#Tremors: A Cold Day in Hell | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

golden-cherry · 1 year ago

Text

deal - cl16 (20/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: There's one person that you don't want to see standing in front of your door in the middle of the night.

Warnings: angst (like, a lot), super many swear words, asshole!Charles, a teeny tiny bit of fluff, Raphael

Word Count: 3.7k

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A/N: couldn't let you wait another week after that cliffhanger. thank you to everyone who's been with me from the start. couldn't have done it without you. here's to 20 chapters and so much more to come.

It only takes a few seconds for your eyes to adjust to the light and you recognize who is standing in front of your apartment door. The hair, the eyes, the mouth, and as soon as you recognize the face of the person who hurt you, you push against the door with all your strength to slam it shut.

But Raphael is quicker and shoves his foot in between. "I just want to talk."

You briefly consider kicking his shoe and kicking him out of the door frame. Something that would certainly hurt a lot barefoot. But you can't take a step back to slip into your shoes either, because Raphael would see that as an invitation. So you stand there rooted to the spot, your fingers clasped around the door handle and your shoulder leaning against the door so that at least some counterbalance keeps him from entering the apartment.

"Please, Y/N."

"What about my previous behavior makes it seem like I'm in any way interested in having a conversation with you?" you hiss hostilely in a hushed voice. After all, the neighbors don't need to hear what's going on in the hallway in the middle of the night.

He raises his hands placatingly. "I know you want to sort this out between us as much as I do."

"I want you to leave me the hell alone." You lean against the door a little more so there's more pressure on the sides of his foot, forcing him to pull it out sooner or later.

"This can't really be what you want. Please, Y/N." He tilts his head. "We both know how much you miss me. And how much you need me."

You have to stifle your laughter, even though there's nothing at all funny about this situation. "I'm not the person who keeps calling my ex and suddenly turns up at the door in the middle of the night."

"I just want to explain myself. And that everything is like it used to be."

"Then you shouldn't have been fucking other women." Your tone is icy. "Why can't you just leave me alone and get out of my life?"

Raphael crosses his arms in front of his chest as if he's offended that you're seriously asking him that. "Because I love you. So let me in, please."

You narrow your eyes. "Not a chance."

His gaze, which looked halfway human a moment ago, hardens. "Is he here? Is he listening to us right now?"

You raise an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Don't play dumber than you are. I'm talking about your fucking roommate I spoke to on the phone the other day." He puts a palm against the door and you feel his weight pressing against you. "Is he here?"

By now you're bracing yourself against the door with all your weight. Your heart is hammering in your chest. Raphael is not someone who would hurt anyone else. But his cold stare and the pressure against the door make you think otherwise. Must make you think something else to protect yourself. If he manages to walk through that door - thank God Charles is in Italy.

"This is none of your business," you try to say as normally as possible.

"If some random guy is fucking my girlfriend, then it is definitely my business."

"I'm not your girlfriend, remember? You cheated on me and dumped me." You take a deep breath to get rid of the tremor in your voice. "So just leave me alone. I don't want anything more to do with you."

Raphael laughs. "I didn't cheat on you." When you raise an eyebrow, he rolls his eyes. "My God, so I slept with a few women, so what? I had needs. And you didn't want to."

You're on the verge of crushing his foot. "Are you actually listening to yourself? Do you hear the complete bullshit you're talking?"

"Don't be like that. I bet you've been sleeping with your roommate to get one over on me, too." He leans a little in your direction. "Why don't you explain to me why you slept with him but not with me, your boyfriend?" When you don't answer him, but just look at him venomously, a disgusting grin spreads across his face. "I'm telling you: because you're a little bitch." He takes his hand off the door and instantly your body relaxes a little. But the calm doesn't last long. "Did you hear that?" Raphael suddenly yells through the hallway, waking up all the neighbors within a 200-meter radius. "She's a little bitch. Come and get her. She really gets it on with everyone."

You open the door a little, but only to stand fully in the doorway. "Are you crazy? Be quiet, you'll wake up the whole of Monaco!"

His head jerks in your direction. "Why? Don't you want your roommate to know who you really are?"

If Raphael hadn't been shouting like that, you would certainly have heard the loud footsteps coming up the stairs. But all you see is a shadow and then you see familiar green eyes looking into yours. Charles is standing on the top step of the stairs, his eyes fixed on you, but before you can say anything, ask him why he's not in Italy, his gaze flits to Raphael and even from a distance you can see that Charles' body is tensing.

Raphael follows your eyes and takes a step back when he sees your roommate standing in front of him. Charles could have been anyone - a neighbor complaining about the noise, a delivery man dropping off food - but from the way the Monegasque is glaring at your ex, there's no doubt. "Your roommate is Charles Leclerc?" Raphael runs his fingers nervously through his hair before taking a step in Charles' direction and holding out his hand. "Wow, it's an honor to meet you! I'm a big fan!"

Charles Leclerc? Honor? Big fan?

Charles looks down at the outstretched hand as if it were a venomous snake before he pushes past the man without answering and positions himself in front of you. You see his tense back muscles dance beneath his sweater as he turns to Raphael. "You should go."

"I think you've got this whole thing wrong," your ex tries to wriggle out of the situation. "Y/N is my girlfriend and we-"

"Ex-girlfriend," the brunette interjects without batting an eyelid.

Raphael scratches the back of his neck nervously. "Eh, we're just trying to sort that out. Would you please give us a moment so we can work this out?"

Charles doesn't even need to turn around to know that's the last thing you want. "No. I'm sure there's nothing to sort out. I'm not going to ask you to leave again."

Your ex snorts and raises his hands placatingly. "I don't want to argue with you. Like I said, I'm a huge fan and I watch every race. But the matter only involves Y/N and me, which is why I'm asking you to step aside so we can work this out."

"And I said no." His tone is cool and calm, almost threatening, and his gaze is so piercing it sends a cold shiver down your spine.

Raphael rolls his eyes. "And I thought you were a cool guy. That's how you come across on TV, anyway." He takes a step towards you both and Charles pushes himself completely in front of you so that you can no longer see Raphael. "Your little girlfriend there is a slut, did you know that? A stupid little whore who-"

"Do you actually like your job? You still work in accounting at this one company, don't you? With the emphasis on 'still'," Charles asks calmly. As your ex takes a step back, Charles takes a step forward. "So if you want to keep it, I suggest you leave Y/N alone once and for all. You won't show up here, you won't call her again, you won't even think about her. And if you even think of telling anyone about this, I'll make sure you can't find a job anywhere. Do you understand me?" When your ex doesn't answer, Charles takes another step, causing Raphael to flinch and almost fall down the stairs. "Did you hear me?"

"Clearly and distinctly."

"Good." You can hear Charles' friendly smile. "Have a good evening, then." He looks after Raphael, who quickly scurries down the stairs, and only turns to you as the front door slams shut.

But instead of asking you if everything is all right, he storms past you into the apartment without a word. You quickly close the door behind you, follow him on foot and find him in the bedroom, where he pulls a large sports bag out of the chest of drawers, which he carelessly throws onto the rumpled bed. He starts to clear out the closet.

"Charles?" you ask hesitantly, but remain standing in the doorway. "What are you doing?" When he doesn't answer, but pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and taps on it briefly before pocketing it again, you enter the room. "Charles? Say something, please."

"What do you want to hear from me?" he asks coldly, grabbing some clothes from the closet. Only when you take a closer look do you realize that these are your clothes that didn't fit in your small suitcase.

"I don't know," you answer helplessly. "What are you doing here?"

He doesn't even look at you. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm packing your things." He stuffs one of your shirts into the small side pocket. "So we can finally move out of here."

Confused, you look at him and sit on the edge of the bed. Far enough away from him. "What do you mean?"

"Do you really think you're going to stay here one more day after your crazy ex turned up? You were going to move out anyway, so we might as well get this over with."

You had told him that you were leaving this apartment, but you never expected him to throw you out of the apartment himself. Especially not today, when he wasn't supposed to be in Monaco, but in Italy. "Are you kicking me out?"

Charles zippers up the bag before placing it next to the suitcase and pulling the next bag out of the dresser and fills it with clothes. "Didn't you listen to me? We're moving out. I'm not leaving you alone in this apartment for another moment."

Charles's change of mood almost gives you whiplash. Yesterday he threw the nastiest words at you, made you cry and hurt you so much that you were seriously considering leaving the country. And now he's standing there packing your things into sports bags because he what? Doesn't want your ex to come back here to harass you again?

Puzzled, you sit on the bed while Charles goes through the apartment and collects all the personal belongings he can find.

Why is he here when he's supposed to be in Italy? Why is he packing your things so that you can move out of this apartment if he doesn't care about you? And the biggest question is - how does Raphael know Charles? What races was he talking about? Why does he know him from TV?

Who is Charles Leclerc?

"Here, get changed," he snaps you out of your thoughts and throws you a pair of sweatpants and the white sweater he was wearing in the bookstore. "It's freezing outside and I don't want you to freeze to death." He grabs the bags and disappears out of the bedroom to give you some privacy.

You quickly change, pull his sweater over your head and as you breathe in his scent, you could cry. The fact that Charles is here, defending you after he treated you so badly, confuses you so much that you don't know which way is up and which way is down. After yesterday, you hate him, you want to hate him, but Lando's words haunt your mind and apparently there's some truth to them, because otherwise Charles wouldn't have driven all the way to Monaco in the middle of the night.

But why is he here? Why did he leave his meetings so much earlier? Did he feel guilty? Did Lando talk to him? Why is he back here with you after just one day?

He doesn't even look at you when you leave the bedroom in his clothes. He just grabs the bags and your suitcase and you're about to ask him if you should carry something too, but he's already disappeared out of the front door and into the dark hallway. You quickly grab the last of your belongings and follow him down the stairs, but instead of heading for the underground parking garage, he leaves the house and heads towards the street.

"Where are you going?" you ask, out of breath, when you finally catch up with him. Without a word, he stops in front of a black car with a red and white stripe across it. It looks expensive, much more expensive than your old Renault, which is only confirmed by the horse on the hood and rims. "Whose car is this?"

"Get in," he says curtly as he unlocks the luxury ride and starts to put the bags away. When you don't move, he turns to you. "I won't say it again. Get in the damn car, Y/N."

"Why?" you ask, confused and also a little desperate. "Why would I get in the car with you? Give me one good reason."

Annoyed, he runs his hand through his hair so that it stands on end. "Either you get in the car now or I'll make you. It's your decision."

You cross your arms in front of your chest. By now you're annoyed by his behavior. "You can't force me."

"You bet I can." He takes a step closer so that you can feel his warm breath on your face. "Get in the fucking car."

There's a twinkle in his green eyes that stops you from challenging him. Silently, you get in on the passenger side of the car and plop down on the leather seat as Charles circles the hood. A few minutes later, as you're driving along Monaco's streets, the silence between you is unbearable.

"Where are we going?" you ask, but get no answer. The Monegasque drives the car over the asphalt with an angry look on his face, even driving too fast, but he doesn't seem to care. "At least you can tell me where you're taking me. You owe me that after you dragged me out of the apartment."

"We're going to my other place."

You raise an eyebrow in confusion. "The one Annika lives in?"

Charles takes a turn without using his blinker. "Yes."

"And how do you picture that?" You turn in his direction. "You want me to share the apartment with your ex? Are you completely insane?"

He exhales loudly. "She won't be there when we get there."

"We? What do you mean 'we'?"

"I have to stay somewhere. Now that we both can't stay in the second apartment anymore."

Your voice sounds a little shrill as you answer him. "I wasn't planning on moving out of one apartment so I could move into another with you. Drive me to a hotel or somewhere else, but I don't want to live with you."

After all, he was the reason you wanted to move out of the apartment in the first place. He treated you badly, let you down - why should you spend another night with him? Especially since he still seems angry with you?

As the car comes to a halt, he looks over at you. "I don't care what you want right now. You're staying here tonight where I know you're okay and that asshole can't get too close to you. Tomorrow you can throw every insult you can think of at me, but right now you do what I tell you. Do you understand me?"

His authoritative and commanding tone leaves no room for discussion, so you just nod silently and get out of the car. You are in an underground parking garage, similar to the other one, but there are other cars here. Expensive cars, like the Ferrari you drove here in.

Are these all his cars? Where did Charles get the money for a Ferrari? What-

"Come on. I won't wait forever." His voice brings you back to reality and like a toddler you follow him out of the garage, into the elevator and finally into the apartment, which is surprisingly empty. You don't have a moment's peace to look around as Charles has already unlocked a room and put your things inside.

"The guest room is unused." He takes a deep breath and exhales. "I know it's not the best solution for everything here, but I can't change it now. If you want to move out tomorrow, then do so. But please do me a favor and stay here tonight." His expression is softer and his voice is a little warmer than it was a few minutes ago, but that doesn't make you forget how the evening went.

"I'll be gone in the morning," you reply stubbornly, but you can feel your heart beating fast. Charles just nods and leaves you in the hallway so that you can enter your room undisturbed and keep to yourself.

After closing the door behind you, you take off your warm clothes and fall onto the bed in your underwear without turning on the light. It is unused, the comforter is spread out on the mattress and the pillows feel as plush as if they had just been fluffed up. But as soon as your head touches the soft fabric and you breathe in, you are completely enveloped in Charles' scent. And you can't stop the tears streaming down your face as your body finally comes to rest.

The fact that Raphael suddenly turned up on your doorstep in the middle of the night has already thrown you off course. You never expected him to have the nerve to show up at your place - a pretty stupid thought when you remember that he had already tried to find you there recently. But actually seeing him, listening to his garbage, really ruined the evening that Lando had actually saved so far.

And then came Charles, your knight in shining armour, who stood up for you so heroically and defended you, even though he had broken your heart just one day before.

His behavior is completely at odds with what he's doing.

He drags you out of the apartment so that Raphael can no longer find you there, but forces you to go with him to this apartment, even though he knows that you don't want to have anything more to do with him.

He packs your things, wants you to spend the night with him so he can be sure you're safe, but is so cold and dismissive to you that you might think Charles has multiple personalities.

And then there's the fact that Raphael seems to know him. Even his full name. And he didn't pronounce it the way you do with people you just haven't seen for a long time but happen to meet on the street. His intonation was different, as if the name Charles Leclerc carried weight, as if he was something special, as if you had to know him. But who the hell is Charles Leclerc?

Is he the man who took you in when you didn't know where to go? The one in whom you found a friend you never really wanted to miss? The one you fell in love with without even wanting to?

Or is he the man who hurt you, rejected you, only to stand up for you in a domineering and possessive way? The one who took your heart and trampled on it, only to do everything he could to keep you safe a day later?

Who is Charles Leclerc?

Your shoulders shake and your breath comes in painful gasps as you wrap your arms around your middle and press your face into the pillow. Your throat feels constricted, your blood is pounding in your ears and your heart is beating so fast it feels like it wants to jump out of your chest. And this headache. They make you blind and deaf, which is why you don't notice the door to your room quietly opening and then falling back into the lock.

Only when you feel the mattress lower behind you do you realize that Charles is with you. You want to turn to him, scream at him and send him packing, but you don't get the chance. Your tears stifle every sound and your body is shaking so badly that you can do nothing but lie there.

You don't question it when you feel Charles' chest against your back. "I'm here," he whispers softly as he wraps his arm around you and hugs you tightly. His other hand finds its way into your hair, which he strokes gently as his touch warms you. "It's all right, mon amour. I'm here," he repeats, tangling his bare legs with yours to pull you even closer to him. Not a piece of paper, not even a hair fits between you.

Charles' skin is soft and smooth against yours, you feel the tiny hairs of his forearm against yours as he reaches out to grab your hand and finally intertwines your fingers. It feels like they were made for this. As if you were made for him.

You want to turn around, to look at him, but his iron grip around your middle won't allow it, so you just press yourself against him, as close as you can, to be enveloped by him. By his smell, his warmth. Him.

"Charles," you sigh into the darkness and feel the tip of his nose against your neck.

"I'm here, mon amour." He presses a feather-light kiss to your bare shoulder. "I'm here as long as you'll let me."

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 1 year ago

Note

Hello! Could you please write full headcanons on the M6 getting home one day to find MC dead? They're not actually dead, their body is just vacant after a spell went horribly wrong, but M6 have no way of knowing that.

Thank you!

The Arcana HCs: When M6 think MC is dead

~ @arson-the-ace oh, this. this is going to hurt, isn't it. ~

CW for descriptions of panic attacks, bodies that seem dead, references to past trauma, and your beloved in lots of pain

-- to set the scene --

It was supposed to be an experiment, to see if it was possible to put your body in a preserved or frozen state when you left it behind to visit the magical realms. You did not expect the result to be your body looking and acting like a fresh corpse, or for the spell to have a three hour cooldown time before you could reinhabit it. Your incorporeal self sighs and sits next to your body, resigned to the boredom of waiting it out.

Until, minutes later, the door opens and your beloved walks in, and you have no way of telling them what happened.

Julian

Already fears the worst as soon as he sees you sprawled on the floor - his plague doctor experience with visiting the sick has his instincts fine-tuned for recognizing an unrecoverable patient

Trips over himself in his scramble to get to you and gets a nasty bump on his knee, but doesn't register a thing because he's finally reached for you and he's looking for a sign of life

A pulse. An exhale. The twitch of your eyes moving below your eyelids, anything, anything to tell him that you can be saved

He rolls you onto your back and tries to give you CPR, but he's breaking down too much already for any of it to be effective

Chest compressions turn into him ripping his gloves off, trying to find any of the warmth you've shared with him

Mouth-to-mouth turns into a choked sob against your cold cheek

He can't bring himself to keep going. Each failed attempt at reviving you gets his hopes up only to rip them to shreds again

He doesn't want to move forward. He doesn't want to go ahead with laying you to rest. He doesn't want to leave this drafty wooden floor, without a blanket or a pillow to keep you comfortable

And he can't stand up

He sits cross-legged on the floor, lifting your head onto his lap and laying his coat over you in lieu of a quilt

You watch him droop over your body, shivering in the drafty room without his layers, voice catching and breaking on quiet sobs as he sings you the lullaby his parents sang him before the shipwreck

By the time your eyes flutter open, his voice is gone

He's happy to see you - he's so, so happy to see you, but he keeps hovering over you like he never knows if you're about to collapse for good next time

If you love him, you'll wait a long, long time to do any more magic

Asra

They thought you were playing some kind of game, at first

He walked into the upstairs apartment to see you sprawled on the floor and teasingly called out your name, playfully asking what new mischief you were up to as he hung up his coat

And then you didn't answer them

As soon as he felt that old dread seize his stomach, he was hurrying across the room and asking you what was wrong

They can feel their own body growing cold as they touch your frozen one, pressing a trembling hand to your chest in search of the heartbeat they moved heaven and hell to give you

He's panicking, breaths coming quick and short. The motions of his arms trying to pull you closer to him are far too similar to his frantic digging in the ash filled sands of the Lazaret

They don't know what's worse - the images flashing across their eyes of your charred bone fragments splintering in their bleeding fingers, or your lifeless face lying heavy against their knees

His heart can't take it. The tears give way to an ongoing numb tremor. He places a preservation spell on your body as his last conscious thought before he lies down next to you on the floor

They put their arm under your limp neck and cuddle up to you like it's just another day's end, just another snuggle before sleep while they lay their head down on your icy, silent chest

You watch him hold your body in shock. He seems like he's caught between worlds, alternating between staring at your unmoving stomach while his shaky tears land and pool on your shirt

And reflexively whispering apologies as they mop up their tears with their sleeve, asking if they're squeezing you too tightly

He's quick to check your memories when you wake up, but no matter how healthy you are, he can't leave your side for a week

Nadia

Her intuition is telling her something is wrong as soon as she's approaching her chambers. Seeing you on the ground is her worst nightmare coming true

You're cold to the touch. You don't respond to her voice. You don't respond ... at all. She needs help, you need help, you need help now, she's going to get you everything you need, just hang on

She lifts you into her bed, and the chilly deadweight of your body is more than she can take. When she throws open the door and yells for a doctor, every servant in earshot hears her panicked sobs

She hasn't had a panic attack like this in years

Servants rush in and out in a blur, hurried murmurs and muffled exclamations fading into the background. She feels like she's been plunged underwater, unable to scream as her lungs fill with salt

She sits by your side with your hand in both of hers, clinging to the only part of you she's allowed to touch while the closest physician pokes and prods at your lifeless body. She can't see you anymore

And everyone else? They can't see their Countess at all

They see a broken-hearted woman holding steadfast to her lover's limp hand, breaths jagged and unpredictable as she wails through her teeth. Mercifully, her hair comes undone and hides her wrenched face and streaming tears behind a curtain of purple

You woke her, first from her dreams, then from her apathy, and finally from her loneliness. Watching you succumb to a sleep far stronger than the one that trapped her is wretched beyond words

When you finally stir awake, she refuses to leave your side as the doctors work to ensure that your vitals are stable and to try to figure out what happened and if there are any repercussions

She's glad you're back, but she can't stop herself from waking you in the middle of the night to make sure you're just sleeping

Muriel

He's already convinced of the worst before he can prove it

He knows what a body collapsed in sudden death looks like. He's seen them countless times on the sand of the Coliseum floor, slaughtered at his own shackled hands, but now it's you

Now it's the only person he trusted to never leave his side

He can't register Inanna beginning to whine and pace, he can't register the sounds of the forest outside, he can't register the fire slowly burning down and out in the back of the hut

A lifetime of trained alertness, muted, because his subconscious has decided it can't take paying attention to a world that doesn't have you in it any more

He's finally able to move again when he takes his first shuddering breath in minutes, and he begins to walk and reach towards you in the vague hope that all is not as it seems

But that's when some small, sick part of his brain starts up its tiny chant that he deserves this, that this is the effect of giving in to your misguided desire for his touch, that this is somehow his doing

But the larger part of him, the part of him that loves you and aches for you and is dedicated to you, leans past the furious pain and lifts your head and shoulders off of the floor, enough so he can lower his head and listen for a heartbeat, feel for breath on his cheek

And there isn't any. Your body is as still and lifeless as his hope for something better, and he can't breathe. He can't breathe, and he's curled up in a ball with you in his arms, and he can't breathe

It takes a few hours before he can master his thoughts enough to think. This has happened before, and it was possible for you to come back. Asra, he has to bring you to Asra, he'll give anything

You wake up as he's carrying you through the woods, and it's the first time you've seen his body go so completely weak with relief

Portia

At first, she thinks you're feeling a little silly and sleeping on the floor just to mess with Pepi. Though the way you're lying, you almost look like you've collapsed. That can't be comfortable

It's when she crouches down to wake you up that she can tell something's wrong. Your shoulder is cold - way too cold

She's already got tears running down her face, but never in her life has she let her sadness stop her from caring for those she loves. She shakes you, back and forth, calling your name over and over

At some point she realizes that it's too late, there's nothing she can do, and that's when she starts wracking her brain for someone who can do something. Anything. She's not giving up on you

She's small, but she's strong and she's in pain. She lifts your body and begins to stumble through the Palace garden with you. She leans into the volume of her wails, using them to call for help

First through the gardens, then through the Palace halls, unable to recognize the blurry faces through her tears, but determinedly blubbering out what's happened and how she needs help for you

When someone who might have been the Countess informs her that the physician is out, she walks out the front gates of the Palace. Her ears are deaf to the offer of a carriage into town

Vesuvia still remembers its plague. It has never before heard cries as anguished as the ones Portia sent echoing down the canals as she ran and stumbled with your body to Mazelinka's house

Mazlinka will be there. Ilya will be there. They both know plenty about medicine, they should be able to help, just hang on. Hang on, she tells your cold body, hang on for me

You stir awake just as she crosses the threshold into the basement dwelling, and the emotions she feels are so overwhelming that she almost punches you for scaring her. She can't stop crying

Lucio

When he walks into the room in the inn after his trip to the outhouse, he avoids the sinking feeling in his gut by telling himself you're just napping. On the floor. Without moving

And then he can't take the way his conscience is nagging at him, so he snaps and (not unkindly, but brashly) tells you to get up and get moving already, we're wasting daylight!

But you don't move. You don't give him a disapproving look. You don't grumble when he shakes your shoulder, or open your eyes when he pats your cheek, or smile when you hear your name

He doesn't understand. You're brave, you're strong, you're loving, you're good, you're full of goodness and you're better than anything he ever deserved after what you suffered because of him

Because of ... him

This must be his fault. This must be his actions catching up with him. This must be the fallout of all those rash deals, some forgotten deity must have run out of patience and come to collect

Of course this would happen. It would take a hundred lifetimes to sift through the pile of selfish bargains, of course he missed one, of course he failed to make up for his past deeds, of course ...

Of course an oversight like that would cost him you

But he's not going to let this go. You deserve better. He hauls you into his arms, ignoring the way he chokes at your dangling limbs, and rushes out of the inn and into the deep, deep woods beyond

He screams and cries and yells and threatens and pleads and begs until his voice falls silent and he can taste blood in his throat

He calls out to any angry being listening to tell him, tell him what this is in payment for, tell him what he can put on the bargaining table that would pay back the debt that demanded your soul

You wake up before he can do anything rash, but he squeezes you in his sleep now, as if to challenge any more soul thieves

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #the arcana game #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson

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psychedelic-ink · 2 years ago

Text

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐏 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader

genre: smut, minors dni

word count: 4k

summary: after finding him wounded in an empty alleyway, against your better judgment, you decide to patch him up in your apartment. you expect that to be the end of it, never to see him again, that is, until you do.

warnings: piv, rough sex, dirty talking, biting, claws make a brief appearance, mild degradation (he calls you slut once), mention of female masturbation

You live in a world without heroes. Yet, the villains roam free.

You’re used to it by now, walking through the damp alleyways. You hear a shout here and there, always keeping your head bowed as you walk past whatever might be going on. Once upon a time, this bothered you. But after a knife to your stomach and a punch to the cheek, you learned to look the other way around, no matter how painful it might be. Sometimes you find yourself wondering why this might be. You always assumed some type of ying yang situation should be in place, making everything right, but you seem to be living in a world without good. Without light.

You don’t know what prompts you to do it. You’re walking back from work, the scent of rain and the stench of exhaust thick in the air. All you want to do is get to your cramped apartment before the downpour.

You think it’s the wind that makes you turn your head, you hate when your eyes water and dry out. When you do turn, you stare into the familiar abyss of the alleyway behind your apartment. It’s truly pitch black. Despite the darkness, you see a faint movement in shadows, a loud sound, a crash. You see a flash of red, blue. Your eyes narrow—what the?

You know well that you shouldn’t, that whatever was lurking in the shadows would be bad news, but you do it anyway. With a grunt, you open the flashlight of your phone and take a step closer. There’s a man laying on the cold ground, he doesn’t seem to be moving.

“Hello?” you call out. No answer. “Um, are you drunk or high? Should I call an ambulance?”

The broad figure groans and your heart nearly lurches. “No,” he mumbles. “No doctors.”

With a slight tremor in your step, you come closer. You shine the light into his face, his brows furrow, an annoyed scowl etching into his handsome features. Your lips part with a soft exhale. He’s so handsome.

Then you get a good look at the rest of him—what the hell is he wearing?

“Do you need help?” you ask, unsure. He doesn’t seem to be bleeding, his eye looks a bit swollen though. Wait, scratch that, you think you spot some blood on his lips. “Should I get you anything?”

Maybe you sound foolish, but you know better than to just call 911 for a random person. Everyone is a criminal these days. Fuck, if he was a criminal you should call the cops, this city is seriously starting to cloud your better judgment.

“No cops,” he chokes and coughs, as if he can read your thoughts. “Go away, I’ll be fine.”

No, he won’t.

He knows it. You know it.

“I live right next door,” you answer against your better judgment. “I have a first aid kit. I can patch you up if you want? I don’t wanna brag, but I am a nurse in training.”

He makes a sound that is similar to a chuckle but the sound quickly fades into a vicious cough. You tuck the phone into your pocket and lean over, “Alright big guy, you’re coming with me,” you attempt to throw his arm over your shoulder but that proves to be more difficult. “Can you stand? Even a little.”

He nods and straightens up a bit. You’re still carrying most of his weight but you manage to get him past the door and onto your couch.

You must’ve thrown him a little too hard because he lets out a loud grunt, teeth sinking into his bottom lip to stifle the sound.

“Sorry,” you mutter. “Just wait for me here, I’ll come back with water and the first aid kit.”

The man makes another sound. You’re starting to think this is his only form of communication.

When you come back, he’s still where you left him. Albeit looking a bit more alert now, eyes constantly scanning your humble apartment. You can’t really blame him though, you would do the same thing. You eye him warily, then place the glass of water on the coffee table. He glares at it like it’s poison.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

He scoffs, “I don’t think you could even if you tried,” he answers, tongue moving over his bloody bottom lip. He points at the table. “And there’s a coaster right there.”

“Who are you, my mother?”

Despite your sharp tone, you place the glass on the coaster and sit on the coffee table, the small first aid kit in hand. “Does that thing have a zipper, or. . . ?”

His right brow and lip cock up simultaneously. You’re acutely aware that no matter what you do, you’ll never be able to understand what’s going on in that head of his—Not that you want to. He’s a stranger. A man that looks strong enough to hold you by the neck before you can reach the pepper spray nestled in your bag.

The silence makes you uneasy, and when you finally open your mouth to speak, he leans forward. “Don’t freak out,” he grunts.

“Why would I freak out—” The rest of the sentence dies in your throat, his suit glitches—glitches—like a damn video game. It blinks once, twice and you swear you can see little particles glimmering on his skin, fading away from reality. Panic flaring in your gut, you look down.

Pants still on. And here your thought that the entire thing was a one-piece suit.

“I said don’t freak out,” he repeats, eyebrow raised and head tilted to the side. You snap your mouth shut.

“I’m not freaking out,” you say, voice shrill. “Who’s freaking out? Not me.”

His shoulders are broad, arms muscular with thick veins meandering down. You’ve never been a fan of veins popping out but whoever this man was made it look good. You swallow over and over in a weak attempt to wet the inside of your mouth. You fail helplessly. You’re not even aware that you’re holding the first aid kit with an iron grip, knuckles aching from the pressure. His torso is completely bare now.

“I don’t have a zipper,” he says unhelpfully, unaware of you behaving straight out of a 1950s cartoon.

“I can see that.”

God, he is the weirdest stray you ever brought over.

He points at the box, “So do you actually know how to use what’s inside or were you just bluffing when you said you were a nurse?”

“A nurse in training,” you quip. “And no, I wasn’t bluffing.”

With great strength, you finally drag your eyes down his torso. There’s a splatter of blood, some of the drops rubbed into his skin and the crimson trail is followed up by a giant slash across his stomach. The bleeding had stopped which was a good sign. You lean closer, your fingers fiddling with the box at the same time, narrowing your gaze you notice the wound is deeper than you had initially thought.

“Whoever it was that attacked you got you good,” you murmur. Without a second thought, you slide off the coffee table and kneel in front of him, you miss the glint in his eyes as he looks down, miss the way he spreads his legs so you can fit better.

“How do you know it wasn’t me who attacked them?”

The rough tone of his voice prompts you to look up. For someone who’s been stabbed, he’s eerily calm. His arms are spread over the backrest, chest slowly rising up and down as his eyes flit across your face, searching. The muscle in his jaw twitches, lips stretching into something resembling a snarl. Suddenly you’re hyper-aware of where you are, the position you’re in. The sound of danger rings in your ears—you don’t even know this man’s name. Your breath catches in your throat, stomach jumping. You don’t know why you initially felt so comfortable with him, as if you were long-lost friends, but you aren’t. You were being reckless.

“Scared?” he asks, venomous, hunching over your frame, caging you in. Heat radiates from his thighs, a stark contrast to the cold fear gripping your insides. He hooks two fingers under your chin, lifts your head up. Your bottom lip quivers. “You should be. You live in a dangerous world.”

“And you don’t?” you counter, your voice barely above a whisper, your words hanging in the air, challenging his assertion. The question slips out before you can fully comprehend its weight, and you see his jaw tighten as he ponders for an answer.

You meticulously cleanse the wound, removing dirt and debris with steady hands. The sting of antiseptic fills the air, intermingling with the charged atmosphere. You’re not shy with the way you touch him, a simmering annoyance warming your gut. He can take it, you think applying further pressure. He doesn’t make a sound.

The dim light of the room accentuates the harsh contours of his face, and his piercing gaze feels like it's cutting through your soul. You drag your teth against the smooth surface of the inside of your cheek. You’ve never had a patient stand this still.

Finally, just as you complete the final wrap of the bandage, he gives you an answer.

“Not the same one as you do.”

Miguel O’hara was his name. He told you just before disappearing into the neon lights of the dark and cold city. You didn’t think much of it, you were sure you wouldn’t be seeing him again, which meant remembering his name was useless.

But your mind wouldn’t let him go. You tasted his name in the dark hours of the night, hand between your legs, coming as you thought of scenarios where instead of dousing his wound in antiseptic, you took his cock into his mouth, helping him in a different way. His suit left little to the imagination and now that your imagination roamed free, you’re glad that it was.

Convinced that he’ll never show up again, you continue on normally, half in fear due to the chaos around you, trying to do your best.

That was until he did show up.

You step out of the shower, water trickling down your skin, softened by the warm steam. The towel hangs loosely around your chest, on the verge of slipping off. You never quite mastered the art of securing it tightly, but living alone means you don't have to worry about walking around naked if it happens to fall off.

The window cracks open, cold air seeping through, chilling your freshly warmed body. Tension instantly builds in your body, your eyes slowly moving to the window. You see him then. Miguel. He pushes the window open and climbs in, not saying a word. You hold the towel tightly around you—a dream, you think, it has to be.

With quick, large steps, he crowds your space, forcing your back against the wall. The air is knocked from your lungs, your throat convulsing with a sudden panic. He’s not touching you.

“M-Miguel,” you whisper. “I didn’t—I didn’t think I would see you again.”

“Neither did I,” he answers, large hands cupping your waist and pinning you to the wall. “I’m tired,” he adds, words dropping from his lips more like a punch than a plea. Like someone is squeezing the words out of him.

“What do you need?”

His eyes drop to your lips, a hungry gaze that sends shivers up your spine. You hold your breath. He’s so close, close enough that you feel his breath on your damp skin. He tilts his head to the side, eyes closing.

“I need to not think,” he answers painfully slow, tasting every word. “I need to not feel. I need to not worry. I need to disappear for a while.”

Miguel takes a long, languid breath. Filling his lungs with the scent of your watermelon body wash. His tongue pokes from between his lips, moving over the bottom one. “Can you give me that?”

His fingers tighten, the soft fabric of your towel bunching in his palm, you swear you feel the bite of nails despite the fluffy exterior. Your eyes search his. You know nothing of him. Only his name that he’d begrudgingly given you. Your pulse quickens, the rush of blood loud in your ears. He’s not here for you, that’s something you need to keep in mind before going any further. He’s here for the release, for the simple act of having another’s warmth surrounding him. You’re an escape. Something simple and easy he doesn’t have to think about when he runs off to deal with whatever he deals with.

After seconds that feel like hours, you decide you want to give that to him. You don’t mind the hurt you’ll feel after. Letting him take what he wants knowing that’ll affect you more than him. Something about him makes you not care.

“I can,” you breathe, instinctively searching for his lips with your own. “Do your worst Miguel O’hara.”

You drop the towel, damp fabric pooling at your ankles. His eyes widen briefly before smiling something wicked. His forehead touches yours, nose brushing your own as his lips ghost an inch away. Your breath catches in your throat, the need growing between your legs. A chuckle drops from his lips reminding you of gravel. You don’t share his humor, you just want to feel him.

“You don’t want my worst,” he grunts. “You’ll break.”

“I won’t.”

He scoffs but doesn’t argue. Miguel doesn’t attempt to probe you wrong, breaking things is meant to have consequences. You either try to fix it or ponder over what you’ve done, he wants none of that. Instead, he presses flush against you, body firm in contrast with the soft swell of your chest and stomach. Your nipples tighten. He crashes into you, tongue hungrily slipping between your lips as his mouth moves greedily. You feel hands on your chest, kneading, squeezing, pinching. You moan into his mouth, he swallows the sounds, grinding himself hard into you. You’re shaking, his body suffocating.

“If I touch you,” he says into your mouth, fingers skimming the outside of your thighs. “Will you be soaked for me?” With a whimper, you nod. He grins, canines looking sharper compared to what they did before, “Such a good little slut,” he growls.

Contrary to what he’d said, he doesn’t slip his fingers between your legs to see if you’re telling the truth. Instead, he slots his thick thigh between your bare legs, pushing the muscle up until you’re left gasping, your hands flailing as you wrap them around his broad shoulders. The pressure makes you dizzy, the fabric of his suit softer than what you expected, a delicious friction over your aching clit. You moan openly into his neck, teeth scraping against the vein.

“I’m going to fuck you like this,” he murmurs. “Up against the wall,” his suit fades away, cock hard against the soft planes of your stomach. You shudder as precome smears over the skin. He continues, licking your lips. “Then up against the window, want you to be loud. Want you to scream and tell me to take. . .”

The emphasis on the “t” sends a million tiny needles biting into your skin. Your chest heaves with the brush of his lips, you want to feel it again, the plush feeling of faux softness on your mouth. But he doesn’t give you that. He smiles a cruel smile, one that chills your skin but lights a fire in the pit of your stomach. He tilts his head.

“And take. . .”

You chase his lips, he refuses to give you what you want.

“And take. . .”

Your frustration grows, a desperate sound twists through you, and your fingers curl around his neck, knitting through his hair as you give the curls a warning tug. He doesn’t seem to be affected in the slightest. He drags his lips down your neck, hitches your one thigh up his hip, and positions his length against you. He doesn’t look at you, nor say another word. He fills you with one hard thrust, knocking you back against the wall, your body sliding up the rough interior. The stretch of him lingers on the line of being painful. There’s a bite to it, but also a deep pleasure that makes your legs shake.

“So fucking wet,” he rasps, sinking his teeth into your neck. It feels sharp enough that you think he breaks the skin, blood filling his mouth, but that’s not the case. The feeling quickly passes when his mouth crashes into yours in a messy kiss. He doesn’t wait for you to adjust, he doesn’t care. He takes what you give him and he does so violently, splitting you into two with every thrust.

He grabs handfuls of your hips, lifting you off the wall before slamming you back down with renewed fervor. He angles each thrust to the point of almost pain. You cry out, a long, desperate noise that almost drowns out his own, panting gruffly. You can feel the heat in your veins coursing through you as pleasure builds, the almost unbearable sensation sending you into overload. Your toes curl, your nails dig into his skin as his name leaves your lips in a plea for him to not stop. His hands grip you tighter as his movements become more violent, eyes locked together as they both reach the brink of ecstasy.

The look in his eyes, the furrow of his brows, the parting of his lips, the damp curls at the base of his scalp—it does something indescribable to you. You arch your back to give more for him. All your focus narrowing on the feeling of him.

Suddenly your body strains as he stills, the thunderous rumbling of your orgasm hitting you full force as you feel yourself tighten around his shaft in an attempt to prolong the blissful pleasure. His grip slackens and you fall forward against him, boneless as you feel the last throes of your orgasm lingering in your veins. You lick the salt off his skin, your body grinding sloppily against him.

“Fuck,” he hisses between gritted teeth, still achingly hard inside of you. “Already?”

“I—I never came that quick before. . .” you answer with a slight slur of speech, you’re tingling all over.

You’re not sure but you think you see a hint of pride in those dark smug eyes, “Don’t think you’re off the hook,” he says. “You’re mine until the sun comes up.”

Miguel is a man of his word.

He fucks you up against the window, just like he said. Your breasts pressed up against the cold smooth surface as he takes you from behind. It burns. It burns yet you can only beg for more. You scream his name, fog up the window, the rough drag of his cock forcing the roll of your eyes every goddamn time. The feeling of being stretched wide never passes, each thrust like the first time.

He holds you by the nape, pushes you forward, the pressure only adding to the fire. You figure out soon he likes holding you like that. He enjoys shoving you up against things, adding to the idea that you’re just a fleeting moment and nothing more. When he pulls out you instinctively search for him with your hips. His cock lays heavy over the curve of your ass, he spreads you and presses his cock between the globes, rocking until thick ropes of come land on your back. You shudder, breathless, your vocabulary reduced to only his name.

You feel a grip on your chin and he turns you enough so that he can slot his lips against yours. Your neck aches but your part for him anyway, allowing the taste of him to flood all your senses. When he parts only a string of saliva connects you, your breathing coming in heavy pants.

A second later the world around you blurs and you quickly find yourself straddling him above the bed. The old furniture creaking in protest. You forget how nervous you would be if it were someone else, how self-conscience you would be riding a man but Miguel doesn’t give you a chance to think about it. His feet planted firmly on the bedding, he snaps his hips, burying himself deep into the tight fist of your cunt, over and over, until you’re stupid for him.

His name rips from your throat, you can’t even think of saying anything else. You attempt to muffle yourself with the back of your hand but he’s quick to yank it back down.

“No” he utters a low, guttural sound, hands coming up your back. “I said I wanted you to scream.”

He sounds unhinged, like something snapped inside of him. You feel teeth on your collarbone, nails dragging down your back, sharp, leaving long lines of irritated skin. A pleasurable pain blossoming over your skin.

You begin to unravel as you thrust your hips against him, his movements setting off white-hot sparks of pleasure like incandescent lightning. Moans rush from your lips as his name is repeated in a mantra and you cling to him desperately, your hands clawing at his back and your nails digging into his skin as you spiral ever faster into oblivion.

Miguel is relentless in the way he drives into you. You can feel him swell inside you, every thrust pushing you closer and closer to the edge. He moves his hands to your hips, pushing and grinding against you as every muscle in his body strains.

His breathing is quick and harsh against your ear, his voice a hungry growl, “That’s it, take it. You were waiting for this, weren’t you? Hungry for a cock no matter who it belongs to.”

You can’t answer.

Miguel’s hips thrust harder, faster—his orgasm crashes through him, his hands gripping your hips painfully as he spills his hot seed deep within you. You find yourself trembling as aftershocks of pleasure ripple through you, your body feeling like electricity as you come down from the high. You clench tightly around him, your own overwhelming orgasm ripping through you, overstimulation making you cry out.

He spins you both, bringing you to lay underneath him. Miguel collapses against you, breathing heavy as his grip on you slowly relaxes. He holds you for a moment, your heart thrumming as his forehead briefly rests against yours, breaths mingling. Then, with a satisfied groan, he pulls away. You let out a hiss. It feels achingly empty.

You’re surprised when he starts pushing your legs apart, watching his spend trickling down your folds and making a mess on the sheets. He pushes globs of cum back into you with thick fingers. Your head falls, back arching into his touch. “You made such a mess,” he says, sounding almost transfixed. Cramming fingers inside of you and curling them, your body seizes.

After that, you’re not sure when he leaves. Sleep takes you and when you wake, he’s gone. No note, no message left behind. The only evidence that he was here is the ache between your legs, and the taces of him still lingering on your thighs.

You’re sure you won’t be seeing him again. He got what he came for.

The next night he’s back, climbing through the window for more.

#miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x f!reader #miguel o'hara x female reader #across the spiderverse fic #across the spiderverse fanfiction #oscar isaac characters #oscar isaac character fanfiction #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you

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mythicalmaven · 2 months ago

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Beyond Boundaries - Oscar Piastri (THIRTEEN)

A very angsty chapter but with a good ending! whoops! The positive will return, no worries! <3

Masterlist ↳pairing: oscar piastri x female!norris!reader ↳word count: 4,3K ↳chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, ↳chapter warnings: friends to lovers, brothers teammate trope, talking about feelings, crying, realizations, angst (but with a happy ending)

↳series summary: Since Oscar joined McLaren as your brother’s teammate, you two have quickly become best friends. Recently promoted to be Oscar’s physiotherapist, you both relish the opportunity to spend more time together. However, as the new role brings you closer, you both realize you might be feeling more a little more for each other than just friendship

“OSCAR JACK PIASTRI!” Lando’s voice rang through the hall as he barged into Oscar’s hotel room, eyes blazing with barely contained rage. “YOU ARE SO DEAD!”

Oscar, hunched over his suitcase, froze and looked up, bewildered. He could tell immediately that Lando was beyond furious, but he couldn’t fathom what had set him off.

“Lando, what the hell are you talking about?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed, scratching the back of his neck in confusion.

Oscar had just arrived back after qualifying, planning to freshen up before heading over to your room, as he did every race weekend. He’d been thinking about you the entire way back, looking forward to unwinding together, the familiarity of those private moments giving him a sense of calm after the intensity of the day. But now, standing here, all he could do was rack his brain, trying to figure out what could have provoked Lando like this.

Lando’s fists clenched, the knuckles going white as he glared at Oscar with pure disgust. He slammed the door behind him, sending a tremor through the room. “Don’t play dumb with me, Oscar. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Oscar’s face twisted in confusion, his mind whirling. Was this some bizarre prank? Lando was known for his sense of humor, but this felt... different. More intense. More real. Slowly, he got up from his crouched position and perched himself on the edge of the bed, his voice calm but uncertain. “Lando, I seriously have no clue what’s going on. Did I do something wrong?”

Lando let out a humorless laugh, practically spitting the air out in disbelief. “Are you actually this clueless, or are you just lying straight to my face right now?”

Oscar’s patience was wearing thin. “Lando, for the last time, what is going on?” he demanded, voice rising as frustration bled into his tone.

Lando’s face twisted with anger, and he kicked the door behind him, a loud bang reverberating through the room. “Jesus Christ, Oscar, you’re a fucking asshole.” His eyes flashed as he took a step closer, his voice dripping with disdain. “Maybe next time, don’t lie to my sister about your so-called ‘feelings’ for her if you plan on sticking your tongue down someone else’s throat behind her back.”

Oscar’s heart stopped, his face going pale. “Lando,” he began, trying to keep his voice steady, “What are you talking about? I had to kiss her on the cheek, nothing more. You knew about that—you know it meant nothing.”

But Lando’s expression only grew darker. “Oh, so now you’re not just an asshole; now you’re a liar too. I’m not talking about that.”

Oscar’s stomach twisted. He had no idea what Lando was getting at, but a cold unease settled over him. “What are you going on about, then?”

“If you were trying to hide your little escapade with that attention-seeking bitch, maybe next time you should close the damn door of your driver’s room before deciding to shove your tongue down her throat.”

Oscar’s face drained of color, realization finally sinking in. “Oh god, did you see that?” He stammered, starting to explain, but Lando cut him off sharply.

“I didn’t,” he hissed, eyes blazing, “but she did.”

Oscar’s heart shattered, his voice catching. “I promise, Lando, it’s not what it looked like.”

Lando’s laugh was sharp and bitter. “Yeah, that’s what they all say.” His fists clenched tighter, his voice deadly quiet. “You’d better have a damn good explanation for this, Oscar. Because if you don’t—and I mean it—if you even think of stepping near her again, I swear to god, I’ll fucking kill you.”

Oscar was left in stunned silence as Lando spat the words at him, guilt and regret washing over him like a tidal wave. His mind flickered back to what had happened earlier, replaying each moment with increasing dread.

*flashback to earlier*

Oscar had been in his driver’s room, unwinding after the high of qualifying, hoping to cool down before meeting up with you. Ava had followed him in, chattering on about the race and the PR obligations they’d fulfilled. They shared a laugh about the awkward peck on the cheek they’d had to perform for the cameras, the faint taste of staged affection still lingering.

“You looked so stiff out there, Oscar,” Ava teased, smirking. “You know, if we don’t make it look real, they’re going to know. We should really practice if we want people to buy it.”

Oscar tensed, shifting uncomfortably. “I think we’re fine, Ava. It’s just PR. We’re not meant to look that serious anyway.”

She rolled her eyes, brushing off his hesitation. “Come on, Oscar. Don’t be so uptight. This is for show. It doesn’t mean anything.” Her voice softened, and she took a step closer, her eyes glittering. “Let me teach you a few tricks. Just… trust me.”

He backed away slightly, eyeing the door. “This really isn’t a good idea, Ava. It could easily go too far.”

But Ava seemed determined, giving him a knowing smile as she leaned in and pecked him lightly on the lips, her eyes flickering toward the door. Oscar felt his stomach clench, a mix of unease and annoyance. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want her. He was only doing this entire act to protect you from unwanted scrutiny and questions.

“See?” she murmured, stepping closer still, her fingers brushing his cheek. “It’s not so bad. A bit of practice never hurt anyone.”

Before he could protest, she was kissing him again, her arms winding around his neck as she pulled him in closer. He hesitated, feeling every fiber of his being rejecting this, but her hand slid around to the back of his neck, urging him to deepen the kiss. Uncertain, he felt her hand snake up into his hair, tugging lightly as she pressed closer, the intensity escalating.

Oscar was caught off guard, feeling her press her hips into his, guiding his hands to rest on her waist. He’d barely noticed the way her eyes darted toward the door, a glint of mischief flashing in them as if she knew someone was watching.

He froze, suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of discomfort, his mind flooded with the realization of how much he didn’t want any of this. Summoning all the strength he had, he pushed her away, breaking the kiss and stepping back, his face flushed with frustration and embarrassment.

“Ava, this isn’t right,” he muttered, his voice strained. “I’m not comfortable with this at all. This isn’t what I signed up for.”

She smirked, feigning innocence. “Oh, really? You didn’t seem uncomfortable a second ago.”

He clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to snap back. “I’m doing this PR stunt for the sake of appearances. To protect someone I care about. But I’m not going to pretend that you and I…" he said, gesturing his finger in her direction and then back to himself "are anything real, because it's anything but.” He gestured to the door, his voice quiet but firm. “Please. Just leave.”

She shrugged, her smirk lingering as she made her way out, leaving him alone in the room, a strange mix of relief and dread pooling in his stomach.

*end of flashback*

The memory dissolved, and Oscar found himself back in the awkward quiet of his hotel room, his heart pounding in his chest as Lando’s words echoed in his mind. You’d seen it. You’d seen everything.

Oscar’s stomach twisted violently, leaving him feeling nauseated and weak. His mind was a churning mess, every second replaying the scene, the look on Ava’s face, the moment he’d seen her eyes flick toward the door. That sickening realization that she had known. And worse, that you had seen it all. It was as if the ground had been ripped out from under him; his legs felt unsteady, his heart beating erratically, each thud filling him with a helpless dread.

Lando looked down at him, his expression hard and unyielding, arms crossed tightly over his chest. There was no pity in his stare, only barely controlled rage mixed with something that might have been desperation. Lando’s voice was low, but the intensity cut through the air like a knife. “I don’t know if what you’re saying is true, Oscar, or if you’re just a damn good liar,” he said. “But if you’re serious about this, if you really care about her, you’d better get your ass over there and fix this. Because I don't ever wanna see that look on her face, ever again.”

Lando’s words struck hard, each one landing like a punch. The warning wasn’t just a threat; it was a declaration, a fierce brotherly loyalty that Oscar knew was unwavering. The way Lando looked at him, with such disdain mixed with pain, it cut Oscar to his core.

“If I find out you’re lying,” Lando continued, his jaw clenched, “I will make sure you lose that seat at McLaren. I’ll make it my mission, Oscar. You know how much my sister means to me.” He shook his head, an angered exhale escaping him. “I warned you about hurting her.”

Oscar couldn’t hold back any longer. His voice shook as he forced the words out, raw and desperate. “Lando, I swear to you, I’m telling the truth.” His hands clenched at his sides as he looked down, feeling his chest tighten painfully. “This is… it’s such a horrible misunderstanding. I never wanted any of this to happen.”

Emotion welled up inside him, a mix of fear, shame, and regret, and he felt his throat close up, his vision blurring. His breath grew uneven, and despite himself, a tear slid down his cheek. Then another, until he could feel the hot, shameful trail of them spilling freely, powerless to stop.

Lando’s expression softened slightly as he watched Oscar crumble before him, the fight momentarily leaving his own features as he absorbed the depth of Oscar’s remorse. He looked away for a moment, as if weighing his options, and then his voice came, gruff but more measured. “Then you need to go to her,” he said quietly. “Go to her, now. She’s going to be devastated. If you’re telling the truth, you can fix this. But you’d better go now.”

Oscar swallowed hard, nodding. He was already reaching for his jacket, his heart still pounding but with a sense of urgency to repair the damage. He couldn’t bear the thought of you feeling hurt, betrayed. The very thought twisted the knife in his gut, driving him forward.

“One more thing.” Lando’s voice stopped him in his tracks, and Oscar turned back to see him standing firm, his eyes cold again. “This PR thing—it’s making things worse. If you really want a future with her, end it. Because if this ever happens again, you’re going to lose her. And you’re going to lose a hell of a lot more.”

Oscar met his gaze, giving a solemn nod. “You’re right. I’ll stop it. I can’t… I can’t put her through this.” His voice was barely a whisper, but the conviction was there.

Lando held his gaze a beat longer, then sighed, giving a slight nod of grudging acceptance. “Go fix this, Oscar. And don’t make me regret trusting you.”

⁺⋆⁺₊⁺⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⁺⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⁺ ⋆⁺

After spending time with Lando, letting yourself unload the heartbreak and confusion, you’d assured him you’d be alright eventually—that you just needed some time alone. Retreating to your hotel room, you tried desperately to hold yourself together, to avoid being swallowed whole by the storm of emotions that seemed intent on drowning you. But the harder you tried, the more impossible it felt.

You caught your reflection in the bathroom mirror, and the sight was sobering. Your eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with smudged mascara that had streaked down your cheeks in uneven, telltale lines. You looked broken, more raw and vulnerable than you could remember feeling in a long time. The weight of it settled heavily, pressing down on you with each passing second.

A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. Startled, you wiped your face quickly, taking a deep, steadying breath before walking over to the door. You didn’t open it, unwilling to let anyone see you like this. “Lando,” you called out, your voice strained, “I told you I’m fine. Just… just go.”

But instead of your brother’s familiar voice, you heard the voice you least expected—and least wanted to hear.

“Y/N, it’s me,” Oscar’s voice was soft, rough around the edges. You froze, feeling your heart twist painfully at the sound of him. Every part of you wanted to sink against the door, to open it, to confront him. But instead, you stiffened, the hurt quickly filling the space where vulnerability once lingered.

“Just leave me alone,” you managed, barely able to keep the tremor out of your voice.

“Please, baby,” Oscar’s voice broke on the word, thick with desperation. “Please, open the door. Let me explain. It’s all… it’s all a big misunderstanding.”

A wave of emotion washed over you, and your chest tightened as you sank slowly to the floor, resting your back against the door as you fought to keep your voice steady. “There’s nothing to explain, Oscar. I was there. I saw it,” you whispered, pulling your knees up to your chest and burying your face between them, as if trying to block out the memory of it.

“You don’t get it, Y/N,” he pressed, his voice breaking again. “It wasn’t what it looked like.”

You let out a bitter laugh, muffled as you pressed your head against your knees. “Oscar,” you mumbled, voice hollow, “You had your tongue down her throat. There wasn’t any press around, no cameras to put on a show for. You can’t call it anything but what it was.” Your voice was so quiet, almost fragile, just loud enough for him to hear through the door. “Besides… It's not like you owe me anything. We were never exclusive. I’m not your girlfriend.” You swallowed hard, the words cutting deep. “And considering what I saw, it’s obvious you don’t want that either."

There was a long pause, the silence stretching between you two, heavy and painful. You could feel him on the other side of the door, his presence almost palpable, and it took everything in you not to reach for the handle. But your heart was guarded, waiting, hesitant to give in so easily.

The silence was broken by a ragged, unsteady breath, and then you heard him sink down to the floor on the other side of the door, mirroring you, with only the cold, impersonal wood between you.

“Please… please don’t say that,” he whispered, his voice barely holding together. “I know I don’t deserve for you to listen to me right now, but it wasn’t what you think. It wasn’t real.” His voice cracked, and you could hear the tremor in his words, the strain of holding back tears. “Ava, she… she forced it. I didn’t want it, I didn’t—I pushed her away.” His words were stumbling, broken by emotion, and you could feel his desperation as he tried to explain himself, to make you see the truth he was so desperate for you to understand.

You stayed silent, torn between wanting to believe him and the vivid memory of what you had seen. Part of you, the part that had loved and trusted him, wanted to believe every word. But another part, the one that had been hurt, was afraid to trust again, afraid to be vulnerable. You felt your throat tighten, your hands curling into fists as you struggled to hold back your own tears, feeling them dry on your cheeks as you pressed yourself harder against the door.

He paused, gathering himself before continuing, his voice raw with honesty and regret. “She kept… pushing it, saying we needed to make it look real enough for people to believe it. She’d go on about how it would all fall apart if we didn’t act convincing, kept saying we had to practice that stupid kiss.” He let out a shaky breath, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. “I told her no, but she just wouldn’t stop pressing, and then she just kissed me"

He took a shaky breath, his words fractured and heavy with guilt. “I-I didn’t want it,” he stammered, his voice thick as he tried to speak through his tears. “I swear… I didn’t want any of it.” His voice cracked, a choked sob escaping as he struggled to keep going, the desperation evident in every trembling syllable.

You heard him shift against the door, his back pressed firmly as if trying to ground himself. “I felt trapped,” he continued, his words punctuated by small, hitched breaths. “Like… like if I didn’t go along with it, I’d ruin everything—the whole stupid plan. And… I didn’t want to drag you into that. I was scared. I didn't want to ruin things for you”

Another tear-choked breath left him, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I… I couldn’t keep doing it. I pushed her away. I told her I couldn’t—” His voice broke, a raw, unsteady exhale filling the silence as he struggled to compose himself. “I told her it was wrong. I told her it was wrong, and I wanted it to stop.”

His voice faded, overcome by a quiet sob that made the door between you feel thin, almost nonexistent. The vulnerability in his tears was unmistakable, and even in the silence, you could feel the weight of his remorse pressing against you.

Oscar’s voice grew softer, pleading. “You don’t have to say anything if… if you don’t want to. But I just need you to know that it wasn’t me. I didn’t want that, any of it.” His voice faltered, but he kept going. “I’m done with this stupid agreement, this entire PR stunt. I’ll quit it—even if it doesn’t mean I get you back. I just… I can’t keep doing this. I love you, Y/N.” His voice dropped, barely more than a whisper, the words raw and honest.

The vulnerability in his voice tugged at something deep inside you, pulling you closer to that fine line between anger and forgiveness. You felt the sincerity of his words, the pain that bled through them, and despite yourself, part of you believed him. But the fear held you back, the hurt silencing the words that you wanted to say.

A silence fell between you, thick with unspoken words and shared pain. You could hear his shaky breathing through the door, and you knew he was crying. The sound wrenched at your heart, stirring a sadness that mixed with your own, leaving you feeling both hollow and heavy, unable to find the words to respond.

Moments later, footsteps echoed down the hallway. You could hear someone approaching, and then a familiar voice—one that made your stomach twist.

“Well, well, Oscar,” Ava’s voice cooed, feigning sympathy. “Is it really worth all this? She’s not worth it, you know.”

Oscar’s shoulders tensed, his breathing growing heavier as he turned to look at her, his eyes flashing with a newfound clarity, a sharpness born of betrayal. He recoiled from her, yanking his shoulder away from her touch, his expression a mixture of disgust and fury. Without a second thought, he rose to his feet, facing her with a look that could have frozen fire.

“You’ve done enough,” he spat, his voice low and filled with a venom you’d never heard before. “You’ve already ruined everything. Leave me alone.”

But Ava merely arched an eyebrow, her smile twisting as if amused by his anger. She opened her mouth, perhaps to retort, but Oscar didn’t give her a chance.

“Just… stay the hell away from me.” His voice was louder now, strong and unwavering, the raw pain of it echoing through the corridor. “I don’t ever want to see you near me again. Not at the track, not anywhere. You hear me?” He took a step back, his voice rising with each word, carrying both fury and anguish. “I’m done with this agreement. Done with you. Done with this entire PR stunt!”

The volume of his voice carried through the door, and even you could hear the finality in it. For a brief moment, the hurt and anger felt a bit lighter, a flicker of hope stirring beneath it all. The words he’d said, the fire in his voice—it felt real.

There was a shuffling of footsteps as Ava moved away, clearly surprised by his outburst. Oscar remained standing in the hallway, staring after her until the corridor grew silent again, empty save for him and the lingering echo of his words.

Slowly, he sank back down, his back pressed against the door again, his breath coming in short, shaky bursts. He didn’t say anything else, but his quiet, broken presence felt closer than words could convey. And though your heart was still bruised, still guarded, you found yourself shifting slightly, pressing your shoulder to the door, closer to where you knew he sat on the other side.

Oscar took a deep, shuddering breath, wiping at his eyes as he sat against the door. You listened to the sounds leaving the Australian's mouth, still pressed against the other side, your heart aching with every tear-choked word he’d spoken. Slowly, as silence settled around you both, you felt him begin to shift, his weight moving as he gathered himself to leave. He exhaled quietly, almost as if he were accepting that this was the end, that he’d done all he could.

The thought of him leaving stirred something urgent within you, a longing that broke through the hurt and fear. Without fully thinking it through, you reached for the handle. Just as Oscar rose, taking a few hesitant steps away, you opened the door.

“Oscar,” you whispered, reaching out to grab his arm.

He turned around sharply, his red-rimmed eyes wide with surprise as he stared down at you, disbelief mingling with the faintest glimmer of hope. For a long, fragile moment, the two of you simply looked at each other, the air thick with everything unsaid, every apology, every promise, every feeling that had built up over months. The intensity of his gaze, softened by the tears still brimming in his eyes, filled you with warmth, melting away the last of your hesitation.

You took a shaky breath, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I… I love you too, Oscar.”

The words seemed to break something within him. His face crumpled, a fresh tear slipping down his cheek as he reached out, cupping your face in his hands as if you were something precious, fragile, something he couldn’t bear to let slip away. His thumbs brushed over your cheeks, wiping away the last remnants of your tears, his gaze so full of tenderness and vulnerability that it took your breath away.

And then, without another word, he leaned in, his lips meeting yours with a quiet desperation, a raw need that spoke of every moment of anguish, of every ounce of longing he’d carried for you. His lips were soft but insistent, moving with a careful, almost reverent passion, as if he were pouring everything he felt into this one kiss. You could feel the slight tremble in his hands, the way his fingers pressed gently but firmly against your skin, grounding himself in your warmth.

The kiss deepened, slowly, his lips parting as he moved closer, pulling you into him as if he couldn’t bear to be separated by even a breath. His tears mingled with yours, salty and warm, the emotions overwhelming as the kiss became a quiet exchange of love and sorrow, each movement a promise, a silent plea to never let go. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you held him close, grounding yourself in the solid warmth of him.

His tongue brushed lightly against your bottom lip, a gentle request that you answered by parting your lips, allowing him in. As your tongues met, a wave of emotion washed over you both, the kiss growing deeper, more intense, every second drawing you closer, until it felt as though nothing else in the world existed but the two of you. The taste of him, the softness of his lips, the way his breath mingled with yours—it was intoxicating, and you felt yourself melting into him, surrendering fully to the quiet, consuming love that bound you together.

His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you flush against him as the kiss grew needier, more fervent, yet still so achingly tender. Your lips moved together in perfect harmony, slow and deliberate, savoring each touch, each taste, until the world seemed to fade away. He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss even further, his tongue caressing yours with a slow, deliberate intimacy that left you breathless. It was as if he was pouring every unsaid word, every unexpressed feeling, into this moment, and you could feel it in every movement, every touch, every trembling breath.

After what felt like a lifetime, the two of you slowly broke apart, your foreheads coming to rest against each other as you both tried to catch your breath, your eyes still closed, savoring the warmth and closeness. His hands lingered on your cheeks, his thumbs brushing gently over your skin as if he couldn’t bear to stop touching you, to lose this connection even for a moment.

“Please,” you murmured, your voice soft and full of emotion. “Please be mine.”

Oscar’s breath hitched, and he opened his eyes, his gaze meeting yours with a vulnerability that took your breath away. “I’ve always been yours,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

You managed a small, tearful smile, your fingers brushing over his cheek, wiping away the remnants of his tears. “I mean… for real this time. Be my boyfriend. Please,” you said, your voice a soft, tender plea.

A smile broke through his tears, a pure, radiant joy lighting up his face as he looked at you, his eyes shimmering with a love so deep it was almost overwhelming. “There’s nothing I would love more,” he murmured, his voice soft and trembling with happiness.

And in that moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, you felt the pain and heartache begin to fade, replaced by a quiet, steady warmth, a promise of something real, something lasting.

—————⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺—————

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Taglist @aceyalonso @saachiep81 @landosgirlxoxo @andruuu28 @il0vereadingstuff @silentreader128 @edixttor @sugakookie132 @a-beaverhausen

#f1 fanfic #formula 1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 smut #friends to lovers #fluff #mclaren #op81 #smut #angst #oscar piastri #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x reader

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americanwh0rerstory · 3 months ago

Text

KINKTOBER DAY ONE

gun play - tate langdon

tate langdon x f!reader

WARNING: gun play, degradation, m!masturbation, spit kink, slight dacryphillia

BACKGROUND INFO: the guns i would like you to picture is an m16 rifle and a pistol. if you don’t know what that looks like/gun anatomy here you go

NSFW BELOW THE CUT. CONSUME AT OWN FAULT

the cool steel of the rifle was nuzzled between your folds, the muzzle nudged your clit every time you rocked back and forth against the barrel eliciting soft whines from you all the while you looked up at tate through half-lidded eyes of lust.

he looked down at you with an equally lustful look, stroking his shaft in time with your movements against his gun. he rolled his thumb over his slit and worked his bead of precum into him as lube, his eyes trained on your every movement with a cold but lustful stare

“fuckin’ slut. speed up, i know you like it fast” he instructs in a tone as equally cold as his expression, but that facade faltered when you did speed up; a small tremor could be heard in his tone as he stroked himself faster whilst holding back his own moans

he grabbed a small handcanon from his desk with his free hand, pointing it at your tits before moving it to your head “i’d threaten to shoot you but you’d get off on it wouldn’t ya? dirty bitch, you’d like it if i shoved my gun down your throat, threaten to shoot you”

you rutted against the gun faster, his words only turning you on and making you leak over his gun even more. soft whines and ragged breathes escaped from between your slightly parted lips. you looked up at tate, moaning his name whenever the muzzle hit your clit at the perfect angle to make you see stars. throwing your head back in euphoria, you ground against the gun like it was your last day on earth.

he did exactly what he said he would do and put the handcanon in your mouth, making you suck it off as if it were his cock. the front sight nudged against the roof of your mouth with every pump tate made of it sliding between your lips. drool leaked out from the corners of your mouth from being forced to keep you lips so wide open to accommodate his gun, but you didn’t care. hell, tate seemed to be loving the way you drooled all over his gun.

a familiar knot began to build in your stomach, you bit down on the gun instinctively whilst letting out muffled whines of pleasure. your orgasm shook through your whole body, making your eyes flutter back into your skull and your entire body arch from how good this feeling was. your cunt clenched around nothing, wishing it was tate inside of you. his gun was drenched in your juices, dripping off of the barrel and puddling beneath the gun.

the sight of your own orgasm caused tate to finish too, his own release spurting out in hot ropes which splattered onto your body. this continued for a second or two before it slowly came to a stop. he let out a guttural moan, a low moan of your name spilling from his lips.

he carefully pulled the gun out from under you and gave the barrel a quick lick to taste the sweet release that came out of you. he flipped the gun so the heel was pointing towards you, flashing a cocky but teasing smirk before grinding it against your swollen clit. this elicited another loud moan from you, tears of pleasurable overstimulation threatened to spill from your glassy eyes; this didn’t stop tate at all

“youre pretty when you cry” he murmurs “with pleasure, i mean” he added as he ground the heel into you. “think i’m gonna stop cause you came once? course not. we’ve got all night”

#american horror story #ahs #ahs murder house #evan peters #evan peters x female reader #evan peters x reader #evan peters x y/n #evan peters smut #ahs tate #tate langdon ahs #tate langdon #tate x you #tate langdon x you #tate langdon x reader #tate x reader #tate langdon x y/n #tate langdon smut #lily’s kinktober

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miyacults · 1 year ago

Text

red, blue and yellow lights.

( ft. satoru gojo. )

It’s hard to tell you a cold, numb no. How does Suguru has it in him to ever deny you anything and make you behave? Satoru doesn’t have that much power over you. Yet. It’s the other way around entirely. Usually, you have Satoru wrapped around your dainty fingers… but this time isn’t usual at all.

> part 2.

wc: 4k (unedited im soreeey)

cw: fem reader (afab). only gojo action here but poly satosugu is super implied. +18, explicit content. smut. minors do not interact. slight age gap, reader is younger than both of them but not much and is not stated at all. daddy kink and daddy dynamic so be careful!!! rough sex/rough satoru. manhandling. slight hints at dacryphilia. slight chocking. marking (one hickey). unprotected sex, p in v sex. little mention of blood. that should be all! enjoy <3

It was raining the first day it happened—sky practically crying at the sight of you three, already sinking down in the problems to come for such a reckless call. Satoru and Suguru are the strongest ones, so they know better and they pride themselves with this fact. They’re smarter than the rest, both devastatingly attractive, even more so than anyone could ever imagine and…simply superior. But the first time they didn’t knew better.

Or they didn’t care to.

The second time shouldn’t have occurred. They should’ve weighed into the idea of not stumbling upon the same rock again—but they did it nonetheless. How couldn’t they? When the rock herself got the touch of angels, the voice of the gods and a face made in heaven. Anyone in their right mind would have done the same.

And so the third and the fourth come, and suddenly they stop counting how many more times have they been opening the gates of hell for you three to freely wander—toying with the risk of losing it all, as sorcerers always do. Stumbling upon a path of no recovery, stranding themselves into a new kind of addiction capable of surpassing that of what power and glory and the god-like status they hold has been pumping their veins for a while now.

Satoru likes to share everything with Suguru. And Suguru likes to share everything with Satoru. Where one goes, the other follows. If Satoru likes it sweet, then Suguru deals with the bitterness, and if Suguru wants it that way, Satoru will pave it himself without a second thought. They’ve been complementing each other for so long, it was only natural for this to happen.

For you, to happen.

But even them have their own ways of becoming addicted to you.

“Please,” you’re saying—sobbing, actually, clenched teeth chirping, violent tremors ripping inside your chest, glimmering tears staining dainty features—and Satoru already feels the weight of guilt swallowing him whole. Tense lips press each other firmly in a straight line, azure eyes shutting together as lithe fingers ghost the overly sensitive skin of his neck. “Please, ‘Toru—”

“No.”

He needs you to shut up, fast.

The name—his name—is hanging dangerously at the tip of your tongue, too close to being spilled out loud, too close to make an even bigger mess than the one he’s already sitting himself on.

“I’ll be good, I promise,” you’re murmuring now against his sealed lips, small cries leaving your mouth, basically straddling his lap as you desperately try to adjust yourself over the growing bulge in his pants—bare, tight little cunt fluttering at the small friction. “I’ll behave, please, just let me ride your cock for a little while, please.”

“Oh, sweets,” Satoru heaves an exasperated sigh through a low, nervous chuckle, hands running through snowy hair crystal clear gaze finally fixing on you. “You’re gonna be the death of me one of these days, you know that? Suguru told me you were being a brat lately and I didn’t listen to him,”

He’s trying to play it off as best he can, sure, but this is adding up to his temper. His cock throbs painfully inside his trousers. He’s not even sure what time it is—maybe three, four in the morning? He doesn’t know. It’s quite hard to keep the track of time when you’re here to distract him of all the things he should be doing instead, when the blue cotton laced panties—the ones he gifted you like two weeks ago—that are supposed to be covering your greedy, insatiable pussy, are now stuffed in the pocket of his expensive, Tom Ford shirt.

It’s nearly impossible to focus when you’re rolling your hips, humping your needy clit and damping his pants with your juices, causing an unbearable explosion in his stomach, cock hard and full of precum you should be licking off of him.

You should be the one cleaning the mess, not him.

Satoru swallows dry, hands falling in a thump over the armchairs of the couch you’re both sitting at. It takes nearly all of his inhuman strength to keep them there, to not let them travel to the hem of your hiked up oversized shirt—Suguru’s shirt, if he recalls correctly—and place them over the heated flesh of your bare ass. It takes everything in him not to squeeze it, knead it, slap it until the skin is red and tender—an unique piece of art only he can make.

“Is that a yes?” You question eagerly, lashes fluttering and eyes sparkling in awe.

“No, baby.”

It’s hard to tell you a cold, numb no. How does ever Suguru has it in him to deny you anything? How does he ever gets you to behave, to make you an obedient good girl? Suguru had you perfectly trained, bunch of rules memorized and practically burned into the tissues of your brain you could recite them in your sleep.

That didn’t stop Satoru from spoiling you rotten, so much it’s a difficult task to fuck the brat out of you every time you spend a few hours alone with him (as Suguru likes to say)—but even if baby gets whatever she asks for during her time with the white-haired man, when she is back with Suguru what Daddy says goes, instantly.

Because you’re just too perfect for them. The apple of their eyes, their pretty baby, perfection in all senses. It makes it easy for you to be awfully good, to sit prettily in Satoru’s lap all the time, spreading kisses all over his face as his enamoured sapphire eyes don’t leave yours—to sleep almost every night attached to Suguru’s chest as if he’s the incarnation of the oxygen you need to breathe.

But even with all of that—Satoru doesn’t have the same power over you, at least not yet. You have Satoru wrapped around your dainty fingers, manicured nails scratching him in what could be a tantrum. He’s incapable of dealing with you all alone, unable to resist your charms, he fails and falls for you hard. You make him sick, you push him off his highs with a mere, chaste kiss, you leave him hopeless to find a cure—pretty, colored sweets popping inside his mouth all tasting of you.

You’re the most powerful drug he has yet to fully taste, a completely new disease that infects his body, mind and soul, so corrosive it sets him on fire and turn his bones into ashes.

“But ‘T—,” you begin, and he has to cut you off immediately, preventing his name to touch your parted lips.

The name is the key—his name in your saccharine sweet tongue is what will lock him away in the gates of the hell you’ve helped create yourself.

“No,” he chastises now rather severely, unnaturally serious for someone like him, hoarse voice sticking at his dry throat. He glances at you firmly as he feels too sober to maintain his posture, hands still refusing to touch you and lips moving away from yours by an inch. “Did you forget how grounded you are, silly baby?” He scoffs, sardonic grin breaking his rather angelic features and turning him into something darker.

You frown.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,”

“You did,”

“I did not”

“Oh, but you are,” Satoru’s tone falls an octave, and suddenly you shiver. You’ve heard about it a couple of times in the past—Suguru has mentioned how, from time to time, those heavenly features of him darken, but to you, that sounds so out of character. ‘Toru is bubbly and jolly and he likes to teased and he even has sweets for dinner with you. To you, that can’t be fully true, right?

His tense muscles relax a little, just a little, as his gaze is dangerously fixed on you. Salty tears wither in your lashes and your cheeks, swollen lips now pouting at him for his harsh accusation and his cold tone. “‘Cause you’ve been naughty, baby, haven’t you?” He insists.

Something definitely shifts, but you notice it. It goes from his flaming eyes to the icy touch, to the calm breathing—previously heavy—, to the devious smirk that tugs at the corner of his lips.

And you think about what it has been.

Usually, Satoru would have fallen by now. Usually, he would have been already caging you between the couch and his body, pounding into you and brushing your cervix with the head of his thick cock, slapping at your ass, pinching your tits and biting your lips until they’re swollen and bruised. Usually, he would have been chanting about how good you feel, how insane you drive him, how weak he is to you.

Usually, by this time, things would’ve been getting to an end. Suguru would have entered the living room of the big house they both own, would have probably lifted you like a ragdoll out of Satoru’s lap and would have scolded you for your little tricks, for seeking such a lewd activity when you’ve been recovering from the flu, for coaxing the Strongest into your desires. Usually, Satoru would have been scolded too by his best friend, and you would have cried his name while being carried into the bed where you most definitely would have got lectured for your little shenanigans.

But this isn’t usual at all.

“N-No,” you murmur, bleary-eyed gaze blinking at Satoru.

“You sure?”

You don’t know. Are you? Are you really sure you haven’t been naughty? You shouldn’t be chided for anything by Satoru, right? Because Suguru’s been in a really good mood lately, he even peppered you with kisses before bed, tugged you in with his favorite blanket before laying by your side, and before that he made you dinner and watched an episode of the show you’re currently catching on with you while eating together.

“Are—,” you begin, and for some reason you stumble on your words, unsure about how to proceed. Being talked to like that by Satoru was so strange, he never chastised, about anything, ever. All of a sudden you don’t feel so bold anymore, you’re not quite certain you’ll get away with yours this time—and suddenly, Satoru’s touch doesn’t feel warm, his arms no longer being your favorite, cozy shelter, transforming into something icy, devious, darker. “A–Are you mad at me, babe?”

“Oh yeah, babe,” He repeats slowly, slender fingers finding your thighs, adjusting his grasp on you for the first time, hands pressing your skin with a little bit more of force than needed. “You call me babe a lot, don’t you, pretty girl?”

You blink at him, head lolling to the side briefly. Little mewl of surprise scaping your lips due to how strong he’s gripping your thighs—pads digging the flesh and all.

“You don’t like it?”

“No, no, I do. Trust me, I do,”

“You want me to call you something else?”

He finds it amusing. The way your features crinkle in confusion, genuinely concerned for what he’s saying. It’s nice, he thinks, since he’s usually the one that’s dotting on you all the time—while you dot on your Daddy all the time.

“What is it that you call Suguru, sweetheart?” He asks almost conversationally, nose caressing your cheek delicately.

“Uh–huh,” you try to shift on his lap, backing a little from him, but Satoru catches you almost instantly—pushing your face against his torso forcefully. “He’s my Daddy,” you end up answering, voice a little muffled by his cashmere shirt.

And he yanks you up without notice, and you whine at the sudden movement.

“Mean” you scoff, the base of your hair being found by his ivory fingers. He catches the strands between them and tugs a little. “So mean!”

“Oh, I’m mean, I’m super mean,” he agrees with a devilish smile spreading from the tip of his lips to his full face. “But you know what you are? An ungrateful brat. And do you know what happens to spoiled, rude and ungrateful brats? They get punished by their daddies,”

You open your mouth to respond, but you don’t get a chance to as he lifts both of you up from the couch and pushes you over the marble counter of the kitchen, whole body against the cold, solid surface. The action alone knocks a little cry from your chest, glistening tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. And he coos at the sight, he mocks you, looks and talks to you in such a patronizing way you’re complaining about how he can’t scold you, that he’s not Suguru.

“You’re not my D—,”

“Go on, finish that sentence, I dare you,” he warns, azure eyes going completely dark as he hovers over you, steady hands ripping you off of Suguru’s shirt. “I’ll make sure you’re not able to sit straight for a month,”

This time, you’re the one that swallows dry.

And, oh, the way your heart pounds violently inside your rip cage. The way your cunt throbs at the mere image of Satoru stripping himself off his clothes and his dreamy blue eyes don’t move an inch from you, the way your tummy flutters and heat descends all over your now naked body in awe—eagerly expecting his touch, awaiting for him, wanting him to take his way and completely obliterate you.

It’s exciting to push the boundaries a little, test the limits of what’s known and jump into the void. It’s dangerous—with Satoru, it’s unbelievably deadly—, but it sends sparks through your veins. It makes your heart roll, makes you want him even more than before.

You sniff, remnants of tears drying your heated cheeks and little squeals still rumbling through your throat.

“Aw, made our sweet princess cry,” Satoru coos at you, freeing his cock out of his trousers—and it’s worth drooling for, in all honesty, with his rosy pink shade and his angry blushed tip, with his irregularly large violet-like veins adorning both sides, and specially with the dim precum that shines beautifully under the kitchen lights.

He gives it a few pumps, and you can’t help but make grabby hands at him—whiny pout morphing your lips as the sobs return, but this time far from covering up the pain, tears now cracking neediness.

“I want you,” you hiccup as he gets closer, grabbing his shoulders as he positions himself over you.

And you feel him, ghosting the tip of his throbbing cock at your little hole, cold digits caressing your breasts—thumbs rolling your nipples and stealing a soft moan from your lips that Satoru catches quickly with his mouth, merging the two of you in a harsh kiss.

“Mhm,” he’s saying and you yelp, teeth biting at your swell and it’s rough, salty, streaks of crimson with a taste of iron coating him. “Now you want me? But I don’t think you deserve it at all,”

“‘Toru—,”

One slap, straight to your thigh.

“That’s not my name, is it?”

You’ve never felt this kind of exciting fire with him before. It had never been so…primal, so needy, so desperate, entire body jolting in anticipation and tummy in knots out of anticipation. It makes your heart vibrate rapidly behind the ribs, mouth practically watering at the sight of him spiraling in such a state because of you.

“You’re not gonna say it?” He insists, tongue catching your nipple. It’s cold and it sends shivers down your spine, provoking delicious shrieks that resonate in his ears and make his blood run faster. He drives the tip of his cock from the entrance, collecting all your juices and directing it to your puffy clit, all to start circling around the bud—one, two, three, four and more times in a nonstop motion.

It’s has you on edge, really. Body trembling and mind going hazy—all the previous lazy dry humping finally getting to your nerves, pussy clenching the air and hot breath colliding viciously against the lanky man.

“Please,” you beg, quivering under his touch. “Please, ‘Toru, I need you,”

“Not my name, sweet thing,” he sighs in a disappointed tone and, for a moment, you think he actually sounds sorry to prolongue this. But you know he isn’t. Not even close, not even a little bit. “Use the right word and maybe I’ll consider letting you cum tonight,”

The word is there, truth be told, dancing curiously at the insides of your mouth, gagging you up and completely searing his whole name.

It’ll just take a little push to make it go out.

“I—I,”

“Say it,” his hand runs to your neck, fingers wrapping around it and mouth printing an obscure mark to your chin—sucking violently at the skin, a combination of gritted teeth and bloodied lips.

He doesn’t stop the movements of his cock on your clit for a second, and you know he’s starting to get too sensitive himself—cracked groans rumbling from his chest, sloppy hips rolling and nearly slipping inside of your cunt once and for all. Your blood rushes to your ears, eyes shutting close as a new sobs rip through parted lips and delicated nails scratch the skin of his broad shoulders. Heat builds in your belly and you know you’re close—so close to cumming around nothing, merely by the fast friction of his throbbing cock over your clit.

And he notices it at the same you do, so he pulls out and flips you over the marble counter before you can reflect on what he’s doing.

“N–No! Sator—,”

“How empty is that pretty little head of yours, uh?” Condescending. His voice his painfully condescending, and so is his touch, so are his hands smacking your ass as the side of your face hits the counter. “You’re not cumming until you say the word,”

It’s a simple word, four letters that you have to spill, wrap your skilled tongue around it and push it through your swollen lips and into his ears. That is all you have to do. So you do.

“Daddy!” You finally yelp, vocal chords shaking the word out like a quake. It’s pathetic, even, how five simple letters merge into cries, becoming an incoherent mess that all can do is say it repeatedly. Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy. The name buries deeply in his ears and finds a home in the roots of his heart, forcing an explosion of something he can’t quite describe onto his veins. It reduces him to ashes, it revolves everything in his mind and suddenly—suddenly he’s back in control, suddenly he’s not a wandering dog anymore begging go you, suddenly he doesn’t turn into pieces for you to pick up.

Still, you drive him insane. Still, he’s weak to you. But you’re no longer in control and that fuels him like nothing will ever do.

And all your babbling keeps you from catching on his moves until he’s already sinking in your cunt roughly. You sob at the intrusion, pain exploding in your stomach and ache consuming you by the burning stretch.

“S-So good, baby, my baby is so good,” is all he grunts out, pressing his forehead into the back of your head.

He fucks you raw, more than he has ever done before. He fucks you so hard your limbs go numb and the only thing that stays clearly in your mind is that he’s also your Daddy now. He thrusts his hips into yours intensely, so much he basically has you bouncing the marble, and you scream so much it wouldn’t be a surprise if Suguru runs out of the room to make sure no one is slaughtering you, their sweet little princess.

It doesn’t take much after that for you to let go, with body and cervix bruised by his hands and cock, cumming within minutes of hips thrusting into your tiny hole. And he fucks you full of his cum, too. Too many times for you to properly remember the exact number, too much that you feel it dripping from your cunt, all over your thighs and into the counter—marble stained with the sticky substance. And he doesn’t stop at that, either, not until your face, your breasts, your belly and both your holes are so full of his cum you’re close to drooling it, too.

.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀♡⠀⠀⠀.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀♡⠀⠀⠀.

“You left a whole damn hickey on her face, dude,” Suguru’s snickering and he sounds so grumpy as he checks out your sleeping figure curled around his torso, sulky eyes finding the ones of his best friend to recrminate not so silently. “I’m not even that sure is a hickey. That looks like a goddamn punch straight to the jaw,” He then glances down at Satoru, who leans against the wall of the living room, eyebrows raised and lips chopping mindlessly around a cigarette. “Did you punched my baby?”

“Shut up,” Satoru snorts, crystal eyes rolling in annoyance. “Aren’t ya seeing that smile on her face? She’s sleeping like a baby, thanks to me. And she finally has some respect for me, so, we both win,”

“Pretty sure she had things to do early today,” Suguru mumbles, one hand holding the cigarette and the other mindlessly caressing your back above the shirt—Satoru’s shirt now—that covers your frame. “And in the afternoon, too. Guess we gotta let her sleep,”

“Agree,” Satoru walks to both of you, a shit eating grin flashing his features. “Let her rest and gain some energy. She’ll need it to give a warm morning to her favorite Daddy,”

And Suguru has something to say about that—because he’s sure his the favorite Daddy. But now Satoru thinks the same, too.

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secretkinkz · 2 months ago

Text

"Relax, you can take it" (Sylus)

youtube

You lay in bed, smelling Sylus in your sheets. He hasn't been home in two days. The only thing you've gotten from him is a reminder to take care of yourself while he's gone. Two days... Without him was hell. You needed him, he'd left you needy the day he left. Hoping to come back to you on your knees and waiting.

If you could hear his voice, it would soothe your nerves a bit. You've never been away from him this long, it was unnatural.

"Sylus." You whispered, grabbing your phone and looking at the messages he has yet to respond to.

You both were married. You got engaged a month after you unlinked. He found you interesting and felt alive being with you. Sylus felt it was necessary to keep you.

Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes in hopes of falling asleep and waking up to Sylus next to you.

"Kitten, I'm home."

You hear Sylus call out from downstairs, you're eyes widen as you get up and dash downstairs. "Sylus!" You grinned, hugging him. He smiles slightly, lifting you.

"Did you eat?" He asked, burying his head into the crook of your neck. At the same time you both inhale each other scents. "Yeah.." You whisper, closing your eyes as he takes you upstairs. "Good."

He smelled like soap like he took a shower before coming home. Which lets you know his intentions were the same as yours.

Sylus leaves a trail of kisses down your stomach as he removes your shorts, not stopping until he reaches your bare cunt.

"I haven't even done anything yet."

He places your legs on his shoulders, lowering his head between your legs.

"Sylus." You moan as he takes your clitoris into his mouth.

Sucking, biting, and licking every in of you.

"Do I need to tie your hands together?" He questions as you try and move his head.

"No..." You say breathlessly, trying to keep still.

Fuck, it felt so good. Adding to the mix, he slips a finger in. Hitting your g-spot as his tongue flicks faster. "Oh! Yess!"

You pant, gripping his hair. "Sylus, Sylus."

You hear a low guttural moan escape him, "Lie on your stomach"

You turn on your stomach, ass up.

He pushes your legs apart using his knee, pressing himself at your entrance.

The coldness from his cock sent shivers down my spine.

Sylus huffed out a breath, his warm exhale brushing against your skin, igniting a shiver that danced along your spine. He drew you closer, his strong hands wrapping around your waist with a possessive tenderness that made your heart race. "So this is what you wanted, huh?" he grunted, the low timbre of his voice sending ripples of anticipation coursing through you. His hips moved with a deliberate rhythm, rocking back and forth in a way that sent waves of pleasure surging through your body.

Every movement felt like a tantalizing tease, igniting your senses as you melted against him, your body instinctively wanting more. The intensity of his gaze bore into you, an unspoken question lingering in the air, thick with longing. "To have me like this, after two days separated. Have you calmed down, Kitten? You missed me, is all?" he rasped, his words laced with a hint of possessiveness that both thrilled and comforted you.

Soft whines escaped your lips, the sound barely more than a breathy plea as you clung to him, your fingers slipping around his tensed shoulders. The muscles beneath your fingertips were coiled and alive, responding to your touch as if drawing strength from your proximity.

At that moment, the world outside faded into oblivion, leaving only the two of you entwined in a symphony of sensation—his body, warm and inviting, against yours.

Each thrust of his hips sent delicious tremors through your core, stirring a heat that spread through your entire being.

You reveled in the intoxicating blend of desire and intimacy, feeling the weight of the day's absence dissolve into the electric connection between you.

You couldn't help but nod weakly, at his words, muttering a soft yet barely perceptible "I missed you" against him. he loved the way you looked right now, all teary and sweet, begging for his attention.

Your trembling legs held up your weight as more tears prickled at the corner of your eyes.

He was, nonchalantly, stuffing you full of his inches, steadily rolling his hips inside of you.

His finger hooked beneath your chin, tilting it up so he could gauge your reactions better. "look at me," he commanded, his voice raspy. You slowly open your eyes.

Your eyes were red, half-lidded—almost drunk with pleasure.

The way his thickness dragged so easily against your folds

His tongue meets yours, deepening the kiss, and he's pumping into you, taking you, over and over again.

You mutter through your moans. "Faster"

Almost immediately, he complied. Slamming his hips into yours.

"Is it too hard?" He whispered, gripping your chin. "N-No."

"Good, you can endure this." He slaps your ass, pounding you harder. You shriek, gripping the sheets as your mouth falls open. "S-Sylus!" You cry out. "S-Slow down, it's too much."

"Stop complaining." He hums, sitting up and pushing your head into the pillows. He felt you clench down on him as if you liked the force.

Oh, "you like that, don't you?" Sylus growls, his hand coming down hard on your ass again, leaving a stinging warm mark on your supple flesh. "I can feel you tightening around me." His hips snap forward, driving his thick length deeper into your wet heat, stretching you deliciously.

He leans down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries of ecstasy. "That's it, sweetheart. Take every inch of me," he rasps against your mouth, punctuating his words with another powerful thrust.

His free hand roams your body possessively, tweaking a nipple before trailing lower, teasing your sensitive clit. "You're mine, all mine. This sweet little pussy belongs to me," he groans, his voice husky with lust.

Sylus can feel your walls fluttering around him, signaling your impending release. "Come for me, kitten. Let me feel you come on my cock" he commands, his fingers working your clit in tight circles, pushing you closer to the edge.

"It's too much, fuck."

"Relax, you can handle it."

He pounds into you relentlessly, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Sylus can feel your slick walls clenching around him, milking his throbbing length with each thrust. "Fuck, you're so tight. So perfect," he groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your intoxicating scent.

"S-Sylus." You cry, as he pulls you against him. Your back against his chest.

His fingers continue their relentless assault on your clit, stroking and rubbing the sensitive nub until you're writhing against his hold, incoherent pleas spilling from your lips. That's it, sweetheart. Let go. Come for me, he urges, his voice a low, seductive rumble.

"Come on, baby. I know you can do it. Be a good girl for me," he coaxes.

" Sylus! Sylus, fuck!" I bite down on my lip, drawing blood. It was so intense, I shook with each thrust. My eyes welled with tears as he gripped my hair, biting my neck lightly. "Hmm, such a filthy mouth." He whispered, releasing you. You bury your face into the pillows as he grips your hair.

I huffed, gripping the sheets as my eyes rolled back. "Y-Y-Yess! Please! Sylus, more. Fuck me more."

Sylus's grip on your hair tightens, pulling your head back to expose the column of your throat. He licks a hot stripe up your neck before biting down, marking you as his. "Y/n," he growls, his hips snapping forward with brutal force.

The bed creaks beneath you, the headboard slamming against the wall with each powerful thrust. Sylus can feel your body trembling beneath him, your walls clenching around his throbbing length. That's it, baby. Take it. Take every fucking inch, he rasps, his voice strained with pleasure.

I grip his hand as he planted them next to my head. "Kiss me." I whimpered.

Sylus placed his hand on my chin and pulled my head back, kissing me gently. His thrusts were still rough and fast.

My brows furrowed as his hips jerked, his thrusts becoming more sloppy signaling he was near. I moaned against his lips as we both came. Sylus groaned as his eyes fluttered shut.

He captures your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your moans of pleasure as you both tumble over the edge together. Sylus's hips jerk erratically, his thrusts becoming sloppy and uncoordinated as he chases his climax. He breaks the kiss, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he rides out the waves of ecstasy.

That's it, baby. Take it all, he rasps, his voice strained with pleasure. He can feel your slick walls fluttering around him, prolonging his orgasm as he empties himself inside you.

Sylus pulls out with a long moan, turning you on your side.

"Wake up, now's not the time for resting dear. I've yet to start."

~~~~~

A/N: Honestly, Sylus will be seeing me often. That, yes, no, maybe so? It got me pregnant. And I am. BACK. Edit: I'm strangling myself right now. The title says, "Relax. You can take it." But I said, "Relax. You can handle it."

#lads sylus #love and deepspace #sylus #sylus x reader #Youtube

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tanjamikaelson · 2 months ago

Text

BEST BRIEND'S BROTHER - CHAPTER 8

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 8: | I LIKE HIM |

warnings: unprotected sex

In the fading light of evening, you found yourself standing in front of the Cameron house, your heart heavy with worry and determination. You couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that had settled in your chest ever since Rafe’s encounter with Barry. There were so many unanswered questions swirling in your mind, and the only person who could give you any clarity was Sarah. You needed to know what was going on with her and the Pogues, what trouble they might be getting into, and how it was affecting her.

When Rose greeted you at the door, she smiled warmly, her expression light and carefree—completely unaware of the turmoil you knew was brewing beneath the surface. “Sarah’s in her room,” she told you, and you nodded, making your way upstairs with a sense of urgency.

You knocked on Sarah’s door, your hand trembling slightly. “Come in,” she called, her voice muffled through the wood. You pushed the door open and found her sprawled out on her bed, her face illuminated by the glow of her phone screen. She looked up at you, a smile breaking across her face.

“Hey, I wanted to come over. We haven’t seen each other for two days,” you said, trying to keep your tone casual, but there was a slight tremor in your voice that you couldn’t hide.

“I know. I’ve been with John B a lot,” Sarah replied, her tone light, almost distracted.

“Yeah, I heard.” You paused, the next words catching in your throat. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. “What was that about you and the Pogues stealing from drug dealers?”

Sarah’s head snapped up, her eyes widening in surprise and confusion. “How do you know about that?”

You hesitated, the truth lingering on your tongue, but you knew you couldn’t lie to her. “I was wit—um..” You stopped yourself, the words caught in your throat. Then, with a deep breath, you pushed through, deciding to tell her everything, no matter how she reacted. “I was with Rafe.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed, her expression shifting from confusion to shock. “You were with Rafe?!”

“Yeah, I was,” you admitted, standing your ground, your voice steady despite the anxiety bubbling in your chest. There was a hint of defiance in your tone, a subtle pride in the fact that you weren’t hiding your relationship with him anymore, that you weren’t afraid to admit it, even to her.

“What were you doing with Rafe?” Sarah asked, her voice laced with disbelief. You could see the wheels turning in her mind, trying to piece together what you were saying with what she knew of her brother.

You hesitated for a heartbeat, then decided to just rip off the Band-Aid. “I slept with him.”

The shock on Sarah’s face was immediate and palpable, her eyes widening as if you had just slapped her. “You what?”

“You heard me right, Sarah.” Your voice was steady, resolute. You weren’t going to repeat yourself, weren’t going to back down.

“What the hell?!” she exclaimed, her voice rising in disbelief and something that almost sounded like betrayal. “Did he—did he pressure you to do it? He must’ve—”

“No.” You cut her off, your voice firm. You needed her to understand, needed her to know that this was your choice, not something Rafe had pushed you into. “I wanted it as much as he did.”

Sarah shook her head, a disbelieving laugh escaping her lips. She looked away, her fingers twisting in the bed sheets as if she were trying to find some sense of normalcy, some anchor in the chaos you’d just dropped on her. “I can’t believe you.”

You were about to respond when you noticed her gaze shift over your shoulder, her eyes widening in surprise and fear. “John B. What are you doing here?”

You turned, your heart lurching in your chest as you saw John B standing in the doorway. His expression was hard, his eyes cold and determined, but what caught your attention—what made your blood run cold—was the gun in his hand.

You gasped, your breath catching in your throat. “John B, why do you have a gun?”

“Did you tell your dad about the gold?” he asked Sarah, his voice tense, his grip on the gun tightening. There was something desperate in his eyes, something frantic.

“Where’s that coming from?” Sarah asked, her voice wavering, her eyes locked on the gun. You could see the fear in her expression, the confusion. She was scared, and so were you.

“Answer the question,” John B pressed, his voice cold and unyielding.

“About the gold? No.” Sarah shook her head, her voice trembling. “No, of course not.”

“Then how’d he know, huh?” John B’s voice rose, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. “How did he know?” He grabbed Sarah’s arm, pulling her towards him, his face inches from hers. She gasped, her eyes wide with fear and shock.

“John B, you’re scaring me,” she whispered, her voice breaking, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Is life outside the Bubble Wrap scary to you?” he taunted, his voice dripping with bitterness. He was shaking, his emotions teetering on the edge of control.

Before you could react, Ward’s voice echoed through the house, shouting Sarah’s name. John B’s head snapped up, his grip tightening on Sarah as he began to pull her towards the door.

“Hey, where are you taking her?!” you asked, panic surging through you as you watched him drag her away.

“Stay out of this!” John B hissed, his voice sharp, the threat clear in his eyes. You froze, your feet rooted to the spot, fear paralyzing you. You had always heard about how the Pogues were trouble, how dangerous they could be, and now, seeing it firsthand, you realized just how true those warnings were.

You stayed in Sarah’s room for what felt like an eternity, your mind racing, your heart pounding. You couldn’t leave, couldn’t risk running into John B again, but the fear and worry gnawed at you, making it impossible to think straight.

When Sarah finally returned, her face pale and her eyes red from crying, you rushed to her, desperate to understand what had just happened. “Sarah,” you began, your voice trembling, reaching out to her, but she stepped back, her expression closed off, a wall of pain and anger between you.

“What did he want? What gold is he talking about?” you asked, your voice small and tentative, the questions tumbling out in your desperation to make sense of it all.

“It doesn’t concern you,” Sarah said bitterly, her voice sharp, her eyes avoiding yours.

“Of course it does when he comes here with a gun! He could’ve hurt you—” you argued, your voice rising with fear and frustration. You couldn’t understand how she could brush this off, how she could act like it didn’t matter.

Sarah let out a bitter laugh, her eyes finally meeting yours, but they were cold, distant. “He wouldn’t hurt me. But Rafe will definitely hurt you…”

You shook your head, your heart aching at her words, at the disbelief and anger in her voice. “No. I like him, Sarah. I always did.”

“How can you like him?” Sarah snapped, her voice filled with a mix of disbelief and frustration. She wasn’t just mad at you for being with Rafe; she was mad because she thought he was a bad person because she believed he was dangerous, and she couldn’t understand why you didn’t see that.

“He was always nice towards me,” you said softly, your voice trembling. You wished she could see what you saw in him, the tenderness he had shown you, the way he made you feel safe, and protected.

“Yeah, until he isn’t anymore…” Sarah’s voice was sharp, her words like a slap, stinging and painful. “Please go, I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

“But Sarah—” you began, your heart breaking at the distance between you, at the way she was pushing you away, but she cut you off, her voice rising in anger.

“I’m serious, go!” she exclaimed, her voice loud and forceful, the finality in her tone leaving no room for argument.

You flinched, the force of her words hitting you like a physical blow. You knew she was mad, knew she would react like this about you and Rafe, but it still hurt, still felt like a knife twisting in your chest. You wanted to stay, to try and talk to her, to make her understand, but you could see that she wasn’t ready, that she needed time.

With a heavy heart, you turned on your heel and left her room, your mind spinning, your emotions raw and tangled. You hoped that, maybe later, when things had calmed down, she would want to talk, that you could fix this rift between you. But for now, all you could do was walk away, your heart aching with the weight of everything that had happened.

Leaving Sarah’s house altogether, your heart felt like it was in pieces, and your mind was a tangled mess of emotions. The cold night air stung your cheeks as you walked down the empty, dark street, the only sound being the distant rustling of leaves and the occasional bark of a dog. Each step felt heavy, your thoughts swirling uncontrollably as you replayed the events of the past hour—Sarah’s anger, John B’s gun, the terrifying chaos that seemed to be consuming everything around you.

You hadn’t meant for things to spiral like this. You just wanted to be honest with Sarah, to share with her what was going on between you and Rafe. But now you felt like everything was falling apart, the distance between you and your best friend widening into a chasm that you didn’t know how to cross.

Your feet seemed to have a mind of their own, leading you to the one place you knew you could find comfort, the only place you felt you could breathe again—Rafe’s. The house where he was staying loomed in the darkness, a familiar, comforting silhouette against the night sky. You hesitated for a moment at the door, your hand hovering over the handle, a flicker of doubt running through you. Should you be here? Should you be turning to him when everything felt so unstable?

But you pushed the doubt aside and walked in, your need to see him, to feel his arms around you, overriding everything else. You made your way upstairs, your heart pounding with anticipation and anxiety. You needed to be with him, needed to know that he was okay after everything that had happened.

When you found him, your heart dropped. Rafe was bent over a table, his body tense, his head low. You watched in shock as he brought something up to his nose and sniffed, the unmistakable line of white powder disappearing in an instant.

“Shit.” He looked up at the sound of your footsteps, his eyes widening in surprise. He straightened up quickly, wiping the remnants of coke from his nose. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you would come over.”

You swallowed hard, your stomach twisting. Seeing him like this—so vulnerable, so caught up in something that was hurting him—made your heartache. But you couldn’t let him see your fear, your disappointment. You needed to be strong for him, you needed to show him that you were there no matter what.

You walked over to the empty armchair and sank down, trying to keep your voice steady. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Rafe sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, his eyes still glossy from the high. “You didn’t come last night.”

“Yeah…” you trailed off, unsure how to explain yourself. “I stayed home. I didn’t want my mom to worry again.”

He nodded, but you could see the concern in his eyes, the way he was looking at you like he was trying to read your thoughts. “You seem upset.”

You took a deep breath, the memory of what had happened at Sarah’s house still fresh, the fear and confusion still lingering in your mind. “I was at Sarah’s, and John B came with a gun…” you began, your voice shaking slightly as you recalled the tense confrontation.

“With a gun?” Rafe’s voice was sharp, his worry immediate and intense, his eyes searching your face. “Are you okay? Did he do anything to you?”

You nodded, trying to reassure him. “Yeah, I’m fine. He started asking Sarah some questions about the gold and—”

“What gold?” Rafe interrupted, his brow furrowed in confusion.

You shrugged helplessly, the same question spinning in your mind. “I have no idea. But he was acting crazy. I was afraid he was going to hurt her.”

Rafe’s face hardened, a dark shadow passing over his features. “I’m surprised you didn’t stay with her.”

“Well, she kinda didn’t want me around after I told her I slept with you.” The words came out before you could think, and you watched Rafe’s eyes widen in shock.

“You did?” There was surprise in his voice, but also something else, something softer, more vulnerable.

You nodded, feeling a strange mix of pride and sadness. “Yeah, she didn’t react well, but I already knew that would happen.”

“Then what made you say it to her?” Rafe asked, his voice gentle, curious.

“I don’t want us to be a secret and sneak around all the time,” you said softly, your heart aching with the truth of it. You didn’t want to hide anymore, didn’t want to feel like you were doing something wrong by being with him.

Rafe’s expression softened, his eyes filling with something warm, something that made your heart flutter. “Come here,” he murmured, reaching out his hand to you.

You took his hand, and he pulled you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you securely. “You have no idea how happy that makes me,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, with desire.

You could see the raw honesty in his eyes, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. You placed your hands on his cheeks, your thumbs brushing softly over his skin. “I think I might have a few,” you teased, your voice light, trying to ease the heaviness between you.

He didn’t waste another second. Rafe’s lips crashed against yours, his kiss was urgent and hungry, as if he were trying to pour all his emotions, all his gratitude and love, into that single moment. His tongue pushed past your lips, and you met him eagerly, your hands tangling in his hair as you moved to straddle him, pressing yourself against his already hardening cock.

He groaned into the kiss, his hands gripping your waist as if he were afraid you’d disappear. The heat between you was intense, electric, and you could feel his desperation, his need to be close to you, to lose himself in you.

Suddenly, you were lifted off the chair as Rafe stood up, his arms strong and steady around you. He carried you towards the room, his lips never leaving yours, the kiss deepening with each step. You felt the soft mattress against your back as he laid you down gently, his body hovering over yours, his eyes dark with desire.

“I want to eat you out,” Rafe declared, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. “I want to make you go crazy, like you make me.”

“Please do,” you whimpered, your legs instinctively parting for him, your body aching for his touch.

Your dress had ridden up, exposing your expensive lace thong. You had worn it just for him, hoping you’d get to see him tonight, hoping for a moment like this. Rafe’s eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, his hands sliding up your thighs as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your thong and pulled it down, tossing it aside carelessly.

He looked at you, his gaze hungry, devouring. “Fuck, you’re so wet already,” he murmured, his voice thick with awe and desire.

He lowered his head, his lips brushing against your inner thigh, leaving a trail of kisses and soft bites in his wake. You closed your eyes, your breath hitching as his fingers found your core, spreading your wetness, teasing you. He drew slow circles on your clit, his touch light and deliberate, making your back arch and your hips lift off the bed.

“Rafe, please,” you moaned, your voice trembling with need.

He looked up at you, his eyes gleaming with mischief and adoration. “You like that, baby?”

“Yes, oh god, yes,” you breathed, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you, your body trembling with anticipation.

He grinned, his fingers slipping inside you, his mouth hovering just above your clit. He placed a feather-light kiss on your mound, and you whimpered, your body aching for more.

When his lips finally made contact, you cried out, your hands flying to his hair, pulling him closer. He moaned against your core, the sound vibrating through you, making you shiver. His tongue moved in slow, deliberate strokes, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that perfect spot that made your vision blur.

“Rafe, oh god—” Your voice was a high, breathless whimper, your body arching off the bed as he sucked on your clit, his fingers moving faster, deeper.

It was too much, the pleasure building and building until you felt like you were going to break apart. Your walls tightened around his fingers, and you felt yourself tipping over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you, your cries echoing in the room.

“Such a good girl,” Rafe murmured, his voice hoarse as he licked you clean, his touch gentle, reverent. But when you tried to push him away, your body too sensitive, he stood, a cocky grin on his face.

“I want you inside me,” you confessed, your voice shaky, your body still trembling from your release.

“Can you handle it?” He laughed lowly, his eyes dark with desire, with the thrill of having you so desperate for him.

“Please, Rafe,” you begged, your voice a soft, needy whimper.

Rafe smirked, his gaze locked on yours. “So desperate for my dick…” He tugged down his shorts and boxers, his cock springing free, hard and thick, a droplet of precum glistening at the tip.

“I want to show you a different position,” he said, his voice filled with anticipation. He grabbed your legs, flipping you onto your stomach with an effortless strength that made you gasp. His hands slid up your back, lingering at your waist as he adjusted your hips, pulling them up and into the air. Your dress was bunched around your waist, your skin exposed and vulnerable. You shivered as the cool air brushed against your sensitive skin, the anticipation making your heart race. You could feel his eyes on you, could almost hear the thoughts racing through his mind as he took in the sight of you, laid out before him, ready and waiting.

“Trust me, you’ll feel my dick even better like this,” Rafe murmured, his voice low and almost reverent. He sounded awestruck like he couldn’t believe this was happening, like he couldn’t believe you were really here with him, wanting this as much as he did.

You sucked in a breath, biting your lower lip as you felt the tip of his cock pressing against your entrance, teasing you. The sensation was maddening, the promise of what was to come making your pulse hammer in your ears.

When he finally pushed inside you, the stretch was immediate, and intense. You moaned, your fingers digging into the sheets beneath you as he slid in slowly, inch by inch. It felt impossibly deep, every nerve in your body lighting up as he filled you completely. Your walls clenched around him, and you heard him suck in a sharp breath, his grip on your hips tightening.

“Can I move?” he asked, his voice strained, his usual confidence tempered with a gentleness that made your heart twist. He wanted to make sure you were okay, wanted to be certain he wasn’t hurting you.

“Yes,” you managed to whisper, your voice raspy and low. You could feel every inch of him, the way he stretched and filled you, the way he fit perfectly like he was made for you.

“Fuck, you’re taking me so well,” he groaned, his hips beginning to move in slow, deliberate thrusts. “You feel so fucking good.”

You whimpered, feeling him so deep inside you, desperate for more, for everything he could give. “Harder, Rafe—” you moaned, your voice breathless, pleading.

“Like this?” he asked, and before you could answer, he pulled back almost all the way and then thrust hard and fast into you, the force of it making you cry out, your body arching under his. The sensation was overwhelming, a sharp, intense pleasure that sent sparks shooting through your veins. You bit down on the sheets, your body trembling, barely able to handle the way he was making you feel.

He repeated the motion, each thrust hard and deep, hitting that perfect spot inside you that made your vision blur, that made everything else disappear. Your arms felt like they were going to give out, your entire body trembling as he took you apart, piece by piece.

Rafe noticed your struggle, and before you could collapse, he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you up against his chest. You gasped at the new angle, at how impossibly deep he felt inside you now. His other arm was wrapped securely around your waist, holding you close, his breath hot against your skin.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his voice rough and strained. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding himself back, trying to stay in control, to not completely lose himself in you.

Your head fell back against his shoulder, your eyes squeezing shut as he picked up his pace, his hips snapping against yours in a relentless rhythm. His hand moved from your waist to your throat, hovering there, his fingers brushing against your skin.

“You like this?” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

“Oh god—yes, Rafe,” you breathed out, your voice breaking, your body trembling. “I love it so much.”

You felt like you were on the edge, your body coiling tighter and tighter, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak. Rafe’s right hand slid down your body, his fingers brushing over your breast before he found your clit, his touch sending a shockwave through you.

“I’m so close,” you whimpered, your voice high and breathless. You could barely think, barely breathe, your entire world narrowing down to the sensation of his body against yours, of his cock buried deep inside you, his fingers moving in quick, deliberate circles over your clit.

“Wait for me,” Rafe murmured, his voice a low, desperate whimper. He was close too, you could feel it in the way his hips stuttered, in the way his breath came in harsh, ragged gasps.

“I can’t, please—” You were teetering on the edge, your body trembling, your mind unraveling, everything inside you screaming for release.

“You won’t cum unless I say so,” Rafe growled, his voice rough and commanding. His words, his tone, sent a thrill through you, made you tighten around him, made you want to do exactly what he said, to hold out just a little longer, to wait for him.

“Please, Daddy,” the words slipped out before you could stop them, your voice a soft, needy whimper. You didn’t even know where it came from, didn’t even realize you’d said it until you felt Rafe’s entire body tense behind you. He almost came.

“Yeah, you want Daddy to let you cum?” he whispered, his voice thick with desire, his hand tightening around your throat. “Beg like the little whore you are, then.”

“Please, let me cum, Daddy,” you pleaded, your voice sweet and desperate, your body trembling with need. “I’ve been so good to you, please… let me cum. I need it so bad.”

Rafe let out a low, guttural groan, his hips snapping against yours harder, faster. “Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, his voice strained, his breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. His grip on your throat tightened just enough to make you dizzy, just enough to make your head spin.

With one final thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, his body tensing, his cock throbbing as he came. The feeling of him filling you, the heat of his release, sent you over the edge, your own orgasm crashing through you, your body shaking, your cries echoing in the room.

Rafe stayed inside you, his movements slowing, his arms still wrapped around you, holding you close as you both came down from the high. He kissed your neck, and your shoulder, his lips soft and tender against your skin.

“Fuck, I wasn’t wearing a condom,” he said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence, the realization hitting him like a punch.

Your eyes snapped open, your heart skipping a beat as you looked back at him, panic rising in your chest. “What?”

“It’s fine. You won’t get pregnant,” Rafe said quickly, trying to reassure you, but you could hear the uncertainty in his voice, the fear that he was trying to hide.

“How do you know?” Your voice was rising, the panic spilling over, your mind racing with a thousand terrifying thoughts. “Oh my god—” You could feel the tears starting to well up, your heart pounding wildly. “You need to go and buy Plan B.”

“Right now?” Rafe asked, his eyes wide, his expression caught between guilt and confusion.

“Yes, right away,” you insisted, your voice urgent, your fear spilling out in a rush of words. “Please, Rafe. I can’t get pregnant.”

“I don’t know. I kinda liked you calling me Daddy,” he tried to joke, a half-smile on his lips, but it fell flat, the fear and panic in your eyes cutting through his attempt to lighten the mood.

“Rafe, I’m serious,” you said, your voice breaking, the tears spilling over now, your hands trembling as you tried to wipe them away. “This isn’t something to joke about.”

“You’re right, it’s not,” he said softly, his expression shifting, the playfulness gone. He reached out, brushing your tears away with his thumb, his touch gentle. “I’m sorry. I’ll go get it, okay? Don’t cry, please.”

You nodded, your breath hitching as you tried to calm down. “Okay. Just… hurry.”

“I will,” he promised, leaning in to kiss you softly, his lips lingering against yours. “I’m sorry, baby. I was just joking around.”

You sniffed, nodding again. “I know. Just—please, hurry.”

He got off the bed, pulling on his boxers and shorts, and then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him. You lay there for a moment, your heart still racing, your mind still spinning. The room smelled like the two of you, a heady mix of sweat and sex and something uniquely Rafe, and it made your chest tighten, made the tears well up again.

After a few moments, you forced yourself to move, to get up and take a shower. The hot water helped clear your mind, and helped wash away some of the panic. You kept telling yourself it would be fine, that everything would be okay, but the fear still lingered, a cold knot in your stomach.

By the time you finished, Rafe had returned. He had the Plan B pill in one hand and a pizza box in the other. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him, at the way he looked so earnest, so concerned.

“I got you some food,” he said, holding up the pizza, a tentative smile on his face. “I thought you might be hungry.” There was a softness in his eyes, a gentleness that contrasted so starkly with the intensity of everything you’d just been through.

“Thank you,” you murmured, the weight in your chest lightening just a little at his thoughtfulness. You took the Plan B pill from his hand and swallowed it with a glass of water, relief washing over you as you did. You knew it was the right thing to do, but the reality of the situation still made your heart race.

Rafe watched you, his eyes never leaving your face, his worry palpable. “I’m really sorry, Y/N. I should’ve been more careful.”

“It’s okay,” you sighed, giving him a small, reassuring smile. “It’s just… this is all so new, and I don’t want anything to mess it up, you know?”

He nodded, his expression softening, and he reached out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. “I get it. And I promise I’ll be more careful next time.”

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his words, at the sincerity in his eyes. It was strange, how quickly things had changed between you two, how deeply you felt for him already. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

“Let’s just eat,” you suggested, trying to lighten the mood. “I’m starving.”

Rafe’s smile widened, relief evident in his expression as he set the pizza box down on the small table outside on the patio. “Good idea. I’m starving too.”

The night air was cool against your skin as you stepped outside with him, the sound of crickets filling the quiet. You both settled onto the patio chairs, the dim light from inside casting a soft glow over you.

For a while, you ate in comfortable silence, the tension from earlier slowly ebbing away as you focused on the simple pleasure of being with him, of sharing a meal together. Rafe’s gaze kept flicking to you, his eyes soft, his smile easy, and every time you caught him looking, your heart skipped a beat.

“Thank you for getting this,” you said after a while, gesturing to the pizza, your voice quiet. “And the pill, I mean.”

“Of course,” Rafe replied, his tone serious. “I’d do anything for you, you know that.”

His words hung in the air between you, charged with an intensity that made your breath catch. You looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the vulnerability there, the raw honesty in his eyes. It wasn’t just about tonight, about what had happened. It was about everything—about who he was, who he was trying to be for you.

“I know,” you said softly, your voice trembling just a little. “And I’d do anything for you too.”

He reached across the table, his hand finding yours, his fingers intertwining with yours. You could feel the warmth of his skin, the strength in his grip, and it anchored you, made you feel safe.

For a long moment, you just sat there, holding his hand, the quiet of the night wrapping around you both like a comforting blanket. It felt like a promise, unspoken but real, that whatever came next, you’d face it together.

After a while, you both finished eating, the pizza box now empty between you. Rafe leaned back in his chair, his eyes on you, a lazy smile playing on his lips.

“You know, I could get used to this,” he said, his voice low, almost teasing. “Just you and me, no one else around.”

You laughed softly, the sound light and genuine. “Me too. It’s… nice.”

“It’s more than nice,” he murmured, his gaze turning serious again. “I know things are complicated right now, with Sarah and everything, but… I want this. I want us.”

His words sent a thrill through you, a mixture of joy and fear that made your heart beat faster. You wanted it too, wanted him, but you knew it wouldn’t be easy. There were so many obstacles, so many things that could go wrong.

“I want us too,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But it’s going to be hard.”

“I know,” Rafe said softly, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “But I’m not going anywhere. We’ll figure it out.”

You nodded, feeling a sense of peace settle over you. Whatever happened next, you knew you had him, and that was enough.

As the night deepened, you both stayed on the patio, talking quietly, your hands still intertwined. The world outside felt far away, the worries and fears that had seemed so overwhelming were now distant, muted by the warmth and comfort of being together.

When you finally went back inside, you felt lighter, more certain. You curled up in bed with Rafe, his arms wrapped around you, his breath warm against your neck. There was no need for words, no need for anything but the quiet, steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your back.

And as you drifted off to sleep, you knew that whatever came next, whatever challenges you faced, you would face them together.

TAGS: @wearemadeofstardust0 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @thepopcultureaddict @deeznuggetsbebussin

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pumpkinbxtch · 7 months ago

Text

ᬊ Serenade ᬊ

— LEO VALDEZ X FEM!READER

─────────────•~❉᯽❉~•────────────

☆ radiostar is playing... paloma querida by josé alfredo jiménez!

warnings; language, a pinch of angst with comfort at the end. a/n; I wanted to do this one so much, I finally got to finish it, I hope you like it. The translation of the song is below each verse, as well as the vocabulary at the end.

— You know what? Go to hell!

You slammed the bedroom's door behind you, trying to shut it with a bang, but Leo managed to catch it with his hand to follow you. Although in fact, it wasn't to try to solve the things.

He let out a loud huff when he saw you grabbing your keys and your things.

— Well, actually you’re the one leaving so, why don’t you just go there and give me the address later?

The regret was immediate, but he was just as angry and ignored it. For a second, he feared for everything as you turned back to him with flared nostrils and a frown, your eyes starting to tear up.

— If that's how things are. Good, then I won’t have to come back to this dump. — You threw the keys at his face and left with a door slam that echoed in the apartment.

Within two seconds, Leo was already running down the stairs, shouting your name, but it was too late when he saw your car turning the corner, almost leaving a trail of fire on the pavement. Feeling down, he ran his hands through his curly hair and sighed.

Who started the fight? It was hard to tell, but maybe Leo's response wasn’t the best. Actually, it had been the worst of all their fights, and he saw that reflected in the way you left. You two weren’t the type of couple to fight with sharp words, so this was almost like saying he’d rather see you dead.

— I’m- uh que pendejo¹ ! —he exclaimed, throwing himself onto the couch and complaining while rolling around. How would he apologize now? This time, flowers or a card saying "Sorry for being an idiot" wouldn’t cut it, and even if it did, he knew you deserved more.

Then he had an idea, triggered by a memory from his days in that old neighborhood when his mom was still alive. He could remember that place was lively, colorful, and sometimes noisy because people like his mom and him lived there, never letting a place so far from home feel as cold and foreign as it actually was. And there was something moms and grandmas children would do for on their birthdays, big block parties, or even when there were small couple fights: a serenade seemed like the ace up the sleeve to ease the pain and give a heartfelt apology. For Leo, that was fair.

Where would he get mariachis? But that was the least of his worries. He’d done more impossible things than finding a mexican musical group in the middle of the night.

— Hephaestus, help me — he muttered -almost like a prayer- as he put on his green military jacket and grabbed the keys you had thrown at him earlier. The raccoon keychain wearing a Camp Half-Blood shirt left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Before leaving, the candle illuminating the picture of his mom on the shelf next to the TV flickered intensely, catching his attention, and he took that as a response from his dad that was something like: " I Pass, I’ve had enough with my wife," and he honestly understood what he meant. One thing was a fight, another was being cheat repeatedly.

He turned off the lights and fearlessly wandered around to find his grand musical apology.

You were curled up in your bed with a frown and some tears in your eyes. You never thought any of your fights would reach this point, even if Leo's response had been in a joking manner, fighting with him was already too much for your heart. You wondered if this was the beginning of the end, if he was really angry, or if his response was an expression of how tired he was of you.

Were you done? 'cause you had thrown the keys at his face and had no way of getting back into that place.

Your anxiety flooded your body, and a slight tremor in your lip kept asking you to finally release the tears you had held back. Would you go to bed this sad and empty? Even the mattress seemed too big without him by your side.

You turned to switch off your bedside lamp when you heard a small object bounce against your window. You turned around and nervously played with the laces of your hoodie. Was it him? You looked at the clock and could see through your blurry eyes that it was around 2 AM. No way Leo could be here at this hour, maybe it had just been the wind

You turned to reach the switch when the sound repeated, and before you could get up, two more pebbles hit the glass. At the foot of your window, before opening the curtain, you heard a whistle and some trumpets starting to play.

— Amor!

You opened your eyes wide and clumsily pulled out the curtain. What you saw through the glass left you speechless. There were mariachis, about seven of them, and Leo was there with a bouquet of roses, waving his hand at you. When you opened the window, he smiled broadly, though there was a noticeable hint of shame.

— FORGIVE ME, MI AMOR — he shouted, cupping his hand to his mouth to amplify his voice, and you, speechless, kept watching the scene. Your boyfriend turned around and gave some instructions to one of the mariachis, who nodded and started a count of three. The music began, and not only did the singer's voice echo in the street, but so did Leo's.

— Yo no sé lo que valga mi vida. Pero yo, te la vengo a entregar.

( I don’t know what my life is worth, but I’m here to give it to you!)

You smiled. You couldn’t understand much from the distance, but the way he clutched his chest with each word made you tear up.

— yo siento quererte... con todas las fuerzas que el alma me da.

(I feel I love you with all the strength my soul can give...)

Leo impatiently gestured for them to continue while he looked for a way to climb up to your window. Though the vines weren’t entirely safe, he decided to risk it.

— Paloma querida! — he shouted off-key as he walked on the roof, short of breath, and beneath your window, he stood on tiptoe to hand you the roses. You leaned on your stomach to grab the flowers wrapped in red cellophane, and without taking your eyes off him, you smelled them.

He stepped back enough for you to see each other clearly. Again, he placed his hand over his heart and with a sincere smile mouthed, "I’m sorry."

What felt like seconds were actually minutes until the song change brought both of you back to reality. You leaned out to be a bit closer to him, and he jumped up to barely kiss your lips.

— No that, dummy! — you said giggling, nodding towards the group who continued playing with smiles, seeing that the serenade had achieved its goal. — The neighbors, Leo.

Leo raised his eyebrows and pointed to the front of your house, where people in nightgowns peeked from their windows, and some kids were dancing. An elderly couple watched the scene with tender eyes. Apparently, there were no complaints, so everything seemed cool.

He bowed without taking his eyes off you, and opening his hand in the air, let the keys jingle sweetly. You smiled, and he mimicked you.

— I love you.

— Te amo más.³

❉᯽❉

¹ que pendejo: I'm an asshole!

² paloma querida: dear dove; It's the name of the song translated to eng, an expression too or a kind of petname

³ te amo más: I love you more

⁴ amor, amor mio, mi amor: love, love of mine, my love.

#heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #pjo #percy jackson #leo valdez #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez x you #leo valdez x y/n #leo valdez hoo #heroes of olympus x reader #hoo x reader #leo valdez fic #leo valdez one shot #leo valdez imagines #leo valdez fanfic #leo valdez blurb #pjo x reader #percy jackon and the olympians

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sherlockhomies-42 · 11 months ago

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Holy shit so like yeah the bug bit me and I spat out two chapters in one day...anyway here's chapter 2 enjoyyyyyyyyyyyyy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Death has returned, Heaven is disturbed

Chapter 2

Almost all at once, a cold shiver ran through the denizen's of Hell and their Overlord's,

A kind of cold some of the haven't felt in ages; if ever in the millenia of afterlife they've lived.

Feeling a shiver run down his spine, the King of Hell sits up straight in his seat, putting the rubber duvk he was workingon down with shaking hands as he felt himself break out into a cold shivering sweat like he hadn't felt in eons.

Death has awoken

He shot up from his seat at his table, rubber ducks falling to the ground and squeaking as they land only further drives his senses into overdrive. His mind begins to race a million miles an hour thinking of many things until his mind crosses to his dear daughter.

If Death is awake here... What of his daughters immortal status? Her safety from the extermination?

What of his?

--------------------------------------------

Death flapped her wings for what felt like forever until she began to get closer and closer to the ring of light, As she draws closer and closer she braces her mind for the slip thru the veil. 'Here comes chaos'

--------------------------------------------

Meanwhile in Heaven

(Just for like a sec)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A violent tremors shook thru the lowest level of Heaven closest to the barriers between the paradise and the hellish rings below.

Panicked angels and heavenly souls scream on fear as Angels try to keep them calm whilst they investigate the disturbance;

Seraphim and Emily immediately emerge from their soul arrival area upon the first feeling of the tremors.

"SERA! What's going on?!? What's happening?" Emily yelped in horror as chuncks of concrete from the buildings of Heaven broke loose and smashed to dust around them.

Sera looked around at the same view that just minutes before was so peaceful, was now thrown into utter chaos as Angels and souls alike run and are struck by falling rocks and debris

Her voice shook as she look at her sister and weakly said "I do not know" and clutched her as close as possible whilst dodging out of the way of more falling rocks and shattering glass, whilst her sister yelled and screamed in her arms.

Sera noticed in horror that everyone who was crushed was not moving. Regular souls sure if enough damage was done but Angels? They should be able to get back up from such seemingly small injuries, but to her horror they just lay there; bleeding golden ichor and limp as a corpse.

The two seraphim take flight and dodge out of the way of any remaining falling debris as the tempura finally begins to cease, they gather wit the survivors and look on in terror as their once beautiful peaceful home is in chaos and tatters.

Emily looks to her older sister after seeing their fellow angels unmoving and bloody with no signs of stopping.

"What has happened to our home Sera? How could this happen to Heaven?" Tears well in the young girls eyes as her sister takes her in her arms in comfort as she glares out into the madness.

"I don't know why this has happened, Iusteet with the Heavenly council immediately to asses the damages done, you are to return to our home as fast as you are able and stay inside until I come back."

Emily looks to her sister with admiration at her ability to stay so calm, she pulls from her arms with a nod and her wings pull her up and away from the rubble as quickly as possible, not noticing the trepidation on her sisters face.

Sera turns to her fellow angels and takes a deep breath as to calm herself whilst the others are in hysterics over their friends and family's sudden second deaths. She opens her eyes and speaks out;

"Everyone please calm yourselves, I'm sure there's an explanation, I must immediately take to the heavenly council to discuss the damage and how we can begin to rebuild."

An angel screamed out

"WHAT ABOUT THE DEAD ANGELS?!?"

Another followed as the crowd of survivors begin to become rowdy again

"WE'RE SUPPOSED TO BE IMMORTAL"

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!?!"

Before anything can spiral further out of control Sera raises her hands and silences everyone.

"Calm yourselves please, I do not know why this has happened, I must meet with the council and weust get an answer from our Father. The only one who could know why is Him, trust I will be swift with the information and Come to you all as soon as I can."

With the raging angels complacent for now, Sera turns to the sky and flys as fast as her wings will take her to the council room with a grimace across her face.

'everything we have worked so hard to make happen here in Heaven could be compromised if this is real'

She stops up short as she thinks of who else could've been causing trouble in heaven

'I need to speak to Lili-'

She is stopped in her thoughts as she sees the other scattered council members shooting up to the council room in the cloud, she curses herself and shoots up to the sky.

"I can only hope that this isn't what I think it is'

I'm all her heavenly wisdom, She couldn't even begin to understand what has been set in motion.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #hazbin charlie #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin art #hazbin lucifer #hazbin adam #hazbin lute #hazbin lilith #hazbin overlords

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hotgirlbedtimescenarios · 3 months ago

Text

Loved You More

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader *no physical description* (one-shot)

Words: 1.4k+

Warnings: angsty and sad, mentions of loss, mentions of pregnancy / wanting children

Inspo song - Let Me Love You More Braxton Keith

Main Masterlist

It was falling apart around you, just as you had feared. You were fighting with Joel again, not because he had done anything wrong, but because of what he wouldn’t do.

He won't let you all the way in. He won't let you love him the way you know you can.

It was the silence he wrapped around himself, the walls he built, keeping you at arm's length.

No matter how many intimate nights you shared or happy moments passed between you, he refused to let you all the way in. You knew he loved you; he told you every chance he got, and the warmth in his eyes affirmed it.

So why won’t he give himself to you fully?

“Joel, please,” you cried, tears tracing paths down your cheeks. “I told you that doesn’t matter anymore. I want you.”

It shattered Joel’s heart to hear the agony in your voice, but his resolve had crystallized into something unyielding. He took a deep breath, fighting the tremor in his chest.

He fights the urge to pull you into his chest and rub a soothing hand across your back. “You can’t give up your dreams for me. You deserve a white wedding, a husband, kids, a bright, beautiful family. It’s what you’ve always wanted. Don’t deny it.”

“You’re enough, Joel,” you insisted, desperation clawing at your words. “I don’t need anything else.”

“That may be true now,” he sighed, sorrow etched deep into his features, “but what happens when you wake up one day and realize you want more? When it’s too late? You’ll resent me for taking those dreams away.”

“Then why!” Your voice rises, breaking. “Why did you let it go this far? Why don’t you want a life with me?”

“I do!” he admitted, anguish cracking his voice. “But I’ve done this before. I had a wife and a daughter, and when I lost it all, I nearly lost myself. Hell, I damn near didn’t make it. I don’t have it in me to be the man you need. Not anymore.”

“So, this is it?” you whimpered, the weight of finality hanging heavy in the air.

“This is it.” And with that, he turned, leaving a gaping void where hope had once lived, and he didn’t look back.

You sink to the cold, hard floor, sobbing until the tears dry, leaving behind only a hollow ache.

---

Two nights before, Joel decided he had to leave you. It was after watching your face at his niece's kindergarten graduation.

He saw how you beamed with joy and cheered for the little girl walking across the stage just as loud as her parents, Tommy and Maria. After the ceremony, you scooped her into your arms for a bear hug and looked at her precious face with love and longing, and Joel knew what had to be done.

Being a mother has always been your dream, and he knew it was meant for you. Joel had seen it in your gentle hands, how you braided hair and made flower crowns, how your voice soothed children to sleep, the perfect sweet tenor for singing lullabies and tucking babies into bed. You were born to nurture, to love, but he couldn’t give you the family you deserved.

He knew you'd be a perfect mother, but being a father was no longer in the cards for him. Of course, he's still a father; he will always be deep down. The love for his daughter Sarah and the void it left in him when she passed is exactly why he can't bring himself to go through it again.

Protecting her was his job, and he failed.

He'd had a wife then and failed at that, too. He hadn’t been enough for her to stay.

He didn't want to fail you too. So instead of dragging you with him in a lonely existence where he knew he wouldn’t allow himself to give you kids or marry you, he decided to let you go.

He loves you enough that he can't be selfish with you. He loves you more than he loves himself, so he sets you free. It is his final act of mercy. It is a bittersweet gift to free you from a future of sorrow.

He can't be everything you need, and he doesn't want to rob you of what you've always wanted.

Although you might never forgive him, he hopes you will understand.

He prays that one day, you will see that to love you more, he had to set you free.

---

6 years later.

Joel wakes in his empty home, the silence echoing around him like it always does. After a restless night and an early morning cup of coffee, he drives into town to load up on supplies for the job site he’s heading to this week.

Joel drives his pickup truck downtown with the windows rolled down, enjoying the cool brush of the autumn air against his skin and basking in the sun's warmth.

He parks on the curb outside the hardware store downtown and exits his vehicle, shutting and locking his door behind him. He stretches his tired bones in the warm sun and breathes in the fresh air. Today felt good, which is rare for him. But the day is beautiful, and he is determined to enjoy it, to try to allow happiness, no matter how small, a place in his life.

But then, a doorbell jingles from across the street, pulling his attention in that direction, and time seems to halt. He sees you—for the first time in years. His heart constricts painfully in his chest.

Over the years, he’s heard about you, your engagement, and your wedding, too. It hurt, damn, it hurt, but it's why he left you in the first place. To give you that chance, and now that he can see it all worked out for you, he's glad he made that choice.

He watches as two children, your children, exit a café across the street, bursting out the door, laughter dancing in the air. You follow behind, a baby cradled in your arms, your face alight with a joy he had never been able to give you. And there was your husband, a man younger and more suited for you, guiding you with a gentle hand on the small of your back.

Joel feels as if he were shattering all over again, a specter haunting a life he could never reclaim. He stands frozen, unable to look away. You were everything he had wanted for you, everything he had sacrificed for.

He left you crying that day, heartbroken, and without a proper goodbye. He's sure you hate him. He's sure you don't want to think about him ever again.

But then you look up. Your bright and happy eyes meet Joel's sorrowful ones, and your gazes lock. For a heartbeat, the world stands still; the pain of the past swirls between you, breathing life into the connection he had severed so long ago.

But despite the past, you smile at him, an acknowledgment that pierces through the years of silence and heartache.

You smile at him because now you know why he did it. Why he left you and never looked back. He was right, and he was a good man—a great one.

He set you free because he loved you more; you just didn't know it until now.

You have a happy family, a white picket fence, and an adoring husband, all because Joel gifted it to you. All because he was strong enough to break your heart.

So you smile at him across the street, the man you once loved more than anything in the world. Somewhere deep down, you probably always will.

Thank you, your eyes seemed to say. I understand now.

He smiles back, a bittersweet gesture filled with love, longing, and resolution.

He knows he shoudln’t linger, so with one last nod, Joel turns away and walks into the hardware store, leaving you behind for good, leaving you to live the life he wished for you. A life without him.

As Joel steps away, the ache that settled deep into his bones years ago seems to lighten just a fraction because today is proof that he had made the right decision. He loved you more than himself. He loved you more than you had ever known.

He loved you enough to let you go. And even if he has to spend the rest of his years missing you, at least he knows you're happy.

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #tlou joel #pedro pascal characters #joel the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #angst #game joel

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siempre-bucky · 2 years ago

Text

Sweet Dreams

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Summary: After soothing Jake after a nightmare, Jake comforts his son after one of his own

wc: 1.1k

warnings: talks of nightmares

A/n: It's been a HOT minute since I've written anything. Please enjoy some domestic hurt/comfort :')

“Was the mission successful, Lieutenant?”

“Rooster and Mav… I-I wasn’t fast enough?”

Jake jolted awake; cotton-mouthed, and forehead ridden with beads of sweat. He almost forgot he was shaking until he felt the soothing touch of your hand slide down his bare bicep. The fire in his lungs started to subside as you turned him around, the cold from the fabric of your nightgown soothing his chest once he was pressed against you. “What happened?” you whispered into his ear.

“Same shit as every year, darlin’,” he whispered back, lips dancing along the crook of your neck. You let him stay silent after that, his hands roaming the body he knew almost better than his own. His bloodshot eyes closed, nose pressing deeper into your neck as if it would help him memorize the new perfume you had bought.

You sighed and held him close, fingertips scratching the nape of his neck for his comfort. It was like this every October since the mission the Navy deemed a miracle. Jake would mark off the days on his calendar with a red pen and the nightmares came back when night fell. “My love?” you spoke after a while, making sure he was still with you.

“It was the one with Mav and Rooster,” he managed, pulling back to lie down on his pillow.

You followed him, wrapping your arms and legs around him with your head on his chest. “You could always call Rooster,” you mostly joked, “check in on him.”

“No way in hell am I gonna call Slow Ride,” he pouted. Even though he did once, on the one-year anniversary of the mission when the nightmares were at their peak. The blond rolled his eyes at your knowing giggles, he playfully shoved you away and got up from the bed. “I’m going downstairs for water, you want anythin’?”

You shook your head and got back under the blanket, turning away from him. Jake smiled kindly in return and made his way out of the room, fingers gliding along the wall to ground him. He was in this house, he was part of a team because he succeeded, Rooster’s a part of that team. It became his mantra as he descended the stairs, eyes glued to the floor.

The kitchen light was already on, it took Hangman a few seconds to register it. His brows furrowed at the freezer door that was still cracked open from the last user. Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, he shut both doors and turned towards the island. “Jesus,” he cursed in shock, seeing his son silently sitting there, wrist deep in the tub of ice cream. “What are you doin’ up, son?” he breathed, masking the panic.

Luke looked up from his phone, matching bloodshot green eyes meeting his. “Late-night snack,” the thirteen-year-old responded. Jake could see beyond his answer, he knew the way his shoulders were hunched and the slight tremor in his hands—he knew it all too well. Plus he wore the faded Navy hoodie that used to be his father's, he wore it whenever you or Jake went on a mission.

“Luke,” Jake said, turning on the dad voice he perfected. He rounded the island and took a seat on the bar tool beside him, stealing his son's spoon.

“It’s nothing, dad,” Luke grumbled.

“Bullshit,” Jake smirked, raising his brows. “You know what your ma would say.”

Luke rolled his eyes and threw his head back in defeat. “I had a bad dream, but it’s alright! I’m not a baby, we don’t need to talk,” I’m a man now, men don’t talk about bad dreams.

As if he could hear his thoughts, Jake took his pointer finger and poked the side of his head. He earned a weak smile in return “We don’t talk like that in this house, son, you know that.” Sucking it up was never an option in the Seresin household, not in this Seresin household.

“I dreamt that you and mom didn’t make it back— no one made it back—grandma and grandpa didn’t want us,” Luke began to say, his grip tightening around his phone. Jake draped an arm around his son's shoulders and pulled him closer. “We had nowhere to go, we were alone.”

“I’m right here, your mom's right upstairs, and your uncle Javy is a phone call away,” Jake reminded him calmly. Luke’s frame relaxed, his head finally leaning on Jake’s shoulder. “You know there’s a plan if something happens, we’d never leave you alone, kiddo.”

The two Seresin men sat in silence for a while, the ice cream on the counter beginning to melt in front of them. “I’m afraid to go back to sleep,” Luke admitted after a while.

“Yeah, me too.”

“D-did you have a nightmare too?”

Jake’s lips thinned, his initial reaction was to deny it, suck it up, and move on as his dad beat into him growing up. But even in his darkest time, he was still an example to his children, “Yeah, but it was just a dream,” he nodded along with his words, then he nudged him, “but there’s someone who always makes it better.”

You felt restless after Jake left the bed, tossing and turning, turning the lamp off and on until it remained permanently on while you waited for your husband. When the door started to creak open, you sat up, the blanket pooling around you. Of course, you expected a six-foot aviator to walk through the door, but you didn’t expect the lanky boy by his side “Hi honey,” you greeted Luke, your eyes fixed on Jake cautiously.

“Got room for another tonight? told him you’re the best sandman around,” Jake questioned, sending you a look. Taking the hint, you smiled and opened your arms. Your son grinned and crawled into the bed, hugging you tighter than normal. It all made sense.

Jake climbed in beside you, pressing a kiss to your temple before getting comfortable.

“Want to talk about it?” you asked, pushing back his hair.

Luke shook his head, pulling out his dog tags and running his fingers along your name and call sign. “No,” he muttered, “Dad and I already did…I’m feeling better. Just sleepy.” He pulled the blanket to his nose, slipping off you and finding his place in the middle. You playfully covered his eyes, making him laugh which resulted in Jake turning around to face the action. You and Jake locked eyes, your hand left Luke’s face to brush along your husband's face.

Jake wrapped his hand around your hand, pulling it closer to kiss your palm. “Goodnight boys, sweet dreams.”

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin fanfic #jake seresin fluff #hangman x reader #hangman x you #jake seresin is a good dad #top gun #top gun maverick

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