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maretinelli · 1 day ago

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CRYING FOR EVERYTHING

Lando Norris X fem!reader

Summary: When Y/n is the most soft and crybaby person and this makes Lando laugh, but ends up comforting her when she cries over silly things.

Words: 4.1K+

Warnings: Nothing (??) Just cute and romantic.

Author: English is not my first language, so apologies for any spelling, grammar and slang mistakes that may be in the story. This can be funny but also sad because she cries over everything hahaha

MASTERLIST

Lando turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door to the apartment he shared with Y/n. A sweet, slightly buttery scent hung in the air, but he didn't comment on it right away.

He just smiled as he felt the warmth of home and called out in a light, excited voice: "Honey, I'm home!"

No response.

He frowned slightly and walked into the kitchen, where he found Y/n standing at the counter, staring at a cake. So absorbed in her thoughts that she didn't even notice his presence until she felt Lando's arms close around her waist, his chest warm against her back.

"What's going on here?" He asked quietly, peering over her shoulder at the cake, which looked perfectly baked.

Y/n blinked a few times, her eyes brimming with tears. "I asked for the recipe for the cake my grandmother made..." Her choked voice revealed how much it meant to her. "And I tried to recreate it, but it didn't work."

Lando stepped back a little, positioning himself next to her. He looked intently at the cake before turning his gentle eyes to his girlfriend.

"But he looks great."

She took a deep breath, fighting back tears, but when she pointed to the cut piece, she murmured, "It didn't turn out like Grandma's... And it even sank when it came out of the oven..."

The first tear fell silently.

Lando smiled slightly and took a slice of the cake, tasting it without hesitation. He chewed slowly, enjoying the taste, and then looked at her with a sincere smile.

"It's delicious."

But Y/n just quivered her pout before starting to cry again. "But it's not like Grandma's..." She sniffed, sobbing softly. "I wish you could have the experience of tasting her cake, but she died a long time ago and I don't know how to recreate the family recipes!"

Lando felt his chest tighten.

Without thinking twice, he dropped the slice of cake on the counter and pulled her into a tight hug, wrapping her completely, feeling her small sobs against his chest as she hid her face in her hands.

He stroked her hair lovingly and whispered, in a tender voice: "I know I can't taste your grandmother's cake, but I have something much better..."

Y/n moved slightly, looking at him with moist eyes. "What?"

Lando smiled, gently wiping away a tear with his thumb.

"The amazing experience of tasting all the wonderful cakes you make."

She sniffed, giving a weak smile through her tears, and Lando took the opportunity to hold her even tighter against him.

"And I will taste them all, every time."

Y/n chuckled softly, burying her face in the crook of his neck as Lando continued to cradle her in his cozy embrace.

•••••••••••••••••••••

The light rain beat against the apartment window, a comforting sound that filled the room amidst the soft dim light of the lamp. It was a quiet night, perfect for cozy moments.

Lando and Y/n had spent the day together, enjoying his day off and her vacation. In the late afternoon, they decided to ride their bikes around the city, returning just before the rain started. By now, Y/n had already showered and was comfortable on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, while Lando was still in the shower.

Before leaving, he had told her to start watching the series they were watching together for the third time.

Time passed, and Lando appeared in the living room, drying his messy hair with a towel. He was wearing only sweatpants, leaving his chest exposed to the night's cold.

"Honey, I hope you didn't watch too much without me, or else-"

He stopped mid-sentence when he noticed Y/n crying softly, wrapped in layers of blankets. The box of tissues rested on her lap, and her eyes were red and watery as she stared at the TV with a devastated expression.

Lando smiled, holding back a laugh. But then he put the towel he was using to dry his hair aside and approached his girlfriend.

"Crying over O'Malley's death again?" He said, gently pulling the blanket from her hair and leaning down to place a kiss on her forehead.

Y/n looked up at him, sobbing. "He... he, he..." She tried to speak, but her voice failed.

Lando crouched down beside her on the couch and wiped away the tears that were streaming down her cheeks.

"Breathe, love" Lando said softly, patiently waiting for the outburst he knew was coming.

Y/n sniffed, pulling out a tissue and wiping her nose before continuing, "He was treated like a nobody, and when he was dying, he managed to say he was 007. He... he died to save someone else, Lan..." Her voice wavered, and she looked at him, her eyes bright with emotion. "He died."

Lando bit his lip to contain his laughter.

"Honey... you knew this was going to happen. This is the third time we've seen it."

"But it doesn't make it any less sad!" Y/n retorted, crying softly.

Lando sighed fondly and pulled her into a tight hug. She buried her face in his bare shoulder, sobbing softly as he stroked her sweatshirt-covered back.

"I know, love. But it's just a series. He's fine in real life, filming another movie or something." He murmured against her hair.

Y/n sniffed again, lifting her face and looking at him. "You're cold. So cold." She said with a small sob, looking at his bare chest.

Lando chuckled at the observation and let her pull the blanket away, making room for him. He settled in beside her, pulling her down onto his chest as he slowly ran his fingers through the soft strands of her hair.

"There, now I'm warmed up" Lando joked.

Y/n sighed against him, relaxing a little.

Without saying anything, Lando grabbed the remote and skipped the episode, putting on the next one to avoid more tears.

"Hey!" Y/n protested softly.

"Pretty girls don't cry," he murmured, kissing the top of her head.

And, between one caress and another, Lando smiled as he realized that, little by little, Y/n's breathing was returning to normal, and the sadness of the episode already seemed a little more distant.

••••••••••••••••••••••••

Lando spent the afternoon organizing the apartment. It was rare to have a day off with Y/n, and he wanted to make the most of it. He cleaned every corner, straightened the couch cushions, washed the dishes, and even wiped the floor with a scented cloth. He wanted her to be able to just throw themselves on the couch and cuddle for the rest of the night when she got home from work.

It wasn't long before Y/n arrived, so he lit some scented candles, the same ones she loved and had been buying since before they started dating. The soft aroma filled the room, and he smiled contentedly as he saved the rest to use in the next few days.

As soon as he heard the key in the door, Lando came down the stairs excitedly, ready to surprise her.

"Honey, I cleaned the whole apartment!" He announced proudly, turning to her.

The smile disappeared as soon as he saw her face. Y/n was slowly taking off her shoes, her shoulders slumped, her expression dejected. She left her bag on the table, and Lando knew immediately that something was wrong.

If he knew his girlfriend well, he knew that if he spoke first, she would break down without being able to tell him what had happened. So he waited.

Y/n looked up at him, her eyes watery and her lips trembling before she murmured,

“When I was driving here, I saw two kitten brothers abandoned on the street…” Her voice broke, and a few tears escaped. “I thought about taking them in, but our building doesn’t allow pets, and my parents aren’t home to drop them off…” Her breath hitched, and she nervously picked at her nail polish. “I had to leave them there and just walk by…”

Lando felt lighter. For a second, he feared it was something work-related. But still, seeing Y/n so shaken broke his heart.

"Oh, love, come here" He said, opening his arms.

Y/n threw herself against him, wrapping her arms around his waist and crying softly into his shoulder. Lando wrapped her in a tight hug, running his hands comfortingly down her back.

"How could someone do this?" She sobbed. "To abandon two helpless puppies to die in the street..."

Lando sighed, hearing the pain in her voice. "I don't know, love. But we can do something." Y/n pulled her face away to look at him, and he took the opportunity to wipe the tears that were running down her cheeks. "We can go there and get them!" He suggested.

She shook her head, sniffling. "Lan... I've thought about that. But our building doesn't allow pets, and my parents don't get back from their trip until next week..."

Lando smiled slightly, shaking his head. "No, no, love. You know we're visiting my parents this weekend, right? We can take the kittens there."

Y/n frowned, not understanding. "What do you mean?"

Lando gently ran his thumbs over her cheeks, wiping away the last traces of tears, and smiled. "We can take them there. Flo will love taking care of them, and they'll have a home." Y/n's eyes filled with emotion again. "They only need to spend two days here, the building manager won't even notice. We can buy a carrier. The plane is animal-friendly, and they'll be well taken care of."

Y/n hesitated for a second, hope rising in her chest. "Do you think this is a good idea?"

"Sure. Let's do it."

The tears flowed again, but now they were of relief.

"Oh, okay. Tears again." Lando laughed, pretending to be dramatic.

Y/n lightly slapped his chest, sniffling. "I'm happy now, idiot."

Lando laughed and grabbed Y/n's hand, grabbing the car and apartment keys. "Then let's go, before they run away."

Y/n smiled and hurriedly put on her sneakers. Within minutes, the two of them left the apartment, ready to give their two little kittens a happy ending.

••••••••••••••••••••••

Y/n stopped by her parents' house after work just to say hi, but ended up staying a little longer than planned. They were doing a big cleaning and, among boxes and boxes of souvenirs, they separated some things for her to take to the apartment she shared with Lando.

"This is something nice for you to share with Lando" Her mother said, handing over a large box.

Curious, Y/n took the box without asking much. She didn't know exactly what was in there, but she decided it would be more fun to open it with Lando.

When she got home, she was excited, balancing the box with her computer bag, trying to unlock the door without knocking anything over.

Lando appeared quickly, taking the box from her hands before any disaster could happen.

"Wow, what's this?" He asked, placing a soft kiss on her lips.

"I have no idea," Y/n laughed, setting her bag on the table. "I stopped by my parents' house after work and they were cleaning out the attic. They gave me this box and said it was something cool to share with you."

Lando arched his eyebrow curiously. "Okay, now I'm interested too."

He followed Y/n into the living room, where she sat down on the rug and pulled the box closer. Carefully, she opened the lid and was greeted by a burst of memories.

Inside were several objects from her childhood: old dolls, her favorite shoe as a child, drawings scribbled with crayons and even a small notebook that looked like a diary.

"Oh my God!" Y/n exclaimed, picking up one of the dolls. "I played with this doll every day!"

Lando sat beside her, watching with a smile as she rummaged through the box, each new object bringing back a new memory.

"That shoe..." She picked up the little shoe in her hands, laughing. "I wore it for everything! My mother said I refused to take it off."

"Sounds like something you would do," Lando teased, making her roll her eyes.

She picked up a drawing and laughed.

“Okay, this is a little embarrassing.” She turned the paper toward him. It was a scribbled drawing, clearly made by a child. “I used to say I was going to be an artist, but looking back on it now, I think I was right to choose another profession.”

"I don't know..." Lando picked up the drawing, pretending to study it seriously. "I see great potential here."

Y/n lightly slapped his arm, laughing. But soon the laughter turned into something else.

Every new object I picked up brought a tightness to my chest. She thought her parents had gotten rid of those things years ago. Seeing everything there, intact, as if your childhood was preserved inside that box, was so moving.

Tears began to well up before she could stop them.

Lando noticed immediately and frowned, gently touching her arm.

"Hey... what's up?"

Y/n sniffed and smiled, even as tears fell. "I'm just... I'm happy." She ran a hand over her eyes. "I thought my parents had thrown all this away years ago... but they kept it."

Lando chuckled softly and pulled her into a side hug. "Are you crying because you're happy?"

"Yes!" She laughed between sobs, leaning her head on his shoulder.

He thought it was adorable. He wanted to laugh, because it was cute to see her so emotional, but he held back.

Y/n took the small journal from the box and ran her fingers over the worn cover. "This..." She sniffed. "I wrote about everything. My childhood crushes, my dreams..."

Lando took the diary from her hands and opened it to a random page.

"Today I saw a little dog on the street and I really wanted to take him home, but Mommy said I couldn't." He read it out loud and laughed. "Well, some things never change, do they?"

Y/n laughed, slapping his arm again. "You're insufferable."

"I'm a great boyfriend, actually."

She picked another drawing out of the box and laughed when she saw what it was. "Okay, you'll like this one."

Lando took the paper and widened his eyes when he saw a car scribbled on it. "Don't tell me..."

"Yes. That was my "dream race car" when I was five years old."

He looked at the drawing and then at her. "Can I say something?"

"What?"

"You definitely did well to choose another profession."

Y/n let out a laugh and threw herself at him, making Lando fall backwards onto the carpet with her on top. He laughed and held her tight, looking at her face still wet with tears, but now lit up with a smile.

"I love you" He said, running his thumb across her cheek.

"I love you too."

They stood there, surrounded by the memories of her childhood, while Lando knew that, from that moment on, he was also part of the best memories of Y/n's life.

The Silverstone race has always been special for Lando. Racing at home, with the British fans behind him, was indescribable. But that Sunday was even more magical. He didn't just race, he won.

With an impeccable strategy and aggressive driving, Lando held the lead in the final laps, crossing the finish line first. McLaren erupted in celebration. The fans chanted his name, the car radio filled with the team's cheers and the excitement took over.

In the garage, Y/n watched the moment alongside Cisca and Adam, Lando's parents. They treated her like a daughter, and nothing seemed more right than being there, celebrating with them.

"He did it!" Adam exclaimed, clapping his hands proudly.

"Our boy!" Cisca smiled, her eyes shining.

Y/n laughed, feeling her heart beat faster. She always knew Lando was capable of this. Since the first years in karting, since the difficult days, the doubts, the criticisms, she always believed.

Then the podium ceremony began. As Lando stepped onto the top step and raised the trophy to the British sky, something inside Yin broke. She began to cry softly, overcome with overwhelming pride.

Cisca, who already knew her daughter-in-law well, smiled and pulled her into a side hug. "He deserves it, doesn't he?" The mother-in-law said affectionately.

Y/n nodded through tears. "Very!!"

Without hesitation, she turned around and hugged Cisca tightly, crying on her mother-in-law's shoulder.

"Oh, honey" Cisca murmured, stroking Y/n's back. "He's so lucky to have you."

When Lando returned to the garage, still covered in champagne and with a giant smile on his face, Y/n was still crying.

Adam approached his son and murmured softly, somewhat worried. "She's been like this ever since you stepped onto the podium... And your mother hasn't been able to calm her down."

Lando chuckled, nodding in agreement.

He walked towards them, seeing Cisca still hugging Y/n, who was sobbing discreetly. Her mother also had tears in her eyes, but she tried to stay strong.

Cisca smiled when she saw her son and reached out her free hand to hug him. "I'm so proud of you, my dear" She said, squeezing him.

Lando returned the hug, closing his eyes for a moment. "Thank you for everything, Mom."

Cisca then looked at Y/n lying on her shoulder and made a comment to Lando. "I knew she was going to cry, but I thought she would stop before you arrived."

Lando laughed, approaching his girlfriend's side. "Love..." He ran his fingers through her hair, making Y/n look up with red, teary eyes.

She smiled at him, still crying. "You won at home, Lan..." She said, emotionally. "I always knew you were capable. All your effort paid off. I saw this potential in you from the beginning. I'm so proud of the man you've become, and I can say that because I've been with you for years. Years of being happy by your side and celebrating every victory."

Y/n's words hit Lando in a way he didn't expect. Suddenly, he felt his eyes burn as well.

"Thank you, love" He said, his voice breaking. "Thank you for always being here... I'm also proud of this strong, incredible woman you've become." He pulled her into a tight hug, and now they were both crying together.

Adam, who was watching the scene, widened his eyes. "Ah, there. Now we have two crybabies."

Cisca laughed, wiping away her own tears. "At least they cry with happiness."

Lando and Y/n pulled away a little, laughing through their tears. But when they looked at Cisca and Adam, they realized that Y/n's in-laws were watching them fondly.

"Those two are still going to get married," Adam commented quietly, crossing his arms. But the couple listened.

Cisca looked at her husband and nodded. "Yes, they will. Their love is true. Everyone can see that."

Lando looked at Y/n, who smiled at him. He didn't say anything, but at that moment,

They both knew: One day, this would really happen.

•••••••••••••••••••••••

The apartment was silent, except for the sound of the TV playing some series. Lando was snuggled up on the couch, with Y/n lying on his lap. Her legs were propped up on the back of the couch, while her boyfriend stroked her hair absentmindedly. It was a quiet night, just the way they liked it.

Y/n was on her phone, swiping her fingers aimlessly across the screen, until she found a folder of photos that she kept dearly. A folder full of photos of the two of them since the beginning of their relationship, when they were still 18 years old.

She began to scroll through the images slowly, looking at the younger versions of them. Some were silly selfies, others moments captured by friends. One in particular made her smile—Lando trying to make a face as she kissed his cheek.

Her smile quickly gave way to a tightness in her chest. Tears began to well up in her eyes as memories flooded back. Each photo told a story, a phase of their relationship, and the weight of their years together hit her hard.

Until she stopped at a photo. From the quality, you could tell it was old. They were hugging each other in the middle of the racetrack after Norris' F2 race, both smiling at the camera. Lando held his helmet under his arm, and Y/n's cheeks were flushed, as if she had just laughed.

A sob escaped before she could hold it back.

Lando, who was still running his fingers through her hair, noticed the sound and smiled. "Honey, you don't have to cry just because I stopped stroking your hair for a moment." He joked, without taking his eyes off the TV.

But when another sob came, he frowned and finally looked at her. Y/n bit her lip, trying to hold back the tears, but she couldn't.

Lando paused the series. "Hey, what happened?" He asked softly.

Y/n sat up slowly and handed him her phone. Lando looked at the photo and, as soon as he recognized it, he smiled.

"Hey, our first picture together as boyfriend and girlfriend." He chuckled a little, his eyes filled with nostalgia. "Look how we were still teenagers."

Y/n smiled through her tears and snuggled closer to him, peeking at her phone screen as Lando handed the device back to her.

"I have more" She said, sliding to the side.

Lando watched as she scrolled through each photo, pausing for long seconds on some. Her eyes were shining, full of emotion. Until, upon reaching a specific image, Y/n dropped the phone on her lap and cried.

It was a normal night in Lando's room, when they were still in their twenties. The picture showed Y/n lying on the bed, wearing one of his baggy t-shirts and sweatpants, her hair messy on the pillow. She was laughing, her eyes shining with joy, while Lando held the camera with one hand and stretched his arm out to capture the moment. He was smiling too, his face close to hers, his cheeks flushed as if he had just laughed along with her.

It was one of those spontaneous photos, without poses or worries. Just the two of them, young and in love, living a peaceful and happy moment.

Lando chuckled, turning to her. "Baby, why are you crying like that?"

Y/n raised her head, her eyes red and teary. "Because I love you," she said with a choked voice. "You're the love of my life, Lan. I'm so happy to have been with you for so many years... I... I'm just crying with happiness."

Lando's heart melted. He ran his fingers down her face, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and smiling. "We'll spend many, many years together," he promised. "I don't want any other life than with you, Y/n. You're my best friend, my companion... The person who knows me better than I know myself. I'm so grateful that you're with me."

Y/n cried harder, hiding her face in his shoulder. "I love you so much."

"I love you so much, love" He murmured, holding her close.

After a few minutes, she picked up her phone again and looked at the photos. Now, between one funny comment and another, Lando laughed at her reactions.

"Honey, why are you crying now?"

"Because this picture is perfect! Look how beautiful you are!"

In it, Lando was in overalls, still sweaty and disheveled, sitting on the step of the McLaren motorhome. His smile was huge, radiant, as he held a bottle of water in his hand and smiled at his girlfriend. But the most special detail was Y/n, sitting one step below him, holding his face between her hands and looking at him with a sparkle in her eyes.

Lando hadn't even realized that photo existed. Probably someone on the team had recorded the moment without them knowing.

"You cry over everything, you know that?" He laughed, shaking his head. "And I'm all sweaty in this picture. Far from looking good."

"Oh, mind your own business!" Y/n laughs, pushing him lightly on the couch and making him laugh out loud.

But Lando was already used to that. Since he was 18, he had been dating the sweet girl who cried at everything. At first, he thought it was because of those female hormones, but he soon discovered that Y/n was, in fact, a sentimental girl who valued every detail.

At the beginning of their relationship, her parents had to help him understand this. They said that their daughter had been like this since she was a baby and that when she started crying, it was best to let her get it all out.

Over time, Lando learned his own ways to soothe her. He knew that holding her tight helped. That whispering sweet words in her ear made her sobs lessen. And that sometimes she just wanted to know he was there.

And Lando always would be.

He wouldn't change a thing about her. Because he loved Y/n exactly the way she was.

#fanfiction #y/n #romance #imagines #one shot #formula 1 #formula one #fem reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando norris #lando norris x female reader

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itsshawtyfellas · 2 days ago

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Solo

Pairing: Thanos x fem!reader x Nam-Gyu

Warnings: 18+ (mature content such as masturbation, voyeurism, poly relationship, degradation kink, sex dream, drug mention, groping, cum)

A/N: ever since s2 of squid game came out I've been OBSESSEDDDD... like why is everyone so fine (no one would be safe from me) so I decided to write a little something 🫦 enjoy sluts

Ever since you've met them, you could say your life has been sort of... chaotic; both outside of the games and during them.

You weren't complaining though. Despite being absolutely fucked in both their heads, you loved them and they loved you... in their own weird and twisted ways. They would always complain and do stupid shit to get your attention whenever you were busy with something; they insult each other when it came to decide which one of them would hold you in your sleep; they would also fight to guess who would have the chance to fuck you.

♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤

Their prying eyes were open with slightly dilated pupils from the drugs they took earlier and were fixated on you as you slept, the three of you hidden in the far bottom corner of the layers of bunk beds. Your body was in between theirs as they (once again) fought to sleep with you, only to end with their figures in each side, Nam-Gyu supporting his body with his elbow as he laid sideways while Thanos sat normally with his knees up and his arms on top of them. You were sleeping peacefully despite their murmuring voices until Thanos notices the slight change in your breathing pattern, tilting his head with furrowed eyebrows in confusion.

"Nah bro, I'm tellin' you that guy's fucking crazy to be playin' this shit all over again-" Nam-Gyu says with a smirk, not noticing Thanos' focus on your face as he tried to tell if you were going to wake up or not.

"Shut up." Thanos' baritone voice stops him mid sentence and Nam-Gyu only looks at him with an annoyed look until you hum in your sleep and he lifts his head, meeting Thanos' eyes to confirm if he heard the same. They both look down at you as their voices fade into the air, eventually thinking it was nothing abnormal and ready to go back to their previous conversation until you hummed again but it wasn't a casual hum you'd use to fill the silence.

No, it almost sounded like a hum of... pleasure. Upon this realization, their curious gazes and sultry grins stay fixated on your sleeping form, not aware that you were dreaming of them; of their hot and naked skin on yours as they fucked you senseless, wet lips glued to your neck and face as veiny hands roamed all over your body, from your bouncing tits all the way to your soaking wet cunt as you were seated on Nam-Gyu's lap, his cock in your tight asshole as he held your legs open to let Thanos fuck your warm pussy.

As the dirty scenario in your brain continued, you unconsciously start to lightly hump your hips against the air as another low hum escapes your lips, not even realizing it was all a dream nor feeling both men's wandering eyes as they took over your form with smirks on their faces, watching silently the way you, at some point, brought your hand to your core to lightly rub your clit through your clothes and they only shot each other a look of amusement, feeling their dicks twitch in their pants.

Still dreaming of their cocks inside of you, fucking you raw and deep, you let out a low whimper –not low enough since they could hear– as your hand travels to your heat again to rub yourself for a second time, feeling like you were getting closer and closer but before you could be near that peak, you feel your body twitch as you wake up and you take a sharp intake of breath to calm yourself down.

"Havin' fun, señorita?" Thanos' voice suddenly cuts through the silence, catching you off guard and your head turns to look to at him with wide eyes as he looks down at you with raised brows and an amused look.

"Looks like you're havin' a great time, huh?" Nam-Gyu teases and you glance at him to see that stupid cocky grin of his on his face and you had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes, not bothering to respond as you try to hide the fact you still felt hot and bothered by closing your eyes to get some sleep. "Not gonna answer?" He continues with a low chuckle.

"That's weird... you weren't this quiet a few minutes ago." Thanos' words were teasing and you try to avoid giving both of them a snarky response, feeling heat rush to your cheeks due to the embarrassing fact they knew you were having a wet dream and you contemplated between answering them or going right back to sleep but your train of thoughts was interrupted the moment a ringed hand goes straight to your clothed core and roughly cupping it in his hand before letting it rest gently against it, causing your body to jolt at the sudden rush of pleasure.

"Don't tell us you're feelin' shy now." He continues his teasing as Nam-Gyu keeps his hand on you without moving it and you'd be lying to yourself if you said it didn't turn you on. It caused you to almost move your hips against his hand but you managed to refrain yourself from doing so.

"C'mon guys, I just wanna sleep-" You pipe up with tiredness in your voice only for Nam-Gyu to interrupt you before you could finish. "Oh, do you?" He grins down at you as he squeezes your heat again and you instantly, without thinking, press your thighs together for some sort of relief and your sudden movement didn't go unnoticed by Thanos, whose wandering eyes never left your form as he also smirks.

"Someone's desperate-" The purple haired man grins mischievously and your eyes shoot up to him at his words, ready to give him a not so nice response before he continues. "-for a nice night of sleep, that is." He finishes, almost playfully as he sees the hunger and annoyance in your eyes. "Tsk, what did you think I meant, hm?"

"Oh, I think she wanted a part two." Nam-Gyu taunts with an egotistical grin oh his face, referring to the dream you had a few minutes ago before locking eyes with Thanos, whose tattooed hand starts petting your hair. "Is that so, señorita?"

"You guys are so fucking annoying, I swear..." She trails off with a slightly exaggerated eye roll, masking her arousal. "And yet we manage to fuck that out of you, right?" He asks rethorically, stopping you from continuing.

"Nah bro, she knows that... or maybe she doesn't..." The long haired man responds in your place, muttering an almost mocking 'dumb bitch' under his breath.

"Seriously, fuck you... both of you." You snap.

The men only look at each other with smug grins on their faces before bursting out laughing at your annoyance, having to cover their mouths so that they wouldn't accidentally wake up the other players. "What's the matter? Did we not fuck you good enough in your dream?" Nam-Gyu teases and his hand sneaks inside your pants and underwear, feeling the hot moisture of your cunt on his fingers and you buck your hips against his hand, biting the inside of your lower lip to suppress a moan.

"Wait... we must have 'cause she's so fucking wet already... shit, you hear that?" He grins at Thanos, who only smirks as he keeps petting your hair, listening to the sound of your heaved breathing and the lewd squelching sounds of your pussy the moment he slips two fingers inside you. He thrusts his fingers in and out at a fast and rough pace, causing you to gasp and your back to arch off the bed as you ache for relief but that's quickly stripped away from you when he stops his motion and takes his fingers out of you, wiping them on the thin blanket covering your body.

"What the fuck-" Your breathless voice and words immediately die in Thanos' mouth as he kisses you fervently with his hand still on your head, his tongue pushing past your lips and demanding entrance in your mouth, both of your tongues battling against each other before he pulls away, leaving you gasping with a cocky grin on his face. "Why are you so frustrated, huh? We just want the best for you." He says in a teasing sad tone while Nam-Gyu only laughs as he sees the frustration on your face.

"The best thing you two assholes can give me right now is a good night of sleep-" The last bit of her sentence is dragged out a little as ringed fingers start itching up your groin once again, his touch light and teasing causing your leg to twitch and for you to push his hand away.

"Woah, no need to be so rude."

"We're just trying to help... you need to relax."

Thanos finishes his sentence with a wink and a lopsided smile and Nam-gyu's dumb grin doesn't leave as he takes the blanket off your body and starts to pull your pants down along with your underwear and at this point you're already too turned on to care as you raise your lower half to let him take them off, pushing them towards the end of the bed with your legs. "There you go, see?" He in a low condescending tone as he watches you. "We'll make sure you get a tight sleep, ain't that right?"

Nam-Gyu only laughs before answering him in a hushed tone. "Yeah, we can't leave our girl hanging, right?" He teases as he keeps his focus on you and Thanos' painted fingernails scrape gently back and forth the skin of your groin before traveling to your inner thigh. You knew the game they were playing with you – a game they've played countless of times before in different circumstances – teasing and mocking you to no end when they knew you ached for the same thing they wanted, almost like a game of cat and mouse, with them always looking for ways to pounce on you. Even though you enjoyed when they did this, you couldn't help but take a brief glance around the area, wanting to make sure none of the other players were up and watching you before Thanos leans in to whisper 'no one's watching, don't worry' in your ear, interrupting your train of thoughts and you focus again on the feeling of his warm hand on your left thigh, noticing how Nam-Gyu's cold one went to your right thigh – a contrast between them. Both their hands take a firm hold on your legs as their lustful gazes meet with sinful grins, almost as if they were communicating telepathically when they suddenly pull your legs up and holding them to your chest, a low gasp escaping your lips as you felt a little too exposed to the cold air – or to anyone who could walk by.

Your breath catches a little as they ogled at your wet cunt without any shame, watching the way your gaping hole kept clenching around nothing with perversed smiles.

"Do you want something?" Nam-Gyu asks with mock empathy, watching the desperate look on your face and slight twitching of your hips, wanting them to do something, anything. Almost as if he read your mind, his fingers go back to your core, rubbing your folds with his middle finger before circling fast and light circles on your clit. Your back immediately arches as he does so and right before their ears could hear a moan, Thanos' palm covers your mouth, muffling any sound that could come out.

"Shh... c'mon, you don't wanna wake up the others, do you?" He beams, faking concern knowing he could care less if they got caught or not.

"You're a fuckin' slut, getting my fingers all wet like this but you like that, don't you?" The dark haired man sneers, pistoning his fingers in and out of your pussy with an unwavering speed and a firm grip on the back of your thigh. You bite your lower lip beneath Thanos' hand to suppress any sound that could come out but it got harder and harder as he keeps the relentless pace of his fingers.

You couldn't stop squirming around under their smug stares, uncontrollably rolling your hips against his hand the closer you got to the edge and a desperate pant leaves your lips when you feel the sudden emptiness in your walls, realizing he took his fingers out once again and you let your head fall back against the pillow.

"Aw, you poor thing. You were close, weren't you?" Thanos' deep voice rings in your ear, taunting you. "Make yourself come then." He directs and despite his usual playful attitude, you know when he's telling you to do something, you do it.

"You heard him, didn't you? C'mon, do it."

Although you felt slightly timid under their daring eyes, you weren't letting them repeat their words – knowing for a fact they would either fuck you out in the open or leave you hanging. You didn't bother to complain or plead them as you focused on the wetness between your legs, your right hand heading downwards and right to your stimulated clit, rubbing light circles on it and caressing your hole with you ring and middle finger from time to time.

"Jesus fuck..." You recognized Thanos' gravelly voice beside you as his free hand travels to the hem of your shirt, lifting it all the way up to your chin along with your bra, your nipples hardening due to the sudden cold air as he leaves you almost fully bare beneath them. He doesn't waste time in squeezing and toying with your hardened bud at the same time Nam-Gyu's warm mouth meets your other nipple, licking and sucking hard on it while holding your leg so he could have more access.

"Oh fuck..." You trail off with a moan and your eyes close, your hand gripping his dark locks as you bask in the feeling of their hands and mouth on you, including the feeling of your own touch as you pick up the speed of your fingers on your pussy.

You're too lost in your own pleasure to even realize that they stopped touching you, moving around on the bed so they could sit up on their knees beside your laying form before lowering their own pants and boxers to free their already hard cocks, stroking themselves at the sight of you.

"Fuck me... what a fucking slut. You like this, don't you?" Nam-Gyu taunts with a sly grin as his ringed hand goes back to your thigh, gripping it firmly again against your chest and that's when you open your eyes and notice their veiny hands stroking themselves, the sight turning you on even more.

"She fucking loves it, man. Put them inside for me, baby." The purple haired man nods towards the fingers currently circling your clit and you slip those same fingers inside your soaked cunt, filling the air with squelching sounds as you thrust them in and out, curling them the slightest bit to get the build up you needed to reach your orgasm.

"Oh God- fuck, I'm... I'm close." You panted.

"Hold it-" Nam-Gyu barks before Thanos stops him. "Fuck that, c'mon baby, make a mess for us."

You couldn't focus on their slight banter and much less on whose order to follow as you kept thrusting your fingers at a brutal pace, the skin of your palm hitting your clit just perfectly and just enough to make you spasm on the bed, a big wave of pleasure washing over you and taking over your body as you come, your mouth falling open involuntarily and you had to cover your mouth before any sound could escape.

"Fuck yes, that's my bitch... that's my fucking slut." Nam-Gyu adds in a trembling and hushed voice, almost as if he was saying it to himself the closer he got to his peak. By sensing this, you lift the fingers that were previously in your cunt and full of your arousal towards your mouth, giving them a taste of their own medicine by sucking on them as kept your eyes fixated on them and on the way they were rapidly stroking their dicks.

You suck the juices off your fingers until there was nothing left, not once taking your eyes off them, causing their hold on your legs to tighten and you help them by keeping them bent and glued to your chest.

A few seconds go by before Thanos body trembles as he gives his cock a few more messy strokes, his cum gushing out of him and falling directly on your vulva in thin ropes of white, a few low groans and a 'so fucking pretty' falling out of his lips as he adjusts his clothes and falling back on the mattress. Nam-Gyu follows right after, a series of low hums rumbling in his chest as he thrusts into his hand, his sperm shooting out of him as it hits not only your already cum covered cunt but also your thighs.

"There... now you don't have to dream." Nam-Gyu's sentence if followed by a slap on your thigh as pulls his pants back up and laying down on his back.

You could only sigh to yourself as you didn't feel fully satisfied but you knew they wouldn't easily give you what you wanted, so you silently put your track pants and underwear back on, feeling the moisture between your legs as their hot and sticky fluids seep through your skin and panties.

"That's our girl." Thanos chuckles amusingly along with Nam-Gyu as they both end falling asleep with their arms around you.

♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤

A/N: I was supposed to post this days ago but I've been going through a MAJOR writers block but I'm glad I finally finished it... also the next fic might be a salesman one so pay attention... hope you enjoyed it loves🫶🏽

PS: funny how I started writing this on the toilet just to finish it the same way lmao

#nam gyu smut #nam gyu x reader #squid game x reader #squid game smut #thanos x reader #thanos smut #x black reader #black!reader

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hjvi · 3 days ago

Text

𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝑼𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅

Pairing: Bsf!Chris Sturniolo x Fem!Reader

Summary: After burying your feelings for Chris for years, you're caught off guard when jealousy resurfaces, watching him with another girl. requested

Word Count: 2k

You’ve known Chris for as long as you can remember. His laugh is unmistakable—the kind that echoes, rich and deep, bouncing off walls and filling every corner of the room with warmth. He’s always been loud, full of life, and incredibly magnetic, effortlessly drawing people in with his charm. But for you, it was always more than that.

You knew him long before you started feeling this way��long before his tousled brown hair, with the hints of sun-kissed highlights, started looking a little too perfect in the way it fell over his forehead. Before his blue eyes started making your stomach twist in a way you could no longer ignore. Before you started noticing the little things, like the warmth of his hand when it brushed against yours, the way he’d throw his arm around your shoulders during movie nights with the group, the way he’d pause mid-sentence, just to smile at you like he couldn’t help himself.

For so long, you’d been his best friend—the quiet one, the one who had always been there for him, laughing at his jokes, listening to his stories, offering support. But recently, it started to feel different. You started noticing things—small things—that never bothered you before. His smile. How it lingered just a little longer when he looked at you, how his eyes would soften when you spoke about something that mattered to you. The way he would rest his hand on your shoulder casually when you were hanging out, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

But you couldn’t admit it—not even to yourself. Because how could you? He was Chris, your best friend. Your partner in crime, the one you could tell everything to, the one who made you laugh when you felt like crying. If you told him how you felt, you were terrified it would ruin everything. You couldn’t lose him, not like that. Not over something as silly as a crush.

Ever since Chris and I were kids, he had the biggest crush on me. His brothers would tease him relentlessly, making exaggerated kissing noises every time he so much as looked at me for too long. Everyone knew. It was an unspoken truth, something that just existed between us, a constant presence I never had to question.

It lasted for years. And I never thought much of it—Chris always asking me dumb questions just to talk to me, always finding excuses to sit beside me, always looking at me like I hung the stars in the sky. It was just Chris being Chris.

Until he stopped.

I don’t know exactly when it happened, but one day I realized he didn’t ask me those corny things anymore. He didn’t try to sit closer. He didn’t stare at me like I was his entire world. And I should’ve been relieved, should’ve been grateful that the teasing from his brothers had finally died down.

But I wasn’t.

I missed his attention. I missed knowing I was the center of his focus..

I remember the first time we formally talked about our crushes. It was in middle school, sprawled out on his bedroom floor, tossing a stress ball back and forth.

"I kinda like Sophia," he had admitted, his voice casual, like he wasn’t saying something that made my stomach twist.

Sophia. The blonde that every guy liked. The one with the kind of effortless beauty that made people gravitate toward her. Of course, he liked her.

I had forced a smile, nodding. "Yeah? She’s cool."

Chris studied me for a second before tossing the ball again. "Who do you like?"

I froze. My heart stuttered, my mind scrambling for a name that wasn’t his.

Because for the first time, I realized—I liked Chris.

And it terrified me.

"I don’t know," I lied, shrugging. "Haven’t really thought about it."

He smirked. "Liar."

I laughed it off, quickly changing the subject, but the truth sat heavy in my chest.

The weight of unspoken words had never felt heavier than it did now. For as long as I could remember, Chris had been my person. My best friend. The one I could always count on to make me laugh when the world felt unbearable. The one whose presence alone made everything feel lighter. But somewhere along the way, things had shifted. My laughter lingered a little too long when he cracked a joke. My heart raced a little too fast when his hand brushed against mine. My eyes searched for him in every crowded room, drawn to him in a way I knew wasn’t just friendly.

I had fallen in love with him.

And I never told him.

I buried those feelings so deep inside me, convinced that if I ignored them long enough, they would disappear. Because why would someone like Chris ever look at me that way? He deserved someone beautiful, effortless—someone who didn’t trip over their own words when he smiled at them. And if I ever told him, it would ruin everything. So I stayed quiet. I convinced myself that being his best friend was enough.

But then, Leah came into the picture.

At first, it was just a passing thought. You knew about her, of course. She was friends with the group, always hanging out with them, just like you. But over the past couple of weeks, things had changed. You’d noticed the way Chris started talking about her more—how he’d smile a little brighter when her name came up, how he’d mention things they’d done together, and how his eyes would light up when he talked about her, in a way that he’d never looked at you.

It was a gradual shift, but one you couldn’t ignore.

It started small at first. The way he talked about her. A girl whose name I had never needed to remember before, but suddenly, it was everywhere. Her laugh, her texts lighting up his phone, the way his eyes sparkled when he mentioned her. And then I saw it—the way he looked at her, and it shattered me.

I had spent so long pretending that I was okay just being his friend, but now, I couldn’t pretend anymore. Every time he smiled at her, it felt like a knife to the heart. Every time I saw her name flash on his screen, I wanted to disappear. Because it wasn’t me. It would never be me. And the thought of that—of watching him fall in love with someone who wasn’t me—was unbearable.

So I started pulling away.

At first, Chris didn’t notice. He’d text me, and I’d reply hours later, blaming school or sleep. When he called, I let it ring until it stopped, my fingers hovering over the answer button, aching to hear his voice but knowing it would only hurt. I started making excuses, avoiding plans, choosing solitude over his company.

But Chris wasn’t stupid.

It was a Thursday when everything came to a head. The weather was unusually warm for an early spring evening, the sunlight streaming through the window in Chris’s room as you sat next to him, legs stretched out on the floor. Chris had his headphones on, scrolling through his phone while you were lost in thought. The space between you both felt wider than ever, like something had shifted and you couldn’t put it back.

He was talking, his voice full of energy, but you weren’t really listening. You were too focused on the way his laugh sounded when he mentioned Leah’s name—how much joy seemed to be wrapped in that one syllable.

“Yeah, Leah and I were talking about going to that concert next month,” Chris said, not even noticing the way your heart dropped at the mention of her.

You forced a smile, trying to keep the sadness from showing. “That sounds fun,” you said, trying to keep your voice light. You bit your lip, fighting the tears that were threatening to spill over. It was becoming harder and harder to control them.

Chris pulled his headphones off and turned to you, his eyes narrowing in concern. “You sure you’re alright?” he asked, his voice softening. He reached out to touch your arm, and his touch made your heart race for all the wrong reasons.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, your throat tight. You didn’t know how to explain it to him—not without feeling like a fool. How could you tell him that you were in love with him, that every moment with him was a reminder of what you could never have?

This was just the beginning of the interrogations

“Okay, what the hell is going on with you?” he asked one evening, barging into my room without warning, his blue eyes sharp with concern.

I sat frozen on my bed, my laptop open in front of me, though I hadn’t typed a single word in the past hour. My heart slammed against my ribs. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb, dude. You’ve been weird. Distant. You barely talk to me anymore.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Did I do something?”

Yes, I wanted to scream. You fell for someone else. And you didn’t even notice it was breaking me.

But instead, I shook my head. “I’m just busy, Chris.”

“Bullshit,” he shot back immediately, crossing his arms. “You’re avoiding me.”

I swallowed hard, looking anywhere but at him. “I’m not.”

He sighed, stepping closer, his voice softer this time. “Then why won’t you look at me?”

Tears burned at the back of my eyes. I clenched my fists, willing myself to keep it together, but it was useless. The pain, the jealousy, the heartbreak—it was all bubbling to the surface too fast for me to stop it.

“Chris,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Please just drop it.”

“No,” he said firmly. “I won’t. Because you’re hurting, and I don’t know why.” He hesitated, searching my face. “Is it something I did?”

The lump in my throat grew, and before I could stop myself, a single tear slipped down my cheek. “You didn’t do anything.”

Chris’s face fell, his expression crumbling as he reached for me instinctively. “Then why are you crying?”

He leaned in closer, his warm blue eyes locking with yours, and you could feel the weight of his gaze. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

He froze, and you felt his hand gently tug at your chin, pulling your face back toward him. His eyes were wide with concern, his usual teasing expression replaced by one of deep, genuine worry.

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, everything felt too heavy. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, and the vulnerability you’d been hiding for so long threatened to break free. You looked at him, his face so close to yours, his genuine concern written all over his features, and it hit you like a wave.

And just like that, the dam broke.

I sucked in a shaky breath, my entire body trembling. “Because I can’t do this anymore,” I admitted, my voice cracking. “I can’t keep pretending like it doesn’t kill me to see you with her. I can’t keep acting like I don’t care when you talk about her, when you smile at her, when you—” I broke off, covering my face with my hands. “God, I’m so stupid.”

Chris stood frozen, his breath catching. “Wait,” he said slowly. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

I let out a bitter laugh, wiping at my tears. “I’m saying I love you, Chris. I have for a long time. And I never told you because I was terrified of ruining this—ruining us. But now, it doesn’t even matter, does it?” My voice cracked on the last words, my heart breaking all over again. “Because you’ve already found someone else.”

Chris’s expression shifted, his brows furrowing deeply. “Wait—what?” His voice cracked slightly, the shock evident on his face. He pulled you closer, his hands gently cradling your face. “You... you’re in love with me?”

The words felt like a breath of fresh air—like a confession you had kept locked away in the deepest part of your heart. But even as you said it, you weren’t sure what would happen next. Would he push you away? Would he laugh? Or would he... understand?

Silence.

My chest heaved, the room spinning around me. I didn’t know what I expected—maybe for him to let me down gently, to tell me he was flattered but his heart was elsewhere. Maybe even for him to walk away. But I didn’t expect what happened next.

Chris stepped forward, closing the distance between us. His hands cupped my face, forcing me to meet his gaze. His thumbs brushed away my tears, his touch so unbearably gentle it made my breath hitch.

“I—I’m sorry,” you stammered, wiping at your eyes, trying to suppress the tears. “I never wanted to say it. I didn’t want to ruin things between us.”

Chris was silent for a moment, his brow furrowing as he stood up slowly. He walked over to you and gently took your phone from your hand, placing it on the coffee table. His touch was light, his hand brushing against your fingers in a way that sent warmth rushing through you.

“Hey,” he said softly, kneeling in front of you so you were eye-level. “You don’t have to apologize for your feelings. It’s okay to feel what you feel.”

But you couldn’t stop the tears. They came in waves now, the floodgates opening. “I just thought… I thought I was fine,” you whispered through the sobs. “I thought I could handle it. But seeing you with her, seeing you get so close to her, it just—it hurts so much. I… I don’t know how to be around you anymore.”

Chris’s expression shifted from concern to something deeper—something you couldn’t quite place. He gently cupped your face in his hands, wiping away the tears with his thumbs. His eyes were intense, a mix of confusion and something else—something you couldn’t decipher.

“You’re an idiot,” he whispered, shaking his head.

“You think I don’t feel it too?” he murmured, his voice rough. He gently pulled you into his arms, holding you close, his warmth enveloping you. “I’ve been trying to figure this out, too, you know.”

I opened my mouth to protest, to explain how I had felt so invisible, so forgotten. But his next words stopped me.

“I’ve been in love with you for so long, I’m pretty sure it’s written all over my face,” he said, his voice raw, unguarded. “But I never said anything because I thought you didn’t feel the same way. I didn’t want to mess everything up. But the truth is... I can’t stand seeing you hurt. I can’t stand the idea of losing you. I need you, and I always have.” Chris’s hands gently ran up and down your back, the touch comforting yet charged with emotion.

My breath caught in my throat, my heart hammering against my chest as his words sank in. I blinked rapidly, trying to process them, to keep my composure, but it was like everything inside me finally cracked open. All the years of pretending, of burying my feelings beneath layers of friendship and doubt, had been in vain. Chris—Chris felt the same way.

“You... love me?” I whispered, still not quite believing it, my voice trembling as I searched his face for any sign of doubt. But there was none. His gaze was steady, unwavering.

“I love you,” he said, more firmly this time. “Always have. Always will.”

The realization hit you then, like a weight lifting from your chest. He had been feeling the same way all along, hiding his feelings just as much as you had.

Without thinking, you pulled back slightly, looking up into his eyes, and that was when everything seemed to come together. The pain, the confusion, the years of silence... it all fell away. The only thing that mattered now was the connection between you two.

“Chris... I’m scared,” you whispered, your hands shaking slightly as you cupped his face.

He smiled softly, that familiar, reassuring grin that made your heart race. “I know,” he murmured, brushing your hair out of your face. “But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

My chest swelled with something I couldn’t quite name—relief, hope, joy—until it all broke free in a rush of emotion. Without thinking, I stepped forward, closing the distance between us. My hands found his chest, pressing against the solid warmth of him, and before I could stop myself, I was kissing him—softly, tentatively at first, as though testing the waters after a lifetime of waiting.

The moment our lips met, everything else faded into the background. At first, it was slow—tentative. His lips were soft against mine, his breath warm and steady. I could feel the tension in his body, like he was testing the waters, unsure if this was real. And then, just like that, it deepened. Chris’s hand slid to my waist, pulling me in closer, until there was no space left between us. His touch was gentle but firm, like he needed me, like he was afraid to let go. His lips moved against mine with a tenderness that made my heart flutter, each kiss a promise, each one a reassurance that this moment was more than just a fleeting desire.

I melted into him, my fingers finding their way to his chest, lightly gripping the fabric of his shirt. His heart was racing beneath my touch, mirroring mine. The kiss grew more urgent, but there was still a sweetness to it, a softness that made everything feel like it was happening in slow motion, like we had all the time in the world. His lips were warm and sure, coaxing mine to respond, to give in, and I did, losing myself in the sensation of him, in the feeling of finally being close to the one person I had secretly longed for.

But eventually, I had to pull away, gasping for air. The intensity of the kiss left me breathless, my body trembling from the closeness of it. I couldn’t think, couldn’t process anything beyond the overwhelming feeling of his lips on mine, of the warmth of his touch.

I pulled back just enough to catch my breath, my chest heaving as I looked up at him. His eyes were still closed, as if he were trying to hold onto the moment just a little longer. But when he opened them, he locked his gaze with mine, and in that moment, I saw something in his eyes I hadn’t expected—something so tender, so vulnerable.

He reached for me almost immediately, his hands gentle as he cupped my face, pulling me back toward him. His lips found mine again, but this time, it was softer—gentler. He kissed me with a tenderness that spoke volumes, as if he needed me as much as I needed him, and as if he had been waiting for this moment just as long as I had. His touch was no longer desperate, but filled with a quiet longing, a reassurance that we were in this together, that we had both found something we couldn’t bear to let go of.

His breath mingled with mine, warm and slow, as his forehead rested gently against mine. His hands moved to my back, holding me close, as if he never wanted to let me go. I could feel the warmth of his chest against mine, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under my fingertips, and it was like everything in the world had finally fallen into place.

“I’ve been wanting this for so long,” Chris whispered, his voice soft, almost a little shaky. “You’re everything to me, you know that?”

I nodded, my heart swelling with emotions I couldn’t quite put into words. The love in his voice, the way he held me like I was fragile, like I was something precious—it was everything I’d ever wanted. He gently brushed a strand of hair from my face, his fingers lingering against my skin for a moment longer than necessary, as if he was memorizing the feel of me, like he never wanted to forget this moment.

“Don’t pull away,” he whispered again, his voice thick with emotion. His eyes searched mine, the intensity in them soft but unwavering. “I need you here. With me. Always.”

I looked into his eyes, feeling the sincerity in his words, the depth of his feelings for me. His hands were still on my waist, holding me close but with a softness that made me feel safe, cherished.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered back, my voice a little shaky as I cupped his cheek, running my thumb across the stubble that had started to form there. “I’m right here.”

And with that, he kissed me again, slowly this time—more like a promise than a question. His lips were gentle against mine, like he was savoring the moment, making sure we were both fully present in it. There was no rush, no urgency, just the quiet certainty that we were exactly where we were meant to be. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me even closer, and I let myself get lost in him, in the feeling of finally being with the person I had loved for so long.

When we finally pulled away again, I could see the faintest smile tugging at his lips, and I knew that whatever came next, we would face it together. His hands gently cradled my face, and I could feel the tenderness in every touch, every look. He wasn’t just kissing me; he was showing me that he needed me, that he loved me, in a way that words couldn’t fully express.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I'm sorry if this feels a bit rushed – it's because, well, it kind of is. This was a requested piece, and I apologize it's not a full-length fic, but I really hope you still enjoy it! Things have been pretty busy on my end, but I'm hoping to dive into future requests with more plot and depth. Thanks again for your patience and support!

tags - @swagalicious260 @watercolorskyy @coquettechris @lovesturni0l0s @christmastreecake @ellbowmacaroni @blog-luvdance @sophand4n4 @meg4-matt44 @mommymomm @chriss-slutt @humpster35 @courta13 @idkwhatthisis2009 @yourfavoritefangirl @slutformatt17 @watercolorskyy @mylifeisevenstranger @suyqa @junnniiieee07 @thecrawlys

╰┈➤𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒚, 𝒉𝒊𝒗𝒊

#matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #the sturniolo triplets #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo smut #matt stuniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo edit #matt sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturiolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fluff #sturniolo

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heeluvv · 3 days ago

Text

𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐓 ⊹₊⋆

pairing .ᐟ park jongseong x gf! reader

genre .ᐟ smut

warnings .ᐟ handjob, semi-public, nsfw, etc

natty's notes .ᐟ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

you sit beside jay, heart thudding a little too fast as his mother refills your glass with water. she's been nothing but kind, his father equally warm, yet there's something about meeting his parents that makes you feel like you have to be perfect―like you have to earn their approval, even when jay reassures you they already love you.

jay, on the other hand, seems at ease, leaning back in his chair, one arm resting against the table as he skillfully steers the conversation. his confidence is intoxicating, the way he effortlessly switches between responding to his father's questions and throwing you soft glances in between. you know he's aware of the way your hand has been resting on his thigh under the table, fingers grazing lightly over the fabric of his slacks.

you start slow, a teasing stroke of your fingers over his inner thigh, feeling him stiffen just slightly beside you. his voice hitches mid-sentence, but he covers it quickly, reaching for his glass to take a sip of water. his mother doesn't notice, nodding along as he continues speaking, but you don't miss the way his grip tightens around the glass.

it's thrilling, watching him try to keep it together as you trail your fingers higher, brushing over the growing bulge between his legs. he clears his throat, giving you subtle warning glance, but it only makes you bolder.

you press the heel of your hand against him, the outline of his hardening length evident even through the fabric, and he exhales sharply, disguising it as a deep breath. his father raises a brow.

"are you alright, son?"

jay forces a tight-lipped smile, nodding quickly. "yeah―uh, just a little hot in here."

his mother hums. "maybe we should turn the air down a bit?"

"no," he blurts, just a little too quickly, before forcing another smile. "i mean, it's fine, really."

you bite back a smirk, fingers working deftly as you palm him under the table, relishing the way his muscles tense under you touch. his hand shoots down to grip your wrist, a silent plea for mercy, but you don't let up. instead, you lean closer, feigning innocence as you whisper, "something wrong, baby?"

his jaw tightens, his grip on your wrist loosening just slightly as he shakes his head, voice strained. "nothing at all."

his father nods, continuing on with the conversation oblivious to the way his son is barely keeping himself together beside you. jay shoots you one last look―part exasperated, part desperate― you grin, satisfied, knowing that this dinner just got a lot more interesting.

jay swallows hard, shifting slightly in his seat as if that will somehow lessen the way your fingers are working him through his pants. it doesn't. if anything, it makes things worse because now you know just how desperate he is, how much effort he's putting into keeping a straight face.

his mother is speaking again, something about a trip they're planning next summer, but jay barely registers a word of it. he nods when appropriate, forces out hums of acknowledgment, but all he can focus on is the slow, torturous way your hand moves, palming him, teasing him, setting his nerves on fire.

he exhales sharply through his nose when you finally manage to slip past the waistband of his slacks, fingers brushing against heated skin. his grip on the edge of the table tightens, his knuckles turning white.

"jay?"

his father's voice snaps him out of it, and he jerks slightly, his knee bumping the table hard enough that the silverware rattles. you suppress a laugh as his mother looks at him with concern.

"sorry," he mutters, clearing his throat. "just―uh, a cramp."

you press a little more firmly against him, wrapping your fingers around his length, and he nearly chokes on his own breath.

"a cramp?" his mother repeats, frowning. "are you drinking enough water?"

"plenty," jay grits out, his eyes darting to yours in a silent, desperate warning. his pupils are blown wide, a light sheen of sweat forming at his temples. he looks wrecked, teetering on the edge of losing control, and you love it.

"you sure? you look a little flushed," his father comments, eyeing him curiously.

"i'm fine," jay says quickly, voice slightly strained. "just―long day. probably just tired."

his mother tsks, giving him a loo of sympathy. "you work to hard, sweetheart. you should rest more."

"i'll―" his breath hitches as you stroke him just a little firmer, your thumb brushing against the sensitive tip. "i'll try."

he's slipping. you can feel it in the way his thigh tenses beneath your touch, in the way his breathing has turned shallow. he's so close, balancing between control and absolute ruin, and it's exhilarating knowing you have him like this, knowing that with just a little more, he'll completely fall apart.

"well, dessert should be ready soon! i made your favorite, jay" his mother stands, gathering the empty plates.

jay grips the edge of the table like it's last lifeline, his knuckles turning a shade lighter than the rest of his skin. his mother hums happily as she sets down dessert, her attention focused on explaining how she perfected the dessert this time around. jay tries to focus, he really does, but the way your hand subtly increase.

he snaps his thighs together, trapping your wrist in place, sending you sharp glare, but the slight twitch in his brow gives him away. you're getting to him. his pulse is a wildfire beneath your fingertips, a soft, erratic rhythm against his flushed skin.

"so, what do you think?" his mother asks expectantly, her gaze fitting between you and jay.

you take a bite, humming in approval. "it's delicious, mrs. park. so smooth and rich."

jay picks up his spoon with trembling fingers, trying to follow your lead, but the second he takes a bite, you move again. his leg jerks under the table, his lips parting in a silent gasp as your finger wrap fully around him, stroking him with a slow to fast, calculated precision.

his mother frown. "too sweet?"

jay forces himself to swallow, shaking his head quickly. "no, it's―" his voice cracks, and he clears his throat, forcing a strained smile. "it's perfect. really good, mom."

his father nods approvingly. "she worked hard on it. good to see you appreciate it, son"

jay grips his spoon so tightly it looks like it might snap in half. you, on the other hand, are perfectly composed, barely touching your dessert as you continue working him beneath the table. your fingers are relentless, teasing, pushing him closer and closer to the edge with each torturous stroke.

his breathing turns shallow, his thighs trembling slightly. he shifts in his seat again, but there's no escaping you. you're determined―so dangerously patient―and it's driving him insane.

"you're really tense, sweetheart," his mother comments suddenly, tilting her head in concern. "are you sure you're feeling okay?"

you suppress a grin as jay forces a tight-lipped nod. "y-yeah. just a long day."

your fingers tighten slightly, your thumb running over his tip, feeling the way he twitches in your grasp. he's close―so, so close, barely holding it together, his entire body on the verge of collaspe.

"maybe you should take a break from work," his father suggests. "you look like you're about to pass out."

"i―" jay exhales sharply, his breath coming out in a shaky stutter as you give him one final, purposeful stroke, and then―

he cums undone.

his muscles lock up, hsi jaw going rigid as his entire body tenses beneath the table. his grips the spoon in his hand like it's the only thing keeping him tethered to reality, his breath shuddering in his throat. his cum spills over your fingers, warm and messy, and you feel the way his thighs clench under your touch, his bpdy shivering as he fights to keep his composure.

his parents continues talking, blissfully unaware of the way their son is falling apart beside them. jay nods along weakly, his face flushed, his lips pressed together so tightly they're nearly white.

you pull your hand away, slow and deliberate, and bring your napkin to your lap, wiping your fingers clean with an innocent little smile.

"enjoyed dessert?" you murmur under you breath, just for him.

jay clenches his jaw, swiping his tongue over his lips before leaning in, his voice low and ragged.

"you're gonna pay for that later."

natty's notes .ᐟ hoped you enjoyed!

#enha smut #enha x reader #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enha #enhypen smut #park jongseong #jongseong x reader #enhypen jongseong #jongseong smut #enhypen jay x you #enhypen jay x reader #jay smut #enhypen jay

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layaispunk · 2 days ago

Text

Teacher's pet

pairing: Professor!Joel Miller x Reader

summary: You fall asleep during Mr. Miller's class.

warnings: age gap (age not specified, but reader is in their 20s and joel is in his 40s), mentions of family conflict & insomnia, pet names, (darlin, sweetheart, honey)

wc: 1k

a/n: obviously ... inspired by the new pedrito content we got today

The low hum of Professor Miller’s voice filled the lecture hall, deep and steady, weaving through equations and theories about quantum superposition. He spoke with the kind of ease that only came from years of experience, his southern drawl giving life to concepts most people would struggle to grasp.

But you weren’t listening.

Your head rested against the cool surface of your desk, arms folded beneath it, as sleep tugged at your exhausted body. You hadn’t meant to drift off, but with the hall's dim lighting, the soft buzzing of electricity and Mr. Miller's voice ... it just happened. You hadn't properly slept in a while. Sleep didn’t come easy at home. It barely came at all.

And now, in the steady rhythm of Joel’s lecture, your body gave in.

You didn’t notice when his voice paused mid-sentence. Didn’t see the way his gaze lingered on you from across the room, brow furrowing. Most students in his class wouldn’t dare slack off - he had a reputation for being strict and demanding. But he knew this was different.

With a sigh, he set down the marker in his hand, rolling his shoulders before speaking again, this time a little softer.

"Alright, we're done for today. Don't forget about the test next week."

Students immediately began shuffling around, packing their thick quantum physics books in their backpacks. The shuffling of footsteps and quiet conversations faded together as everyone walked out the door.

Joel watched as students made their way out, but you haven't moved. While everyone else rushed to leave, you were sat there, with slacked posture, eyes shut on the table.

His jaw tightened. Something about it didn’t sit right with him. You were a good student, but you were struggling trying to keep up with everything lately, and he could tell you were burnt out. He leaned back against the blackboard full of scribbled physics drawings, as he quietly watched you. You were quiet- very smart, very hardworking, always paying attention. One of the few students who actually gave a damn about this class. Maybe that's why he'd taken a liking to you.

Not that he has favorites. But if he did ... well.

Joel took a deep breath and stepped closer, his boots tudding on the floorboards. He paused for a moment before crouching down beside you.

You stirred as he got closer, blinking up at him, eyes heavy, your cheeks crimson. He could see it now—the exhaustion in your slumped shoulders, the way you barely kept your head up.

He leaned in a little, his voice low, almost like a soft command. "Sweetheart, you with me?"

You blinked, your gaze unfocused at first. It took a few moments before your eyes finally cleared, slowly waking from the fog of sleep.

"Hey," Joel said quietly, not wanting to startle you. "You okay to drive home?"

You blinked again, looking up at him, and for a moment, you looked like you hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in days.

"Yeah," you said, voice barely above a whisper.

Joel raised an eyebrow. "You sure? I know we live pretty close ... I could take you home"

You hesitated, not wanting to accept his offer but not trusting yourself to drive in the state you were in. "Are you sure?"

"Ofcourse."

You nodded. "Okay. Thankyou, Mr. Miller."

Joel stood up, his eyes still locked on you. ‘Alright then. Let’s go.’

You took a deep breath, starting to gather your things, trying to shake off the fog that still clouded your mind. You moved slowly, packing up your notes and slipping them into your bag. Joel just stood there, arms crossed, watching you with somber eyes. He didn’t rush you - he knew better than that.

Finally, you stood up, your bag slung over your shoulder, as he gave you small nod, leading the way out of the classroom.

As you both stepped into the hallway, the silence between you felt heavy. Finally, Joel spoke, his voice low, barely above a whisper, "things bad at home again?"

You hesitated, feeling the weight of his question sink into you, but you shook your head slightly, eyes focused on the floor. "I don’t wanna talk about it."

Joel nodded, his respect for your boundaries clear in the way he didn’t push. His silence was enough.

When you reached his truck, Joel held the door open for you, waiting for you to slide in before he closed it softly. When he sat on the driver's seat and turned on the car, he cleared his throat. "If you want, you can ride to school with me tomorrow. Your car’s gonna be here, right?"

You nodded, still feeling disoriented. "Okay." You paused for a moment before asking, "Um, is there any chance I could stay in your class during lunch time?"

"To go over the material for next week's test?" he replied with a sarcastic tone. He knew you didn't need any tutoring for his class. You were his top student.

You raised your eyebrow, smirking. There was an unspoken communication between you two. You were completely transparent to him, and he knew why you wanted to sit with him during lunch time. He always knew. You had talked to him before, opened up about many things, mostly about the situation at home.

He offered that you could stay in his class as long as you like, and that he'd talk to the school counselor to excuse your attendance from other classes. You didn't like doing it often, because you hate feeling like a burden - though he had never made you feel like one.

Presently, he gave you a thoughtful look before answering. "'Course. You can hang around as much as you like, darlin'. We already talked about this."

You smiled, appreciating his offer more than he knew. You weren't sure how to thank him for everything.

After a few moments, you told him the exact street you lived at and before long, Joel was pulling into your driveway.

The streetlights casted a soft glow over the road, and when he stopped the truck, he turned to you, slowly, "I’ll wait for you here at 7:30 sharp tomorrow, alright?"

You nodded, smiling softly. "Thanks, Mr. Miller."

"Just Joel will do, honey. I'll see you tomorrow."

He gave you a small wink, watching you get out of the truck and walk toward your door.

He stayed still for a moment, eyes following you as you disappeared inside. Only then did he pull away, already planning on being there first thing tomorrow morning.

thank you so much for reading! reblogs are always appreciated ♡

#joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller angst #joel miller fanfic #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #dbf!joel #professor x #joel fanfic #joel miller x you #professor!reader

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spencewalterreid · 1 day ago

Note

what if…don’t hear me out on this, i’m sleep deprived and projecting…reader is something of a favorite student of spencer’s whom he confronts about the, erm, suspiciously increasing bandages he’d been noticing on their leg or smt? he’d probably frantically point out the abundance of arteries there at some point 😭 please ignore this so hard if you don’t feel like it lmao

In The Morning, I'll Make Cereal

Summary: When Spencer notices you've been in a daze, he checks on you and finds bandages on your arm.

Pairing: Professor Reid / Reader (p)

Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Suicidality, self harm, scars, surviving an attempt

Word Count: 2,262

Author's Note: I loved this prompt. I hope you appreciate my interpretation of it:) it wasn't very specific but I did what I could!

It had been a long fucking week. Finally, at long last, it's your last class on Friday, But Professor Reid has been rambling for the last two hours. This class is only supposed to be an hour and forty-five minutes, but good God, this man can drone. Generally, you wouldn't mind it. On a better day, you would relish in his tangents, on and on about victimology and how parents not kissing their children enough makes them kill people or whatever, you're just not into it today.

Squinting, you scratch a few more lines of graphite into the head of the portrait you're drawing in the margin of your notebook, trying to shape the hair properly. It's giving you fits. You knock your knee against the side of your desk absentmindedly to the rhythm of the music in your wired headphones.

Spencer pauses mid-sentence, his brow furrowing as he sees you. There’s at least a hundred kids in this room, so he hadn’t noticed it before now. His amber eyes scan the classroom as they always do, but keep returning to you; head in your notebook and your bouncing knee. He sighs softly, rubbing his temple before continuing his lecture.

"…and as we've discussed, the lack of proper familial affection in the formative years can lead to a host of psychological issues that may manifest in aggressive or criminal behavior later in life. Take, for instance, the case study of Ted Bundy, who…"

Spencer's voice drones on, the words blurring together as you tune out, focused on the intricate details of the portrait taking shape beneath your pencil. You lean forward slightly, squinting as you shade a particularly difficult shadow, your tongue poking out the corner of your mouth in concentration.

"That's all. Thank you for your patience, I know today ran long. I'll see you all on Monday," Reid says, his gaze lingering on you. You’re always so attentive, hanging on every word. What the hell? He waits a moment at his desk, looking over the notes the students had dropped in the tray before leaving, but keeps glancing up. A few minutes pass and you’re still scribbling away, making no move to pack up. His face pinches in worry.

“Hey, class is over now. We just ran a bit over today," he says, projecting his voice to reach you.

Spencer stands up, straightening his suit jacket as he walks over to where you sit when you don’t reply, still scribbling away. He glances down at the notebook, his eyebrows raising as he recognizes the portrait beginning to take shape.

"I didn't realize you had such skill," Spencer comments, unable to hide the note of surprise in his voice. He leans down a bit closer to get a better look.

You don't reply at all until he leans down and you finally notice his presence. Your pencil scrapes across the portrait when you damn-near jump out of your skin. "Jesus!" you gasp, then place your hand over your heart. "You scared me." The corner of your lip twitches up into a smile, and caught up in your embarrassment that he saw the portrait of him, you didn't even realize that your long-sleeve shirt rode down a bit, revealing a bandage wrapped firmly around your forearm.

Spencer takes a step back, looking mildly alarmed at having startled you so severely. "I apologize, that was not my intent. I didn't mean to frighten you." His gaze drifts down to your wrist, his eyes widening briefly as he notices the bandage. "Are you… are you alright? That looks bad," Spencer asks, taking a knee and reaching for your hand to take it in his to assess the damage before you subtly pull it away.

Your heart falls through the bottom of your ribs, clashes against your intestines, and tumbles straight out your ass. "Uhm." Words. Form them. Hang on, do I even know any? Shit. You force a wry chuckle, dropping your hands to your lap and wringing them together, knocking your sleeves down enough to cover your wrists again. "I just." Ahem. "I just dropped a knife last night when I was making dinner. No biggie." Please, Please believe me. You thank any God that might be out there for having everyone else clear out before he approached you.

“Okay,” he agrees with a nod, letting you believe that he buys it. “Uh, you should be more careful, though,” he continues hesitantly. He reaches for your arm again and you let him. He pushes up your sleeve, and you swallow an argument. “Right here,” he says, dragging a finger gently along your forearm, the inner part of the left side, along the outer part of the bone. “This is the ulnar artery. You’ve got a lot of smaller veins in your arm, too, that could be dangerous if nicked, but that could have been really bad.” You don’t tell him how close his finger was to the gash made only hours ago.

Spencer wanted to pretend not to notice all the smaller scars dotted along the base of your wrist, and a couple on your hands that you could more believably wave off as accidents. He rests his elbow on your lower thigh, above your knee and a bit inward, making you wince. Again, he doesn’t say anything. Not yet.

“This,” he draws another line, this time down the side of your arm, “is the anterior condylar vein, or ACV. Easier to hit because it’s more shallow.” Spencer sighs, dragging a thumb across one of the smaller, now raised and white nicks. “I didn’t want to say anything, but-”

“I know,” you interject. “You have to report this. I get it.” The beginnings of tears nudge at the back of your throat, agitating a lump into it, and threaten to fill your eyes. “It’s okay,” you add, yanking your cheeks up into a suggestion of a smile.

The professor huffs again, revoking his touch and shifting from a one-legged kneel to a squat, resting his elbows on his own knees and looking up at you. “I’m not going to report you. I don’t think-” He runs a hand through his dark curls and puts it back on his leg. “That has only exacerbated the issue, in my experience. I need you to know… to know that I care.”

You shift uncomfortably, staring at your fingernails as you drag dirt out from under them. “Okay,” you mumble. To say you believed him in the slightest would be a falsity of the highest order.

“I do,” Reid insists as though he read your mind, craning his neck down and chin up to catch your eyes under the curtain of your hair. “I do care. I know you’ve been going through something, and I’m sorry, but I’m here.”

Spencer reaches out to gently tilt your chin up with his fingers, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that managed to escape. The empathy in his eyes makes your stomach churn. He’s just so genuine.

"Listen to me. I know you're hurting. I know you feel alone. But you're not alone right now, do you understand that? You have me, and I promise I will help you through this, any way I can. My offer to talk stands, anytime, anywhere. My door is always open to you."

“I heard you.”

“No, I know you heard me. I asked if you understood me. There’s a difference.”

Your lip wobbles against your will and you know you’re about to cry. You squeeze your eyes shut and turn your head away from him, a last ditch effort to hide your face. “I can’t-”

He leans in, pulling you into him, his voice lowering to a low, soothing murmur. "Please, don't let anyone else see these scars. Not until you're ready. I need you to take care of you. You're stronger than this. You have so much potential, so much to offer the world. Don't throw that away. Not now, not ever.”

Sobs wrack your body, and as the breaths leave your lungs in short, desperate hiccups, his embrace is an anchoring force. “You’re okay,” he whispers. “You’re okay. This isn’t your fault.” One of Spencer’s hands card through your hair, gently massaging your scalp. “I’m here, alright?” He doesn’t expect you to answer.

“I almost killed myself last night,” you sob, pulling away with great reluctance.

Okay, he really wasn’t expecting that. The look in his eyes, despite his trepidation, encourages you to elaborate. He only now notices how pale you are, and the dots connect.

“I–” You take a deep breath, centering yourself before you continue. “I had a spiral. I called- called everyone. My mom, my best friend, even the fucking hotline. And you know what? It was busy,” you laugh incredulously. “The suicide hotline was busy!”

He doesn’t get a word in, you’re too busy in a tear-fueled tangent. “And I- I cleaned my room. Spotless. I made my bed, and put on a good outfit, and I wrote a letter, and I, uh-” you smile, and it’s sad, a macabre thing. “I knew about the arteries.” Your spine straightens. “Anyway. I ended up sleeping in, so I guess that’s good, but when I woke up… it felt… it felt so dull.”

“What do you mean?”

“It felt small. My arms had scabbed over, miraculously, and I got up. I wrapped them, and I brushed my teeth, and I made cereal. I got in the car and drove 120 on the highway to get here, and I didn’t crash. I jaywalked across a busy street and nothing happened, and I just-” a shaky breath flowed over your lips and you slumped down in your seat. “I failed, and the world kept turning. I could have died last night, should have, and… nothing changed. Nothing at all.”

Spencer listens intently, his face twisted in something that looks an awful lot like heartbreak. When you finish speaking, he takes a deep breath, choosing his next words carefully.

"I'm so sorry you felt you reached that point, but I'm nothing short of relieved at your survival. You did the right thing by reaching out, even if the support you needed wasn't immediately available. That takes courage and strength."

He places his hand on your shoulder, warmth seeping through your jacket, and squeezes. "Feeling small and insignificant after a crisis like that is completely normal. It's a common reaction, but it's a lie. Your life has value. Your existence matters, and the world changing or not is not a reflection of your worth."

Spencer studies you like at any moment, you could fade into smoke. "You didn't fail last night. You survived. That's not a small thing, it’s significant. It means you have the strength to keep going, to keep fighting. And I will be here to support you in that fight, in whatever way you need. It means,” he pauses to gently jab a finger at your chest, above your heart. “It means that this doesn’t care about your feelings, and I apologize if that sounds harsh. When you… When you did that, your baroreceptors activated, which monitors your blood vessels, and caused your heart to start taking blood away from your limbs to keep it in your core, keep you warm. That caused vasodilation and a decrease in heart rate, which lowered your blood pressure back to a survivable rate.”

“What’s your point, Professor?” you ask, rolling your eyes in frustration.

“My point,” he continues firmly, “Is that your body is stronger than your mind sometimes. It fought to keep you alive, even when you felt you wanted to let go. That's a testament to your innate will to live, to survive. It's not a reflection of your feelings or wishes, but it's a part of you that can't be ignored."

Spencer takes your hand, covering it with both of his. "Please don't dismiss your survival as insignificant. It matters, and I believe it's a sign that you have the strength to keep going, to keep living. I know it's hard, and I know grief and pain can feel all-consuming at times, but you have so much life ahead of you. Your mind and your body are connected, but they are also their own beings in a way. Your body has carried you your whole life. Your blood cells have fought sickness, your muscles have soothed their own aches, and your bones have held you up. Your body isn’t attacking you, but you’re attacking it. How is that fair?”

You’re not sure what to say to that.

Spencer looks at you intently, pressing your hand in his tightly to ground you. "I know this is difficult to process. I know you're hurting. But I need you to understand that your body and your mind are not your enemies. They are part of you, and they need your care and compassion. I’m not going to make you promise me you’ll seek help, or that you’ll stop. I know it isn’t that simple. But I will ask this,” he says, and your heart contracts. “Be kind to yourself. Have compassion. Try to put things in perspective. You deserve so much better than this.”

“Can you feel that?” he asks, tilting his head to your hand.

You consider it, and you notice the steady throbbing from his unforgiving grip. “Yeah.”

“You’re gonna be okay,” he whispers, and the sweet look in those beautiful brown eyes almost makes you believe it. “You’re gonna save your life, and I’m gonna cheer you on.”

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nameless-jamie · 1 day ago

Text

SURPRISE, YOU'RE AN IDIOT

Glimpse Into the Future - Jamie Tartt x fem!PA reader

Masterlist

A/N: Small chapter. Baby TART DU DU DUDU DUDU

TW: cursing, small angst

Y/N sat on the edge of the bathtub, staring at the little stick in her hands as if sheer willpower could change the result.

Two lines.

Pregnant.

With Jamie Tartt’s baby.

Her heart pounded so hard it felt like it might break through her ribs. This wasn’t part of the plan. Not yet. Sure, she and Jamie had been together for a while now, and she loved him more than she thought was even possible—but a baby? A whole fucking human? Inside of her?

She set the test down on the sink and raked her hands through her hair, sucking in a breath. Panic curled in her stomach like a tight fist. Jamie was wonderful—so fucking wonderful—but he was also Jamie. The same Jamie Tartt who once tried to make toast in the microwave, who got distracted by his own reflection mid-conversation, who could barely remember to feed himself if she wasn’t around to remind him. Would he feed our baby protein bars?

But then, another image surfaced—Jamie with Roy's niece Phoebe, letting her paint his nails bright pink and calling it ‘well fashion-forward, innit?’ Jamie bringing extra snacks to training because ‘Sam likes ‘em, and he shares his protein bars with me.’ Jamie kneeling in the stands after a match, signing a kid’s tiny Richmond jersey and asking if they liked football like he wasn’t the reason they were beaming up at him in awe.

Jamie Tartt, who loved loudly, deeply, without hesitation.

Y/N exhaled, tension slipping from her shoulders.

Because of course Jamie would be excited. Of course he’d love this baby. He was the love of her fucking life, and no matter how much of an idiot he could be sometimes, she knew with absolute certainty that he would be a good dad.

So, yeah. He deserved a proper surprise.

And she knew just how to do it.

Jamie walked into their flat, tossing his bag onto the floor with a loud thud.

"Oi, babe," he called, stretching. "Long fuckin’ day. Roy was on my arse the whole time—‘Jamie, don’t be a dickhead. Jamie, stop posin’ in the mirror—’"

He stopped mid-sentence when he noticed Y/N standing in the kitchen, grinning at him. Like she just won the Champions League.

On the counter in front of her was a small yellow box, wrapped neatly with a bow.

Jamie tilted his head. "What’s this? For me?"

"Open it," Y/N said, biting back a smile.

Jamie smirked. "If this is a prank, you’re losin’ your job. I have the authority to do that, you know."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Just open it, Tartt."

Jamie grinned, untying the ribbon before pulling out—

A tiny, tiny baby-sized Richmond jersey.

With ‘TARTT’ written across the back and a '9', Jamie's kit number.

Jamie blinked.

Then, he snorted.

"Aww, babe, this is cute. Is this for—wait what, are we gettin' a puppy or somethin’?"

Y/N just stared at him.

Jamie, still clueless, twirled the jersey between his fingers. "Bit small, innit? Think they printed it wrong—"

Y/N sighed dramatically. "Jamie."

He looked up. "What?"

Y/N placed a hand on her stomach.

Jamie blinked again.

Then, finally—finally—it clicked.

His eyes went wide.

"Wait."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to catch up.

Jamie pointed at her stomach. "Wait."

Y/N nodded, holding back laughter.

Jamie pointed at the tiny jersey. "Wait."

Y/N sighed. "Jamie, you absolute idiot, I’m pregnant!"

There was a beat of silence.

Then, Jamie let out a loud, delighted, absolutely overjoyed—

"FUCK OFF!"

Y/N burst out laughing as Jamie grabbed her by the waist, lifting her clean off the ground, spinning her around like a lunatic.

"JAMIE!" she shrieked between giggles. "PUT ME DOWN!"

But Jamie was grinning like an idiot, pressing messy, rapid kisses all over her face.

"You’re havin’ my baby," he said, in pure, awed disbelief. "Are you sure? You can't fuck with me right now, I'm goin' t'cry for real."

Y/N smiled. "Yeah, idiot. I am."

Jamie kissed her again, slower this time, hands settling on her waist.

"You’re fucked now, y’know," he murmured, grinning against her lips. "Baby Tartt’s gonna be an absolute menace. You're stuck with me, love."

Y/N smirked and shrugged. "Like father, like child."

Jamie laughed, resting his forehead against hers.

"Guess I should start baby-proofin’ the house," he joked.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Jamie, you’re still not baby-proofed yourself."

Jamie gasped, placing a hand over his heart. "Unbelievable."

Y/N grinned. "Guess I’ve got two Tartts to look after now."

Jamie smirked, pressing another kiss to her lips.

"Yep. And you love it." Y/N's smile was one of fullfillment.

Jamie sighed. "No, but for real babe, I'm goin' to cry now. Can you get me some tissues? M'gonna lose it, I'm gonna be a fuckin' dad."

"Oh, yeah, sure I'll go get 'em"

#afc richmond #jamie tartt #ted lasso #ted lasso show #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x you #roy kent #jamie tartt imagine #PA x Jamie Tartt

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sparklingchim · 7 months ago

Note

a guy confessed his feelings for you?🥺

yes and he was saur saur sweet but i rlly just wanted to disappear in that moment </3

#wanna just forget those five minutes :')#my only highlight was #i was talking and didn't realise that a guy suddenly spawned next to me #mid sentence i noticed him and was like hi #and he said hi back with the biggest smile 😭 dunno who this guy was but he was a pookie #then confession boy was like hey dude wrong timing #pookie looks at him then me and then the flowers in my hand #he then screams oh my god! i am so sorry ! good luck man! and leaves #bursted out laughing after he left 😭#darly asks #anon

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prlssprfctn · 1 month ago

Text

I awfully need a fic, where Jason gets drugged by a big dose of fear toxin and starts seeing Joker's hallucination around — kind of like Bruce in Arkham Knight game, you know — and everyone is just... confused what to do with all of it?

They can't really produce antidote because it would fuck up his mind more, so he is stuck in the cave for the next 24 hours, and no one is leaving, because they can't allow Jason to go through this alone. Again.

Jason tries to put a brave face of course (god, he is THE Red Hood, one of the most influential people in the Gotham, he can't be afraid of a stupid clown–) but the more hours pass, the less he can control his fear or anxiety. Instead of pacing around like a ghost — he did that in the first four hours — he sits down on the couch, hugs himself, and starts answering to Joker?

Yeah, he knows he is not real. He understands that feeding hallucination with conversations will not help — and Dick, the ultimate expert in handling hallucinations, really, gave him some tips on what to do — but he can't just ignore it now.

He is too scared.

He remembers what comes if he flips off Joker or stops playing by his rules, alright?

"Knock, knock!"

Joker's face is as pale and terrifying as Jason remembers it to be. And maybe it is hallucination, but he still can feel his panted, hot breath on his ear.

He is alone, of course. Or not entirely alone, but others would notice if Joker was really here, right?

"Who is this?" He whispers, sensing his family tensing a little, not being sure what to expect.

Jason either argues with his hallucination or asks to stop. Or maybe just wordlessly scraps on his temples or cheek, in the place the J scar used to be, before the Lazarus Pit erased it from his body completely, leaving no traces.

"The stray dog that can't bark! Do you know why it can not bark, Jayjay?"

"I don't fucking know," he murmurs, but the fiericness with which he screamed at this man for hours now is gone; he sounds tired even to his own ears, and it is embarrassing. "Tell me."

"Because I broke its bones with a crowbar, silly!~" Joker shakes his shoulders, and Jason can practically feel the familiar ache of shattered bones. "It– Ahahah, it is too hurt to bark! It can only whine!"

Jason laughs.

His facial expression doesn't really change — he is still frowning a little — but he laughs with a painful wheeze. Joker is pleased enough to sigh dreamily in his ear.

Good job, Jason.

"What so funny?" Dick asks carefully, a patient smile on his face — he has been trying to distract him with conversations the most; Bruce prefers to keep his silence, and Tim thinks accidental physical touches help more than talking.

"He just said a joke," Jason shrugs weakily.

"Tell it to them," Joker orders. "Let us all laugh."

He doesn't really want to. But he can't disobey. He can't allow himself to die again, and–

"Knock, knock," he clears up his throat.

"Who is this?" Tim echoes, turning his chair to him, smart eyes scanning him up and down.

"The stray dog that can't bark," Jason tugs the tips of his own hair. "Do you know why it can not bark?"

Bruce tenses in his chair. He tenses in a way, Jason thinks, he already knows this joke; he has already heard it before. He almost looks as if he wants to stop him, cut mid-sentence.

But for some reason, he doesn't.

"Uh, why?" Dick tilts his head.

"Because my– its bones are broken," Jason stutters. "You know, dogs can't really bark when they are hurt? Just whine."

He can't bring himself to laugh again, even though Joker keeps giggling over and over.

"That's not funny, Jay," Tim murmurs.

"Yeah. I guess it isn't. But if I don't laugh, he'll get the crowbar again, and I really, really want to keep barking," Jason smiles.

He tries to ignore pitful glances of his family members, and the torture continues. No one breaks his bones this time, but Jason still whines when Bruce hugs him by the end of the night, pressing to his chest.

Joker is not here anymore, but Jason still can hear his taunting whisper, somewhere in the back of his head.

You will die his son.

#dc universe #dcu #dcu comics #arkham knight #jason todd #red hood #bruce wayne #batman #dick grayson #nightwing #tim drake #red robin #batfamily #batfam #dc joker

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nereidprinc3ss · 6 months ago

Text

pillow talk

in which spencer reid chooses a very odd time to reveal an anecdote from his past to fem!reader

18+ (fluff, extremely suggestive) warnings/tags: fingering but nothing graphic whatsoever, it's basically fade to black sex, discussions of spencer's gsw from season 5, medical talk (and inaccuracies), spencer is a sarcastic little shit a/n: found this super random little thing in my drafts and it was done and i think it's silly and cute so i'm posting it! 600 words, short n sweet!

“You got shot in the knee?”

It’s perhaps said too loudly for the setting—tucked into Spencer’s bed in the late hours of the night when up until this point the conversation had been nothing but murmured stories and quiet giggles. And before that, well—before that there hadn’t been much conversation at all.

Still you can’t find it within yourself to apologize as you sit up, holding the top sheet to your chest and looking down at Spencer incredulously. His eyebrows raise like he’s surprised by your reaction.

“Thigh, technically. And it was years ago. Come back.”

You huff but allow yourself to be pulled back down, head on his shoulder as his hand finds its place stroking your hip once more.

“How have you never told me that?”

“You never noticed the multiple incision scars on my leg?”

“What? No! Can I look now?”

“You won’t be able to see them. It’s too dark.”

You angle your head toward him, and he does the same, tilting his down until your noses almost brush.

“So turn the light on.”

“If I turn the light on I’ll get distracted.”

“Distracted by what?” You ask, realizing what he means and voice quickly fading even as you finish the sentence. He chuckles and kisses your head.

“I’ll show it to you in the morning. Come here.”

“I am here,” you grumble. He hums, leaning down further to try and kiss you.

“Closer.”

So you scoot up the mattress and roll onto your side, pressed right against him, to meet him halfway in a sweet kiss.

“You’re kind of spoiled,” you laugh against his lips as he begins pushing the sheet from your body.

“You have to be nice to me. I got shot, remember?”

“Right. And how long ago was this, approximately?”

“It was 19 days before my 28th birthday.”

So much for approximations.

“Aw. You got shot for your 28th birthday?”

It’s his turn to laugh into the kiss as he carefully rolls over you but recovers quickly, assuming a deadpan delivery.

“Yeah. And it was really bad.”

“Sexy,” you murmur as he kisses down your jaw. “Tell me more.”

“Shots to the leg can be life-threatening if the femoral artery is nicked. Thankfully the bullet missed mine. You’re welcome.”

Your heart skips with a split second of true anxiety, but you snort at his cavalier attitude.

“Yeah? This is really working for me.”

He lowers his voice to the one he uses in more intimate contexts and you giggle as he explains his gunshot wound to you like it’s dirty talk.

“The bullet went in through my rectus femoris…” now uninhibited by the sheet, he finds the spot on your thigh and pinches lightly, “and came out clean through my semitendinosis muscle.”

“Clean? No bone fragments?”

“Nope. The doctors said I was extremely lucky it didn’t splinter my femur but it completely destroyed my muscles. I had to do physical therapy for a year and a half and I had a cane for months.”

“That’s kind of hot,” you breathe, losing commitment to the bit as his kisses get lower and his hand creeps higher.

“Wait until you hear about the mid-surgery aortic clamping and ligature complications. You’ll love this—I was awake the whole time.”

A soft moan slips from between your parted lips and your brows pinch.

“Spencer—”

“What?” He murmurs. “Me getting shot in the leg isn’t sexy anymore?”

You manage something between a breathy laugh and a mewl as your back arches.

“I’m gonna kill you.”

He hums against your throat.

“Good luck. You’d be far from the first to try.”

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfic

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mariasont · 19 days ago

Note

Early seasons Spencer’s gf joining the team and quickly realizing just how used to Spencer she is bc the rest of the team’s reactions to him are so different from hers

Cinnamon Sticks - S.R

a/n: obsessed with the idea of baby spencie having a gf who just gets him while he's still an awkward, nerdy little genius! thanks for requesting bestie so sorry it took so long i am the worst LOL

masterlist

pairings: early!seasons!spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings: established relationship, secret relationship, relationship being exposed bc these two are just so in love

wc: 1.7k

Garcia burst into the bullpen like some sort of whirlwind that was painted in neon, her scarf fluttering behind her almost like a cape. She juggled a precariously full cup of coffee, while her phone teetered between ear and shoulder as if testing the limits of human dexterity.

"I swear to all that is holy, if my life doesn't slow down in the next five minutes--"

The sentence derailed as she misjudged her pace, the coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim of the cup. She stopped abruptly, her arms a flurry of motion, but not quick enough to stop the scalding liquid from spilling over and searing her fingers.

"Oh, fantastic! Just what I needed!" she huffed, waving her hand like it might stop the sting.

She threw herself into the closest chair with a huff, slumping back and fixing the coffee cup with a murderous glare, like this was just another tally in a long line of grievances.

Your eyes darted up from your work, only for a moment, enough to confirm what you already knew. You hadn't been working here long, but it was long enough to recognize the phenomenon that was Garcia: a blur of motion and words, mid-rant before anyone had the chance to catch up. It was like clockwork really.

You risked a glance across the desk at Spencer, who was so absorbed in his notebook it was a wonder he even remembered to breathe. If Garcia's antics registered as white noise to anyone, it was him. But then, almost like he had a radar for being watched, he looked up, catching your gaze.

His eyebrows lifted into a subtle what can you do? expression, and you couldn't help but smile back.

That was the thing about Spencer. He had this uncanny knack for knowing exactly what you were thinking, almost as if he had a cheat sheet for your brain. And maybe he did--like his brain worked three times faster than everyone else's in the room (which, let's face it, it definitely did). But instead of that being intimidating, it was oddly reassuring.

"At this rate, I'm one bad email away from alphabetizing my entire pantry for stress relief."

Spencer's notebook hit the desk, and there it was--the shift. His shoulders drew back, face lighting up--the kind of thing that signaled his mini-lecture was incoming.

"Organizing your pantry is actually a practical stress management technique. By categorizing items, you create a structured environment that reduces decision fatigue. Its why people feel calmer in tidy spaces, it's psychological."

Morgan held up a hand. "Psychological, huh? Sounds like you’re just trying to justify your weird love affair with labels, pretty boy.”

“Don’t forget,” you added absently, flipping a page in your report, “it also saves time when you’re cooking. I think you called it practical efficiency."

The words slipped out without much thought, but as soon as they did, the bullpen stilled. You glanced up, heart sinking as you saw every face turned in your direction.

Morgan’s grin was the first thing you notice--wide and knowing, stretching across his face. He tilted his head, eyes bouncing between you and Spencer like he was putting pieces together in real time.

“Wait a minute,” he said, sitting forward with a gleam in his eye. “Did you just quote him? Like, word for word?”

Your cheeks heated instantly. “What? No. I mean—maybe. I don’t know.”

“Pretty sure you did,” Morgan shot back, smirking. “Man, what else has he been teaching you? You got the periodic table memorized too?”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back in your chair. “Oh, please. If you’ve been around Spencer long enough, you’re bound to pick up a few things. He’s like a walking encyclopedia.”

“Well,” Spencer said, his head tilting slightly as he spoke, “your cinnamon sticks always end up at the back of your pantry. That’s why I figured you might appreciate the idea of organizing by use frequency. Like I said, practical efficiency.”

The moment the words left his mouth, you knew he’d made a tactical error.

Garcia gasped, her eyes lighting up like she’d just been handed the juiciest piece of gossip of her life.

“Oh. My. God. Spencer Reid, how exactly do you know what the back of her pantry looks like?”

You froze, rooted to the spot as the realization hit you like a cartoon anvil. This was bad.

Spencer’s expression mirrored yours for half a second—wide-eyed panic—but he quickly scrambled for an answer.

“It’s, um… a logical assumption,” he stammered, his fingers toying with the pen in his hand, a nervous tell he couldn’t quite suppress. “Spices like cinnamon sticks always seem to migrate to the back of the pantry unless there’s an intentional system in place.”

Morgan let out a long, low whistle, rocking back in his chair with enough force to make it creak. His grin was insufferably smug, the kind that practically begged for something to be thrown at him.

“Nice save. But I don’t think Garcia’s buying it.”

Garcia tapped her chin, clearly enjoying herself far too much. “Oh, no, no, no. This is too good. I mean, logical assumption my fabulous behind! Cinnamon sticks in the back of her pantry? Really? What’s next? A detailed analysis of how she stacks her cereal boxes?”

You laughed, though it sounded more like a bark than anything natural. “You’re all reading way too much into this. Spencer just knows weirdly specific things about, well, everything. That’s kind of his thing, remember?”

“Mmhmm,” Garcia hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Alright, genius, I’ll let it slide this time. But I’m watching you.”

“Please don’t,” Spencer muttered under his breath, earning a round of laughter from the team.

Garcia spent a solid ten minutes in full interrogation mode after that, her eyes narrowing with each and every pointed question she lobbed your way. Morgan, of course, was no help. He leaned back, grinning like a kid with a front-row seat to the circus, his smirk practically screaming that he knew they were this close to striking a nerve.

Spencer and you had been so careful. You'd been dating long before you joined the BAU, but the moment Hotch had called to offer you the position, you both knew you'd have to keep things under wraps. Dating a coworker was one thing; dating Spencer Reid, a genius with an accidentally too-honest mouth, was an entirely different challenge.

You hadn't expected it to be this hard, though. Keeping the secret wasn't the worst part--it was pretending he wasn't the center of your universe every time you walked into the room. It was keeping your hands to yourself when all you wanted to do was smooth out the messy strands of hair that always fell into his eyes. It was biting your tongue when someone interrupted his long-winded tangents because the truth was, you loved hearing him talk.

The hours stretched on, and the bullpen slowly thinned out. Garcia was the first to leave, blowing a kiss to the room. Morgan left soon after, pausing to flash you one last grin before disappearing. Even Prentiss packed up for the night, muttering something about needed an extra shot of espresso tomorrow morning.

"You handled that well."

You looked up from your report to find Spencer by your desk, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other skimming lightly along the edge of the divider. His expression was surprisingly soft, almost bashful, as though he had been waiting to get you alone.

"Handled that well?" you repeated, raising an eyebrow. "You were the one who almost blew it, Spencer. Cinnamon sticks? Really?"

He smiled, lips twitching upward as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Okay, I'll admit that wasn't my most subtle moment. But in my defense, they do end up at the back of most pantries."

You couldn't help but laugh, shaking your head as you leaned back in your chair.

"We're lucky Garcia got distracted. If she'd pushed any harder..." Your voice drifted into a soft sigh. "That could've been bad."

"That was a close one."

The quiet that followed wasn't uncomfortable, but it felt a little more substantial, if that was the word, filled with that soft ache that always bloomed in your chest when he was near.

Spencer stepped closer, his hand brushing against the edge of your desk. His body angled toward you, like even when you weren’t touching, he couldn’t help but gravitate toward you.

“You know,” he said, his voice softer now, “I don’t think she actually suspects anything. But we should probably be more careful.”

"Probably," you replied, drawing out the word in a teasing, sing-song tone. “Unless you’d rather keep showing off how ridiculously well you know me.”

His cheeks flushed a soft pink, but he didn’t look away. Instead, that shy, boyish smile—the one that always made you a little breathless—spread across his lips.

"That's going to be hard," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "I noticed a lot about you."

The words hit you like they always did--soft enough, but with the force of a thousand butterflies taking flight in your chest. You could feel the flush creeping up to your neck, and you mentally cursed him for how easily he was able to do this to you.

"You're lucky I like you."

His smile widened, and his eyes crinkled at the corners in that way they only came out at specific moments. Like when he successfully performed a card trick for the team or when he stumbled across an original copy of a book at a library sale.

The same one you'd seen when he talked about his mom on her good days, or when you asked him on a date.

You leaned forward. "And since I like you, any chance you'd want to kiss me right now?"

"How could I not, with you looking at me like that?"

The angle was clumsy--your chair too low, his frame leaning awkwardly over--but all of that melted away the second his hands found your face. His thumbs brushed soft circles against the place where your cheek met your jaw.

His lips were soft against yours at first, testing, before growing firmer, more sure. The kind of confidence that came with a hundred familiar kisses before.

Time seemed to slow, or at least for you it did, the rest of the world nonexistent.

The sound of a throat clearing broke the spell, and you jerked back from Spencer, your chair wobbling slightly as you turned toward the sound. You immediately regretted it--your lips felt swollen, your face hot, and there was Prentiss, leaning against the doorframe.

"We were... uh, testing something," you blurted, avidly avoiding eye contact. "You know, like... oxygen exchange! For scientific purposes."

Spencer blinked, then mumbled, "Oxygen exchange? That's the best you got?"

"Shut it," you hissed through gritted teeth, not daring to look at him.

Prentiss arched a brow. "Relax, lovebirds. If this is your idea of scientific research, I'll make sure Garcia doesn't find out. You're welcome."

taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @r-3dlips @m-indkiller @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @reiderrambles @averyhotchner @hbwrelic @sky2nd @messylxve @alexxavicry @doigettokeepyou @pleasantwitchgarden @kodzukenmaaa @hiireadstuff @dilflover-3 @spenciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @c-losur3 @theylovemelody @alahnizamolo @oliver-1270 @ssahotchbabe @savagemickey03 @justanotherbimboslxt @imoonkiss @spiderladyleah @estragos @khxna @spencerssoup @de-duchess @raysmayhem-72 @piinksdoll @reidfile @sugarbutterbailey @aecd27 @persephonestears @moonyxstars @xxmooxmooxx @spookyysinsanity @proxxyshouse @spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack @jungchloee @she-wont-miss @duchesz @i2rapunzel @historicallyqueer

join my taglist here!

#spencer reid x fem reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #reid #dr reid #dr spencer reid

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orangeblossomsintheair · 20 days ago

Text

WRITTEN IN THE SAND | CS55

summary : He was too old for this. For you. For the way you looked at him like he wasn’t already years past the reckless abandon that seemed to define everyone else in this house. He shouldn’t have noticed the way your laughter sounded like sunlight, or how your smile seemed to tug at something deep in his chest.

wc : 8.5k

an : im a slow writer chat mb 😞 also nearly a month on this site!! tysm

“What’s the game plan for the summer?” Kika didn’t even glance up from her phone, one hand lazily stirring her drink with that tiny straw she always insisted on.

You were sprawled on a cushioned lounge chair in a swanky Monaco terrace bar, the Mediterranean sun heating your skin, but the breeze kept things just shy of unbearable.

You took a sip of your drink and smirked. “Seduce Carlos Sainz.”

Kika’s straw froze mid-stir. She blinked twice at her screen before slowly looking up, sunglasses sliding down her nose. “Sorry, could you run that by me again? Because I swear you just said you’re going to seduce Carlos Sainz, which is clearly a champagne-induced delusion.”

“Nope, you heard me loud and clear.” You leaned back, full of confidence. “Carlos Sainz. Mine. By the end of summer break.”

Kika blinked at you, deadpan. “Sweetheart, no offense, but you’ve been thirsting after this man since you were, what, 16? That’s six years of unrequited daydreaming.”

You squirmed slightly but held your ground. “Doesn’t matter."

"If he hasn’t noticed you by now, what’s your plan? Set yourself on fire in front of him?”

“Only as a last resort,” you said, deadpan.

She threw her head back, laughing so hard she nearly spilled her drink. “Oh my God, you’re serious. This isn’t a joke.”

“Dead serious.” You popped the cherry from your cocktail into your mouth like it was the period at the end of your sentence. “I’m done playing it safe. This summer is about action.”

Kika raised an eyebrow. “Action? You tripped over your own feet last week trying to order coffee. What are you going to do, hit him with your car and hope he falls for you during physical therapy?”

“Of course not.” You stood abruptly, tossing your straw onto the table with a dramatic flourish. “That’s plan B. Now come on.”

“Come where?” She squinted up at you, clearly unimpressed.

“To get the tools I need.” You grabbed her hand, yanking her out of her seat.

Ten minutes later, you dragged her into a boutique that was a Monet painting of excess. Silk curtains, chandeliers dripping with crystals, and the scent of overpriced jasmine perfume floating through the air.

A sales assistant appeared out of nowhere, all smiles and perfectly coiffed hair. “Bonjour, mademoiselle,” she greeted, eyeing your Chanel tote approvingly.

“Bonjour,” you said, breezing past her.

“Why are we here?” Kika asked, dodging a rack of bikinis that looked like they’d been designed with dental floss.

“Seducing my brother's teammate? Keep up, Kika,” you groaned, holding up a red bikini that looked like it belonged in a Bond movie. “Men are simple creatures. You can’t argue with science.”

“That’s not science, that’s objectification with a catchy slogan,” she deadpanned, plucking a neon green bikini off a nearby rack. “But sure, blind him with this and see how that works.”

You recoiled, snatching it from her and tossing it back like it burned. “Please. Focus. I need chic, sexy, and unforgettable. I need to haunt his dreams.”

“What you need,” she muttered, ducking under a display. “is a therapist.”

“And yet, here you are, enabling me.” You held up another bikini, black and sleek, with delicate gold accents. “This says, ‘I’m hot and I don’t care if you notice,’ right?”

Kika folded her arms, leaning against the counter. “It says, ‘I’m hot and definitely care if you notice but will pretend I don’t.’”

“Exactly!” you said, thrusting the bikini at her. “This is step one material.”

Kika frowned. “Step one material?”

“Yes. Step one: look absolutely irresistible,” you replied. “Carlos has seen me as Charles’s little sister for years. This summer, he’s going to see me as a woman. A very hot woman.”

“And you think this is going to do the trick? He’s a man, not a magpie.”

“Every detail matters. If I look stunning, he’ll notice me. If he notices me, he’ll talk to me. If he talks to me…”

“You’ll forget how to form a sentence?” Kika offered, smirking.

“...I’ll be charming and mysterious,” you continued, ignoring her. “Carlos loves a challenge. And I? I’ll be the challenge of the summer.”

She snorted. “You’re the challenge of my summer, that’s for sure.”

You flashed her a grin, unfazed. “Collateral damage.”

Kika raised an eyebrow, surveying your choices with a mixture of disbelief and mild concern. “You do know Charles is going to kill you, right? Or worse, he’ll tell your mother.”

“Charles doesn’t need to know,” you said confidently, grabbing a cover-up that was so sheer it might as well have been a polite suggestion of fabric and tossing it onto the pile.

“He’s going to know the second you start giggling like a schoolgirl,” Kika shot back.

You paused, giving her your most serious look. “I do not giggle. I smolder.”

Kika raised an eyebrow. “You giggle. You giggle like someone told you tacos are calorie-free.”

Before you could respond, the sales assistant, who had been lurking in the background with a grin wide enough to rival the Mona Lisa’s, swooped in. “Vous avez fait un excellent choix, mademoiselle,” she said, beaming. “Très… sexy.” You made an excellent choice, miss

You flashed a smile back. “Merci, ma chère,” you said, tossing her an air kiss. “I do try.”

Kika groaned audibly. “What is that? French for, ‘Please don’t let my stupidity kill me’?”

“Not quite,” you replied breezily, adding a sheer cover-up to the pile. “But close enough.”

The assistant’s smile widened to terrifying proportions. “Peut-être vous voulez essayer ces sandales aussi?” She gestured to a pair of sky-high gold heels that looked more weapon than footwear. Maybe you want to try these sandals too?

You tilted your head, admiring the craftsmanship. “Oh, I absolutely do.”

Kika slapped a hand over her face. “I can feel my soul leaving my body.”

“Catch it,” you said, handing over your credit card. “We have work to do.”

The assistant handed you your shopping bags with reverence, her eyes glittering with admiration. “Vous êtes une inspiration, mademoiselle. Vraiment.” You are an inspiration, miss. Really.

“Merci beaucoup,” you said, winking at her. You turned to Kika, your heels clicking on the marble floor as you strutted toward the exit. “

Kika followed you out into the sun-drenched street, muttering under her breath. “Mark my words, Carlos Sainz is going to look at you and-”

“-see the one thing he can’t have,” you finished for her, sliding on your sunglasses.

“The one thing he can’t have is peace.”

You scoffed. “You’ll swallow your words when you’re sitting front row at my wedding.”

“To Carlos or Charles’s ghost?”

“Whoever makes it there first.”

—-

The next step was getting Charles to invite Carlos over the summer, which, thankfully, proved embarrassingly easy.

"Sœurette," Charles sang as he sauntered into the living room, lifting your feet off the couch with all the grace of a forklift before plopping down dramatically. Your legs ended up sprawled across his lap. "Comfortable, are we?"

“Move,” you said, giving his stomach a solid nudge with your heel.

“Ow- merde!” He rubbed his abs like you had mortally wounded him, throwing in some exaggerated groans for good measure. “You’re cruel. No respect for your poor frère.”

“What do you want?” you mumbled, not looking up from your phone.

“Wanna go to Ibiza with me?”

You finally glanced at him, raising a skeptical brow. Sure, you wanted to, but seducing Carlos was still an active operation, and time was of the essence. “Pass.”

“Wait, wait,” Charles interrupted, holding up a finger like he was about to offer you the cure for boredom. “I’m inviting some of the guys. Pierre, Carlos-”

He hadn’t even finished the sentence before you were already mentally booking your plane ticket.

“-and Lando,” he continued, oblivious to the fact you had stopped listening at “Carlos.”

You forced yourself to stay cool. No big deal. Act normal. Charles couldn’t know

“Hmm. Okay.”

His brows knitted. “That’s it? Okay? No arguing? No ‘what’s the catch’? You’re just saying yes?”

“Don’t make it weird, Charles.” You shrugged, scrolling on your phone like you were barely paying attention. “Now get off me, you oversized cat.”

“Excusez-moi, I’m the one providing the luxury vacation, and you’re kicking me?”

“I’ll kick harder if you don’t move.”

—-

Carlos almost didn’t recognize the woman chatting with Lando by the poolside when he arrived at the villa Charles had rented for their summer getaway.

He lingered by the sliding glass door, his suitcase forgotten at his side. The sun cast shimmering patterns on the pool’s surface, reflecting onto your skin in flashes that made him question whether he was still half-asleep from the flight.

You were gorgeous. Too gorgeous. Scandalously gorgeous. And suddenly, Carlos felt a flicker of betrayal. How could Charles not have warned him about your presence here?

A wave of jet lagged self-awareness hit him—rumpled T-shirt, unkempt hair, and dark circles under his eyes.

Definitely not the first impression he wanted to make, especially not in front of you.

You wore a deep red one-piece swimsuit with an open back, the kind of effortlessly elegant choice that made him wonder if you knew exactly how much attention you commanded.

Sunglasses perched delicately on your nose, you stood at ease, laughing lightly at something Lando said.

“Carlos!” His friend called out, waving lazily when he spotted him. “You made it!”

Your voice was bright and warm, carrying over the quiet splashes of water.

Lando, predictably, was soaking up your attention with his signature grin, and Carlos already felt the prickling need to intervene.

You turned at the sound, shifting your weight onto one leg. Though the sunglasses obscured your eyes, the faintly mischievous smile tugging at your lips was enough to throw Carlos off balance.

Dios mío.

Carlos straightened, brushing a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to look less like he’d been dragged off a plane.

He inhaled deeply, summoning whatever charm the flight hadn’t stripped away, and stepped forward, dragging his carry-on behind him.

Your smile widened, but you said nothing, tilting your head as if appraising him.

“Hey,” he greeted, nodding at Lando first before letting his gaze linger on you.

“I don’t think we’ve met.” His voice dipped slightly, sliding into that smooth, natural lilt he knew could win people over when needed.

“Right,” Lando cut in, either oblivious or deliberately sabotaging him. “This is-”

“Let him figure it out,” you interrupted, holding up a finger with a playful air.

Carlos blinked, momentarily thrown off, but a sly grin found its way onto his face as he leaned on the handle of his suitcase. “Is that how it is?”

“That’s how it is,” you replied smoothly, folding your arms.

Lando chuckled, glancing between the two of you as if he’d stumbled upon the first act of a drama he couldn’t wait to watch unfold. “Good luck, mate,” he said, clapping Carlos on the shoulder before wandering back toward the pool.

Carlos watched him go, then returned his attention to you. “Okay, give me a hint. Something to work with, no?”

You shrugged, adjusting your sunglasses. “You’ve got a whole week to figure it out. Make it count.”

Before he could counter, a loud, familiar voice broke through.

“Carlos!”

Carlos turned, spotting Charles striding toward him with an easy grin. His friend pulled him into a quick hug, slapping his back affectionately.

Then Charles’ gaze shifted to you. He gestured casually. “You remember my sister, right? She hasn’t been at the paddock much, but you’ve met her before.”

He turned back to you, eyes scanning for something familiar, something to anchor the dissonance in his mind. There it was: the teasing smirk, the air of quiet confidence. You were now barely suppressing laughter.

Carlos froze mid-handshake, his thoughts scrambling to process the bombshell.

Sister?

Oh, no.

Oh, god.

He just flirted with Charles’ sister.

“You’re-” he stammered, pointing at you like the gesture might piece things together faster.

“Oh,” you said lightly, dragging out the word with unmistakable glee. “I think he remembers now.”

Charles glanced between you two, clueless. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you replied too quickly, your smirk sharpening. “Carlos was just… introducing himself.”

Carlos rubbed the back of his neck, heat crawling up his face. “Right,” he muttered. “Nice to see you again.”

Your sunglasses slid down your nose just enough to reveal your eyes. Bright, amused, and entirely too focused on him. “I don’t know,” you said, voice like silk. “I feel like I’m meeting you for the first time, don’t you think?”

Lando’s loud laugh from the poolside made Carlos glance his way in exasperation.

But his real problem was standing directly in front of him.

Because now that he knew who you were, he also knew your age.

Twenty-one. And him? God, he was thirty. Nine years. Practically a decade.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry.

This wasn’t just an awkward misunderstanding; it was a moral minefield. He shouldn’t even be looking at you this way, not with the easy pull of your smirk still tattooed on his thoughts.

Carlos latched onto the excuse like a lifeline. “Yeah,” he said quickly. “Be right back.”

Charles, blissfully unaware, gave Carlos an out.

“Anyway,” he said, gesturing toward the house. “Go put your bags inside. Lando already claimed the biggest room, so you’re stuck with whatever’s left.”

Dragging his suitcase toward the villa, he could feel your gaze following him. Against his better judgment, he glanced back.

Carlos shook his head, muttering under his breath as he disappeared inside. He needed a cold drink, a cold shower. Anything to reset his brain.

You were still there, reclining on a lounge chair, the picture of confidence. A cocktail glass dangled from your fingers, the cherry swirling lazily in the liquid.

When your eyes caught his again, your smirk deepened, as if you knew exactly what chaos you’d caused.

This week was supposed to be about relaxing.

Instead, it was shaping up to be a survival test around you.

—-

Carlos had made his decision.

For the sake of his own sanity, and for the sake of his friendship with Charles, he was going to ignore you.

It was the only logical choice.

Because if he didn’t? If he let himself get caught up in whatever quiet game you seemed to be playing, he knew it wouldn’t end well.

You were too young, too vibrant, too untouchable. Like sunshine in a bottle.

He was too old for this. For you. For the way you looked at him like he wasn’t already years past the reckless abandon that seemed to define everyone else in this house.

He shouldn’t have noticed the way your laughter sounded like sunlight, or how your smile seemed to tug at something deep in his chest.

He’d lock it all down.

So that was it. He’d be polite, civil even.

But anything more than that? Off the table. No lingering glances. No indulging in the spark of mischief behind your eyes. No letting his thoughts drift to places they shouldn’t when you smiled his way.

It was a good plan.

Unfortunately, plans didn’t account for things like the spontaneous game of cards that had started on the patio that night. Or the dangerous way the stakes had escalated as the hours passed.

“What about strip poker?” Pierre had suggested with a mischievous grin, his words slurred just enough to suggest he’d had one drink too many.

Everyone had laughed, the idea absurd enough to feel harmless.

But somehow, after a lot of ribbing from Lando and an alarming lack of objections from anyone else, the game had actually started.

But tonight? Tonight, his carefully honed poker face was utterly useless.

Carlos had always considered himself good at poker.

Calm, calculating, unreadable. Qualities that served him well on the track and at the card table.

You were to blame.

Sitting across from him at the patio table, with your head tilted and a soft, amused smile tugging at your lips, you were impossible to ignore.

The warm glow of the overhead lights softened your features, and the lazy way you shuffled your dwindling pile of chips made it clear you weren’t taking the game half as seriously as he was.

You didn’t have anything.

Across from him, you hesitated, your lips pressing together as you studied your hand.

The chips in front of you were dangerously low, and Carlos could see the flicker of indecision in your eyes.

You sighed, reaching for your chips, but Carlos cut you off. “Raise,” he said, pushing more into the pot.

Your gaze snapped to his, your brows furrowing. “You’re raising now?”

“Got to keep it interesting,” he said lightly, masking the tightness in his chest.

You tilted your head, clearly suspicious, but you matched his bet anyway, your hand trembling slightly as you tossed the last of your chips in.

The others at the table were too busy bickering to notice the undercurrent between the two of you.

Lando, already down to his boxers, was arguing with Charles over the merits of bluffing, while Pierre leaned back in his chair, looking far too pleased with himself for someone whose pants were in the discard pile.

Carlos barely noticed them.

When the cards were revealed, his pair of eights was enough to beat your pitiful hand. A mismatched collection of low cards that hadn’t even come close to forming a straight.

“Guess that’s it for me,” you said, your tone light but resigned. You reached for the hem of your sweater, clearly ready to pull it off and join the ranks of the semi-dressed.

Carlos acted before he could think.

“Wait,” he said sharply, drawing everyone’s attention. “I fold.”

Pierre frowned. “You can’t fold. The round’s over.”

“Then I forfeit,” Carlos said, tugging his shirt over his head in one swift motion. The cool night air prickled against his skin, but he ignored it, tossing the shirt onto the growing pile in the center of the table.

You stared at him, wide-eyed. “You didn’t have to do that,” you murmured.

Carlos shrugged, forcing himself to meet your gaze. “I’m just keeping things fair.”

Charles raised an eyebrow but said nothing, and the game moved on.

It kept happening.

Every time you were on the verge of losing, Carlos found a way to sacrifice himself instead. He’d bluff too hard, bet too high, or simply fold when he was holding a decent hand. It was reckless and obvious, at least to you, but no one else seemed to notice.

By the time Carlos was down to just his jeans, he realized he was playing a very dangerous game.

“Bold move, mate,” Lando said, grinning as Carlos slid his last few chips into the pot.

“Desperate,” Pierre corrected, his tone smug.

Carlos ignored them, his gaze flicking to you. Your stack of chips had grown considerably, thanks to his strategic losses, but you weren’t gloating. If anything, you looked concerned, your brow furrowing slightly as you studied him.

“Carlos,” you said softly, barely above a whisper.

He shook his head. “I’m fine.”

You hesitated, then glanced down at your cards. The silence stretched as you debated your next move, and Carlos could see the exact moment you decided to fold.

Not this time.

“I raise,” he said, pushing his remaining chips into the pot.

Your eyes widened. “Carlos-”

“Call it,” he said firmly, his voice low.

The others were too busy watching the pile in the center of the table to notice the exchange between you two.

You sighed, finally revealing your hand. It was better than his, but not by much. He grinned as he tossed his own cards down, leaning back in his chair with a shrug.

“Guess that’s it for me.”

Charles groaned, muttering something under his breath about bad decisions, but Carlos didn’t hear him. His focus was on you, on the way your lips parted slightly in surprise, on the way your gaze lingered as he stood and pulled his jeans off, leaving him in nothing but his boxers.

“Next round?” Pierre asked, shuffling the deck.

Carlos shook his head, grabbing his shirt and tossing it at Pierre’s face. “I’m out.”

He glanced at you one last time before walking inside, his pulse racing.

—

When Carlos woke up the next morning, the first thing he noticed was the sunlight streaming through the thin curtains, warm and golden against the soft white of the sheets. The second thing he noticed was the blissful lack of a hangover, despite the absurd amount of wine Pierre had insisted on pouring last night. Small mercies, he supposed.

The faint sound of clinking dishes drew his attention. Throwing on a shirt, Carlos padded out of his room and into the kitchen, where he found Charles leaning against the counter, one hand wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee, the other scrolling through his phone.

His hair was a mess of sleep-tousled curls, and his voice still carried the rough edges of morning as he glanced up.

“Morning,” Charles said, holding up his mug in greeting. After a beat, he added, “Thanks, by the way… for last night.”

Carlos froze mid-step, frowning as he tried to piece together what Charles meant. “Thanks for what?”

Charles finally looked up, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “You know,” he said, gesturing vaguely with his coffee mug. “For saving my sister a few dozen times.”

Carlos’ stomach dropped. “What?”

“You know,” Charles repeated, tilting his head slightly as if it were obvious. “During poker.”

“Oh.” Carlos shifted awkwardly, his fingers tightening on the toothbrush he was holding. He forced a casual shrug. “It’s fine. I’m just bad at poker.”

Charles snorted, setting his mug down on the counter. “Don’t give me that. I’ve seen you win against professionals before. People who actually know what they’re doing.”

Carlos busied himself with turning on the tap, wetting his toothbrush like it was the most fascinating task in the world. “I guess it just wasn’t my night,” he said lightly, though the way his pulse quickened betrayed him.

“Hmm,” Charles hummed, leaning back against the counter as he studied him. His expression was unreadable, but the weight of his gaze made Carlos’ neck prickle.

“You’re imagining things,” Carlos said, his voice a little too quick, a little too defensive.

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

Charles chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re not very subtle, you know. Every time she was about to lose, you suddenly went all in on terrible hands. It was painful to watch.”

Carlos groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “It wasn’t like that,” he muttered, though even to his own ears, it sounded unconvincing.

“Sure it wasn’t,” Charles said, his tone dry. He took another sip of his coffee, his eyes narrowing slightly over the rim of the mug. “You know, you’re lucky I trust you.”

Carlos froze again, the words hanging heavy in the air.

“Trust me?” he echoed carefully.

“Yes,” Charles said simply, setting his mug down and crossing his arms. “Because if it were anyone else, I’d be having a very different conversation right now.”

Carlos blinked, unsure how to respond. He could feel the heat creeping up the back of his neck, and for a moment, he considered denying it outright. But Charles wasn’t stupid. And Carlos wasn’t a good enough liar to get away with it.

So instead, he sighed, setting his toothbrush down and leaning against the counter opposite Charles.

“Look,” he began, keeping his voice low. “I’m not trying to... I mean, it’s not like that.”

Charles raised an eyebrow.

Carlos rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, maybe it’s a little like that,” he admitted reluctantly. “But I wasn’t. Nothing’s happening, alright? I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Charles studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to Carlos’ surprise, his lips quirked into a small, knowing smile.

“I know,” he said simply.

Carlos blinked. “You... know?”

“Yes,” Charles said, his tone light but firm. “That’s why I’m not threatening to kill you right now.”

Carlos let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Thanks for that,” he said dryly.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Charles warned, his smile fading. “I trust you, Carlos, but I also trust her. And if you do anything to make her upset, I will kill you.”

Carlos nodded quickly, swallowing hard. “Understood.”

Charles nodded once, apparently satisfied, before grabbing his mug and heading for the door.

—

“Hey, sœur- what the fuck is that?” Charles called out from where he lounged on the sofa, still half asleep. His eyes were fixed on your bikini. “Is that... dental floss?”

You rolled your eyes dramatically, adjusting one of the straps. “Non, idiot. It’s a bikini. Fashion. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

He scoffed, leaning back, crossing his arms. “Fashion? Ça? Ça, c’est un crime. Who sold you that? A two-for-one deal with a pack of gum?”

“Ha ha. Très drôle,” you said dryly, walking past him toward the beach. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, monsieur modesty police.”

Charles held up his hands in mock surrender, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Okay, okay. But when the waves steal that little string you call swimwear, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Bonne chance.”

“Pfft,” you muttered, waving him off. “I’ll be fine.”

But, as you made your way down the steps to the sand, something felt odd. Charles hadn’t fought you on it.

No complaints about ‘covering up’ or embarrassing remarks about ‘respectability.’ No last-minute insistence on changing into something more “appropriate.” It was... new.

And oddly suspicious.

Wading further in, you let out a satisfied sigh, the gentle waves lapping at your legs. You dove under the water, resurfacing with a triumphant gasp.

You pushed the thought aside as you let the warm sand squish beneath your toes. The salty breeze tossed your hair, and the ocean called to you.

You dipped a toe into the water, pleased to find it perfectly cool.

For a while, you floated peacefully, content. Until one particularly aggressive swell caught you off guard.

You felt it immediately.

The tug of the water.

The loosening of straps.

Panic shot through you as you scrambled to grab the top of your bikini, but the slippery fabric slipped through your fingers and was swiftly carried away by the current.

You had two options: wade out and grab it, hoping no one was around to witness your embarrassing half-naked sprint… or stay hidden and pray it washed back on its own.

“Oh, merde! Non, non, non!” you hissed under your breath, frantically cupping your breasts as you scanned the empty beach for help.

It was still early. Too early for anyone else to be up and running and save you from this mortifying situation.

Your cheeks burned as you stood there, half-submerged in the water, desperately trying to figure out a plan.

Option one was looking more appealing until you heard the soft crunch of footsteps on sand.

Carlos.

Of course, it was Carlos.

Because fate had a sense of humor, and apparently, you were its favorite punchline.

He ambled out of the villa, a towel slung lazily over his shoulder, his dark curls sticking up like he’d just rolled out of bed. His face was adorably grumpy, the pout of someone who hadn’t had coffee yet. And then his gaze landed on you.

He froze.

You froze.

You tried to act casual. Well, as casual as one could while half-submerged, hugging their chest like they were reenacting a dramatic shipwreck scene.

Carlos’s frown deepened, concern flickering across his face as he took a hesitant step closer. “Are you… drowning?”

“Not drowning,” you chirped, your tone overly bright. “But thanks for checking!”

“Oh.” His voice cracked slightly. He cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at you. “Right. Uh… do you- want me to…?”

His brow furrowed. “Then why are you…?” His words trailed off as his eyes drifted to the water, where your bikini top bobbed lazily with the current.

Realization dawned like a slap, his cheeks instantly turning a satisfying shade of pink.

“Be my hero, Carlos,” you said with exaggerated sweetness, gesturing dramatically toward the water. “Save my dignity before the ocean claims it forever.”

He stared at you for a moment, his lips twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or groan. “Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath before tossing his towel onto the sand and wading into the water.

You tried not to watch him, but… well. You were stuck here, and it’s not like there was much else to look at. The way his muscles flexed, the water slicking over his skin.

It was distracting. Infuriatingly distracting.

He resurfaced a moment later, holding up your bikini top like a trophy.

“Got it,” he called.

“Oh, congratulations, Captain of the Swim Team.” You clapped. “Now bring it here before someone else decides to take a morning stroll.”

Carlos swam back, wading into shallower water as he handed it to you. His smirked when you snatched it from his hand.

“Need help putting it back on, princess?”

You raised a brow. “Funny. Actually, yes.”

That wiped the smirk off his face.

“…What?”

You turned your back to him, holding out the tangled strings over your shoulder. “It’s all knotted. Be a gentleman, Carlos.”

He made a strangled sound. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nope. Chop-chop.” You wiggled the strings for emphasis.

Carlos muttered something in Spanish, but he stomped through the water toward you anyway. You could practically feel the heat radiating off him as his hands carefully took the strings.

His fingers skimmed over your bare skin, and your breath caught in your throat. Sharp and shallow.

“Stop fidgeting,” Carlos muttered, his voice rough with concentration.

“You’re taking forever.”

“It’s not exactly easy tying this thing without looking.”

“Look, then.”

Carlos froze.

The silence stretched.

You could feel his breath behind you, hot against the curve of your neck.

Slowly, deliberately, his hands tightened around the strings. Not painfully, just firm enough to make you gasp and spin around.

“Carlos!”

He didn’t flinch.

His dark eyes locked on yours, sharp and unreadable. Then, with a darkness you recognized, his gaze flicked to your lips and lingered.

Too long.

Your pulse stuttered.

“Carlos,” you warned, softer this time.

He didn’t move. Neither did you.

And then it happened.

His mouth crashed into yours, hot and demanding.

You barely had time to gasp before his arms wrapped around your waist, yanking you flush against him.

For a moment, the world dissolved. The waves, the sun, the beach. All of it disappeared beneath the heat of his kiss.

And then he pulled back, breaking the moment with a frustrated groan.

“We can’t do this,” Carlos said, his hands still gripping your waist.

“Sure we can.” You grinned, breathless, leaning closer. “We’re already doing it.”

His grip tightened as if he was trying to anchor himself. “I’m too old for this. For you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, please. You’re thirty, not eighty.”

“That’s not the point,” he snapped, his voice rough. “You… You deserve someone younger. Someone who-”

“Someone who what?” you interrupted, your eyes narrowing. “Someone who’s scared of me? Who wouldn’t be able to handle me?”

“Someone who doesn’t know better,” he said quietly, his gaze dropping to your lips again.

You softened, leaning closer. “Maybe I don’t want someone who doesn’t know better.”

Carlos let out a strangled laugh, shaking his head. “You’re going to ruin me, you know that?”

“Good,” you whispered, brushing your lips against his.

For a moment, he gave in, his mouth claiming yours again, desperate and unrelenting.

But then he tore himself away, his chest heaving as he stepped back, the water lapping at his thighs.

“This is a bad idea,” he said, his voice rough.

“Carlos,” you said softly, stepping toward him.

His hands came up, stopping you. “You don’t get it. I can’t just-” He gestured between the two of you, struggling to find the words. “If this goes wrong…”

“It won’t,” you said firmly. “You’re overthinking it.”

For a long moment, he just stared at you, torn between caution and temptation.

“God help me,” he muttered before pulling you back into his arms, kissing you like he’d never stop.

“Oh, please. You like it.”

That did it.

Carlos groaned, a raw, frustrated sound, and suddenly his hand was in yours, gripping tight.

“Come on.”

“Where are we-?”

“Somewhere with fewer witnesses.”

You laughed, breathless and exhilarated, stumbling after him as he dragged you toward the rocky outcropping at the edge of the beach.

“Oh, now you’re worried about witnesses?”

Carlos shot you a look over his shoulder. “Yeah, well, I’m not tying your bikini back on twice.”

You snorted. “Coward.”

“Keep talking, and I’ll leave you naked out here.”

“Oh, threats!” You giggled, letting him pull you behind the rocks, the world disappearing behind towering stone and crashing waves.

And then he was on you again.

No hesitation, no teasing.

Pinned against the rough stone, your body trembling in Carlos’s firm grip, his mouth crushed against yours with a ferocity that left you breathless.

His hands slid over your waist, pulling you flush against him, the heat of his body searing into yours.

He kissed like he had all the time in the world. Like he was determined to take every last bit of air from your lungs.

You gasped, fingers clutching at his shoulders as he backed you harder into the rock, the scrape of it barely registering against the dizzying sensations he drew from you.

His lips left yours, trailing down your jaw, to the tender spot just below your ear, and you shivered as his teeth scraped lightly over your skin.

“God, Carlos-” you whispered, but the words broke off into a gasp when his hands slid under your thighs, lifting you higher against him.

“Mm.” His lips curved against your throat, and he hummed low, a sound filled with lazy amusement. His mouth worked along your neck, deliberate and unhurried, leaving your skin flushed and tingling.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes roamed over you.

Your swollen lips, your heaving chest, your thighs trembling where they rested against his hips. He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth curving up, the faintest smirk playing on his lips.

“Has anyone ever made you come with their mouth before?” he asked though he looked as though he already knew the answer.

The heat in your face intensified, your breath catching as his hands wandered down your thighs, teasing the edge of your bikini bottoms.

You tried to respond, but the words stuck in your throat, and all you managed was a small shake of your head.

His smirk deepened, a low chuckle escaping him as he brushed his thumb over your flushed cheek. “Didn’t think so,” he murmured. “You’re so damn pretty when you’re flustered. Cute.”

Your hips instinctively arched toward him, but he didn’t rush. He held you steady, hands firm but gentle, guiding you with a patience that only heightened the ache between your legs.

His lips found your collarbone, kissing and nipping lightly, as though savoring every inch of you.

When he finally moved between your legs, the sight of him looking up at you from between your thighs sent a fresh wave of heat crashing through you.

His hands spreaded you open with a careful precision that made your heart race. Carlos nudged you higher against the rock, shifting you into position, gaze sweeping over you like he was memorizing every detail.

“You’re shaking already,” he said softly, his voice edged with amusement as he pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Relax, baby. I’ve got you.”

You whimpered, fingers tangling in his dark hair as his lips moved closer, teasing, never quite giving you what you wanted.

His stubble scraped lightly against your sensitive skin, making you shiver, and when his breath fanned over your core, you nearly bucked against him.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice trembling, desperate.

Carlos’s low hum vibrated against your skin, and he pressed another kiss to your inner thigh, his smirk audible in his tone. “So needy,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Then, without warning, his mouth was on you.

The first long, deliberate swipe of his tongue over your clit drew a sharp cry from your lips, your back arching off the rock.

He didn’t falter. His tongue worked you with slow, measured precision, every flick and circle designed to draw you closer to the edge.

You tried to move, to grind against him, but his grip on your thighs tightened, holding you firmly in place.

He was relentless, alternating between soft, teasing licks and harder, more focused strokes that made your vision blur.

“Oh, f-fuck-” you gasped, your voice breaking, your fingers tugging harder at his hair.

He didn’t respond, didn’t lift his head, just let out a soft, pleased sound that sent vibrations through you, his mouth working you even harder. His fingers joined in, slipping inside you with ease, curling just right, hitting a spot that made you cry out.

The tension coiled tight in your belly, your entire body trembling as he brought you closer and closer. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t frantic. Just steady, unshakable control, like he knew exactly what you needed before you did.

It was overwhelming.

The pressure, the heat, the way his tongue and fingers worked together. It all built into something you couldn’t stop, couldn’t hold back even if you tried.

Your body tensed, and with a broken moan, the wave crashed over you, leaving you shuddering, your thighs clamping around his head as he worked you through it.

Carlos didn’t stop until you were nothing but a trembling, breathless mess, every last tremor wrung from you.

Only then did he pull back, his lips glistening, his chin wet with you.

He lifted his head, hands brushing gently over your thighs as if to ground you.

He leaned in, his mouth finding yours in a slow, deliberate kiss that left you dizzy all over again. The taste of yourself on his lips only heightened the intimacy, the rawness of it.

“First time for everything, huh?” he murmured against your mouth, his tone low and teasing, though his eyes were warm, almost soft.

Your breath came in shallow gasps, your body still trembling, and as you looked at him, at the way he gazed at you with that infuriating, knowing smirk, you knew you were ruined.

You barely recognized your own voice when you whispered, “Fuck me.”

His eyes found yours, dark and hungry, his control fraying at the edges. For a brief moment, he stayed still, as though restraining himself, the tendons in his neck taut, his jaw clenched.

Carlos had you against the rock again in seconds, his hands firm on your thighs, his body pressing into yours with a force that left no room for hesitation. He moved without teasing this time, his lips crashing into yours.

Your fingers gripped his shoulders, your nails biting into the hard muscle beneath his skin as he angled you higher against the rock.

The rough scrape of it bit into your back, but the discomfort was drowned out by the searing warmth of him, his mouth moving down your jaw to your neck.

You tried to gasp his name but he didn’t give you time to finish.

He lifted you higher, spreading your thighs wider around his hips. The strength in his hands was almost dizzying, his grip unyielding as he shifted your body to his liking. When his lips trailed down your throat, sucking hard enough to leave marks, your head fell back, exposing more of your skin to him.

His swim trunks were gone in a moment, and when you glanced down, your breath hitched at the sight of him.

Thick, hard, and impossibly big, he stood there like he was made to ruin you. The sheer size of him sent a shiver through your body, heat pooling low in your belly as your thighs clenched involuntarily.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, his tone low but soft, the edge of a smile playing at his lips as he reached for you again. “Relax, baby. I’ll make it fit.”

Your breath stuttered, your fingers clutching his shoulders as he lined himself up, the head of his cock pressing insistently against your entrance. The first push was slow, almost gentle, but the stretch was immediate, sharp, and overwhelming.

“Carlos,” you gasped, your voice breaking as your body struggled to take him.

“You can take it.” His jaw clenched as he pushed in another inch. “Just breathe, baby. Let me in.”

You did, your breaths coming in shallow pants as he fed you inch by inch. The stretch was nearly unbearable, your body clenching around him as if trying to resist.

He groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder, hands steady on your hips as he worked himself deeper.

“You’re so tight,” he muttered, his voice strained as though the effort of holding back was physically painful. “So perfect.”

The fullness was overwhelming, the sheer size of him stretching you beyond anything you thought possible. He didn’t rush, didn’t force it, but every inch was a challenge, your body trembling as it adjusted to him.

Finally, he was fully seated inside you, the press of his hips against yours sending a jolt of pleasure and relief through your body. For a moment, he stayed still, his chest heaving against yours, his hands gripping your thighs so tightly you knew you’d feel the bruises later.

“Fuck,” he growled, his voice rough, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re so perfect. Made for me.”

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t think.

Your body stretched and full in a way that left you dizzy.

The ache was sharp but fading quickly, replaced by the thrum of pleasure that sparked with every small movement.

Then he began to move.

His hips pulled back slowly, the thick length of him dragging against your walls before he thrust forward again, burying himself deep.

The sensation was electrifying, your body tightening around him as he set a steady, deliberate rhythm.

Each thrust was measured, controlled, as though he was determined to make you feel every inch of him.

The pressure was unrelenting, his cock hitting spots inside you that sent waves of pleasure rippling through your body.

You clung to him, your nails digging into his back as his pace quickened, the strength of his thrusts leaving you gasping.

The rock behind you scraped against your skin with every movement, but the sting was nothing compared to the pleasure building inside you.

Carlos shifted, lifting you higher against him, angling his hips to drive deeper. The new position made you cry out, your head falling back as the sensations intensified, every nerve ending in your body alight.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice thick and rough, his hands tightening on your hips as he moved faster, harder.

The fullness, the stretch, the relentless rhythm. It was too much and not enough all at once. Your body trembled, your thighs shaking around his waist as the tension inside you coiled tighter, threatening to snap.

“Carlos,” you gasped, your voice breaking as your hands fisted in his hair, desperate for something to hold onto.

“Come for me,” he growled, his hips slamming into yours with unrelenting force. “Come on, be a good girl and come for me.”

His words sent you spiraling. The wave of pleasure crashed over you, your entire body trembling as you shattered around him.

Your cries filled the air, your walls clenching tight around him as the release ripped through you.

Carlos groaned, his rhythm faltering as he chased his own release. His thrusts turned erratic, desperate, and with a final, shuddering moan, he buried himself deep, his release spilling into you in a rush of heat.

For a moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breathing, the crash of the waves a distant echo.

His forehead rested against yours, his hands gentle now as they smoothed over your thighs, grounding you.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded faintly, your lips curving into a small, breathless smile. “I’m perfect,” you whispered.

He chuckled, his arms tightening around you as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered, his voice tinged with both amusement and awe.

“Then you’ll die happy,” you teased, your fingers brushing lightly over his jaw.

He smiled, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was slow, tender, and unhurried.

—-

Carlos insisted on carrying you back to the villa, effortlessly lifting you into his arms and wrapping a towel around you to shield you from the cool evening air.

You tried to protest, laughing half-heartedly while squirming a little in his hold, but his arms only tightened around you, pulling you closer.

The warmth of his body against yours was a welcome contrast to the crisp early morning air, and despite your teasing resistance, you felt a pull of affection.

“Carlos, no, seriously. I’m fine,” you said, attempting to push lightly against his chest. “You don’t have to carry me like this.”

“Shh,” he murmured, adjusting his grip to make sure you were even more comfortable, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “You’re not fine. I just fucked you, and so I’m taking care of you. Aftercare, baby. So stop fussing.”

You rolled your eyes at the sentiment. “Carlos, seriously. Charles is going to murder you if he sees-”

Carlos’ grin only widened, a spark of mischief lighting up his eyes. You could feel the confidence radiating off of him as he held you effortlessly, his voice dropping lower, laced with amusement. “Charles already knows.”

Your brows shot up, a mix of surprise and confusion flooding through you. “Wait, what? He knows?”

Carlos’ grin softened slightly, the playful edge in his tone giving way to a hint of sheepishness. "Yeah… Poker night.”

You blinked, the realization dawning slowly but surely. “Poker night?” You almost laughed at the absurdity of it. “Oh my god, you told him?”

“Well, he kind of guessed. And then, the next morning, he gave me the talk.”

You stared at him for a moment, blinking as the full weight of the situation sank in. “The talk? That talk?”

“The one and only.”

You snorted. “I can't believe you let him talk to you like that.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the banter. “Trust me, I wasn’t about to argue with him.”

You nestled into his chest, feeling the warmth of his body, and smiled up at him. “You’re lucky I don’t have a talk with you myself.”

He raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eye. “Oh? You’d have the talk with me too?”

You leaned in closer. “Maybe later,” you said softly, the affection in your voice undeniable.

Carlos’ grin softened as he held you just a little tighter. “I’ll be waiting for it, cariño.”

—-

Hours later, Lando and Pierre stumbled into the living room, bleary-eyed and still caught in the haze of sleep.

They froze in the doorway, blinking in surprise at the sight before them.

You and Carlos were both fast asleep, tangled together on the couch, your head resting comfortably against his chest. His arms were draped around you, one hand resting lightly on your waist, the other tangled in your hair as you slept soundly.

Pierre raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a grin as he cast a glance at Charles, who was sprawled across the couch like he had nowhere else to be.

Charles didn’t even look up, clearly at ease with everything happening. Pierre nudged him lightly, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You’re okay with this?” he asked, voice low but tinged with disbelief. “I mean, just like that? No big deal?”

Charles didn’t stir, stretching out lazily as if the whole situation was perfectly normal.

He met Pierre’s gaze with a smirk, the kind that only came with complete indifference to drama. “Are you seriously asking me that?” he drawled, as if the question were almost laughable. “Better than any of you, I’ll tell you that much.”

Lando, however, was having none of it.

He threw his hands up in mock exasperation, his dramatic flair coming to the surface even as he tried to stifle a yawn. “Hold up, hold up!” He pointed an accusing finger at Carlos, his voice raising slightly, though still laden with sleepiness. “I can’t even flirt with her without getting death threats, but Mr. Smooth Operator here gets to just waltz in and- what? -sweep her off her feet? No questions asked?”

Carlos stirred slightly at the noise, his arms tightening around you instinctively as he shifted to get more comfortable. His voice was low, heavy with sleep, but there was an undeniable warmth to it as he spoke, still gazing down at you with affection. “That’s pretty much it,” he muttered, the hint of a lazy chuckle rumbling in his chest as he tightened his hold on you just a little more.

Pierre shook his head slowly, blinking as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “So… this? This is serious?” he asked, voice almost whispering as though not wanting to disturb the peaceful moment.

Carlos let out a soft sigh, the sound barely audible as he pressed his cheek gently against your head, completely content in the quiet. His eyes fluttered open, and he met Pierre’s gaze with a slow, sleepy smile.

“Trust me,” he started, barely awake. “There’s more to figure out, but this?” He paused, glancing down at you, his eyes soft with affection. “This is happening.”

—-

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