmistakable ding of the elevator down the hall and turn your head to see who’s joining.

Your stomach drops and you sit up straight. No. Not now. The air feels heavier, thick with that familiar irritation, as the slow, deliberate sound of boots against the tile grows louder.

Javier Peña.

Just the thought of him sends a hot wave through your being, a mix of irritation and something else you refuse to acknowledge. You don’t want to think about that last shoot, the one where things shifted. Where shit got weird. You behind the camera, filming as always, while he was balls deep in another woman, claiming you were on his mind.

“Bet you’d look just as pretty like this, nena.”

“Did you like what you saw? Like watching the way I fucked her but was thinking of you the whole time?”

It was like he’d stripped you bare with just a few words, leaving you more exposed than them in the midst of their carnal fucking. And the worst part? You’d been affected by it. Skin on fire, pussy wet. It also didn’t help that Steve had heard it too. The mic catching the flirting, the hitch of your breath getting stuck in your throat, clear as day.

He’d asked you about it later at Lucky’s, as promised, all smug and drinking that God-awful beer. But you’d brushed him off, hoping he’d drop it. Thankfully, he had— for the most part— but you could still feel his restlessness, wanting to stir the pot.

Now, Javier is here, of course, because the universe just loves to mess with you. You roll your eyes and cross your arms, leaning back against the chair in defiance. You refuse to look at him. You won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he gets under your skin.

His footsteps stop just a few feet away, the weight of his presence impossible to ignore. You can feel him looking at you, feel the weight of his brown eyes like a physical thing as they rake over your body.

You keep your gaze glued to the wall, focusing on the ugly, generic painting hanging there like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

“You gonna act like you don’t see me?” His voice is deep, smooth, and frustratingly cocky, just like always.

You grit your teeth, biting back a response. You won’t give him an inch. Not again. This motherfucker will take a mile.

“Okay, so that’s what we’re doing.” Before you can react, he plops down beside you. You stiffen immediately, moving your crossed knees to the side, angling yourself away from him, as if the few inches of space will protect you from the onslaught of whatever the hell he’s about to say next.

He spreads his thighs wide, his posture screaming obnoxious confidence. You just barely catch a glimpse of his bulge pressing up against his left thigh and how the fuck does it look so big even when he’s soft? “You know,” he says, voice dripping with that lazy, arrogant drawl, “you’re the only woman that treats me like this, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.”

You snort, the sound sharp and humorless. You still don’t bother looking at him.

Javier frowns, flitting his tongue across the top row of his teeth. “Is it because I came off too strong the first time we met? ‘Cause if that’s the case; then I’m sorry. Can’t help myself from flirting with pretty little things like you.”

You roll your eyes so hard, it’s a wonder they don’t fall out of their sockets. He doesn’t sound sincere at all.

Thing is, you didn’t mind the flirting. Even if he, like he’s so romantically put it, does flirt with pretty little things all the time; it did make you feel like just that. Pretty. It’s what came after that soured your Javier Peña experience.

He huffs, like a petulant child, frustrated by your silence. You don’t give him the satisfaction of even a glance. Instead, you shift in your seat, your mind racing, wondering what the hell is taking Robbie so damn long. He never works, barely lifts a finger unless there’s money or something else in it for him, and now, suddenly, he’s busy? Yeah, right. He’s probably in his office jerking it to one of his films, getting off on his own work. Typical.

You’re done waiting. With a sharp movement, you stand, startling Javier, though you still don’t give him the time of day. He’s used to women catering to his every whim, hanging on his every word. You aren’t going to be one of them. Not even if he did manage to get you all hot and bothered.

You stalk over to the door and knock harder than necessary. “I’m busy,” his voice grumbles through the wooden surface, and you resist the urge to scream.

“And I need my check. Just slide it under the door or something,” you snap, the urgency in your voice making it clear that you’re not in the mood to get fucked around with.

There’s a pause, followed by the sound of shuffling papers before the door cracks open just enough for Robbie to stick his hand out, an envelope clutched between his fingers. He practically shoves it into your hand before slamming the door shut again.

You stand there for a moment, staring at the envelope with your name scrawled across the front. Surrounded by imbeciles. Just one shift to get through tonight, and then maybe, just maybe, you can get some peace. Enjoy the first weekend off you’ve had in months.

Now that you have what you came for, you spin on your heel and stride down the hallway, ignoring the handsome pornstar still lounging in the chair behind you. From your peripheral, you can see him sitting there, skinny jean clad legs spread, looking all annoyingly sexy without even trying. It would be so much easier if he were ugly— or literally anyone else. But no, it’s Javier fucking Peña, with his ridiculous good looks and that cocky smirk that could probably charm the panties off half the city if he wanted to (it probably has, to be honest).

You mentally map out the next hour: hit the bank, dash home to change, then off to work. You could walk to the bank, maybe catch a taxi home if you’re lucky. But with traffic in this city, luck isn’t really on your side. You start considering your options— do you skip changing and just head to work as you are? Would your other boss even care if you showed up a little underdressed? You’re so lost in your thoughts, focused on cutting corners to save time, that you don’t hear the quiet footsteps behind you.

It’s not until the elevator dings and you step inside that you realize you’re not alone. Javier’s slipped in just before the doors close, sliding smoothly into the cramped space beside you. The sudden proximity makes your heart do this stupid little jump, and you curse yourself for it. You’re trapped now— stuck way too close to him in the tiny metal box.

The air feels charged, his presence impossible to ignore yet again. The smell of his aftershave hits you first— spicy, with a hint of something woodsy, layered under the scent of his leather jacket and the faint, lingering whiff of cigarette smoke. He tries to drown it out with minty gum, but it’s still there, clinging to him like an old habit. And damn it, your knees go a little weak, despite your best efforts to stay cool.

The height difference between you is glaringly obvious now. You’re eye level with the habitually open portion of his cream colored shirt, the buttons undone just enough to give a peek at his brown chest. It’s frustrating how effortlessly he pulls off the whole rugged look— like he doesn’t even try, but somehow manages to look better than most men who spend hours on it.

You swallow hard, trying to focus on anything but the fact that you can smell him, that you can feel the heat radiating off his body in the tight space. He’s just too close, and the damn elevator isn’t moving fast enough. You’ve got a million things to worry about right now—rent, work, your life— and the last thing you need is to be distracted by him.

But, like always, he’s right there, invading your space, making it impossible to think of anything else.

“What the fuck do you want?” You snap, breaking your vow of silence. You frown up at him, irritation bubbling just beneath the surface as you cross your arms defensively over your chest— a bad move, you realize too late, as the motion only pushes your braless tits together beneath the thin fabric of your tank top.

Predictably, his eyes drop immediately. You curse yourself for not wearing something more substantial. It’s not like I was planning to run into him today, you think to yourself.

“To understand why you hate me so much,” Javier says, his voice low, carrying that annoyingly casual tone, as if this whole conversation is nothing more than a mild inconvenience to him.

Your brows knit together, and a dry laugh slips from your lips before you can stop it. “Well, for starters,” you bite out, “you can’t even look me in the eyes when you ask.”

His gaze snaps up so fast it’s almost comical, his dark eyes locking with yours, defiance flaring there. But there’s something else too— something that makes the air between you even more tense. You hold his stare, daring him to say something, to make this worse for himself. His expression tightens, but you continue before he has a chance to speak. “And I don’t hate you. I just don’t like you. You annoy the shit out of me.”

He flinches, just barely, but you catch it. The smallest chink in his armor. You reach around him, your hand brushing against his side as you press the button for the main floor. The contact sends a ripple of awareness through you that you try to ignore. You don’t have time for this— for him.

Javier scowls, his mouth pulling into a frown that mirrors yours, and before you can react, he half-turns and punches a button for a different floor, effectively canceling your request. The elevator jolts, shifting direction.

You groan audibly, exasperation washing over you. “And here you are, proving my point,” you mutter under your breath. Every second you waste in this shitty elevator with him is another second closer to being late for work. Another second closer to not getting everything done that you needed to today. He’s not just in your way—he’s deliberately in your way, and the worst part is, he knows it.

“You don’t like me,” he counters, turning back to face you fully, his tone edging into frustration, “but you never even gave me a chance.” His jaw is set now, his eyes searching yours as if he’s waiting for you to crack, to admit that there’s more to it than just annoyance. Like he wants you to say it’s something else, something deeper.

If you had the luxury of time, you’d lay it all out for him, explain in excruciating detail just why you’ve avoided giving him that chance. How his arrogance grates on you. How his charm, though admittedly effective, feels hollow. How the way he flirts isn’t even the problem—it’s the way he looks at you, like he knows something about you that you don’t want to admit.

But you don’t have that kind of time.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, taking a deep breath in a vain attempt to steady your nerves. “As fun as it’d be to stand here and explain this shit to you like a child,” you say, your voice tight, “I have important things to do, and you’re keeping me from them.” You jab the elevator button again, hoping the damn thing will just go where you need it to without another unnecessary detour, but you already know it’s a losing battle.

Javier shifts closer, just slightly, his presence looming. You can smell that damn aftershave again, all spice and leather and smoke, and it only pisses you off more because your body reacts to it before your brain can stop it. You feel your resolve slipping, just a little. His eyes are on you, unwavering, intense in a way that makes you want to both slap him and pull him closer at the same time.

“I’m not trying to keep you from anything,” he replies, softer now, the edge in his voice gone. His tone is almost... apologetic? No. It can’t be. Javier Peña doesn’t apologize. At least not in any way that feels real.

You don’t even bother responding, just stare at the numbers above the door, willing them to move faster. The sooner you’re out of here, the better.

“Just—fuck, give me something. Anything,” he growls, frustrated as all hell. His eyes are wild, and you can see the cracks in his usual suave demeanor, like he’s barely holding it together. “Ever since that last shoot, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head, and I don’t know why. You think you’re exasperated? How the fuck do you think I’m feeling over here?”

You raise a brow, leaning into your disdain as you pout at him mockingly. “Oh, boohoo. Cry me a river. A girl doesn’t like me back, wahh.” You mimic the sound of a crying baby, bringing your fists up to rub against your cheeks in the most exaggerated way possible. Then you drop the act, face deadpanning.

His eyes narrow, and you think you’ve finally hit a nerve. Good. Let him stew in it. But instead of backing down, he does something you don’t expect— he turns, reaches out, and slams his palm against the emergency stop button. The elevator lurches to a sudden halt, the hum of motion disappearing as the car freezes between floors.

Your eyes widen, a sharp spike of adrenaline shooting through you as the reality of the situation sets in. “What the hell, Javier?” You’re about to cuss him out, to let him know exactly what kind of shit he’s just gotten himself into, but before the words can leave your mouth, he takes two long, purposeful steps toward you.

Instinctively, you move back, the sudden intensity in his eyes sending warning signals through your brain. But there’s nowhere to go. You can’t escape the tight confines of the elevator, your back is pressed up against the cold metal railing. You swallow hard, your heart hammering against your ribs as his broad body looms over yours, trapping you in a way that leaves you feeling both furious and breathless.

He’s too close. His chest brushes against yours, and you can feel his gaze as it drags over your face, down your neck, and lower still, lingering in a way that makes your skin prickle.

Any insult you were ready to hurl at him gets stuck in your throat. You hate how your pulse quickens, how your breath catches. You can feel every inch of him— solid muscle, tense with whatever storm is brewing behind those dark eyes.

For a brief, dizzying moment, you forget to be mad. You forget that you’re supposed to dislike him, that he’s the last person you should let get under your skin like this but somehow is the only one who’s able to. All you can focus on is the way his breath fans across your cheek, the way the small space between you crackles with tension, like a wire pulled too tight.

“You think this is some kind of joke?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, making your pussy tingle in ways you wish it didn’t. “You think it’s easy for me to just... shrug it off? Because it’s not. Not when I keep thinking about you, and I don’t even fucking understand why.”

There’s something raw in his voice, something that catches you off guard, making you pause to wonder if this really isn’t a game to him.

But you can’t let him see that. You can’t let him know how much he’s getting to you (even though he’s more than aware). So instead, you tilt your chin up defiantly, forcing your voice to stay steady. “And stopping the elevator? Trapping me in here with you? That’s your brilliant solution?”

“No,” he breathes, voice dropping to a near whisper as his face inches closer to yours. “But it’s the only way I could get you to stop running from me.”

You hate how your stomach flips at his words. Hate how much you’re fighting against the instinct to lean into him instead of shoving him away. Every part of your body is screaming at you to tell him to fuck off and leave you the hell alone.

“Do you know what I think it is?” The words come out in a low, dangerous drawl, the kind that seems to wrap around your throat and squeeze. He leans in, crowding your space, eyes boring into you with an intensity that has your pulse skyrocketing. “I think you’re too fucking stubborn to let yourself have any fun. The idea of me fucking you is enticing, isn’t it?” His lips curl into a smirk, the kind that drips with arrogance and dark promises. “Could see it written all over your face that night at the hotel. That look in your eye while I was fucking Lexxie.”

His accusations slam into you, pulling up the exact moment you’ve been trying to bury. It should have been a professional gig, routine even, nothing personal… except that wasn’t the case. Not with the way he looked at you the entire time, his eyes locked on yours, daring you to react.

And, fuck, you had reacted. You felt the heat rise in your face, the way your body betrayed you as you stood behind the camera, mouth salivating, thighs pressing together.

“Javier…” You push at his chest, your hand meeting the hard wall of muscle beneath his shirt. The intent is to shove him back, to create some space between you. But the second your palm makes contact, it’s like the air shifts, and instead of moving him, it’s like you’ve anchored yourself to him.

Goddamn him. Goddamn you for your spineless ass, for not being able to follow through on resisting the temptation that he is.

He smirks wider, clearly reading the war going on behind your eyes. “You were shaking,” he continues, his voice a dark whisper that coils around your insides. “Damn near moaning while you watched me go down on her. Rubbing those thighs together while this pretty ass was in my face as she was sucking my cock.”

His large hand snakes around you, catching you off guard, fingers gripping a handful of your ass and pulling you closer. Your body collides with his, and that’s when you feel it— his erection, hard and insistent, pressing into your stomach. The heat between you flares up to unbearable levels, and you can’t help the small gasp that escapes your lips. His touch sends a jolt of electricity through you, every nerve ending in your body on high alert, buzzing with want.

“You’re delusional,” it’s breathless but you’re still determined to keep some semblance of control. You squirm in his grip, your body betraying your words, the friction making your mind tilt. “You just can’t stand the fact that, for once, a woman isn’t throwing herself at you. That I’m not kissing the ground you walk on or falling to my knees, ready to suck you off.”

His hold tightens briefly, pulling you even closer, and for a second, you wonder if you’ll be able to break free at all. It’s damn near impossible to ignore the ache building between your thighs at this point. But somehow, you manage to slip out of his grip, your body twisting away from his until you’ve backed yourself into the far corner of the elevator.

You can’t breathe. Not properly, anyway. You’ve never felt so on edge, so exposed in such a small space. Every fiber of your being screams at you to keep your distance, to reassert control of the situation, but there’s a part of you— dangerous and impulsive— that wants to step right back into his arms.

Javier doesn’t move, but his eyes stay glued to you, watching your every movement like a predator stalking its prey. The elevator is still locked in place, a silent reminder that you’re trapped here with him until one of you decides to relent. His jaw clenches, and you think he’s going to say something cutting, something to tear you down. But instead, he surprises you.

“You’re right.” His voice is rough, but it carries a weight that’s different from the cocky arrogance he usually hides behind. “I can’t stand it.”

His words hang in the air between you, heavier than you expected. There’s no smirk this time, no sarcastic bite. Just honesty, and it’s a fucking curveball.

You weren’t prepared for him to actually admit it. For once, he’s not trying to fuck with you, not trying to win.

And somehow, that makes it worse.

You swallow hard, the weight of his confession making your heart leap out of your chest.

You don’t know what to say, so instead, you just stand there, staring at him, your body buzzing with a cocktail of adrenaline, lust, and confusion. Because as much as you want to dislike him, as much as you need to dislike him for your own sanity, you can’t deny the way your pussy responds to him. The way your mind keeps pulling you back to that night, to the way he made you feel without even touching you.

“Get over it,” you snap, cutting him off before he can sink any deeper into this conversation. You don’t need to entertain this further. It can’t happen, and it will never happen. The second you fall into bed with him, it’ll be game over. Javier Peña isn’t just a casual fuck— you know deep down he’d be the kind that wraps himself around your soul and doesn’t let go until he’s consumed every inch of you.

The problem is, you’re terrified that you’ll let him. It’s why you’re so dead set on not giving in.

You cross your arms over your chest again, as if trying to shield yourself from the strength in his eyes, the way he seems to reach into your very core with just a look.

You try to focus on anything else— on the fact that you still need to get to the bank, then to your apartment, and finally to your bar shift. You don’t have time for this shit, for the endless back-and-forth with him.

But then he says your name.

The sound of it on his lips makes you close your eyes, every muscle in your body tensing. Damn him. It sounds so fucking sweet, almost reverent, and you know if you make the mistake of looking at him right now— if you see those beautiful, pleading brown eyes— you’ll fold.

He says your name again, softer this time, and the way his voice wraps around each syllable has your resolve teetering on the edge of collapse. “Please, just let me show you how good I can make you feel,” he murmurs, stepping closer, his breath fanning across your cheek. “Just one taste, nena, por favor.”

And for the first time since you met Javier— he’s begging. You never imagined that he, of all people, would beg for anything. But here he is, his voice low and thick with desire, pleading with you to give him just one chance.

You blink your eyes open slowly, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions that have been ignited by his words. The synapses in your brain light up like fucking fireworks, each one triggering a new thought, a new possibility. There’s a moment— a split second— where you picture it.

You imagine his hands on your body, his lips trailing fire down your skin, his mouth between your legs. The image flashes so vividly, so intensely in your mind, that it steals the breath from your lungs.

You can practically feel the way he’d elicit things you’ve been trying to suppress. Your legs go weak just thinking about it, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to ground yourself, to remember who you are, what this is.

But your cavewoman, horny brain betrays you— racing ahead, picturing every possible outcome. You can’t help but wonder how good it would feel to let him in, just once. How it would be to let him take control, to let him show you, like he’s promising, just how good he can make you feel.

You’re already late getting to the bank. You should be focusing on that, on getting out of this damn elevator and away from him, but your body won’t cooperate. Every part of you is ablaze, screaming at you to just give in.

Javier’s standing there, staring at you with those chocolate eyes, his dark brows drawn together, pouty lips parted just slightly as he waits for you to say something. Anything. He’s laid it all out in front of you, leaving you to make the next move. And fuck, as much as you hate to admit it, you want to. You want to let him pull you into his world, even though you know it’ll consume you. You want to feel his hands on your skin, his mouth everywhere, his name slipping from your lips.

But you can’t.

If you give in now, you’ll never be able to walk away from him, and you can’t afford to let yourself get tangled up in Javier Peña. He’s chaos wrapped in temptation, and once you let him in, there’s no turning back.

You swallow hard, your throat tight as you try to hold on to the last shred of control you have. “Javier,” you whisper, barely able to get the words out. You feel like you’re on the edge of a cliff, teetering between desire and self-preservation. The weight of his gaze presses down on you, and for a moment, you think you might just jump.

But then, with every ounce of willpower you have left, you take a shaky breath, shaking your head and breaking the spell he’s woven around you.

“No,” you say, the word barely above a whisper, but firm enough to anchor you back to reality.

His face falls, the fire in his eyes dimming just a little. You almost regret it, almost, but then you remember who he is. What he does. And you know you made the right choice, even if every part of you is berating otherwise.

You stand there, locked in a silent standoff, both of you doing a piss poor job of pretending like you don’t want to tear each other’s clothes off right here in the elevator.

You’re hoping—no, praying— that he’ll finally let it go. That he’ll stop pushing, stop testing your resolve, and just leave you alone. You’re begging for him to go back to what he does best, to leave you to your job— both of them.

You break eye contact first, glancing down at your watch. You’re definitely not going to make it to your shift on time. Shit. You need to phone your boss and give him a heads up before this gets even worse. But right now, you can’t seem to focus, not with Javier standing there like a Roman statue, immovable and perfect, watching you with that infuriating intensity.

“Now, if you can get the elevator to take us down, I’d really appreciate it,” you say, but the words come out softer than you intended. You hate how small your voice sounds, like you’ve already lost the upper hand, and you mentally slap yourself for it.

But he doesn’t budge. He just stands there, watching you like you’re the most fascinating thing in the world, and it makes you want to scream. His gaze is piercing, boring holes into your entire existence, and it’s taking everything you have not to crumble beneath it.

“Do you really mean that?” He asks as he brings a hand up to smooth down his mustache. There’s a hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips, like he already knows the answer. “Because everything about your body language is screaming otherwise.”

When the fuck did he get so close again? He’s right there, towering over you, and suddenly the air between you feels impossibly thin.

“It’s my fuckin’ job to read a woman’s body,” he continues, his voice growing huskier with each word. “And you know what yours is telling me right now?”

Your pulse quickens, your heart slamming against your ribcage, and you can’t find the words to respond. You don’t trust yourself to speak— not when his presence is drowning you in your own body.

He leans in, lips so close to your ear that his breath almost has you fainting. “It’s telling me that you want it.”

Your stomach flips, every nerve ending in your body coming alive as his curved nose barely grazes your skin. The touch is featherlight, but it sends electricity straight to your cunt. You grip the railing behind you like a lifeline, your knuckles flushed as goosebumps ripple across your skin.

Javier’s smirk deepens, the asshole clearly enjoying the effect he’s having on you. “Stop fighting it, pretty girl,” he murmurs, his voice like velvet, his hand sliding down the length of your figure in a way that feels too natural, too right. “Let me show you how good I can make you feel…”

You should stop him. You should. But you don’t. You can’t. His hands are on you now, moving with a confidence that’s impossible to resist. One large hand finds its way to your tit, groping it gently through the thin fabric of your tank top, and you gasp, the sound escaping your lips before you can stop it. Your body fails you, head falling back against the elevator wall, your chest arching into his touch.

The way his hand moves, so sure, so practiced, has your resistance crumbling, piece by piece.

“That’s it,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your neck, peppering soft, teasing kisses along your sensitive skin. “Barely done a thing and you’re already gone.”

Your mind is spinning, your resolve completely undone as you melt under his touch. Every kiss, every graze of his lips against your neck feels like it’s unraveling the last bit of control you have. His body is pressed up against yours, and you can feel his erection through his jeans again, the hard (pun intended) evidence of just how much he wants you.

God help you, it feels too good to resist.

You sigh, a low, breathy sound that’s equal parts surrender and relief. His lips trail lower, his hand still groping your breast, and you let him. You let him because you’ve been fighting this for too long, and right now, you just want to feel something.

Javier grins against your neck, his breath hot on your skin as he pulls you even closer, his voice hoarse in your ear. “Told you,” he says, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “I knew you wanted this.”

You don’t respond. There’s nothing left to say. You’ve given in, you’ll figure out how to pick up the pieces later, but right now? Right now, you’re letting yourself fall apart.

It’s like your whole body just deflates against his, sinking into the solid warmth of him as if all the fight has finally drained out of you. You’re giving him the green light, and he knows it. The grunt that escapes his throat is guttural, and you feel the weight of his palm pressing harder against your chest, his thumb and pointer finger expertly pinching your now hardened nipple through the fabric of your tank top.

“After this,” he murmurs, voice rough with restraint, “if you don’t want me anymore, I’ll leave you alone.” His words are punctuated by a sharp tug at your nipple that sends a surge of arousal straight between your legs. Then his hand moves, sliding up to cradle your jaw with a surprising gentleness. He tilts your head so that your eyes meet his, forcing you to look at him— forcing you to really see him. “You have my word.”

You search his eyes, not entirely sure what you’re looking for— honesty, maybe? A hint of something real beyond the heat of the moment? Whatever it is, you can’t find the words to respond, so you just nod weakly, your breath bated.

Javier smiles at that, a slow, predatory grin, and he leans in as if to kiss you. But you stop him, your hand pressing against his sternum with just enough force to halt him in his tracks.

“No kissing,” you say, your voice more resolute than you feel. “You said one taste, so get to it.” You’re setting boundaries, trying to keep some semblance of control in this situation. No kissing, no fucking— just head. That’s all this will be. He’ll get a taste of you, and you’ll finally get a taste of what all the hype is about. Then it’ll be over, and you’ll go your separate ways. That’s the deal.

His frown deepens, a flicker of disappointment crossing his features, like he’s not used to anyone telling him no in any capacity. But it’s brief, because he’s not about to take the proverbial bone you’ve thrown him for granted. He agrees in his own way, pivoting without protest, his mouth returning to your neck like he’s already forgotten the attempt to kiss you.

Now that the rules are clear, you allow yourself to let your guard down— just a little. It’s not like your sex life has been riveting lately, and truth be told, you can’t even remember the last time a partner went down on you willingly. At least you’re getting something out of this fucked-up little arrangement, and for now, that’s enough.

He kisses and licks a line down your throat, his stubble scraping deliciously against the sensitive flesh. You sigh, your breath hitching as you feel his hands roaming your body with a confidence that should piss you off but doesn’t.

His rough palms map out your curves like he’s trying to commit every inch of you to memory. He’s groping, squeezing, learning you in a way that makes you feel like you’re his personal discovery.

The warmth of his breath, the skill in his movements— it’s intoxicating. You can’t help but respond, your hips shifting, your body bending instinctively toward him when one hand slides up under your shirt, fingertips brushing the underside of your breast.

He’s good at this, you’ll give him that. Too damn good. It’s almost like he’s a fucking pornstar.

You hate that you’re enjoying it so much, hate that you’re already melting under his touch like some lovesick fool.

“Don’t overthink it,” he murmurs against your skin, feeling the nerves radiating off of you.

His touch lingers as he reaches the button on your denim shorts, undoing it with a flick of his fingers before pulling down the zipper, slow and deliberate.

“You and these damn shorts…” you hear him say, more to himself than to you. His voice is gruff, frustrated, like he’s been waging a silent battle against his own restraint. He hooks his fingers into the waistband and tugs them down over your hips, watching as the fabric slides off your skin. You step out of them, standing there in nothing but your underwear, top and sneakers, exposed in ways you hadn’t intended to be when you walked into that office earlier today.

His brows shoot up, and you feel the heat rush to your cheeks. Of course, it’s laundry day. Of course, you’re left wearing your least practical pair of underwear— this skimpy, lacy purple number you hardly ever break out. The delicate string disappears between the cheeks of your ass, and the sheer front does little to conceal the soft tuft of hair just below your navel.

And he’s drinking it all in.

“Fuckin’ hell, nena,” he breathes, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and lust. His eyes flick back up to yours, dark and hungry. “You always walkin’ around like this?” His hands grip your hips, and before you can even formulate a response, he’s sinking to his knees in front of you, taking his sweet ass time, like this is some kind of worship.

“No, I—” Your voice is breathy, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. “I had to do laundry today…” It’s all you can manage, barely coherent as his lips begin pressing soft, teasing kisses to the inside of your knee.

He throws one of your legs over his shoulder, steadying you, his fingers gripping your thigh with enough pressure to leave you keening. You brace yourself against the elevator railing, your body tense with anticipation, your mind a chaotic swirl of logic and lust. You barely notice as the check you came here for flutters to the floor beside you, forgotten.

Don’t forget to deposit that, the reasonable part of your brain chimes in, but you tell that bitch to shut up because Javier Peña is currently on his knees in font of you, about to take you on the ride of your fucking life, and you’re nowhere near strapped in.

His head is tilted up, lips brushing dangerously close to where you want him most, and all rational thought is slipping through your fingers like sand.

He looks up at you then, his dark eyes glinting with something wicked, and your breath catches again. You don’t know how to feel about any of this anymore. There’s a line you swore you wouldn’t cross, but now that he’s right there, so close to giving you what you’ve craved for longer than you care to admit, it’s hard to remember why you drew that line in the first place.

Javier’s lips graze the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and a quiet moan escapes your lips before you can stop it. He smirks against your skin, his fingers tracing a slow path up your leg, sending shivers coursing through you. “Relax, bonita,” he murmurs, voice thick with desire. “I’ll take care of you.”

You want to tell him to hurry up, to stop teasing, but all that comes out is a shaky exhale as his hands part your thighs wider, positioning you exactly how he wants you. His grip is firm, possessive, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ll survive whatever it is he’s about to do to you.

You don’t even have time to dwell on the thought before his mouth is on you, lips pressing a lingering kiss over the thin fabric of your panties. The sudden pressure sends a shockwave through your body, and your eyes fall closed, surrendering to the moment. His tongue teases the fabric, nudging against your already soaked cunt, and you can feel the wetness seeping through the lace. He hums low in his throat, savoring the first taste of you.

“These are so pretty. Don’t think I’ll take ’em off.”

He hooks his fingers into the delicate fabric and pulls it aside, exposing you to him completely. The cool air hits your slick folds, a contrast to the heat of his breath as he hovers just inches away. He’s staring, taking you in, and when he curses under his breath, it’s like he’s caught off guard by how badly he wants this. Wants you.

“Fuck,” he mutters, as he drags his nose up and down the length of your wet slit. The touch is maddeningly light, just enough to make you clench involuntarily, your body reacting without permission. More of your slick leaks out of your pussy, a response to the subtle stimulation, and you grip the elevator railing tighter to keep yourself from falling with how weak your knees get.

Javier flattens his tongue, delivering a slow, deliberate lick from your entrance to your clit, and it’s like your entire body ignites at once. You throw your head back, a ragged cry of his name ripping from your throat as your hips buck instinctively, searching for more of him, more of that friction that feels like pure electricity.

He’s not done, though. Not even close. One hand snakes around your thighs, strong and sure. His middle and pointer fingers spread you open, forming an upside-down V, and then he does something so filthy, so perfectly Javier— he spits directly onto your exposed pussy.

The sound alone could get you off, but the sensation is something else entirely. His saliva mixes with your slick, making everything wetter, hotter, and you feel like you’re unraveling before he’s even truly begun. A series of high-pitched moans spill from your lips as he latches his mouth onto your cunt, sucking and licking with a precision that has your entire being quaking.

Lips, tongue, teeth—he’s using everything he has, dragging you deeper into a haze of pleasure where nothing exists but the heat coiling in your belly, tightening with every flick. He’s devouring you, utterly relentless, and it’s too much but not enough, all at once. Every nerve ending is on fire, your thighs trembling as you fight to keep your balance. His grip on your leg tightens, keeping you locked in place, helpless to do anything but take what he’s giving.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, pulling back for just a moment, leaning his cheek against your inner thigh. His face is glistening, covered in your arousal, but his eyes are dark and hungry, never straying from your face. “With noises like that and a pussy this pretty— you’d be a fucking sight on camera.”

His words send another jolt through you, dirty and wrong and so fucking hot that you nearly forget how to breathe. He nips at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, leaving faint marks in his wake, before diving back in with that skilled tongue of his. He’s a man with something to prove, alternating between broad strokes and tight circles, zeroing in on your fleshy clit with a precision that makes your head spin.

It’s obscene, the way he’s working you over, all these years spent perfecting this art, but there’s a rawness to it too, a desperation like he can’t get enough of you. You’re soaked, dripping onto his face, and he laps it up like a man starved, the sounds of his mouth slurping against your wetness filling the small space around you. Your moans are louder now, more desperate, each one pushing you closer to that edge where you’re not sure if you’ll survive the fall.

His fingers tighten on your thigh again, and then he’s dragging them lower, inching toward your entrance as his tongue flicks mercilessly against your clit. When he slips two fingers inside you, curling them just right, you nearly scream. The combination of his mouth and his fingers is enough to send you spiraling, your legs trembling uncontrollably as you arch into him.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he grunts when he pulls away to get a good look at your beautiful face and how you look when he’s making you feel like you’re on top of the world. It’s enough to get him to latch onto your clit, sucking on it harshly.

“God, Javier,” you gasp, your voice shaky, barely coherent. You can’t think, can’t form any rational thought, not with the way he’s pulling you apart, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but the pleasure.

“Let go,” he growls against you, the vibrations of his voice sending shockwaves through your core. “I’ve got you, nena. Just let go.”

And with that, the dam breaks. You’re coming hard, hips jerking wildly as waves of pleasure crash over you, your entire body shaking with the force of it. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up for a second, working you through it with that relentless mouth until you’re gasping for air, hands clenching at the railing so hard you’re surprised it hasn’t snapped.

Your vision blurs, your mind goes blank, and all you can do is hold on as Javier takes you on the ride of your life, just like you knew he would.

You don’t know how long it takes you to come back into your body after letting him take the reins for a little. You’re trembling, legs weak and body heavy against the cool metal wall of the elevator. He’s still on his knees, knuckle-deep inside you, lazily curling them as if savoring every last second.

His mouth trails soft, teasing kisses across your soaked panties, and the tenderness of the act startles you, nearly pulling you under again. But then he withdraws his fingers, slipping them into his mouth with an almost obscene groan, tasting you one last time as if to commit your flavor to memory. He carefully adjusts your underwear back into place.

Javier stands to his full height, your leg falling from his shoulder, towering over you. His hand comes to rest lightly on your waist as if to steady you. “You okay?”

You nod, though your bones feel like jelly. Your eyes stay closed as you try to gather yourself, forcing yourself back into reality, back into the woman who doesn’t fold like a house of cards for her co-worker. You bend down to retrieve your shorts and check from the floor, fingers fumbling with the zipper as you button yourself back up. He presses the button to resume the elevator, the gears shifting as you’re slowly carried back to the main floor.

And just like that, it hits you. It happened. You’ve came on Javier’s tongue and fingers. You swore it wouldn’t— swore up and down that he was nothing more than a nuisance at work, a distraction you wouldn’t let get to you. But here you are, post-orgasm, in a goddamn public elevator, of all places, with the man who was supposed to be just a headache.

“Hope you got your fix because it’s never happening again,” you mutter, trying to summon the biting edge to your words, almost like you’re trying to convince yourself as much as him.

Javier just smirks, that infuriating glint back in his eyes like he already knows better, but he doesn’t push it. Not now.

The elevator doors slide open with a sharp ding, and the scene before you is worse than any nightmare you could’ve concocted in the heat of the moment. Two firefighters, the building manager, and— of course because why the hell not— Steve Murphy are standing there with varying degrees of shock and amusement.

You can see the moment Steve takes it all in— your flushed cheeks, the slightly mussed state of your clothes, Javier standing just a bit too close to you. His blue eyes narrow, then widen, and then he breaks into a shit-eating grin so wide you could slap it right off his face.

“Well, well, well,” Steve drawls, barely containing his laughter. “What do we have here?”

Your stomach sinks. Not again.

Javier, ever the cocky bastard, simply raises an eyebrow and slides his hands into his pockets, all cool nonchalance like he hasn’t just been between your thighs minutes earlier. “Just crapped out on us randomly,” he says smoothly, and you want to strangle him for the audacity.

Steve chuckles, shaking his head as if he’s in on some big joke that only you and Javier are the punchline for. And as you step past him, cheeks burning, all you can think is that this will never, ever happen again.

But even as you repeat it to yourself, a small part of you— the part still buzzing from the memory of Javier’s mouth— wonders if you’re lying.

#javier pena smut #javier peña smut #pedro pascal #javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #javier peña x you #javier pena x you #javier peña narcos #javier pena fanfic #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fic #javier pena narcos #javier peña fic #javier peña fanfiction #pedro pascal smut

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rafeskiss · 8 months ago

Text

pretty voice ! ᥫ᭡

pairing: matt sturniolo x popstar! reader

word count: 1.7k

summary: you’re a singer and your tour has made its way to boston where your boyfriend and his brothers attend your show. matt is sure to let you know how well you did after the show

warnings: smut duhhhh, unprotected sex (don’t be silly wrap his willy!!), p in v, throat fucking, dumbification, dacryphilia, stomach bulge, swearing, creampie, use of “y/n”, probably more that i can’t think of! :)

authors note: fair warning, this is my first time publishing smut, so don’t have insanely high expectations! i’ve written it before but never shared so keep that in mind. however, i can assure you this isn’t completely horrible and i did my best to make it seem realistic but hot at the same time :) hope ya like it!

you had been counting down the days until your sold out world tour made its way to boston, massachusetts. your boyfriend, matt, and his brothers were set to attend the show which made you feel slightly uneasy.

the triplets have never seen you perform live, which is what makes this show so special. you wanted matt to know you were good at what you do. so, you paced around your dressing room doing vocal warmups and eating tablespoons of honey to help your throat.

a stage worker knocked on your door twice before coming in and attaching your mic pack to the back of your dress. tonight, you wore a black strapless mini dress from versace that had hearts of many colors scattered across. you paired this with knee high black boots, which your friends referred to as your “stripper shoes”. you fixed your hair, spraying some dry shampoo on your roots and mentally said a prayer before walking out of the dressing room.

you received your cue to enter the stage, walking up 4 steps before you were greeted with hundreds of screaming teenage girls. you forgot about needing to impress matt.

that was, until, you locked eyes with him. he was standing on the second floor of the venue, the balcony, resting against the railing. watching you so intently, mouthing the lyrics to your songs. nick was singing along to all the songs he knew, while chris just knew the popular songs. but matt knew almost all of your songs. he was your biggest fan. and you were his. most times, you would be spotted attending the triplet’s shows when your schedules aligned. you’d stand backstage, just barely out of the crowds sight. all decked out in blue attire to support your boy, and even the things the rest of the world couldn’t see were blue, too. but matt got to see them after the show. your blue bra and matching blue panties; it drove matt crazy how he got to see you like that after the show, especially if he was the one winning that night.

the show came to an end and you said your goodbyes to the boston crowd, exiting the stage. you walked into a lounge area where the triplets were, along with members of your team. you were swarmed with the usual compliments: “you sounded so good” or “you look great” and you were grateful for them, but tonight they didn’t matter. the only person who’s input you cared about was matt.

he approached you, draping his arms around your neck and you wrapped yours around his waist. he whispered in your ear, “you did so good. ‘m so proud of you.”

you blushed at this, pulling away from the hug. “thanks,” you gushed.

since your next show wasn’t until saturday, you had two days to kill here in boston. you were going to stay with the triplets until you had to get back on your tour bus and depart from matt, so you had to make it count.

matt drove you all home, you took chris’ place in the passenger seat, still in your performance outfit. the drive home was filled with conversation about the concert; what their favorite part was, what songs they liked, etc. and while you were a decently known singer, you never felt famous. until now. matt made you feel famous, like you are on top of the world. you have everything you’ve ever wanted; friends that support you, a successful singing career, and a hot boyfriend. what more could a girl ask for?

you walked through the door barefoot, matt holding your unusually heavy boots. he sets them on the floor by the door as you make a run for the couch, laying down and sighing. while it may be just a simple couch, it feels pretty damn good after wearing “stripper shoes” and prancing around on a stage for an hour and a half.

nick and chris go to their own rooms, knowing you and matt need alone time after not seeing each other for a couple weeks. matt joins you on the couch, he lifts your head up and places it on his lap. his legs were your pillow and the only thing missing was a blanket, still in your tiny dress.

“you cold?” he asks, almost as if he can your mind.

you smile, “how’d you know?”

he reaches to his side and grabs a big blue blanket and tosses it over you, it’s big enough that it covers your whole body.

matt lightly strokes your hair as you lay there in the comfortable silence.

the way your head rests is so close to his dick and he can’t help it if it slowly is getting harder, which it is. you tease him, nuzzling your head deeper into his lap, a.k.a. his dick, which causes him to speak up.

“the fuck are you doing?” he laughs.

you play it off, “just getting comfy!”

“yeah, comfy my ass.” he rolls his eyes playfully.

you press a small kiss to his clothed bulge, he’s wearing baggy jeans and his dick still stands out. he sighs, not complaining.

“you gonna do this right here? in the living room?” he questions.

“mhm..” you hummed. he helped you unbutton his jeans, his black calvin kleins peaking out through the zipper of his jeans. he pulled his boxers down, revealing his dick. he was packing a very pleasant 8 inches that wasn’t too shabby in girth either.

you licked the tip first, then you licked from shaft to tip. matt closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the couch. he placed his hands on the back of your head, pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail.

“voice sounded so good tonight, y/n,” he breathed. “bet it would still sound good if i fucked your throat.”

he pushes your head down all the way to his pelvis, feeling you gag against his cock. he thrusts into your mouth, the wet sounds like music to his ears.

as he fucked your throat, you felt tears forming in your eyes. you hollowed out your cheeks and looked up at him with doe eyes, laying on your stomach on the couch. you admired the way his eyes fluttered shut everytime he hit the back of your throat, how he’d let out small breathy moans.

“fuck,” he whispers, pulling away. he pulls his boxers down farther so his thighs are exposed. you climb on top of hip and he rolls your tight dress up to your waist, pulling your panties to the side.

“easy access, huh?” he remarks.

you whine, “put it in already…”

his dick enters you and he wastes no time slamming you down on it, his hands firmly gripping your hips. “want it so bad, yeah? you want it so bad?” he taunts, lifting you up and slamming you back down fast.

you are shocked with the speed he did that, not able to form a full sentence. “i- uhm- mhm,” you mumble.

“use that pretty voice of yours, y/n. such a pretty voice… let me hear it,” he rasped.

you bounced on his dick, the couch shaking. “mmmmm, i love your dick so much,” you moaned.

matt smirked, “there’s that pretty voice. so, so pretty.” he continued helping you bounce on his dick, his tip repeatedly hitting your g-spot.

he pulled the top of your dress down, revealing your bra-less tits. now your dress was basically like a belt, just covering your waist. your boobs bounced perfectly in front of his face, he was mesmerized.

you brought your hands up to his hair, running your fingers through it and pulling it when he’d hit your g-spot.

you let out a moan that was almost melodic, matt moaning after. “love hearing you moan on my dick.” he spoke. he gripped your hips tighter, slamming you down harder onto his dick every time.

“i’m gonna- oh god!” you whined.

“do it.” matt instructed. “cum for me.”

you nodded, babbling incoherently as you came undone on top of him. his right hand left your hip and found it’s way to your clit, rubbing you through the orgasm.

“fucked ya dumb, huh? damn,” he said.

you hummed in response, and once your orgasm passed you started bouncing again, desperate for more.

matt turned you around and pushed you onto the couch, in missionary now. now he can pound into you way easier, which is what you’re trying to ask for but you’re unable to speak.

“i— oh—“ you try.

matt smirks, “words, baby.”

this fucker, you thought. there are no thoughts inside your head other than how good his dick feels inside you, there’s no way you can speak.

“oh god… so, umph,” you sobbed as he thrusted into you with an insane amount of force. “so good,”

his thumb found its way to your clit again, rubbing it fast. your eyes rolled back as another orgasm approaches you.

“uhhh- uh—“ you babble. your brain is mush at this point, you don’t notice the bulge in your stomach. but matt does, as his hand leaves your clit and presses on the bulge his dick makes in your tummy with every thrust.

“look at that,” he says proudly. you squirm beneath him, cumming yet for the second time.

his thrusts don’t slow down, and neither do the tears running down your pink cheeks.

“can i cum inside you?” he asks as if you can even answer him. you let out a bunch of moans in response.

you let out a bunch of moans, “i’m gonna take that as a yes.” matt groans before thrusting into you once more. you lay on the couch with your dress still pulled over your pussy and your breasts pulled out.

matt stands up and pulls his boxers and pants up. he plants a kiss on your forehead before he picks you up and carries you to his room. he lays you down in his bed, his silk bedsheets feeling good on your overheated skin.

you’re exhausted, you feel like you melt into his bed. you’re on the verge of sleep but you’re startled when you hear either chris or nick’s bedroom door open.

you lift your head up, and matt opens the door to see what is going on. matt laughs and closes the door.

“what’s he doing?” you ask sleepily.

“nicks wiping the couch down,” matt giggles.

you hear nick through the walls, “i’m gonna fucking cry. never do that shit again.” he whines.

#sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets smut #smut #matthew sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo x reader #how tf do i even tag this

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littlelamy · 1 month ago

Text

how you met

rockstar!rafe x model!reader

The pulsing bass and dim lights made it easy to get lost in the heat of the underground club. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, spilled drinks, and the kind of energy that came alive after midnight. It was the perfect place to forget… or be forgotten. Exactly what you’d needed after your friends all but forced you out tonight, insisting that life didn’t end just because you’d left your famous ex in the past.

"Look around!" one of them yelled over the music, nudging you with a sly grin. “This is exactly what you need!”

“Right,” you muttered, taking a sip of whatever drink they’d ordered for you, scanning the room with a sort of lazy detachment. You weren’t really looking to rebound with anyone here. That is, until you saw him.

He was on stage, barely ten feet away. Shirtless, tattoos splashed across his skin, he had that dark, brooding edge that made him look like he was born for a stage like this, all arrogance and mystery wrapped up in a stunning face with a jawline that could cut glass. His voice was raw, gravelly, like he was spitting out every word with a vengeance, and somehow, he had the entire crowd hooked.

Rafe Cameron.

You recognized him immediately—he’d been the face (and body) of a million indie music magazines you’d been in too, though your worlds had never actually crossed. But seeing him up close, hearing him live, felt different. You watched, your heart picking up speed with each word he growled into the mic, his piercing blue eyes scanning the room until—

He saw you.

There was a beat, maybe two, where the energy between you was so thick it was almost tangible. His gaze raked over you slowly, starting from the glossy heels that matched the clingy little dress your friends had practically begged you to wear. His eyes were heavy, hooded, and every time he looked at you, you could practically feel the heat licking at your skin. You arched a brow, pretending not to notice, barely giving him a second glance, which only seemed to make his stare even bolder.

“God, he’s looking right at you,” your friend whispered, practically squealing in excitement. You kept a cool exterior, giving Rafe the most casual of glances before looking away, leaning back to take a slow sip of your drink. His band continued their set, but he never stopped glancing in your direction, his attention flickering between the song and whatever spell you’d cast over him.

The moment they finished, you expected him to disappear backstage. Instead, Rafe practically leaped off the stage, heading straight for the bar, for you.

“Didn’t think a girl like you would ever show up in a place like this,” he drawled, voice low and teasing as he leaned an arm on the bar next to you. He smelled like sweat and the faintest hint of smoke, and somehow, it was intoxicating. Up close, he was even more gorgeous, a mix of rugged, careless appeal and a confidence that was probably earned from too many one-night stands.

“Maybe you don’t know what kind of girl I am,” you replied, shooting him a little smirk. You wanted him, yes, but the game was too fun to rush. Besides, you were still reeling from the effect he had on you. You couldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

Rafe chuckled, and there was something wicked about it, like he already knew exactly what you were doing and had every intention of breaking down your resolve. “Oh, I know. I’ve seen your face on more magazine covers than I can count. Got them all over my place, by the way.” His eyes roamed your body again, this time with no hint of shame. “But trust me, you’re even better in person.”

“You talk like you think you’ve got me all figured out,” you shot back, the smirk playing on your lips as you turned to face him. His stare was unrelenting, blue eyes devouring every inch of you, and there was no hiding the smolder in them. He’d probably perfected that look a long time ago, and it was undeniably sexy.

He leaned in, his lips brushing just past your ear. “You want me to figure you out?” His voice was a low, dangerous whisper. “Because, baby, I’ll take all night if that’s what it takes.”

You couldn’t help the way your breath hitched at his words. He was crass, unapologetic, and entirely too good at this game, but you weren’t about to let him know he’d gotten under your skin. Yet.

“Oh, please,” you replied coolly, rolling your eyes as if unaffected. “Like you could handle it.”

Rafe’s grin widened, flashing that perfect smile that made your pulse thud in your chest. “Big words for a girl playing hard to get,” he said, his hand reaching to twirl a strand of your hair between his fingers. He was close enough that you could see every detail of the tattoos etched along his collarbone, and you had to focus hard to keep your cool as he looked at you like you were something he was seconds away from devouring.

You arched a brow, meeting his gaze head-on. “Playing?” you echoed, feigning nonchalance. “This is just my normal.”

His laugh was a dark, husky sound, and the way his fingers brushed along your arm left a trail of heat on your skin. “If that’s the case, sweetheart, consider me hooked.”

He paused, eyes locking on yours as he closed the distance, his hand coming to rest on your waist. You could feel his warm breath on your lips, smell the scent of whiskey on his breath. You knew exactly what he wanted—and, if you were honest with yourself, you wanted it too. But you weren’t about to make it easy.

You let a long moment of silence stretch between you, your eyes flicking to his mouth for the briefest second before meeting his gaze again, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Then I guess you’ll just have to work a little harder for it, won’t you?”

Rafe’s smirk softened into something that was almost a grin. “Oh, trust me, I don’t mind putting in the work.” Without another word, his lips crashed against yours, hungry, unrestrained, a kiss that held every bit of the reckless energy he had on stage. His hands held you firmly, like he was staking a claim, and the way he kissed was more than just a kiss—it was a promise, a challenge, a taunt all in one.

As you pulled away, a satisfied smirk played on your lips. Rafe was left standing there, his hand still lingering at his side as if reluctant to let go. You met his heated gaze, letting a slow, coy smile spread across your face before stepping back, savoring the way his eyes stayed locked on you, intense and unyielding.

With one last lingering glance, you turned on your heel, swaying your hips with each step, knowing full well he was watching every second. Each sway was deliberate, your heels clicking against the floor in time with the pounding bass of the music, and you didn’t look back, but you could practically feel his eyes tracing every curve.

Rafe’s husky voice rang out, half-amused, half-starved, over the music. “You’re playing a dangerous game, you know that?”

You glanced back, giving him a sly wink. “Guess you’ll just have to catch up and see.”

His smirk grew, and you knew you’d just sparked something wild in him. Just the way you wanted it. And as you slipped into the crowd, you could already feel the tension simmering, ready to pull you back to him the second you both decided to stop playing games.

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#rafe obx #rafe cameron #rafe imagine #outerbanks rafe #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe x you #rafe #rafe fic #rafe cameron x reader #rockstar!rafe #rafe rockstar #rockstar #rock #rafecore #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron angst

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julietsf1 · 1 month ago

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Love at first fright (🎃) - Franco Colapinto x Reader

Summary: You don’t know what is scarier, the haunted house where you are interviewing Franco or the way your heart speeds up around him.

Content: cute, journalist!reader

AN: An early halloween treat 🤍 If you guys have cool costume ideas you’re gonna do lmk! have a lovely day sweeties

_____________________________

I’ve interviewed a lot of athletes over the years—serious, stoic, some even downright boring—but Franco Colapinto? He’s my favorite by far. The guy is a natural on camera, always quick-witted, always charming. And, okay, I’d be lying if I said his smile didn’t make it easier to look forward to these interviews. He’s cute, in that effortless way that pulls you in before you even realize it.

Which is why, when I pitched the idea of interviewing him in a haunted house for Halloween, I wasn’t surprised when he immediately said yes. Franco loves goofing around almost as much as he loves racing.

“So, Franco,” I start, grinning as I hold up my mic, “if you weren’t a racing driver, what would you be doing for Halloween?”

We’re standing at the entrance of the haunted house, the camera crew buzzing around us, adjusting their lights and equipment. Franco’s green eyes flicker with amusement as he shoots a glance at the haunted house looming behind us.

“I think I’d watch a scary movie,” he says, that mischievous grin of his spreading across his face. “Or maybe I’d just go scare Lando during one of his livestreams. Seems like a good use of my time.”

I laugh, already caught up in his energy. This is why I love interviewing him—there’s never a dull moment. “Honestly, I’d pay to see that. But tonight, it’s all about you. Ready to face your fears?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Fears? Me? Please.”

I roll my eyes, but it’s hard not to smile when he’s like this—so playful, so at ease. “We’ll see about that. Let’s get going.”

We step inside, and the door creaks ominously behind us. The camera crew follows, their lights casting long, eerie shadows along the corridor. Fake cobwebs hang from the ceiling, and the sound of distant screams echoes through the halls.

“Spooky,” Franco says, looking around with an approving nod. “Nice setup. You pick this place yourself?”

“Of course,” I reply, glancing around. “Only the best for you.”

He grins, nudging me lightly with his elbow. “So much effort. I knew I am your favorite.”

I shoot him a mock glare, even though my heart skips a little at the comment. “You wish, Colapinto.”

“Oh, I don’t need to wish,” he quips back, his tone teasing. “I can tell.”

I shake my head, trying to focus on the interview. “Okay, back to business. What’s your biggest weakness—on the track or in a haunted house?”

Franco laughs, the sound echoing in the dimly lit hallway. “Weakness? You’re really trying to get something out of me, aren’t you?”

“It’s my job,” I say, raising an eyebrow. “Come on, give me something.”

He shrugs, playing along. “Alright, fine. My biggest weakness? Probably pizza. Or maybe rom-coms.”

“Really?” I ask, surprised but laughing. “I didn’t take you for the romantic type.”

“Hey, there’s more to me than racing and being good looking,” he says, his grin widening. “I’m full of surprises.”

“Clearly,” I mutter, trying to keep my cool as we walk further into the haunted house. It’s starting to get darker, the lights dimming as the creepy sound effects grow louder. I was starting to question why I chose a haunted house as the perfect location.

We pass through a corridor with skeletons lining the walls, and Franco glances over at me, his eyes gleaming. “You scared yet?”

“Not a chance,” I say, though my heart is starting to race just a little. “I’m tougher than I look.”

“Good to know,” he replies, his voice low and teasing. “Just in case, I’m here to protect you, you know.”

I shoot him a sidelong glance, but before I can reply, something rustles in the darkness ahead. I jump a little, and Franco notices, of course.

“Whoa, did you just flinch?” he teases, stepping closer. “I thought you said you weren’t scared.”

“It’s nothing, just my foot itched a little,” I say quickly, brushing it off. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Sure, sure,” he says, his grin not faltering. “Don’t worry, I’ll be your bodyguard tonight.”

We keep walking, the camera crew following close behind, but it’s getting harder to focus on the interview with all the random noises and the way Franco keeps inching closer every time something creaks.

“So,” I say, trying to regain control of the situation, “what’s the scariest thing you’ve ever faced in your racing career?”

Franco tilts his head, pretending to think for a moment. “Probably that one time I missed a pit stop and ended up in the wrong garage. I swear, the mechanics looked ready to chase me down.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “That’s not scary. That’s just embarrassing.”

“Hey, for a second, I thought I was about to get a wheel thrown at my head,” he jokes. “That’s plenty scary.”

Suddenly, there’s a loud bang from somewhere behind us, and I instinctively grab Franco’s arm. He chuckles, clearly enjoying this way too much.

“You sure you’re not scared?” he asks, his voice soft but teasing. “Because it kinda seems like you are.”

I shoot him a look, trying to play it cool even though my heart is pounding. “I’m just making sure you’re not the one freaking out.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, clearly unconvinced. “You’re a terrible liar, by the way.”

We turn another corner, and I realize the camera crew is no longer with us. I glance around, confused. “Wait… where did they go?”

Franco looks back over his shoulder, frowning. “They were just here. Maybe we lost them in one of the turns.”

“Well, that’s great,” I mutter, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “What do we do now?”

Franco shrugs, but there’s a playful glint in his eyes. “Guess we’ll just have to find them. You okay with being alone with me in a haunted house?”

I snort, trying to ignore the sudden flutter in my stomach. “Please, Colapinto. You’re not nearly as scary as you think you are.”

He steps closer, his grin widening. “Oh, I can make you pretty nervous I think.”

Before I can respond, there’s another loud crash, and something jumps out from the shadows. I scream before I can stop myself, my hand flying to Franco’s arm. He pulls me in closer, his other hand protectively resting on my waist as we both stare at the fake ghost that had startled me.

“Whoa, okay,” Franco says, his voice full of amusement. “I didn’t realize I had to start saving you this early.”

I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks as I try to laugh it off. “I wasn’t scared,” I insist, even though I’m still gripping his arm. “It was just—unexpected.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, clearly not buying it. “If you wanted to end up in my arms, you could’ve just asked.”

I roll my eyes, but I don’t let go of his arm. “You wish, Colapinto.”

He chuckles softly, his hand still resting on my waist as we stand there for a moment. “Hey, no complaints here. I’m enjoying this hero role.”

We walk a bit further, Franco staying close, and the tension between us feels slightly different from its usual playfulness. Something a bit more loaded.

“Alright,” I say, trying to keep things professional even though I can feel my heart racing. “Let’s find that camera crew before they think we’ve disappeared.”

Franco grins, clearly in no rush. “Oh, I’m sure they’ll turn up. But hey, at least this gives us some alone time.”

I glance up at him, raising an eyebrow. “And what exactly do you plan to do with this alone time?”

He smirks, leaning in slightly. “Guess you’ll just have to find out.”

We’ve been walking through this maze of dark hallways and creaking floors for what feels like ages. The air between Franco and me is thick with the usual playful teasing, but there’s something warmer underneath tonight. Something I’m not entirely sure either of us expected.

“So,” Franco says as we reach another eerie corner of the haunted house, “left or right, fearless leader?”

I glance between the two paths, both equally dark and ominous. “Left,” I say with a shrug, though my focus is more on the way Franco’s hand keeps brushing against mine as we stand there.

Without a word, he slips his fingers through mine, giving my hand a light squeeze as we take the left path. The gesture catches me off guard for a second, but it feels natural. Warm.

“You good?” Franco’s voice is soft, his teasing tone still there, but his concern is genuine.

I nod, trying to keep my voice steady. “Yeah, I’m just… trying not to trip over a fake skeleton or something.”

He chuckles, and I feel his thumb lightly brush against the back of my hand, his touch gentle. “Don’t worry, I’ll catch you.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” I say, feeling a little braver now with him beside me.

We keep moving, our footsteps the only sound echoing through the narrow hallway. The haunted house is definitely doing its job—the creepy sound effects, the flickering lights, and the occasional distant scream have me on edge. But with Franco holding my hand, it’s easier to focus on him rather than the eeriness around us.

Suddenly, a loud crash echoes behind us, and I jump, gripping his hand tighter. Franco, always quick with a joke, leans in slightly.

“You know,” he says, his voice low, “if you’re looking for an excuse to stay close, you don’t really need one.”

I raise an eyebrow, trying to hide the way my heart skips. “Oh? Is that your best line?”

He grins, tugging me a little closer. “No, but it’s working, isn’t it?”

I glance up at him, half-amused, half-speechless at his boldness. “You’ve got no shame, do you?”

“None,” he replies, completely unfazed. “I figured you would’ve noticed that by now.”

We round another corner, and the sound of scraping metal rings out from ahead, louder this time. It’s getting harder to keep my cool, and Franco knows it. His hand tightens around mine, and before I can stop myself, I move closer to him again.

“You’re not as fearless as you like to pretend, huh?” Franco teases, though his voice has softened slightly, the flirty edge still there but mixed with something gentler.

“I’m perfectly fine,” I shoot back, trying to sound convincing, even though my heart’s racing a little too fast.

“Uh-huh,” he says, clearly unconvinced. “You’re doing great.”

We walk a few more steps, and then another noise—a low, guttural growl—sounds from behind. I instinctively pull myself closer to Franco, and this time, he doesn’t hold back. His arm wraps around my waist, pulling me securely against him.

“Okay, okay,” he murmurs, amusement lacing his voice, “I get it. You need me.”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” I mutter, though I make no move to step away from him.

Franco grins down at me, his green eyes gleaming. “Too late.”

We walk like that for a bit, Franco’s arm around me, the haunted house feeling a little less overwhelming now that we’re practically glued together. His fingers brush against my side, just enough to send sparks up my spine.

“You know,” Franco says after a moment, his voice lighter, “you’re cute when you’re scared.”

I snort, shaking my head. “I’m not scared. I’m… strategically cautious.”

“Is that what you call it?” He raises an eyebrow, the teasing back in full force. “Because it looks like you’re holding on pretty tight.”

I glance down, realizing that I am, in fact, gripping his arm for dear life. “Shut up.”

He laughs softly, the sound warm and low, and I can feel his gaze on me as we continue walking. The haunted house seems quieter now, the eerie sounds fading into the background.

Then, out of nowhere, we turn another corner, and there’s the camera crew. Setting up for the next shot like nothing happened, completely unaware that we’d been wandering around alone for what felt like forever.

“Well,” Franco says, not letting go of my hand just yet, “looks like we’ve been found.”

I laugh, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Good. Now we can finish this interview properly.”

But Franco doesn’t move. Instead, he steps a little closer, his hand still holding mine, his gaze steady and a little more serious than usual. “You know,” he says softly, “I wouldn’t have minded if we got lost for a little longer.”

I meet his gaze, my heart doing that stupid fluttering thing again. “Oh, really?”

He grins, that familiar playful spark returning to his eyes. “Yeah. I was starting to like having you all to myself.”

I’m about to respond with something witty, but before I can, Franco leans down, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. It’s quick, gentle, but it sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with the haunted house or Halloween.

He pulls back, grinning down at me, clearly pleased with himself. “You good now?”

I nod, feeling my cheeks heat up as I try to regain some semblance of composure. “Yeah. I’m good.”

Franco squeezes my hand one last time before letting go, stepping back just as the camera crew calls us over. But as we walk toward them, I can’t help but let out a deep breath that I didn’t know I was holding. Butterflies having a rave in my stomach.

“You know,” Franco says with a grin as we rejoin the crew, “if you ever want to do another haunted house interview… I’m in.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “I’m sensing some ulterior motives here, Colapinto.”

“Perhaps,” he replies with a wink, his grin wide and full of promise.

#f1 x reader #fc43 x reader #franco colapinto #franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto imagine #franco colapinto fanfic #f1 fanfic

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tryagainenthusiast · 3 months ago

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jeong jaehyun (n)sfw alphabet

mdni!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

he’s alllll up on you, literally unable to disconnect himself from you. if he’s not holding you against his body, arms wrapped so tightly you start to think that your circulation is being cut, he’s following you around the house like a lost puppy. when you stand up to shower he jumps up to grab you a towel, and your clothes, continuing to pepper kisses across your shoulders and neck as you walk into the shower where he joins you and mumbling small compliments into your skin.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

what does he spend all that time in gym for if not to throw you around like you’re the weight of a feather? his favourite part of his own body is his muscles, only because he knows that you like them and when you are happy so is he. “happy wife happy life.” he secretly likes when you take a little longer to gaze at his biceps when he carries something heavy, or after going to the gym together; so feeling you grab onto his arms during sex stirs something up in him that he has never felt before.

its also a crime to say that jaehyun is anything but a boob man. don’t get me wrong, he appreciates a good ass (specifically yours), he enjoys an occasional slap, a hand softly placed on the curve of your ass just to touch you. but your boobs are on another level…his favourite thing to do is squish them at literally any moment he can. the sensation of the flesh filling out the spaces between his fingers is something he craves when he is away from you, not even just in a sexual way—but because it makes him feel close to you. and the fact that you would let him do that to you makes him feel a little soft inside. during sex though, they’re the second most viewed thing (the first being your pretty face); he’ll put them in his hands, his mouth, against his skin, you name it, he wants it.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

apart from in you? he’s not a super fanatic of doing things with cum, just like any man he likes to see his cum all over your lips after you’ve given him a blowjob to use his fingers and swipe it across your lips like lip gloss. to be honest, most of all he likes to see the look on your face when he has your cum on his chin and nose, letting it glisten under the dim lights of your room.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

the thought of recording his own porno just for yours and his eyes really plagues his mind. every time you and him get intimate there is a little thought in the back of his head that wonders what it would look like from another person’s perspective, and the way that your little breaths and moans reverberate into the mic and speakers. being able to look back on videos whenever he pleases, whenever he misses you enamours him and is something he wishes to have. he’s a private person, it would never see the outside of your bedroom, and whenever a member tries to go through his phone he immediately snatches his phone out of their hand. he wouldn’t ask you to film a sex tape right from the get-go though, it would start subtly with a couple of sexts, then the exchanging of a couple nudes, then maybe having phone-sex when he’s abroad. he would only bring it up later into the relationship when he knows that you are enjoying doing things like this as much as he is.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

virgin? obviously not. extremely experienced sex master? also no. he knows what he’s doing, he knows the steps and what women generally enjoy. i mean, how can you go wrong with head? however, he’s in his element when he’s with you. being in a long term relationship with you means that he can get to know more than the surface, he knows ever single curve of your figure and where his hands fit perfectly, and what things get your face to flush and your lips to part. you give the experience he needs, and it only gets better the longer you are together because you get to explore different things that he and you like.

F = Favourite position (this goes without saying)

apart from missionary, where he gets to see your face and all it’s little micro expressions, your boobs that are always nice to look at too obviously. its the fully package really, all within reach of his greedy hands. it gets better when you put your leg on his shoulder and he was some leverage to grab on to, and to turn his head to press his lips against your skin. he also likes the face off position, a more intimate cowgirl where he feels most connected to you. the skin-to-skin contact, being able to press worn out kisses all over your face and wrap his arms around your shoulders to bring you even closer to him while you ride him. the real deal.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

it can vary, when you first started dating he would try to act more serious because he would be overthinking everything and trying to make sure it felt good for you. he also wanted to seem like a serious candidate for you. but the more times that you get intimate, because he is the most unserious person at heart, he can’t help but letting a laugh slip sometimes. like, you haven’t ever laughed at a queef before????? it’s funny. also just the feeling of being so happy and so intimate with you, literally the closest two people can get can be overwhelming, in a good way, which makes laughing feel like the only right thing to do.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

it would be weird if that happy trail of his led to nothing, but its cleaned up, he takes care of himself.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

so romantic, he thinks that literally every movement of yours is the most beautiful thing ever, so graceful and so pretty. he likes to see the way your hands sometimes grip around the bedsheets, and to encase your hand with his to spread his warmth. his lips struggle to leave your skin, whether it be your lips, your neck, your jawline or anywhere where he can feel the goosebumps that riddle your skin and the sweetness of your natural scent. the lights in your room are always dim and there’s always a playlist of rnb playing quietly during it. he is able to romanticise every little movement and every noise, being with you is an experience on a different plane of existence and he wants to savour every single moment of it. he prefers to go slowly, lots of talking and smiling and giggling.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcannon)

when he’s away, he seems like the type to let you know that he is jerking off. he only resorts to doing so when you aren’t around and the whole time he’d be thinking of you. you’d be alone in your bed in the dead of night, sleeping on his side of the bed to smell his presence and then receive a text message. it wouldn’t be explicit or anything, something like “thinking of you right now” and you’d just know exactly what he was doing. he would never ask you to send nudes, but when you’re in the right mood you would send him something to usher him on.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

honestly, he doesn’t seem like a very kinky person, but he’d be willing to try new things for you. when you ask him to try using his tie as a blindfold he would say yes, and he would enjoy watching you squirm and twitch under him when he ghost his fingers along your body. he liked to slap your ass prior, but seeing the surprise mixed with pleasure when your eyes were covered was even more enjoyable. on his birthday, when you asked to blindfold him and give him his birthday surprise he was hesitant, but he trusted you enough to let you do that to him. he enjoyed it, but he thinks it’s because it was your hands that were touching him and heightening his senses, letting him focus on sensations that he had never before. so as long as it was something that you wanted to do, he’s just happy to take part—although i think he would draw the line at things that hurt you seriously.

i see him liking the idea of public sex too, not too public obviously. but cars and rooms that are separated only by paper-thin walls excite him. being able to make you moan and having the headboard creak only to just walk out of the room and act like nothing happened is amusing to him.

breeding kink????? are you joking? of course. he is just waiting for the day that the two of you are fully ready for a child, and you give him the green light to go all in. until then, he likes to play with fate and do it rawwwwww.

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

other than in your bed, his favourite place is the couch in your living room. the atmosphere of the tv that usually plays in the back, shining different colours on your face from the movie that was long forgotten about. the blinds are usually slightly ajar, reflecting your profiles in the window that he likes to take a quick glance at, and playing up to the fact that someone could see the two of you—a picture perfect snapshot that he would capture with this film camera if he could.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

domestic girlfriend. homey girlfriend…should i continue? i know a pile of laundry hates to see him coming because it’s never actually going to be done. ever since moving in with you, the sight of you doing things that are ordinary have riled him up like he has never been before. the curve of your back when he watches you cook from the island in the kitchen, the old shorts and tank top you wear when there are no clean clothes left on a sunday, the way that you flip your hair and expose your neck when you are vacuuming. they help him envision a future where it is just the two of you forever, with hopefully a few kids running around which excites him more than you know.

even just the lazy days when you have been lying around all the couch the whole time, in your pyjamas can get him excited, because your cami is tight and you don’t wear a bra, and the way you eat food is attractive, and the way you drink is too, and so is the way you throw your exposed thigh over his lap when you’re getting comfortable on the couch. at any given moment when he is given the time to look at you for too long, he can imagine himself being all over you.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

extreme kinks, he wouldn’t want to hurt you in any way. even if you were to suggest trying new things that are a bit more extreme, it would take a lot of convincing because he wouldn’t want the two of you to try something and then regret it. he’s open-minded, but cautious.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

he gets pussy drunk so baddddd, literally dripping from the chin and back onto you when he eats it. he could go on for hours because the way that you moan out his name quite literally sounds like music to his ears. so much so that the first time he gave you head he came in his pants without you evening touching him, just from the way you were reaching out for his hair from above him, and breathing out his name. he only confessed it to you a year into your relationship in which you were so flattered you gave head just the way he likes it, which is definitely just as messy as him. he wants you to use his cum as lipgloss, and when you guide his hand into your hair. he isn’t a massive head pusher, only when you let him do it.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

always slow, he doesn’t see the point of getting intimate if he isn’t able to have the whole experience. he enjoys foreplay, and wants to give you all the attention he has by going through the steps and focusing on every bit of you. even if he’s mad or frustrated he would still go slow, because he doesn’t want to take his anger out on you. instead, he likes the way the slowness calms him down and brings him back to his senses. and make-up sex after arguments would be even slower as he feels he has to relearn the little things about your body and wants to relish in the things he could’ve lost but thankfully didn’t. the only times that he would be fast would be the mornings before a flight abroad, and even though you two would have had sex the night before he just needs to do it one more time before leaving so he can remember the sensation when he is away from you. it would be quick because he doesn’t want to be late for his flight, and also because if you were to take your time he just wouldn’t leave.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

not a massive fan. again, he just wouldn’t see the point when he can take his time with you, there’s no rush. although there are times when you’re together in a group setting, like on a vacation with friends and the sight of you is just so unbearably gorgeous he can’t resist pulling you into the room you share in the airbnb. and then you come out no more than ten minutes later, which is just enough time before people start to realise you’re missing.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

not a massive experimenter, he likes to do what you like, to an extent.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

he could on for hours, and sometimes he does. on the days that you look extra good, or have managed somehow to make him jealous even though he isn’t really a jealous person. but on a day to day basis 2-3 rounds is a happy medium, because he believes everything is better in moderation.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

he would never buy a toy for himself or for you, but if you were to get gifted one from one of your friends as a joke, he would probably try it at least once.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

very subtly throughout the day, maybe very small gestures like his hand on the small of your back, or caressing your shoulders when you are talking to someone. if he were to tease you seriously, it would be more privately at home like if you were to have gotten some icing on your face from a cake you were eating, and he’d kiss it off you. he prefers to be teased rather than tease someone.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

not super loud. he’s for sure not screaming or anything, but he does let out some breathy moans and groans. he’s more verbal when he’s having sex, like whispering words of praise and your name constantly. i think he could also let out an occasional whimper when something just feels too good, and his deep voice would crack under your actions.

W = Wild card (a random headcannon for the character)

shower sex. he’s obsessed. ever since you let him step into one of your showers and you turned around and kissed him with the warm water pouring over your heads like it was some sort of romcom he was hooked. you’re naked anyway, why not just have sex? he likes pressing you up against the glass door of the shower, and then seeing water that water that has condensed everywhere but the shape of your body. he also likes the steaminess that makes his eyesight a little hazy. it’s all very romantic and intimate to him. plus, you don’t need to get up to shower after sex because you’re already in there. even when you have regular sex in your bed, sometimes when you get up to shower it continues in there because it is all just too tempting for him.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

yeah. biiiiig.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

i don’t think he’s crazy by any means, he prefers simpler and more cute moments with you. don’t get me wrong though, he’s still definitely horny a lot. but he keeps it to himself most of the time.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

after a quick wash up he’s out like a light. snoring and everything. he’s worn out completely, there’s no chance for pillow talk when he’s already under the covers and pulling you into him to sleep.

#𐙚augustinawrites #nct 127 #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun smut #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun nct #nct imagines #nct127 smut

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hanasnx · 11 months ago

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rafe wld so get off on u being scared. like you’d be watching a scary movie together and he’d have his hand down ur pants to calm u down when u get scared and jumpy

-🎀

MINORS DNI 18+ NOTES: u don’t know what this did to me .. maybe it’s a lil different than your original idea but it’s where the voices took me

It’s not that you don’t like horror movies, it’s just that you have a hard time handling them. When your boyfriend expressed passing interest in a certain film, you didn’t want to tell him no, there’s hardly anything that earns his attention. But the entire time, you haven’t been able to sit still. Susceptible to every jump scare and every surge of music, you act like a child. Even his gentle chastising doesn’t get it through your head. After a sudden movement on screen and a blast of noise from the speakers, you squeak, clutching onto RAFE CAMERON’s shirt as you curl into him.

“Thought you said you could handle this.” he mutters, unresponsive to how you cling onto him. The arm draped behind you on the back of the couch remains there as you silently wish he’d wrap you in it.

“I can, I can.” you insist. “How are you not scared?” Your face buried in his chest means you can’t see how he eyes you up. Darkened pupils and rolling his tongue between his lips as he watches you peek at the screen every so often.

“C’mon. Could see the boom mic like five minutes ago.” he replies, but that’s not the real reason. It’s because he’s been too busy with his attention on you. Every time you’d jump, and scream, and claw at him… sure, it was annoying, but it was also getting him hot. It’s not something he fully understands, but his hips shift forward anyway when he adjusts in his seat. His free hand subtly rearranges himself, letting his halfie get some breathing room. Your temple lays on his upper chest, and your fingers fidget with your lower lip uneasily, finally working up the courage to peer at the television again. While you’re captivated, his arm discretely winds around you, and you’re so locked in you don’t even notice.

“C’mere, baby,” he murmurs, and you listen to him, shuffling impossibly closer into his side you’re practically on his lap. “Yeah, that’s right.” A mess of tingles travels up your spine, but you’re sure it’s the fact your hair is already standing on end when in reality it’s his low voice whispering praises in your ear. “Wanna be my brave girl?”

A hand wedges in between your bodies, in between your legs, and your temperature rises with every inch he gains. From your thigh to the inside, down and over, long fingers stroke at your sex through your pants. Your attention torn between the movie and where his hand is, you’re not sure entirely what’s occurring. At least not until his fingertips dip into your waistband and you unconsciously adjust to make room for him. To reward you, his arm curls up from your back, cradling your head as the hand pets your hair. You relax as he rubs you in two different places.

The pads of his fingers apply pressure to the skin above your clit, screwing sweet little circles. You whimper through your nose and you shift.

“Keep your eyes on the TV.” he tells you. Those fingers slide down, pinching your clit between them, collecting a little moisture from your slit to bring it up, and smear it on your bud. “Yeah, baby, doin’ good. Jus’ like that.” he breathes, commending you for sitting pretty for him and taking it. You can barely keep your eyes open, fighting them not to squeeze shut. Curiously, his middle finger traces your hole, and sinks in to the first knuckle. Sharply, you inhale through your nose, and he holds on to you a little tighter. “Not even here, princess, don’t worry about me.” he whispers against your forehead, drawing his finger out only to dip back in, introducing you to more this time.

You’ve been watching, like he told you to, and a jump-scare does its job, jolting your whole body with fear as you scream. The movement causes his whole middle finger to plunge into you, and a groan he’d been holding releases from his throat. It’s visceral, and something snaps. He gives you two whole fingers, then three. Shoving them into your cunt over and over again with vehement as you writhe. His hold on you keeps you where he wants you while he relentlessly finger-fucks you. Out of instinct, you try to hide your face, but that hand that had pet your hair grabs onto your scalp, fixing you to face the television again. He grips onto your head, raising your brows as if to force your eyes open himself, “Keep your fucking eyes on the movie.”

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judysxnd · 9 months ago

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In the comfort of your arms

summary: Lando plays video games a lot in between races. Y/n doesn’t mind, she even enjoys watching him play.

I’ve read a few fanfictions with the same theme a while back. I hope it’s not too similar 👀

It’s 1:40am here, I wrote this in 30min (it shows). Good night!!!🌙

Still taking Lando requests. Once I have enough I’ll be able to write them and publish them regularly (that’s how I used to do with the requests on Pedro). Thank youuuu 🫶🏼

——————————————————————————

Lando loves playing video games a lot. When he’s bored, when he’s alone, when he can’t sleep, when he misses you, he plays. Time flies by without noticing as he enjoys himself with his friends. Even when he is away for F1, he plays. His favorite game to play with Max, Bankai and Matt at the moment is Escape from Tarkov. He could (actually is) spend hours on it.

As he has two weeks before the next race, Lando just came back home, to Monaco, to rest a bit before going back to the MTC and later on race again. The first thing he did when he was back was to call you and ask you to stay at his place for the few days he was here. An offer you could never refuse. Texts and FaceTime aren’t enough, so you try to maximize every moment you can have with him.

So you drove to his place immediately after, making yourself at home at his place, like you usually do when he is here. When he is at Monaco you mostly stay at his place, leaving your own for days, even weeks sometimes. If you look at Lando’s place, you can see that you are here a lot. An extra toothbrush in his bathroom. A side of his dressing dedicated to you, some groceries and drinks of your liking in his fridge, it’s your second home.

But, as much as he wants to spend all of his time with you, Lando needs his daily dose of game. You wanted to finish a tv show that you had started a week ago, he wanted to play, it was the perfect opportunity. You were in the same place, but doing your own thing, just like if you were living together.

A few hours passed by and you finally finished your tv show. It was around midnight, you were getting tired but didn’t want to go to bed without him. You always do that, and now that you can have his company in bed, you didn’t want to miss it, even just for one night. From the living room, you silently made your way to where he was playing. Before entering, you carefully analyzed if he was streaming. Once you saw that he wasn’t, you fully entered the room.

Lando was fully focused on his game, trying to kill a raider that he didn’t hear you walk next to him. It’s only when he got killed and slid back a bit that he saw you and jumped a bit. He cut his mic to talk to you for a sec.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you” you said as you tried not to laugh

“It’s okay” he said, turning his chair to look at you. You were wearing one of his shirt, that was a bit oversized for you. You had a few pajamas of yours here, but nothing was as more comfy as his clothes. And he loved it. He loved since you in his clothes. His hands dropped from his chair to your thighs, making you shiver.

“Are you almost done?” You asked, looking at the screen, your arms around his neck as he pulled you closer to him.

“I don’t know, I think I’ll do one or two more runs then I think I’ll be done” his arms made it around your waist now.

“Hm”

“You can go to bed, I’ll join you” you stepped back, looking at him, pouting

“That’s not going to happen” Lando laughed a bit

“Why?”

“I spend most of my nights without you, it’s not to do it again when you’re here”

“Aw” was all Lando was able to answer. He loved this clinginess of yours. He was the same with you, which was quite normal since you were away from each other a lot.

“Can I sit with you for a bit?”

“Sure” he said. You started to walk away, but Lando grabbed your hand. “Where you going?” He asked

“Grab a chair”

“You don’t need one” he said, patting his thigh with his free hand. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“That’s not going to be comfortable for you, how are you going to play?” You joked as he pulled you back to him.

“Don’t worry about that. Come here” Next thing you know, you’re sitting on his lap, your head leaning against his, your left arm resting on his waist.

You planted a kiss on his neck before he was back into the game. You saw him smile.

“Lando are you still there mate?” You heard Max asked him through his headphones.

“Yep, sorry, I’m here” he said calmly. Sometimes he could be very loud while playing, but he could also be very calm. It happens a lot when he plays Tarkov. He talks normally, very slow and calmly. Laughing from time to time. And the noise of the game, so satisfying. It’s such a quality, and same, it’s calmly in a way.

Like a lullaby almost. At least at midnight it is. In Lando’s arms it is. You could hear most of everything through his headphones as you were close to them, and it was at the perfect volume for you. Your eyes following closely what Lando was doing, you felt sleepy. His smell was helping you drift away in the most perfect way. That’s how you fell asleep was he was still playing.

Lando didn’t notice right away that you fell asleep. He was focused in his game. But that’s when he finally stopped that he noticed you weren’t moving at all. He said goodnight to everyone and turned off the computer, before easily getting up and carrying you to his bed. You didn’t even make a sound nor wake up when he moved you. But once he was settled in bed, you made your way to his arms again, instinctively, naturally. You missed him too much.

When you woke the next morning, you were still in the same position from the night. Lando on his side, and you cuddled up in his arms. You don’t know how, but you do remember last night, how comfortable you fell asleep in his arms, and how comfortable you are right now. Home.

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messylustt · 1 year ago

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౨ৎ ‧˚

𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨 (𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥) — 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭

miguel o’hara x fem!reader. 4.8k words

fic masterlist previous part pt four next part

violence + mentions of blood and injuries (this is quite visual ha); angry + kinda ‘blood lust’ miguel; someone gets electrocuted, reader kinda does (small amount—I’ll be honest I don’t know how getting electrocuted exactly works, so for the purpose of the story ignore if the way it happens isn’t realistic, thank you!) — when you’re left alone in the tech room, many spiders out on missions, something unexpected happens. when miguel finds out his face falls and his claws twitch in anger. after the incident, you find miguel walking down the hall, calling to him he asks you questions, and you offer your help with something.

It was silent. For what felt like too long. Besides the tap of your fingers on the keyboard—which had begun to slow.

Usually you’d hear distant conversations or the sound of web shooting, but instead only silence greeted you. Unease began to make your body turn, your chair spinning with you.

You weren’t sure if you were just being paranoid. You were alone in the office. Which wasn’t anything strange, but it meant that your growing paranoia festered a little stronger.

You edged closer to the door, finally hearing what sounds to be rumbling. Low and too vague for you to decipher. Your hand reaches out to the door handle, but just as your fingers brush the smooth metal, you’re forced back.

Your body flies, coming to a bruising hit on your hip, making you hiss in pain. But you’re quick to get up, rushing to a clear wall, and away from the explosion. You breathe heavy as you slump against it, your ears slightly ringing, while your gaze stays blurry against the random scraps of metal and dust.

You look to the communal intercom, quickly rushing towards it. Someone or something that isn’t supposed to be here is. You have to warn the spider-people who are out on missions.

But where are the others?

Just as you reach the com, the sound of quick scuffling boots can be heard to your left. You snatch up the intercom, slipping under your desk, tucking your feet into the dark just as multiple pairs of unwelcome boots come into view.

Your shrink further into yourself. You couldn’t speak in warning to the spider variants or these guys would hear you. Your eyes narrow on the bottom of their legs. All black, but so far appearing humanised rather then some large monster. An anomaly?—you think to yourself—multiple?

You clutch the intercom mic tighter, your finger grazing the on button. And that’s when they begin to speak.

“Get the tech.” A gruff voice says. “Now! We can’t waste our time!”

You can hear more scuffling of boots as the sound of unplugging, or more so ripping follows.

“Boss, they’ll be back.” One of them said. You try to get a good look at them, but your movements will cause too much attention, so you grind your teeth and listen harder.

“If you pick up that damn monitor we might have a chance to get out quick enough.” What you assume to be the gruff voice of ‘boss’ says.

“Who even made you in charge?” One grumbles out.

“Who’s idea was it to lure those stupid spiders out on some fake mission, that, might I add, required a decent bunch of those freaks?”

“Not all of them, though.” One adds. You try again to peak out. You manage to scale the bodies of three, all in black, with…masks. Damn it. They looked worn out—handmade.

“Well, lucky for us the remainders are all too busy in the lobby. Now hurry up and pack the bags.” Boss agitatedly says.

And as if luck is still on your back-burner, your foot slips, only a fraction, but enough to knock a piece of stray metal across the floor.

“What was that?” One of the masked men asks.

The silence now following sounds threatening. You place your hand over your mouth, to quieten your breathing, as the scuffs of boots draws closer.

;;

“Ben!” Exclaimed Miguel, just as static breaks through his ear. He hisses, not expecting it, as he holds the earpiece, brows furrowed. Then the static grows clearer.

“Get the tech. Now! We can’t waste our time!”

“Boss, they’ll be back.”

Miguel narrows his eyes as he listens, confused at first. When he looks to the other spider-people they’re are all holding their own earpieces, trying to comprehend what they’re listening to.

“Who even made you in charge?”

“Who’s idea was it to lure those stupid spiders out on some fake mission, that, might I add, required a decent bunch of those freaks?”

“Lyla, what is this?” Miguel asks. She appears by him, tapping away at screens.

“It appears to be coming from a communal intercom.” She says.

“At HQ?” He asks, already flexing his claws. “Which one.”

“I’m just finding out. The connection is muffled.” More tapping.

“Well, lucky for us the remainders are all too busy in the lobby. Now hurry up and pack the bags.”

The voices still infiltrate Miguel’s ear. “Lyla.” He sounds impatient. “Which one?”

Then she stops tapping. “Y/n y/l/n’s.”

Miguel freezes, looking at Lyla as if she would be one to crack a joke. Then he hears the knock of something metal through his ear piece, followed by a ‘“What was that?”’. He can now hear your heavy breathes, slightly muffled, as heavy boots hit the floor.

Then all sound is gone.

He doesn’t wait for anyone, pressing his wristband to open the portal to HQ. But Jess stops him. “Miguel, think about this. What if it’s them?”

Miguel glances at her, shrugging her grip off his arm, as he taps at his wristband again, the portal opening up. His expression is downcast, one could easily say terrifying.

“Miguel! You have to think this through.” Jess persists. “We have spider-men and woman back at HQ—”

“Who are clearly too distracted to do anything.” Miguel grunts out, webbing towards the portal. But Ben intercepts this time.

“She’s right, Miguel. Don’t worry about the tech, we can get it back, or even get new ones—“

“The tech?” Miguel actually sounds in disbelief. “You think I’m fucking worried about the tech?!” His red eyes gleam, and Ben gulps.

“Then what are you worried about, Miguel?” Jess asks, exasperated. “Because I don’t see anything else that needs urgent attention. The tech is the main—“

“¿Tú no? The tech is the last of my worries, Jess.” Miguel interrupts. But this time he isn’t yelling. This time it’s toned down, and somehow that makes him appear much, much scarier.

“Miguel.” Jess tries to calm him down, not understanding what he could find more worrying. Data had been saved on that tech, important data. She places one hand on his wrist, but he immediately shrugs her off, glaring.

“Get out of my way.” He snarls. She doesn’t move, crossing her arms. “The reason why you aren’t hurt against that wall is because you earned my respect. That’s slipping, Jess.”

“Miguel you’re frantic.” She says.

“Call it what you want. I’m getting to HQ.” He webs past her, and Jess finally has the mind to let him go. Though she still stands there worried, and confused about what could have made Miguel so urgent to get to the scene.

;;

You tighten your hold on the intercom, now switching to use it as a possible weapon, as the boots near. You prepare yourself by silent deep breaths and a focused gaze.

The boots stop in front of you, pausing for only a moment. Then the desk is being flung to the side. You choke a gasp, managing to slam the intercom down into the guys shin, the harsh metal side bruising and buckling his leg.

He exclaims in pain as you scramble to your feet. You can finally see the detail on the three mens’ outfits. A dark green weaved into the fabric. Then you see the claws for hands, and all three of their masks turned to you. Shit.

“Who are you guys?” You manage to get out, as you reach behind you for a keyboard.

One looks at the other before looking back at you. “Were you here the whole time?”

You say nothing, edging closer to the exit. It’s silent from them for a moment then “…kill her.” The gruff voice of ‘boss’ says. And they’re quick.

You try to rush away but one yanks you back by your hair. You angrily swing around and knock the metal keyboard across one of their heads. Some of the pieces shatter against his mask.

But then one is grabbing your neck, pushing you against the wall. “Sorry—boss says no tattle tales.” The guy tightens his hold, and your hands scramble against his in an effort to intake air.

There’s a moment where your vision blurs. But there’s also a moment where his knee shifts letting your leg harshly kick out. You’re glad to find him humanised in his pants as he doubles over.

You rush away from the wall, heaving. One of the masked men is already trying to grab you and as his clawed hand wraps around your arm, he’s pulled back, a shining orange web yanking him straight into a monitor, his head smashing against glass.

The speed makes his claws cut across your flesh but your adrenaline is far too prominent for you to care. You notice the other guy stalking towards you, making you swiftly gaze around at your environment, Weapon. Weapon. Weapon. You stop on a machine, wires poking out, sparking with electricity. Holding a certain point you pull two out, ripping the electric wires, before stabbing them into his stomach, the electric current making his body shake and twitch.

You soon have to let go as they grow unbearably hot, leaving scolding burns on your fingertips and palms. That’s when you notice the owner of the orange web. Miguel has ruined the guy he originally threw into a monitor, his body now a bloody pulp.

You have to quickly look away to the second guy who had obviously gotten up from your kick and landed straight into Miguel’s palm. Miguel is retracting his claws from the masked man’s body, blood tainting the tips of his fingers, as he breaths harshly but somehow still controlled.

Miguel looks to the guy knocked out in front of you, still occasionally twitching from the strong current of electricity. You feel light headed, placing your hands on your knees as you try to slow your breathing.

But then you feel a hand. And not a friendly one as the masked man passes on some of the electricity moving through his body into your thigh. You scream, the half electrocuted guy—his hair frizzed and slightly cinched—stumbling to a stance, just as you fall to the floor.

Then you hear a crash and a curdling scream—not from you.

Miguel inserts his claws into the guys neck, practically ripping his throat out, as the guy chokes on his own blood. The blood sprays across Miguel’s face, leaving slight speckles as he rips the rest of the man with his teeth, letting him drop to the floor.

It was animalistic in way, as his tongue licked his fangs, his breathing now harsher—angrier.

But then he sees you drifting from consciousness on the floor.

Miguel doesn’t know what breathing is, or the meaning of the word slow, as he reaches your side in a millisecond, his hand coming to grab your face between his fingers—maybe a little harshly but his entire being was still on overdrive.

Miguel tightens his hold on your cheeks as he slightly shakes your head. “Y/l/n.” He hisses. “Wake up.“

He’s gentle now, realising that you’re a human and not some villain he needs to hurt, as he checks your pulse not wanting his claws to cut you. “Y/n!” He finally exclaims, as you get roused awake.

Your leg feels painfully numb, as your eyes flutter open. A thin layer of tears is making your eyes sparkle as you finally meet Miguel’s gaze. You try to slow your breathing, shutting your eyes to reassess.

Miguel tightens his hold on your cheeks. “No, no. Open them.”

You do, though they stay hooded. “I’m just…tired. No need to sound so harsh—shit.” The lasting electricity still spasms up your leg, as the hold of Miguel’s hand makes the tears fall.

You begin to shake your head, partially trying to get out of his hold. “Stop.” You say.

“Stop what?” Miguel instantly replies, his gaze shooting to your thigh.

“Just—“ you breathe. Then Miguel finds the deep scratch mark on your arm, his hand grabbing it as his eyes dart. “It’s fine. Just a cut.”

“Y/n, you just got attacked. You’re a weak human, don’t try to sound so tough.”

“You’re not helping.” You hiss, tilting your head back as you try to keep the tears in, not wanting them to fall. “And that was kind of mean.” You mutter the last part just for the sake of it. Using your pain induced state as an excuse to blurt out your annoyed feelings with Miguel.

Miguel grabs your chin, trying to pull your gaze back to his, but you resist, keeping it tilted away. “Stop.” You say again.

“No.” He answers, successfully pulling your chin back, and holding it there. “Why aren’t you looking me?”

Your eyes are darting around, before you choose to close them. “Y/n.” Miguel is stern, but underlying that he sounds almost desperate—almost.

You can feel him move closer to you and you place your hand out to stop him, your palm ending up against his chest. “Can you not—“

“What—not help you?” He asks harshly.

“Can you look away.” You say, finally opening your eyes. “Please.”

“Why?” Miguel isn’t budging, staying close to you. He’s already dialled in medical on his wristwatch.

“Jeezus Christ, Miguel! I don’t like fucking crying in front of people. It’s a weird thing I can’t get rid of. I hate it. It makes me feel embarrassed—“

“Embarrassed?” Miguel interrupts.

“Yes. Embarrassed.” You hiss harshly. You couldn’t find your filter, your tone far more aggressive then usual with the throbbing pain in your arm and the spasm of your thigh.

“Well, that stupid.” He says.

“Yeah, it is. But it’s not going away. So if you could just look away and let me…I dunno…recompose myself.”

“Recompose yourself?”

“Yes! Stop repeating what I’m saying!” You exclaim, only to follow with a groan of pain as you try to sit up.

Miguel knows your mind is frazzled and your body is reactive. He pushes you back down, grabbing your cheeks again.

“You got partially electrocuted and cut—deep, I’d think you’re a psychopath If you didn’t cry.” Miguel says, his volume dropped to one almost soothing—almost.

“Doesn’t make me hate it any less.” You mutter.

“Wow…I’ve never seen you this annoyed before.”

You narrow your eyes on him. His hand that was gingerly inspecting your thigh had slipped over your waist, partially caging you in.

You try again to sit up. But Miguel yet again, keeps you pressed to the floor. “O’hara.”

He leans closer to you, narrowing his eyes. “Stop moving.”

“I’m fine.”

“No your not.” He easily answers, which earns him a half hearted scoff. “You know I think I prefer you trying to suck up instead.”

You meet his gaze glaring. “I have not been sucking up, I just like—“

“This job. Yeah I’ve heard you.” He interrupts.

He can hear commotion behind him, but the voices of rushing spider-people makes his shoulders relax. The medical have arrived, and as you notice the new people you quickly wipe your cheeks, brushing against Miguel’s hand, as you get up.

Miguel finally let’s you, by slipping his arm around the back of your waist. You try to swat it away—any physical touch usually induces the waterworks you desperately wanted to keep at bay—but he tightens his hold, resulting in your side being flush against him.

The medical spiders inspect your bruised body. “It’s her thigh and upper arm…” Miguel begins telling the spiders. Then he grabs your hands holding your palms out. “And hands.” The burnt marks look raw, and you hiss as Miguel had to slightly stretch the skin to show.

He immediately lets go upon hearing the sound of pain. “Thanks Miguel, we’ll take it from here.” A medical spider says, already at your side checking your cut.

Miguel narrows his eyes on the spider variant, watching as you bite your lip as they inspect your wound. He sighs, finally getting up and letting your waist go. At the sudden shift your hand flies out to his leg, or more specifically his thigh.

Your quick, tight grip has Miguel stopping. You change your position, not having realised how much you were using Miguel as physical support, before you’re quickly taking your hand away and coughing.

You give him a brief nod. “Thanks for the help.”

Miguel scoffs. “Help? I did a bit more than help.”

You’re praying to get some anaesthetic soon so that your pain won’t make you loose your job. You press your lips together harshly. “Of course. You did spectacular.” You say.

The sarcasm isn’t lost on him. He eyes you once more before he’s walking out the exit.

You sat there, finally taking a proper breath. You don’t know why you were holding it for so long. …maybe you did have a clue. The image of Miguel ripping the guys neck out, blood staining his face is still fresh in your mind.

You’ll be honest, it scared you. He kind of scared you. But not in way you’d think he’d hurt you, just one that made him seem unpredictable. I mean what happened just then, with his touching and softer tone was something completely unforeseen.

If someone told you he would be do that today you’d actually laugh. Miguel was unpredictable and intimidating in general, sure, but what seemed to scare you more was the way he looked when his eyes shone with blood lust. His eye colour seemed fitting now.

You also happened to be scared of the way the sight made you feel. Something that settled far too low in your stomach.

;;

Miguel went straight to the lobby where a spider variant he kept high up in the ranks resided. “You. Get up. Now.”

The spider variant immediately stood, as he nervously followed Miguel to his office. The orange tech screens were the main thing lighting the place.

And as Spider-Man took a breath he lost it as soon as Miguel slowly turned to him. Blood still stained his skin and claws and suit, and the spider-man felt the urge to run.

“Where were you today?” Miguel asked, leaning back against a table and crossing his arms almost too casually.

“I was…here, Miguel.” He said steeling his spine. He knew where this was going.

“Were you?” Miguel asked, his eyes trained on the spider.

Spider man gulped. “I’m really sorry, Miguel. I didn’t hear any sort of explosion. I didn’t get any awareness. Which…shouldn’t happen.”

“You know what ‘shouldn’t happen’?” Miguel asks, now twirling an empty glass on the table. “Spider men and woman shouldn’t only rely on that “tingle thing”.”

The spider hangs his head lower in apology. “Someone could have died today.” Miguel continued. “And you would have what—been too busy playing poker?”

The spider variant winces at his words. Miguel knew of his addiction, always using his free time to gamble.

“Do you get that?” Miguel asks.

“I do. I’m sorry.”

“Sadly that’s not gonna cut it.” Miguel says, making spider man look up. “I left you in charge while I was gone. You failed miserably.”

“Miguel. I didn’t mean to only rely on my usual awareness, it’s a force of habit. That’s never happened before. I can always sense when danger is close.”

“But you didn’t.” Miguel says. “There’s someone in medical right now who got injured—badly. And she was all alone.” Miguel has stood up, stalking towards him.

“Now for personal reasons I may find her annoying.” He quickly mutters out. “But that certainly doesn’t mean you can let her die. Do you hear me?”

Spider man quickly nods. “Of course. This’ll never happen again.”

“No it won’t.” Miguel turns away, and the finality in his voice makes spider man’s eyes widen.

“Miguel—“

“Go home.” Miguel cuts in, stepping up to his screens. Anger still seeped from every pore.

;;

You woke up, feeling a dull ache in your body, but for the most part you felt alright. Better, a lot better. You swing your feet off the medical bed, realising that the lights were out.

Your feet hit the cold floor, before you quietly step towards the exit door.

Making it out to the hallway you were grateful you were already on the high level, no need for a long travel up the stairs.

You needed to rest. Alone. Not surrounded my medical items. You slowly headed to your room, but stop upon seeing a familiar body walking away.

“O’hara.” You say, making the figure freeze.

You quicken your steps, reaching him. He turns and you have to stop the intake of breathe at the reminded visual of the now dried blood.

“You didn’t want a shower?” You joked, forcing a chuckle.

Miguel just scans your body, narrowing his eyes, his expression is it’s typical, solemn and moody. “You should get back to bed.”

“I was actually heading to my room. But I just wanted to…thank you.” You say, finally making Miguel meet your gaze.

“You really did help me back there.” You spare him a small smile and a nod. Then your gaze gets caught back up in the blood stains, as you gulp.

“You saw, didn’t you?” Miguel suddenly asks.

You look up. “Mm?”

“The reason I’m covered in blood.”

“Oh.” You say. “It was…quite impressive.”

“No it wasn’t.” Miguel says making your brows furrow. He steps a fraction closer. “You didn’t think so.”

“What do you mean?”

Another step. “You thought I looked animalistic. Scary.”

You dart your gaze down to his slowly moving feet before quickly looking back up. You shake your head. And in return Miguel nods.

“You think I’m scary.” Everything he’s saying is statements. He knows, but you keep shaking your head.

“Don’t do that. Don’t lie.” He says, much, much closer now. “You’re terrible at it.”

You stop the shake of your head, blinking a few times. “O’hara—“

“Just be honest.”

“I am.” You say, straightening your spine. And as your eyes dart you notice a deep cut running across his thigh. The dried blood, his.

You step closer. “Why didn’t you get that checked out?”

He glances down at his wound. “It’s fine.”

“Oh come on, don’t do that. Don’t act like your above it all, including pain, and infection.” Your blatancy makes Miguel raise a brow.

You pause for a moment, mulling over potential decisions in your head. Then before it could get later and before you could back down you speak. “Follow me. Let me help.”

Miguel stares at you. “It’s fine—“ he goes to monotonously repeat.

You just grab his wrist, pulling him towards your room. Miguel grabs your wrist in turn, preparing to pull your hand off.

“Hey. You made me go to your room, now I’m just returning the favour.” You say.

Miguel stares at you, scoffing. You let go of his wrist, knowing you don’t have the strength to pull him. “If you’re scared I don’t know what I’m doing, then know that I studied to be a nurse before I found out about…all this.”

“Why?” Miguel asks. “Why help?” He elaborates.

“I just told you.” You say, beginning to head to your room. “I feel weird if I’ve seen your room when you haven’t yet seen mine.”

“That’s not a good reason at all.”

“But your walking my way aren’t you?”

Miguel hadn’t realised that he’d moved to your door without the permission of his mind. He curses under his breath as your scent floods his senses, your room making it ten times worse. This is the last thing he needed.

But you’re already shutting the door and ushering him further in. “You can um…” you look around. “You can just sit on the bed.”

No—Miguel thought. God, no. But you were already getting out an older looking kit from under textbooks—your stuff having been brought to you from your universe.

He slowly sits, trying not to get one bit comfortable. You reach his side placing the kit on the bed, as you drop to your knees.

Miguel’s breathing stops at the visual. You’re directly by his thigh…kneeling. No, no.

Miguel clicks his jaw, looking away. He looks back down, to see your hand is midway from touching his cut thigh. “Why are you doing this?” He can’t fathom why you would actually want to help him.

You sigh. “I just feel kinda bad.”

“Bad?”

“Mhm.” You nod.

“For any particular reason?” Miguel pushes.

“No.” You sarcastically scoff. “You’re just generally a person everyone feels bad for.”

Miguel narrows his eyes as you chuckle. He shifts on your bed. “Stop doing that.”

Your hand stops by his cut, thinking it’s the touching of his wound, when in actual fact it was the way your ‘chuckle’ had sent a strange vibration through him to somewhere he desperately didn’t want you to notice. He was right. This was a terrible idea.

Then you’re touching him. Delicate and gentle, as you pull away his ripped suit. You begin to dab what looks to be an alcohol cloth onto his wound, and in response Miguel snarls, his grip tightening around your sheets.

“Sorry.” You mutter.

“Dios.” He mutters, closing his eyes a moment. “Stop being nice.”

You look up at him. “I have to say, I’ve never heard someone say that. Usually it’s ‘stop being mean’.”

His face is tight as you continue to clean his cut. “Someone said that to you?”

You pause. “No actually. But I just mean in general. And I’m not being ‘nice’ to you. I’m returning a favour.”

“Ah.” He hums, before all his muscles tense. “Can you hurry up.”

“You’ve never let anyone touch you up before, have you?” Catching onto the fact that he’s clearly cleaned his past wounds himself.

Miguel glares at you. “So, you can stop.” He reaches to take the cloth from you, but you lean away resting your hand on his knee for support.

“You can just sit on the bed.” Miguel grits out. He couldn’t watch you being on your knees for him any longer. Not unless he’d do something he’d end up regretting.

“That’s okay, it’s an easier angle here.”

God. You had to stop. ‘Easier angel’? Yeah, Miguel definitely wasn’t thinking about you cleaning his cut. He runs his hand through his hair.

You quickly reach out grabbing his wrist. He looks at you, expectantly. “You have uh…blood on your fingertips…claws.”

Miguel darts his gaze across your face. “And you’re worried about it getting my…hair dirty?”

You shrug. “Well, now you’re making me sound stupid.”

“I don’t need to do that.” He quips, and you shoot him a glare. “But um…” he drifts off, as you look up at him, now waiting expectantly.

“Did you find me…scary, or whatever?” He asks, and surprisingly there’s a hint of…vulnerability hidden in his tone? No—you think to yourself—that can’t be right. “Before. With the anomalies.”

You dab a fraction harder, making Miguel hiss a groan. You ignore the way it vibrates through your body. You shake your head.

“Why do you keep lying?” He asks.

You sigh. “I just—“

“Just?” Miguel seemed to really want to get an answer out of you. He shifts closer. And when you don’t answer, continuing to focus on his wound, he grabs your jaw, pulling you up to meet his gaze. You gulp, his large hand nearly reaching to wrap around your neck.

“Do I scare you?”

Your chest picks up a quicker beat. He leans closer, pulling you towards him, your chest hitting his leg. “Do I—“

“Yes. Alright.” You quickly say. “A little bit…yes.”

His grip tightens around your chin a fraction. “Because of what you saw?”

“And the way you talk to people.” You mutter out. Why were saying this? This isn’t something you say to your boss.

You hadn’t noticed at first but one of his claws had begun to brush back and forth against the skin of your jaw, his eyes not leaving yours. You were utterly frozen. And there’s a moment that you just catch where his gaze darts down to your lips, his breath feeling extremely close.

But then he’s leaning away, his jaw clenching as he looks to the door. “Are you done?”

You quickly look down to his cut, rushing to get out a bandage. “Uh, almost.” Your entire body was buzzing.

While you stayed focused on finishing him up, Miguel’s gaze went back to staring at you. He almost gave in—almost. He wouldn’t, though.

You were scared of him. He knew you were somewhat so, but now hearing you say it confirmed that you’d never see him how he had gradually started seeing you. He had to stop. Now, before he dove in far too deep.

He couldn’t let himself go any deeper. Because at this rate he’d certainly drown, and if he was going to die, it wouldn’t be from some silly little crush.

okay, I’m sorry, I lied. there is nothing sexual in here. but I didn’t think adding anything like that yet would work. since a lot of you guys asked for a slow burn

again, I hope this is up to a good standard for you guys to continue reading. I wanted to add something a little different then the usual Spanish lesson then Miguel’s end of the deal. I needed some action of some sort.

and ofc, part five will come soon x love you all MWAH

taglist: @dangerousdreamkitty @ale-maral @inosukesweirdwife @flooftoof @cynicallyaestetic @silassinclair @mariiyoushi @ilovedilfjake @toastlover21 @wlellsl @k1rbbo @bitchotine @guacam011y @blnk338 @wolfiepirate @kurxxmi @corpsebridenightamare @ohantonia @yunonaneko @irenered-20 @z3r0art @sunflowercandie @perilous-pasta @gloriouskryptonitecrown @whyamistillhere78 @ritzzzsblog @mm1sta @tealcoloured-murder @aweebsimp101 @livelaughlaurv @s0dium @roguepancake @sunshiines-stuff @internal-soundtrack @oscarisdaddy69 @clairacassidy @captainquake42 @nanaloverz @ilyless @sindulgent666 @shine101 @thebadasssass @hibeejibees @nirishin @ily2lia @lillunna @cinnamoncattie @futuristicpandakid @maroonobserver @thatsopanu @edgyficuselastica @kittekat420 @stararctic @maxi-ride @renn-pumkin-head @scaraza @justanotherkpopstanlol @fauxizs @cloudsandrenoswife @ilmovor @larissa-lolll @elliemm @httpkiyoomi @j2warren @arquiiva @ilovemiguelohara @a-monster-can-filled-with-cum @fandom-gal44 @elwyn7 @albiebright

taglist #2 taglist #3

#the miguel effect #miguel o’hara across the spider verse #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara one shot #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara fic #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman atsv #atsv #across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #spider man #spider-man 2099 #spiderman 2099 #marvel

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fangirl-dot-com · 9 months ago

Text

Chapter 24 - Loving Her was Red and Navy

Guys...it's time

“And that is p-”

Your eyebrows scrunched as you couldn’t hear the rest of what Mitch had said on the radio. You pressed the button down, hoping to try to hear it once again. You had just completed your final quali lap for the Italian Grand Prix. It was definitely fast, but they don’t call it the Temple of Speed for nothing.

“I’m sorry Mitch, the radio went out. What is my position?”

“P-”

The radio scratched even worse than before.

You pressed the button again.

“P what? Mitch I’m sorry, I legit cannot understand you. I’ll see you in the garage?”

The radio just kept crackling after that. You drove your car around the track once again before heading to the pits. Outside, you could see all the mechanics jumping up and down and the engineers hugging each other as your car got closer.

Did Max get pole? You questioned to yourself.

You guessed that they were super happy for not letting Ferrari be front row? You just wished you knew where you were starting today. Your car was parked and led into the garage. Multiple people were patting your helmet as you sat there, deactivating the steering wheel.

Did you get P2? That had to be it.

Once you were out of the car, you took your helmet off, eyebrows still scrunched as everyone was congratulating you. It was starting to weird you out, so you stepped out of the garage, trying to find your teammate.

However, you passed by George and Lewis first. The taller Briton was smiling widely at you, which made your eyebrows pinch even more.

George clapped you on the shoulder. “Great job out there! Congrats!”

“So proud. You’re going to do great,” Lewis said as he gave you a side hug.

“Uh, thank you?”

You kept walking, trying to find Max, or maybe even Charles.

Your wish was granted as you found the Dutchman and Monégasque, along with both papaya drivers. Their eyes were wide as you got closer. Lando almost bulldozed you over in a giant hug. Your hand patted his back as you were stiff, still not knowing what the hell was going on.

Once Lando let you go, Max brought you into a side hug. Your hand patted his back in congrats.

“Good job for pole mate.” You sipped your water.

The four around you went eerily quiet. Your head cocked, looking around.

“Everyone ok?”

Your eyes flitted around the pit, while the men just stared. Your phone buzzed, but you only looked at the time and not the multiple posts and tags from Instagram and every other social media you had.

Your eyes were still glued to the phone when you asked, “Can someone tell me what position I’m in? The radio on my car was super scratchy and I couldn’t hear Mitch.”

Max was about to respond, but a random interviewer came up to the five of you. The group put on their camera smiles as the man began to ask the drivers questions. You were confused when the man didn’t ask anything about pole to Max when he brought up tomorrow’s race. Well, that was, until he turned to you.

“How does it feel to have you first pole position?”

The mic was shoved in your direction. Your face went blank and the world went silent.

“What?”

The man kind of rolled his eyes. “You have just become the youngest pole sitter in Formula 1 history. How are you feeling right now?”

Your eyes widened as you took in the question. You were now hyper aware of Max’s hand on your back, where he had left it after your side hug.

“Uh, great?”

The men around you snickered. You looked around, even more confused.

“This is actually the first I’m hearing about this,” you continued, “I thought that Max was on pole.”

The man let out a small laugh before thanking you for your time. Your eyes were still wide as Max led you back to the garage, where the cheers got even louder. A second water was placed in your hands as you got closer to Mitch.

She turned to you once she noticed you were back and brought you into a big hug. You started laughing as you squeezed her tightly.

“What’s with the giggles?” she asked, trying not to laugh herself.

“I thought Max was on pole. My radio was super scratchy and I couldn’t hear you. Some random journalist was the one to tell me!” you exclaimed over the celebrations in the garage.

Vito came to you next and brought you into a side hug. You inhaled deeply as his arms enveloped you in a safe space.

You whispered, “I did it. I really did it.”

His hand came up to ruffle your hair. “Always knew you could kid. Always.”

Next was Christian who, like Vito, bear hugged you. He patted your head during the hug. You sighed contently in his arms.

“Is it nap time now?” you questioned, making everyone laugh.

Christian spoke up. “We have debrief and then you can go back to the hotel to sleep. I think there’s a surprise for you.”

Now that did it. Your leg bounced up and down the entire meeting. You mentally tried to will Christian to hurry up, but he kept on going. The minute the meeting was done, you bolted out of your seat.

Sadly, your car was being transported for tomorrow, so you couldn’t go very fast. And besides, you had taken an uber, thinking that they would have gone much faster. Yet, their version of fast was nowhere near your version. When the car finally stopped, you quickly thanked the driver and threw some money at him, not even waiting for the change.

The elevator also thought it would be good to give you a lesson in patience as well, as someone before you had pressed all the buttons – making you stop on every floor. You groaned as it stopped once more at the floor below yours. The moment the door opened up to your floor, you all but ran down to your room.

Your key card almost fell out of your hands as you were trying to get the door open. It flew wide as you finally got the thing to work. You ran to the empty room. Your eyebrows pinched for what felt like the thousandth time that day. Your eyes flitted around, but didn’t land on anything special.

“Maybe Christian got it wrong?” you asked yourself as you jumped on the bed, face forward.

What or who you failed to notice was a lanky Monegasque creeping out of your closet. Arthur watched as you deeply inhaled into the pillows, eyes fluttering shut. He almost felt bad for what he was about to do.

Key word: almost.

He quietly inhaled before launching onto the bed. A scream left your lips at the arrival of unneeded body weight on you. Your went stiff as your mind raced. This was it. Some crazy fan had gotten into your room somehow and was about to strangle you. Your arms flailed as you tried to hit the intruder.

Except, you stopped once you heard a familiar laugh. You gasped as you rolled over to find you boyfriend’s face in yours. The two of you looked at each other for a bit, gasping for air (you from holding your breath and him from laughing so much).

Arthur suddenly dipped his head, going in for a kiss. Yet, you had other plans.

You smacked his face. Arthur froze as he was halfway down, lips still puckered.

“Well that hurt.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Sorry for thinking I was about to be killed Thur. That wasn’t nice,” you whined. “And I was about to sleep and now I’m not tired anymore.”

Arthur smirked. “Maybe I can make you tired another way?”

Hit.

“I deserved that.”

You scoffed. “Max is right in the room next to us. He would hang me if he heard.”

Arthur huffed before putting his full weight on you, face in your neck. You let out a soft oof as the air was a bit knocked out of you. Your arms came up and wrapped around his neck. The two of you basked in each other’s presence for a bit, before a soft kiss was placed on your neck.

You whispered, “No marks please.”

You felt his lips trail up until they hit the bottom of where you ear was. A soft gasp left your lips as he kissed from there to your lips. His hands started rubbing at your sides and he finally placed his lips on yours.

Your mouth opened just a bit, letting him in. Your hands made their way to his hair, fingers bunching the dirty blond strands. Arthur let out a please groan at the motion, which made him kiss you a bit harder. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he kept pressing his body onto yours, the pressure making a whine escape from your throat.

The two of you had to part for a breath, but only for a second until you placed your lips back on his. His hands wandered up your torso, now exploring under your shirt. His lips were firmly on yours as he pressed into you harder.

A loud moan escaped from under his lips, making him smirk into the kiss.

When Arthur finally deemed you more relaxed, he leaned back, watching you gasp for air. Your head rested against the pillow as Arthur slid next to you. He arms were still wrapped around your middle.

He gave one more kiss to your neck, before whispering, “My pole sitter. I’m so proud of you.”

Your eyes began to flutter shut, mind sinking into a deep sleep.

Sunday morning came too quickly. Arthur had to almost drag you out of bed. That almost was an understatement: he did drag you out of bed.

You had picked out a nice gray pant suit for today, something that Mitch had given you as a present. You had always loved all of her pant suits and tried to complement her whenever you could.

Your phone buzzed with a notification that your car had arrived safely and it was waiting for you, and Arthur outside. Max wanted to come with you, but it was a hyper car and it only two seats. With your sunnies on, you stepped out of the hotel. Thankfully, there weren’t any fans waiting for the two of you.

The V12 engine roared to life as you started the car up. You made sure that Arthur had on the seatbelt before you even started to move. The car came with two headsets so that you and the passenger could talk to each other.

“Did you know that this is my first time driving this car on the road?”

“What?”

You didn’t answer him and kept on driving. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him grip the sides even more. You giggled as you continued through the Italian streets. At stop lights, people seemed to scramble for their phones, wanting to take pictures.

You revved the engine as you got close to the paddock. The car was definitely loud and turned a lot of heads. Yet, people really couldn’t see who was in the car.

A big group of the drivers were waiting for you and Arthur at the entrance before they went in. Charles’s head was the first to whip around at the sound of a Ferrari V12 engine.

Lewis let out a loud whistle as the orange spaceship came closer. Lando and Oscar’s mouths were open wide. Alex and Logan just stood staring.

“Whose car is that?” Carlos questioned, watching the car rev for a few more rounds.

Max stood to the side with a giant smirk on his face. The cameras around them were all pointed to the futuristic car.

Charles cocked his head. “Isn’t that the car that Y/n wanted at some point? Someone should call her and tell her it’s here.”

Max laughed loudly, causing the group to look at him weirdly.

He answered Charles, “Mate I think she already knows.”

His finger came up and pointed at the car, door already opened with you stepping out. Their jaws dropped as Arthur also stepped out, grabbing his and your bags. You waved to the group, only getting half waves in reply. You giggled as you handed someone the key, only trusting a select few to park it.

“Hello boys,” you said as you stepped closer.

They were all silent, eyes still on the car.

“When do I get a ride?” Logan asked first, breaking the silence. An uproar of the rest asking followed after that.

Another giggle escaped your lips as you waved your hands, silencing them.

“So, no matter how today turns out, I’m having a house party down in Capris after the race. Max said we can take his jet. Everyone on the grid is invited, except you know who.”

A smirk formed on your face as you left, scanning your card at the turnstile. The males followed in suit, now excitedly talking about the party.

redbullracing has posted

redbullracing and how are we feeling today? "Uh, great?"

liked by y/n.89, arthur_leclerc, monza_tifosi, lechair, and 309,204 others

y/n.nation I have no words - wow, just wow

losingmy_everlovingmind UM THE CAR? ARTHUR? HELLO??

y/n.89 guys it wasn't my fault, I just didn't know I was on pole - admin how could you

redbullracing it was max's idea maxverstappen1 HEY

charlos4ever guys, Charles win 2024?

rookie_on_top nah Y/n win 2024 y/n&co here here

f1 lets go racing!

The red and yellow crowd roared as you walked by, waving to everyone. You thought that there would be a lot of booing, but surprisingly there was little to none. The crowds seemed to adore you, just as they adored their Ferrari boys.

At the garage, you had finally found out that Max had gotten P3 in a Ferrari sandwich, namely Charles in P2 and Carlos in P4.

You were nervous as you sat in your Red Bull. This could be it. This could be your winning moment.

Or this could end up like Suzuka. Another win in your grasps and then ripped from your hands.

“Radio check kid?”

“Mitch, I’m scared.”

The older woman frowned as she sat at the pit wall. That didn’t sound like you. Your voice sounded so young and so scared, almost like a toddler who was scared of the dark. Mitch took a deep breath.

“Kid, listen to me. You are so amazing. Your car breathes the same air that you breath. You just need to focus and be one with the car. You have to be speed. Remember, you eat losers for breakfast.”

A small laugh came over the radio, making Mitch smile.

“One winner, nineteen losers. I eat them for breakfast.”

“Go get them kid.”

“And it’s lights out and away we go at the 2024 Italian Grand Prix!”

You focused on your breathing as you flew down the straights and suddenly slowed at the corners. There was a reason that this was one of the hardest tracks. The G-force of the straights into the corners was hell.

Your head felt as though it was being ripped off as you went around the turns. Thankfully, you were still leading by midpoint. You were on a one stop strategy, and you needed to pit soon. However, you got the call for a yellow flag.

“Who was it Mitch?”

“Max clipped a kerb. He’s fine, but the bottom of his car is ripped. We’re taking this flag to pit you, so come on in.”

You heart sank as you thought of your teammate. It was just you now to bring home some points. Your breathing got a little fast as you came to pit, watching the hordes of people with bright red flags. You were able to come out in first place once again. But you were alone this time. Not teammate to help if needed.

A lone bull in a sea of red capes.

Your pace was phenomenal. Every time people thought a driver would catch up to you, you would manage to pull away.

The final lap flag waved and your stomach jumped to your throat. You crisply cut the corners, managing you tyres and car. Only a few more turns to go. You could almost taste it.

Max, along with the rest of the team, were jumping and cheering, willing your car to take you to the end. As the Dutchman watched you get closer and closer, he rushed out of the garage and climbed onto the fence.

“Y/n L/n has the checkered flag in her sights. The world has thrown everything at her, yet she still rises. Today, she joins the elite group of drivers who get to say that they have won a Formula 1 race. The first woman this century to score points, the first woman to step foot on the podium, and the first woman to reach that top pedestal. Her hunger had turned starving, yet she will finally be satiated today.”

Drivers say that when they’re in the car, everything moves in slow motion.

You watched your crew’s arms slowly jest up and down as you approached the line. When your car finally crossed, everything went silent. Your mind was thrown back to your first karting win.

How everyone was silent as you stood on that top step. A tear trickled down your face in your helmet. This time, you knew there wouldn’t be any silence.

The noise would be deafening.

“SHE DNF-ED AT SPA, PODIUMED AT ZANDVOORT, AND WON AT MONZA. Y/N L/N IS THE WINNER OF THE 2024 ITALIAN GRAND PRIX.”

“You’ve done it!” Mitch screamed over the radio. You however, couldn’t understand yourself over your screams. Word vomit just came out of your mouth. Words in English and Italian sputtered out.

“AAHHHH THE HECK. WHAT EVEN! NON POSSO CREDER! AAHHHHHHHH! THANK YOU EVERYONE!”

Being the first one into Parc Ferme was a surreal experience. Normally, you’d be following someone in, but you were the one to lead.

You stayed in your car for just a moment, taking in deep breaths and trying to will the tears away. Yet, they kept on coming. You quickly took your steering wheel off before getting out of the car on the nose. You raised your fists as you stood.

The crowds were roaring and your head was spinning. You placed your fingers on your helmet before raising them up to the bright blue sky.

The two yellow and red clad drivers watched on behind you as you celebrated. If it couldn’t be them, they were glad that it was you.

You jumped down from the nose and immediately ran to the barriers and into your team’s open arms. You felt their hands rain down on your helmet and back in congratulations. In the sea of team, your eyes finally found bright blue ones to the side.

Max had come around the little gate to hug your properly. You all but ran and jumped on him. Your legs lifted around his hips as he hugged you tightly.

The Dutchman could hear your sobs from under your helmet. His large hands gripped you a bit tighter and held you close. Your fingers gripped the back of his Red Bull polo, not wanting to let go. Yet, you knew that you had to, so you slowly slid back down to the floor.

Max looked into your eyes through your visor. His lips were moving, but you couldn’t really tell what he was saying. He gently turned you around in the direction of your team principal. He lightly pushed you toward Christian, and you took that moment to jog over to him.

Much like with Max, you kind of jumped on the Briton, making him pick you up slightly.

“I did it Dad. I’m on the top step.”

Christian barely heard you, but he squeezed you a bit tighter once you said that. He set you back down and helped you get your helmet off. He was met with the sight of tears running down your face and your hair being plastered to your forehead with sweat. He led you over to get weighed and then place your helmet on the number 1 pedestal.

You were quickly interviewed before going to the cooldown room. There you met Charles and Carlos.

The Monegasque was the first one to wrap you in a hug. It was nice, but you really wanted the hug of another Monegasque.

“Siamo cosi orgogliosi di te, ragazzo. Finalmente sul grandino piu alto,” he whispered, before sending you to Carlos.

There was little time in the cooldown room before the three of you were called to the podium. Your hat fit nicely, the number 1 on the side beaming. Carlos went first, then Charles, and then finally you. Your eyes squinted as you met the bright Italian sun.

The crowds cheered below as you stood on the top step. Your tears returned as they played your national anthem. You didn’t try to wipe them this time though.

You let them fall.

The Austrian anthem played after and trophies were handed out.

Once the metal was placed in your hands, you raised it up high. The people closest to you knew the significance of it all. The win in Lorenzo’s home country. Your win for him.

Charles knew all the emotions. He too had won at Monza for his papa and Jules. Pierre down in the crowd let some tears shed as he remembered his time up there, winning for Anthoine. Daniel watched in amazement as you held the trophy high before kissing it lightly. There was a time that he was on that step, clad in orange and blue. You were shining.

The taste of the bubbly had never been sweeter. After spraying Charles and Carlos, and getting theirs dumped all over you, it was your turn to spray your team. You tried to point the spray down at Max and Arthur, who had snuck into the sea of navy. Your boyfriend was currently looking up at you, as if you hung the stars. And right now, the sun was making you glow so hard that he truly believed that you might have.

The celebrations didn’t end after that.

In the group chat that you made, excluding one driver, there was only one message to the drivers. It made them all smirk with excitement.

Grid Queen: airmax leaves at 4 see you all in Capris p.s. bring your girlfriends

redbullracing has posted

redbullracing Y/N L/N IS THE WINNER OF THE 2024 MONZA GRAND PRIX

liked by olliebearman, oscarpiastri, nicorosberg, lewishamilton, and 602,209 others

y/n.nation LETS GOOOOOOOOO

box_box_express what a race - I'm speechless

formulalalala1 FIRST WOMAN TO EVER WIN A FORMULA 1 GRAND PRIX WHAT IS SHE

y/n&co the greatest rookie to ever cross the face of formula 1

y/n.89 I think I'm still crying, thank you admin

redbullracing love you too rookie!

iamred_iamyellow oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh

f1_fan and everyone liked that

y/n.89 has posted (max is second pic)

y/n.89 I really don't know what to say other than thank you. you all have put so much confidence in my and my abilities and I'm thankful that it's finally paying off. To everyone, I love you - let's get this bread

liked by arthur_leclerc, maxverstappen1, danielricciardo, and 509,219 others

landonorris knew you could do it bug!

carlossainz55 ah chica, you did marvelous maxverstappen1 words cannot tell how proud of you I am geitje fernandoalo_official nina, you're going to make me retire early oscarpiastri roo, you've done good danielricciardo welcome to the league darl' lewishamilton you drove oh so well love charles_leclerc gosse, you never cease to surprise me logansargeant lets go champ! knew you could do it georgerussell63 you did it again sweetie alex_albon super duper proud (lily is crying) y/n.89 y'all made me cryyyyyy

author this entire post has my heart

y/n.89 thank you for making it happen

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arthur_leclerc has posted

arthur_leclerc loving her was red and navy

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Race Results (top 10 + DNF)

Y/n L/n – 26 points (fastest lap)

Charles Leclerc – 18 points

Carlos Sainz – 15 points

Oscar Piastri – 12 points

George Russell – 11 points

Lewis Hamilton – 8 points

Alex Albon – 6 points

Logan Sargeant – 4 points

Daniel Ricciardo – 2 points

Yuki Tsunoda – 1 point

Max Verstappen – DNF

Champions Standings

Max Verstappen – 309 points

Charles Leclerc – 286 points

Y/n L/n – 207 points

Lando Norris – 190 points

Carlos Sainz – 145 points

Oscar Piastri – 130 points

Lewis Hamilton – 113 points

George Russell – 65 points

Alex Albon – 62 points

Fernando Alonso – 45 points

Logan Sargeant – 40 points

Daniel Ricciardo – 25 points

Lance Stroll – 17 points

Valtteri Bottas – 13 points

Pierre Gasly – 12 points

Yuki Tsunoda – 9 points

Zhou Guanyu – 1 point

Nico Hulkenberg

Kevin Magnussen

Esteban Ocon

Constructors Standings

Red Bull – 516 points

Ferrari – 431 points

McLaren – 320 points

Mercedes – 178 points

Williams – 102 points

Aston Martin – 62 points

Alpha Tauri – 34 points

Alpha Romeo – 14 points

Alpine – 12 points

Haas – 0 points

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