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midnightquips · 2 months ago

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Dangerously Close

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky & Y/N are undeniably attracted to each other. Seemingly the only way these two are getting together is with some extreme meddling.

Themes: mutual pining, teasing teammates, possessive Bucky, Thunderbolts chaos, friends-to-lovers-but-stupid about it, pining (a lot)

🔴 MINORS DNI 🔴 Warnings: 18+ content, eventual smut, dirty talk, praise kink, jealousy, soft aftercare, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex

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Chapter 1: Sparks & Sandwiches

Part I

Breathing is a regular bodily function. Supposedly easy. An unconscious action. But for some reason, Bucky Barnes makes you overly aware of yours. He doesn’t do it on purpose, but when he’s lounging in the training room, built like a Greek statue, it just seems to… happen. Adding to the fact that he randomly calls you sweetheart with that stupid crooked grin, your stomach just can’t help but flutter when he’s around.

You’re currently busy pretending to not look at him while you stretch on the mat. Whether you’re succeeding is questionable.

Bucky is across the gym, holding a punch bag steady while John Walker lays into it like he’s got something to prove–which, frankly, he always does.

His gaze flicks towards you, just for a second. You should have looked away in embarrassment but don’t want to make it seem that you were stealing glances, so you give him a small smile instead. He reciprocates warmly.

You’re snapped out of the little moment when Yelena murmurs mid-lunge beside you, “You’re not subtle.”

“What?” you reply innocently, through cheeks burning

Yelena makes a face, “Don’t think this thing–” motioning her head between you and Bucky, “–is very unnoticeable.”

You roll your eyes, “You’re a super spy. Everything is noticeable to you. Your mind is almost making things up.”

“Yet you’re a super spy and you still can’t figure out he’s into you.” It’s Yelena’s turn to roll her eyes

“He flirts with everyone. You’ve seen him. I’m not reading into it.”

Yelena snorts. “Sure. That’s why he lets you throw him across the mat without complaint. Totally something he does with everyone.”

Your eyes narrow. “I’m strong.”

“Yes, you are, but that’s not the point.” She pauses, lips curling into a teasing smirk. “He clearly enjoys the straddling way more than he should.”

You nearly lose your balance.

Across the room, Bucky definitely notices.

Bucky is convinced his willpower is being tested.

He’s resting against the far wall of the gym, towel slung around his neck. He watches you carefully as you move through your warm-up with Yelena. Your current position–on your knees, pushing your body forward, chest facing up–makes Bucky swallow hard. It pulls at something primal inside him.

Bucky has seen hundreds of women in gym clothes. But for some reason, you in tight black leggings and a loose tank top knotted at your waist has him on edge. Maybe it’s because he’s imagined your body too many times and every time you wear this, it confirms even more how stunning you were. He adores every inch of you, but your thighs haunt him most nights. Thick, strong and always on display in your training gear.

He wants–no, prays to feel them wrapped around his waist. His shoulders. His face.

“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath, adjusting the towel to cover his reaction.

“You good?” Bob Reynolds appears beside him like a blond, nosy ghost.

“Fine.”

“Mmm.” Bob’s smile is too knowing. “You keep staring like you’re writing poetry in your head.”

“Shut up.”

“Are you writing poetry in your head?”

“No.” Bucky watches you laugh at something Yelena says, a dimple flashing in your cheek. His stomach tightens.

“Because I could help you rhyme something with thighs.”

“Bob, I swear to God.”

Training always brings out the best and worst in you. You enjoy sparring. You like the burn in your muscles and learning new techniques you’ve never considered. You specifically loved the way your body can do things now that it couldn’t months ago. The real cherry on top was sparring with Bucky.

Which is also a real dilemma. Because he’s stupid hot but also stupid skilled.

And, worst of all, he lets you win. A flattery and an insult rolled into one.

“You’re pulling your punches again,” you say, landing on your back after a takedown you know he could’ve blocked.

Bucky stands over you, offering his hand. “Maybe you’re just too good, sweetheart.”

You narrow your eyes but take his hand. His grip is firm, warm, and way too steady. “You know, most people don’t flirt while getting their ass handed to them.”

He helps you up slowly, like it’s an excuse to let his hand linger. “Only with you.”

Your brain short-circuits. You laugh it off, rolling your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

Behind you, Yelena raises both eyebrows and mouths, Oh my god.

The compound smells like heaven that evening.

You’re occupied in the kitchen, hair up, apron on while music is softly playing in the background. Steaks searing in the iron pan & vegetables roasting in the oven, while you quickly check on the saffron rice on the stove.

You taste a small spoon of the rice and nod your head in approval, knowing the team would love it. Cooking grounds you. Moving through the kitchen with ease makes this place feel like home.

A hand brushes your lower back. You only know one person stealthy enough to sneak up behind you.

“Smells good, doll.”

Bucky stands behind you, chest lightly pressed on your back as he peeks over your shoulder. He leans close enough that you feel the heat of his voice on your cheeks. Tempting you to almost lean back.

You try not to look at him. Breezy, cool on the front. Melting inside. “Hope you’re hungry.”

He pulls back and leans on the counter beside so he has a full view of you. The short cotton dress you’re wearing makes you look more homey, inviting thoughts of domestic life into Bucky’s brain. He crosses his arms and looks at you with a small smile, “I’m always hungry for your food.”

You try to ignore the way your heart flips. “I’m not serving you food unless you’ve showered.”

“It was quick. Didn’t want to miss you.” He says warmly

He says it only with a hint of teasing that it almost makes you pause. Almost. “Perhaps some distance will do us some good.”

“I would say more dangerous than good.”

Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion, “What does that mean?”

“Can’t be any more fonder of you than I already am.”

It doesn’t mean anything. A simple reminder to yourself, before you turn back to the shelf beside the stove, trying to grab a spice from the top.

Bucky doesn’t even ask, just simply takes his place behind you once more, hand bracing your waist as he easily grabs the jar from above your head. He keeps his hand on your waist while pushing the spice into your hand.

“Here,” he says softly, voice a little lower

You take it almost reluctantly. Not realizing you’d been holding your breath. This man was definitely determined to kill you.

You’re snapped into returning to the cooking when he finally releases you. He decides to give you space by sitting at the kitchen island, but contrary to what you claimed earlier, you’re not quite sure the distance was really doing any good in this situation.

Dinner is chaos in the best way.

Alexei continuously praises your steak, declaring it “better than any American restaurant” while John asks for seconds before finishing his first plate. Yelena is busy asking why you never opened your own place, which she does every time. Bob makes a dad-joke about the saffron being “worth its weight in gold,” and Ava offers to do dishes as she requests you make paella again next week.

Bucky doesn’t say much, only looks at you the whole time.

He finally speaks when dinner has wrapped up. He asks if you want help in the kitchen. You don’t see it but Yelena has signaled the team to leave when she overhears this. John smirks at the meddling.

You stand side by side at the sink. Bucky washing the dishes and you drying it.

“Thanks for cooking. I would say it’s delicious, but I think having no leftover already signals that” he says.

You smile. “It’s nothing. I like feeding you guys.”

“You don’t have to do it all the time.”

“I want to. Feeding people is... comforting.” You pause, then tease, “Unless you’re offering to cook next time.”

“Only if you want me to burn pasta and set off the fire alarm.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Hard pass.”

He likes the way your eyes light up when you laugh. He’s so gone.

There’s a bit of pause when you decide to ask, “Bucky, you date a lot?”

Bucky blinks in surprise, “What?”

You shrug, focusing on piling the plates back in the cabinet. “Just curious. You seem like... the type who does well. You know.”

He’s quiet for a beat. “Why do you think that?”

“You flirt with everyone. You’ve got the arms. The eyes. The mysterious brooding past.”

His tone shifts, softer. “Y/N.”

You look over, taken aback by the seriousness painted on his face.

He simply says, “I don’t flirt with everyone.”

Your breath catches, unsure of what to make of his response. He’s still watching you and there’s palpable tension.

Yelena’s voice breaks the moment as she calls from the hall: “When are you two gonna fuck already?”

You drop the plate.

Bucky turns red.

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #winter soldier #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic

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strawberry-nugget · 2 months ago

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Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x reader

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, fwb, oral (f! receiving), facesitting, sex on the beach.

It’s not very usual for Toji and you to go to the beach, especially not in the middle of the night. You’re supposed to be fuck buddies—nothing more, nothing less. Casual. Uncomplicated.

You weren’t supposed to call him just because your head felt too loud, your apartment too quiet, too hot. You weren’t supposed to ask if he wanted to drive, no destination in mind, just the road and the excuse to not be alone. Maybe hit the beach, play some Nirvana on the way.

And, despite doing so, he definitely wasn’t supposed to say yes.

Yet, now here you are. Damp from the sea, skin still glistening from a dip in the dark water, curled up beside him, towel forgotten and bunched up somewhere underneath both of you.

The air is thick and heavy with humidity, but your body shivers every now and then from the breeze that rolls in off the waves. Your skinis slick with salt, prickles where it brushes against his.

The moon sits low, casting soft, silvery light over everything. It turns the surf into glass and Toji’s eyes.

In essence, this wasn’t supposed to ease your worried mind about him.

But now, under the soft grazing of the moonlight, the calming sea sounds and the chills that run through your body from just how wet your skin is in contrast to the humidity of the night, you feel strangely calm.

There’s a shit ton of empty beer bottles next to you, one that serves as an ashtray, forgotten in the right corner of your towel and you’re laying in Toji’s big, wet arms, hoping for some warmth, engulfed into a conversation about kinks you have that you haven’t fulfilled that you wouldn’t be answering hadn’t it been for your lightheaded nature of the moment.

Of course Toji, you learn, has had his fair share of everything. From vanilla to shibari to whatever the hell can happen during an exchange in bodily fluids.

You’d be stupid to think otherwise. The way he talks, so casually about things that make your ears burn. The way he always moves against you; confident and unrushed, like there’s nothing he hasn’t already done and nothing that could surprise him anymore. Like he’s seen it all, tasted it, maybe even gotten bored of it.

Which only ever makes your confession feel even more pathetic now that you think about it.

You’re not even drunk enough to justify it. Just tipsy. Buzzed and warm and cracked open by the sea breeze and the way his fingers are dragging slow, idle shapes along your bare hip like it’s nothing. Like this—you—are casual. Disposable. And maybe you are. Under this calming moonlight by the sea, topless of a swimsuit, you’re supposed to be just fuck buddies and not whatever your feelings are asking of you.

This is why you thought it’d be easier to say this to him.

“I wanna try facesitting,” you say. Too fast. Too quiet.

And now it’s out there. Hanging between you in the air, heavy with the weight of it. And your eyes squint unsymmetrically, like you dropped a bomb you shouldn’t have.

“I’ve only tried to do it once,” you add, before you could stop words coming out of your mouth to justify yourself, “with someone else. And I was so embarrassed.”

But Toji doesn’t laugh at you. He doesn’t make a joke. He just smirks with the corner of his mouth like he usually would and settles for looking at the top of your head before your eyes turn to meet his gaze.

And it’s not a nice look. Not soft at all. It’s sharp, focused—like he’s trying to see something in you, not just at you. And maybe—ooof, maybe thats just—maybe that’s worse.

You shift slightly against him, suddenly hyperaware of your bare skin against his chest, the way the condensation from the beer bottle has dripped over your thigh earlier and left a cold trail. The salt crusting at your hairline. The knot in your stomach pulling tighter.

“Embarrassed?” he repeats eventually, voice low, like the word tastes strange in his mouth. “Why?”

You nod, then shrug, eyes darting anywhere but his. “It felt weird. Like I was too much. Like I was asking for something that wasn’t… I don’t know. Sexy.”

“But it’s hella sexy”

“Well I just didn’t— didn’t feel comfortable with my…” you pause, thinking of a way to voice the word you wanna say without being extremely lewd “….punani hovering over someone’s mouth”

Toji laughs in that deep chested chuckle of his “Are we calling it punani now?”

And you immediately hide your face in your hands. “Oh my God,” you groan, “don’t laugh.”

He’s still chuckling, brushing a hand over his jaw as he stares at you with a kind of fond amusement that makes your cheeks burn hotter.

“Are we calling it punani now?” he grins.

“I hate the word pussy”

“And punani is better?”

You peek at him through your fingers, giggling loudly. “Shut uuuuup. I panicked.”

“No, no, I like it,” he says, nodding solemnly now, like he’s declaring it canon. “You’re out here, heart racing, talking about kinks and positions and shit, and that’s the word you go with.”

You smack his arm, which only makes him laugh harder, and you can’t help but smile a little even though your whole face is on fire, cheeks stinging in embarrassment, muscles tensing.

“I was trying to be delicate,” you say, half-defensive, half-laughing. “This is a delicate moment.”

Toji looks at you then—really looks. The grin softens just a little at the edges. “Hey,” he says, voice gentler now. “You don’t gotta be delicate around me.”

You look at him, hesitant. Of course you don’t, this was part of the whole fuck buddy deal. You just want to be delicate around him.

Still, he raises a brow, content enough by your softness to see you’ve think too much. “I mean, unless you want to be. In which case, I’ll handle your punani with extreme care.”

You groan again, falling back onto his chest, burying your face there as if you could sink into the warmth of him and disappear. “Ewwwwww, ew ew eeeew—Kill me.”

“Nah,” he murmurs into your hair and ugh the fucker kisses the spot his lips touch, one hand lazily stroking your side, sending shivers through your body. “Too cute when you get shy.”

“Im not shy, eghhh, stop this!”

“Too cute when you’re shy” he repeats, poking his lower lip out and squinting in mock.

And somehow, that—that—makes your heart beat louder than anything else he’s ever said. And that’s the exact reason you forbid him from talking during sex. You don’t want to take his words at heart at such a vulnerable moment.

He exhales a soft, humorless breath through his nose and you finally glance up at him, fighting to break free from his devious headlock.

His jaw is tight, mouth parted like he’s still thinking through his next words—careful, for once. Measured. Like this is the delicate thing you were referring to and he has to comply.

“You ever think maybe the guy just didn’t know what the fuck he was doing?” he asks.

Your lips twitch, but the laugh doesn’t come. There’s a sudden lump in your throat.

“I dunno. Maybe. Still felt shitty and weird, yuck!”

Toji looks like he’s thinking for a moment. His hand moves—slides from your hip to the back of your thigh, fingers curling there like a reflex. You freeze and fuck—he notices.

“You wanna do it now?” he asks. Quiet. Serious.

Your heart skips. Yikes!

“Like… right now?” you say, and your voice is barely a whisper, making a mental note of how this could even look for him.

He nods once. Doesn’t pressure. Just looks up at you, eyes half-lidded, wet hair curling and sticking at his temples. The moonlight cuts across his face in soft blueish silver tones. It makes him look… still. Almost unreal.

You hesitate again.

There’s a part of you screaming to brush it off, to laugh it away, to say “haha, I was joking, never mind” But the other part—the smaller, shaker one that’s still trying to learn what it means to ask for things—you let her speak and the twisted part in the back of your brain that finds facesitting extremely sexy, enables.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Toji’s hands slide up your thighs with practiced ease, thumbs brushing over the slick heat of your skin. He settles back into the towel, head against the sand, and you—nervous and trembling and barely breathing—perch above him like something sacred.

“C’mere,” he says again, lower and hoarse now.

“I’m not sure it’s — we’re at a beach and—”

“We’re alone, c’mon it’s fine”

You nod, and your hands are already tugging softly at your screaming, hot nipples, hair dripping onto Toji’s chest as you lean forward just enough to ghost your mouth over his.

“Don’t look away,” he tells you.

Like you would ever look anywhere but his eyes.

And when you rise up, slow and certain, when you settle yourself over his chest like a promise you’re finally ready to keep, he doesn’t flinch.

You move like you’re floating. Knees planting gently on either side of his head, thighs tense, and your breath caught somewhere between your ribs and your throat. The moonlight turns your skin to glass—soft, wet, shimmering with sea salt and sweat. The night air licks at you, sticky and hot and heavy with your own and his salty scent.

Toji exhales slow, looking up at you, his hands wrapping around the backs of your thighs again. His palms are broad, rough and calloused, steadying you without pressure.

And then he shifts you forward. Just slightly. Just enough to make you gasp.

You’re hovering now—barely an inch above his face. Your swimsuit, a thin scrap of dark fabric, clings to you, wet from the ocean and sweat and nerves, the thong cutting a sharp line between your cheeks, a triangle at the front doing little more than teasing.

He doesn’t touch you yet. Just looks. Eyes dark and gleaming with hunger, lips parted like he’s already imagining the taste of you. His tongue sleazily pokes out to lick his lips, over his scar and you hate it—how he looks at you like you’re delicious.

His breath is hot against you; humid and sharp like the summer night breeze, tongue sliding out to meet you without hesitation. You barely lower yourself all the way before his mouth is on you, tongue broad and slow at first, like he’s tasting something he wants to savor. Not rushing. Not teasing.

You brace a hand against his shoulder, the other threading into his wet hair, fingers tightening when he groans low and drags you down with both hands like he can’t stand the distance. His grip is firm, greedy. One hand cups your ass, the other anchored at your hip, he’s holding you in place, like you might float off if he lets go.

“Toji—” your voice cracks, breathless, already unraveling as your hips twitch forward against his mouth.

He hums in response, the vibration ricocheting through you, and fuck….That—that makes your spine arch. That makes your fucking thighs tremble.

“Damn,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “You really wore this tiny thing around me, and no top and thought I wasn’t gonna lose my mind?”

Your breath catches. You open your mouth to reply some soft, embarrassed protest, but it never comes. Because his thumb drags lazily along the inside of your thigh, and then, with a quiet, wicked hum, he hooks two fingers beneath the fabric and pulls it aside.

You suck in a breath so fast it stings your lungs.

He groans softly, then hisses. Like he’s seeing something he wasn’t supposed to. Something forbidden and stupidly beautiful. And fuck if he doesn’t always tell you youve got the prettiest pussy he’s ever seen— tonight you might actually believe him.

“Shit,” he murmurs, gaze locked on you while kissing the top of your mound. “You’re already so fuckin’ wet.”

Your thighs twitch involuntarily, hips jerking the smallest bit, and Toji just smirks. Not in his usual mean way. Not mocking. He smirks like he knew this would happen eventually after always giving you the best head of your life and he’s too proud of it.

“Don’t get shy now,” he murmurs, dragging his hands back up your thighs, slow and grounding, fingers digging into your plush skin. “You wanted this, didn’t you? ”

You blink your eyes and nod. Barely. Pathetically pouting into his eyes. One hand clenched in his hair for balance, the other covering your mouth to hold in the tiny noise that slips free when he leans in—so close his breath ghosts over you.

And then, finally—finally—his mouth finds you. Not rough. Not greedy. Just a warm, dragging kiss against your sloppy, wet folds that makes your entire body tremble above him.

Your hips stutter forward with the shock of it—of him. The warmth of his tongue against the hood of your clit, the scrape of light stubble against your inner thighs, the steady pressure of his hands gripping you like he wants your weight, like he wants you to give in.

“Toji—” you breathe

His tongue moves with maddening precision. Slow, rhythmic circles around your clit before dragging back down to suck, then flick, then flatten again like he’s memorizing your every reaction. He’s not shy about it, either. He spits on you when he pulls back and you don’t even have half the mind to wonder if he takes a breath every now and then.

There’s no awkward fumbling, just his mouth making out with your pussy, slurping, licking soft sights with the tip of his tongue. The obscene sound of his mouth working between your legs, and the heat of his breath is mixing with the breeze rolling in from the ocean.

Fuck. Normally you’d ask him not to make those sounds because you feel too embarrassed by them, but now? Now that he rocks your hips and urges you to ride his face? You can’t even fathom uttering words. You just feel your chest sweating to the full from how horny you have suddenly became

Your thighs begin to shake a little from the strain and the intensity of how tortuously he licks you; slow then fast then slow again, and he notices, naturally.

Toji’s always been good at reading you.

Without looking up, he shifts slightly, spreading his legs wider under your, adjusting your position higher on his chest so you don’t have to hold yourself up as much. His biceps flex under your thighs as he pulls you down again, tongue pressing deeper, slower now, dragging out the slick sounds that make your face burn and cheeks sting even in the dark.

“Fuck—Toji—” you gasp, head falling back as your hips start to roll without thinking, without his urging,chasing that tight, coiling pressure low in your belly.

You hear him growl, feel the rumble of it through his mouth as he grips you harder and sucks, even messier now. His tongue flattens then curls, licking deliciously into you, under you, over and under the hood of your clit, like he wants to know exactly what it takes to make you break in this position.

You feel the wetness that drips down his chin. And when he does too, he moans—moans into you, like he’s the one getting off on this.

Maybe he is. Who are you to judge?

You look down and meet his eyes. All green and wild and starving. The sight almost makes your knees give out. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t stop. Just stares up at you like this is the only place he wants to die, suffocating under your plush thighs.

You try to lift yourself, just a little, overwhelmed but Toji growls again, and pulls you back down, his eyes flashing, mouth slick and chin shining.

“Don’t,” he rasps between licks, voice thick “Don’t run. Let me fuckin’ finish.”

“Toji I, fuck, feels gooood”

You whine, too far gone to feel embarrassed in the slightest now. Your fingers twist into his damp hair, tugging—not in protest, but because it’s the only thing grounding you. Because you somehow needs him even closer to your slit if thats even humanly possible.

Of course he catches that too, tongue flattening against you as he grasps your thighs with bruising strength and rocks you against him. His tongue dips at your entrance, nose nuzzling up on your clit.

“I c-can’t— Tojiii fuck mmmmmnh” you start to say, but he hums again, right there, mouth sealing around your clit in a filthy, possessive, wet suck that makes your whole body seize. He flattens his tongue again, licking with long, slow strokes, and you can feel the excessive, dripping mess between you. His face wet. Your thighs slick.

The edge comes up on you faster than you expect, tight and sweet and sudden, a wave crashing before you can catch your breath. Your hands fist in his hair and you grind forward once, twice—and then it hits. Like a tidal wave.

You come hard, legs shaking and locking around his head, mouth open in a silent gasp as your vision whites out for a second too long.

Toji holds you through it. Tongue still moving, slower now as he’s sighing against your pussy, savoring it, lapping at you gently like he’s cleaning you up, smirking against you like he’s so proud of the mess he made. One hand rubs soft circles on the back of your thigh. The other presses you down until the trembling stops.

You collapse forward slowly, your hands landing on the sand, both of you soaked in sweat and sea air and something messier, something unspoken. Your hips jerk off his face and stutter, as you feel his tongue continue to lick away at you. Your breath is ragged. Your heart feels like it might as well knock its way out of your ribs.

And Toji? He grins up at you, chin wet, eyes half-lidded and smug as hell and drags his pointer finger up and down your clit, gathering some slick of your cum.

“Still embarrassed?” he rasps, voice wrecked, rubbing his face sleazily against your thigh, when he drags you down again ever so slowly, popping his soaked finger onto his mouth. He moans at your taste, as if he didn't have a mouthful of your pussy just a few seconds ago.

You blink down at him, dazed, and let out a breathless laugh, like your whole life force exits your body through that singular huff of air.

“No,” you say. “But I think you should be.”

Toji chuckles, low and dangerous from the depths of his chest and flips you both in the sand with a sudden roll of his hips. “Then let me catch up.”

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bernardsbendystraws · 3 months ago

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ೃ࿔*:･ Snow .ᐟ Reader x FWB.ᐟ Matt

You let Matt introduce you to sex toys...

⚠︎ smut, sex toys, overstimulation, praise kink, slight angst, not proofread at all tbh

“I—I—Matt, fuck,” you cry, your back arching off the bed, your knees to your chest as you claw into the backs of your own thighs. He wants you wide open. Matt made sure to place your hands exactly where he wanted them to be, he knew this would be overwhelming for you, but god—this was heaven for him.

Choked moans erupt from your mouth, your jaw slack as you try to keep your foggy eyes on his. The vibrations from the toy on your clit echo through the room, lewd slaps and squelches clouding your senses with even more immersive pleasure.

“That’s it, baby, thaaattt’s ittt,” he coos, biting on his bottom lip as he watches your pussy helplessly convulse around the toy, one attachment resting on your clit, the other buried inside of you, shaking against a spot that makes everything feel like fire and ice.

This is new, but you trust Matt. Sex being actually good was something he introduced you to, but this is untouched territory—toys. Intimate toys. You didn’t even have to ask for anything, Matt simply unzipped a backpack full of freshly cleaned, brand new sex toys. For you.

You needed a couple shots for encouragement, but you’re not drunk. In fact, the only effect the alcohol seems to have on you is making you needier, but Matt’s not complaining.

“Hm,” Matt hums, licking over his teeth as his eyes gaze over your fucked-out face with passion and lust, “-you really like this one, huh?” he tuts.

Your body squirms as he pushes the settings back to a lower vibration. He knows you’re overstimulated, but he wants more—even if it’s slow and tortuous for him to watch.

And it is torture. His jeans feel impossibly tight, his dick aching from an unrelenting pulse that seems to make his stomach clench that same way it does when he’s fucking you. And he’s barely even touching you, at least not directly with his hands.

“Shut–shut up.” you urge.

You feel Matt laugh as he hovers over you, his feet planted on the ground as he leans over your body on his bed. You’re making an absolute mess on his sheets. He even cleaned everything for you earlier, taking his time to tuck in the stupid fitted sheet despite how much he hates the task. But he did it for you. He doesn’t care in the slightest about the mess you’re making, he fucking loves the way you’re leaking all over him, all for him.

“O–oh!” you moan, your head tossing back as you feel another wave of intensity knot in the pit of your gut. Matt takes a shaky breath, making his hands steady to keep the toy exactly where it is.

Brutal claps bounce from the toy against your wet folds. Matt bites so hard on his inner cheek that he tastes a slight hint of blood. Your hands are digging into your own thighs as your hips rut upward to chase the toy in his hands with uncontrollable jolts and twists of your limbs.

“So good, baby,” he husks, completely breathless as he listens to every lewd noise, “-so, so, so fuckin—so good,” he praises, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the temple of your slightly sweaty forehead.

You’re unable to think. A sharp hiss leaves your mouth as he gently retracts the toy, shutting it off fully. The deplete of euphoria makes your body limp in his bed, you barely hear Matt stalk off, coming back with a damp rag.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, his voice barely above a whisper as his eyes twitch from the sight of your swollen cunt. You trusted him to do this, you let him make you feel things you’ve never felt before. It feels fucking perfect like this—to have you in his bed for himself.

Matt climbs into bed, pulling you on his chest as he kisses the crown of your head. You let out small pants of exhaustion. He tugs you in a little bit closer, nearly pulling you on top of his body completely.

“Matt, what are—”

“Just take a nap, okay? You’re tired.” he remarks, interrupting you.

Too exhausted to argue, you let yourself fully relax, the feeling of him pulling a blanket over your shoulders making your eyes feel impossibly heavy. Your breaths soften to a light pattern. With a hazy grasp of reality, you hear his deep voice echo...

“Goodnight…goodnight, baby.”

A/N: Dawg. I don't even know how I feel atp. Horny for sure, but like...idk...

·˚ ༘ ʚ 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒊𝒈 𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒔, 𝑹𝒐𝒔𝒆 𖧧

꒰ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ๑ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ๑ 𝐂𝐎𝐏𝐘𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 ꒱

#bbs.snow.fics #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #the sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo au #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matthew bernard sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo headcannons #sturniolo headcanon #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo angst #matt sturniolo angst

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screampied · 2 years ago

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ੈ✩‧₊˚ TWENTY THREE MISSED CALLS — G. SATORU

☆ sum. you had always nagged to your boyfriend satoru to answer his damn phone. it’d always go straight to voicemail—you told him in your own words, ‘toru, what if something ever happened to you?’ but this time, it was far too late.

wc. 1.7k tags. gn!reader, angst, nickname(s) 'baby, angel.'

an. idk how to write angst much but i was sad so came up w this. merry christmas :)

“hey heyy, it’s satoru. uh, you’ve reached the—eheh what does that lady say again…? you’ve reached the voicemail box of.. gojo satoru. leave a message after the beep, beeeeep. heh, bye.”

such a dork.

you lost count of how many times you listened to that automatic message over and over again. the playful cheekiness in his voice, you could just see his smile. the dumb dimples that poke out against both of his cheeks whenever he grinned.

a cute dork. your dork.

besides that though, it’s been at least twenty three times of you ringing him, but to no avail. each time it went straight to voicemail—sucking your teeth in confusion, you started pacing around your bedroom. it was christmas morning, and gojo promised he’d be here before you wake up.

he couldn’t be…

no, he’s gojo satoru. he always wins, right?

right..?

the more you waited, the more impatient you became. the room grew colder and colder, despite the heat being turned on. you sat on gojo’s side of the bed, inhaling his scent, as if he was here right now.

he’d always fill up the room with his loud cologne scents—you’re always telling him how it’s too strong and he always kisses your cheek, muttering, “eh really? i don’t smell it that much, baby..”

the scent was always sweet, a mixture of cinnamon and multiple other spices—you glanced at the roségold alarm clock that rested against your nightstand, the time reading six thirty am.

he still wasn’t here.

it was hard to not overthink, think the worst, gojo was always so good at calming your nerves. you’d be one to constantly overthink. his trick to stop that was to simply hold you in his arms, stroke your hair and tell you in a soft cheery voice, “hey angel, everything’s gonna be okay. i’m okay, we’re okay.”

but again, he still wasn’t here.

gojo mentioned to you before he left last night around midnight he had to ‘take care of something’ — his code word of he’s about to go into battle or fight, but he didn’t want you to worry about him.

that’s the very last thing he wanted. and if anything, he always assured you he’d be okay. even if he was beaten to a pulp by his enemies, he’d always return back home to you with that stupid lovable grin on his face.

so what made christmas day any different?

you swallowed the thick, nonexistent lump in your throat, trying to snap out of your deep melancholy thoughts. dragging your feet,

you rubbed your eyes from the sun just barely shinning through the curtains scattered throughout the house.

with a soft sigh, you made your way towards the christmas tree — the pretty lengthy tree the both of you decorated together last minute, a tiny smile went on your face at remembering how gojo kept accidentally breaking all of the ornaments, so he had to constantly keep buying new ones.

lights, glimmery multicolored lights, a plethora of ornaments and a pretty sheeny star sits at the very top. you sat on your knees, before glancing down at the various presents — one caught your eye, it was a tiny box. a velvet heart shaped box, and gojo told you it was the biggest surprise yet.

you paused, glancing down at your phone that was about it to die soon, wondering why gojo still hasn’t returned any of your calls.

he’s been gone for hours, and the knot in your stomach continued to tighten—it felt like something inside of you was squeezing, tugging you from the inside.

was this what a gut feeling feels like? something was telling you, screaming at you that something wasn’t right.

with shaky hands, you went to his contact for what seems like the millionth time, staring at the image that was his picture, him and you.

the both of you were being goofy, it was a old polaroid picture a few years ago of the both of you during your birthday.

he spoiled you so much that day, but as always he never forgot to repeat how much he loved you.

the phone rang three times and your mind pretty much knew mentally he wasn’t gonna answer, it was a bit foolish for you to continuously keep trying. but something in you told yourself, it’s satoru. he’s gonna answer. anything to reassure yourself, this happens a lot — gojo’s the type of person who always has his phone on silent, or he says he’ll call you back but ends up forgetting.

after a few rings, the same automatic voicemail plays, and just hearing his voice again, no matter how many times — it never fails to make your heart swoon.

you intake a sharp breath, closing your eyes before bringing the warm phone up to your ear, pressing it against your cheek before speaking in a voice.

a voice you hardly recognized, “…toru?” and you were on the brink of tears, it was easy to hear and you tried not to let your emotions get the best of you but at this point..

was it really worth holding on to?

fifteen long seconds passed and you forgot the phone was still in your hand.

you sniffled, gathering yourself briefly before continuing in a soft drowsy voice, “h-hey, um. i don’t mean to blow your phone up but, you aren’t responding and i’m getting kind of scared. are you okay?”

you pause again, feeling the sting of tears nearly escape through your eyelids before you squeeze your eyes shut, lightly squeezing your left thigh to prevent any more emotions from revealing themselves.

“i um, just wanna say i love you, and i hope you’re okay. i didn’t wanna open my gifts until you got here but you’re taking forever..”

and you manage to crack a tiny smile that purses against your lips—yet after a while, it fades and your heart feels like it’s just walking on egg shells. “but anyway, yeah. i love you satoru, text or call me back so i know you’re alright, please? and just get home safe okay? bye.”

you hung up the phone and a single tear ran down your cheek.

so much time had passed, and he still wasn’t here. it was nearly seven in the morning now, and your dumb curiosity got the best of you—you wondered what gojo’s big surprise gift was.

he wanted you to wait to see your reaction, but you were just so curious, so enthused.

you started to peel the pretty striped velvet wrapping paper off, one at a time, it was neatly wrapped with a perfect red and blank bow tied on the top.

once you opened it, it had a tiny black box, and your eyebrows raised, a note sticking out the side. grabbing it, you revealed it and it read in neat handwriting:

“hi baby!! merry merry christmas, i’m kinda tearing up while writing this, and i know i know you probably just wanna see the gift but first read this ‘kay? just wanna say i love love you so much, and i’m so glad we’ve been together for almost four years now. you mean everything to me, you’re so sweet and kind, always there whenever i need to talk my feelings out, or even if i just need to lay on you and fall asleep. but anywho, you know who loves you? this guy! hopefully i made you smile as you read this, im probably not at home yet but ill be back soon. don’t worry your pretty little head, alright? i love you baby, merry christmas from your honored one, xoxo.”

tears were in your eyes—and it was like you could hear him, he was right, you did manage to smile. sniffling, you placed the note aside before opening the small black box.

once you pulled the top back, your eyes widened, seeing a small coruscating ring. your heart sang, blinking twice to make sure your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you.

gojo was planning to propose..?

the ring was so pretty.

various scattered crushed up like pearls around the top, and once the tears started, they kept streaming down your face. you quickly pulled it out, sliding it on your ring finger and it was a perfect fit — in a frail sob, you mumble, “y-yes, i’ll marry you satoru.”

yet — that’s when you wake up, finally snapping back to reality. confused with tears still streaming down your face, burning.

“satoru?”

no answer.

you get up from the bed, your eyes widen before you look at your right hand — and the engagement ring was still there. a sigh of relief exits your mouth, and that’s when you make your way towards the kitchen.

nothing to worry about, maybe you just fell asleep while opening the gift. yeah, that had to be it.

although, the atmosphere of your house felt different. taking a quick glance in the living room, the christmas tree wasn’t there anymore, it wasn’t snowing, and it was almost as if you lived by yourself.

“satoru?” you called out again, before pulling out your phone — scrolling towards your messages and your heart suddenly sank. the last message you sent him was two years ago, a subtle ‘satoru, it’s christmas and you’re still not here? are you okay?’

christmas…?

you pulled a tab down on your phone — and the date read march 17th. approximately two years later from when you last sent that message, and you were so confused.

but the further you scrolled down, you saw messages from others, sending you their regards and condolences for your loss….loss?

the recent message was from geto — and your last reply was, ‘thank you, i’m doing okay. i just still can’t believe he’s gone.”

. . .

you felt sick — tear after tear racing down both sides of your face before coming to the sudden unfathomable realization.

gojo never came back home for one reason and one reason only. he died a painful death those long two years ago, even though he swore he’d come back to you on christmas.

perhaps everything was all a lie.

sometimes people don’t win all the time, not even the honored one, the love of your life, gojo satoru.

#★vegasbaby.#gege made me do it 😔#gojo x reader #gojo x you #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk angst #gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff #satoru gojo x reader #jjk fic #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #jjk spoilers #gojo x y/n #jjk imagines #jjk drabbles

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gloomskulls · 7 months ago

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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚LIMERENCE PT 2 [tasm!peter parker x reader]

pairings: tasm!peter parker x reader

part 1

⇢ ˗ˏˋ SUMMARY ୨୧ after finding the courage and the balls to ask you out, Peter couldn't help but test the waters.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ WARNING ୨୧ reader is drunk and drunk people cannot give consent), terribly written smut (i'm a virgin i'm sorry, I have no idea what goes on actually in the bed), oral (fem receiving), drinking, drunk reader, overstimulation, everyone is 18+ here lemme know if I missed any. MINORS DO NOT READ

If you don't want to see my dark stories in the future please block the tag #madi: dark content

A/n: I'm sorry this took a whole ass while, it's probs 90% story and 10% smut. Like it's probs shit, the smut's the reason why I couldn't finish this sooner because I had no idea where it was going. Also tried to write 2012 slang, idk if it even sounds right. don't steal any of the shit I've written or else I'm going to turn you into Victoria Heyes from terrifier ❤️🫶/srs

Peter shuffled in his sleep. Tossing and turning. Sleep never found him, how could it? He did something so unforgivable. Having an obsession with someone who barely acknowledges your existence is one thing, but sneaking into her house, completely crossing every single line, and then jerking off to the scent of your panties while imagining you on top of him, riding him as you creamed his cock with your cum.

The air felt heavy and there was an almost stifling silence in his small bedroom, while his mind worked in the manner of a broken machine, looping thoughts.

Every single thing about you — your laugh, the spark in your eyes when you spoke of something you loved, the way you uttered his name — his mind kept replaying like a broken record. Each one felt as fresh as if it had just taken place a moment ago, and each one pulled at something deep within his chest.

He had spent years arguing with himself about what he was doing. He told himself that viewing you from a distance was merely innocent fascination, a little crush. But that had been a lie. What he had done the night before, sneaking into your room was not a mistake; it was a deliberate decision.

Peter was filled with doubts, a regular person would call him lovesick, a creep even. Is she really worth it? Peter admits something he'd been avoiding for a while.

He wanted you.

Not as a classmate. Not as a partner for a stupid project. He wanted you in a way that was raw and desperate and consuming. Oh, he wanted you to look at him the way you look at the rest of the world with trust, with affection, with the same ease that made you laugh at his dumb jokes.

The realization hit him hard. The weight of it sank into his chest like a boulder, but there was a rush of something else too-something darker, more intoxicating.

Peter sat up abruptly, there's only one way or another, heart hammering as he snatched up his phone. Tapping out a quick message, he did so with trembling hands.

"Hey, u free 2nite? Was thinkin maybe we could finish the proj & grab dinner after. My treat. :)"

He stared at the screen, his thumb hovered over the send button. The fear crept back in, whispering in the back of his mind. What if she thought he was crazy? What if she rejected me outright? What if everything he'd built up in his head came crashing down?

Many thoughts crowded his mind, neither of them was good

As he stared at the text, his finger quivered. His stomach tightening in knots. The reply was already forming in his mind—would you say yes? Or perhaps he was weird for asking, for suggesting anything other than school?

But what if he didn't ask? What if he kept on pretending that this crush wasn't eating him up from the inside?

I've got to do this; he tried to steady his breath. This would never come again.

Deep breath and then Peter clicked "send."

Time seemed to stretch into eternity. His mind was racing, spinning out into the worst-case scenarios. You could just say no or even laugh it off and tell him it wasn't a good idea. It's a biology project, after all. That's what it was supposed to be—right?

That crumbled page of biology scraps lay on his desk as evidence of the project you both were working on. It was supposed to be a simple collaboration, probably will last for a few weeks if he was lucky, and then he'd just go back to being invisible to you.

But he didn't want to go back to being invisible.

He sat there at the edge of the bed, hunched over in an awkward position, his elbows rested on the stretched knees, and he stared his phone, convinced that at any moment it would leave his grip. He had typed the message, the own words glowing brighter as he waited.

He had redone it like at least a dozen times, but all versions felt way too casual to too formal. His current message was just right; friendly, innocent enough but still an invite.

What if you think it is strange? What if you don't even reply at all?

He shook his head to stabilize his breathing. It's alright, he told himself. His not asking for something crazy. It's only a dinner.

But it wasn't just a dinner. It was the convergence of years of quiet yearning, stolen glances, and missed opportunities. This was the first real step toward something more, if only he could find the courage to take it.

He shunned his phone flat on the bed thinking that might ease the tension in his chest, but it didn't. His heart raced as seconds ticked by on the clock, each second feeling like an eternally long wait.

What if you didn't reply?

What if you did?

His thoughts were interrupted abruptly as his phone buzzed.

He grabbed it with trembling hands.

"Sure! I'm totally in. Where r we meeting? 7?"

He read the message over and over again: You're saying yes. Relief was an actual weight that was just lifted as disbelief flooded him as he blinked at the screen, rereading the message to make sure it hadn't been imagined.

For a moment, he allowed himself to smile, but it quickly disappeared. Now that he got the answer, a different kind of panic struck.

What happens next?

"Yea 7’s cool, I’ll pick u up @ ur place"

He looked up at the clock-6:30. In thirty minutes, he needed to get ready. Thirty minutes within which he needed to figure out how not to screw this one up completely.

Peter fell out of his chair and quickly rifled through his closet for something fresh and unique that didn't look like it had just been thrown on five minutes ago. His room was strung out in a mess of hoodies and T-shirts that didn't do any good as he tried on piece after piece-each feeling wrong.

"Relax," he murmured at himself while gazing at his reflection in the mirror. Hi hair looked like he just crawled out from under the bed, his face was red, and no matter how many adjustments he attempted on the clothes, he still looked like the awkward kid he'd always been.

Peter raced around his pod-sized room in search of a shirt that didn't scream "high school loser." The bed was a battlefield littered with crumpled hoodies, a checkered flannel, even his Midtown Science Academy T-shirt.

"Peter?" Aunt May's curious sounding voice called out from the hallway.

"Yeah?" he shouted back while looking through his closet and listening.

"Why does it sound like a tornado hit your room? Are you okay in there?"

Peter groaned and threw another hoodie onto the pile he was amassing on the bed. "I'm fine!"

The creaky door slammed open a moment later, and Aunt May peeked her head in. Her sharp eyes traveled the disaster area that was his room, from the piles of clothes, and even down to the one sneaker he was wearing.

"Uh-huh. Fine." She crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. "What's all this about? A wardrobe crisis?"

He sighed at her and rubbed the back of his neck. "Nothing serious, okay? I just… I'm going out."

May raised an eyebrow as her lips twitched as if trying hard not to smile. "Going out? As in… on a date?"

"What? No!" Peter's voice shot up as he spun around, waving his hands. "It's not a date! It's just dinner. For a project. With a friend."

By now, she wasn't even trying to hide her grin. "A 'friend,' huh? Is this the same 'friend' you've been talking about nonstop since this biology project started?"

"I don't talk about her nonstop!" protested Peter, turning into a shade of tomato. "Oh, you definitely do," Uncle Ben countered from outside the hallway and into the room, sporting the knowing smirk of someone who has heard too much. "Half the time, it's, 'Oh, she's so smart,' and the other half is, 'She's so good at this lab thing.'" He said with a dreamy tone

"Okay, okay, so I get it!" he groaned while burying his face in his hands. "Can we not do this now?"

Ben laughed and slapped Peter on the shoulder. “Relax, kid. We are just teasing, and you've got this.”

May walked into the room and picked up one of the forgotten shirts from the bed. Holding it up, she said, "What is wrong with this? Nice but casual, not slobby."

Peter squinted at it. "It's too—I don't know; plain?"

"Plain is better than looking as if you are trying too hard," she said, tossing it to him.

Uncle Ben nodded sagely. "It's right." "You don't want to go full tuxedo on a first—uh, not a date," he added quickly, holding up his hands when Peter glared at him.

Peter huffed but pulled the shirt over his head anyway. "You two are the worst," he muttered, though his tone lacked any real bite.

May smiled and reached out, smoothing the collar of his shirt. "We are not the worst. We are just proud of you. It's good to see you putting yourself out there."

"I'm not—," Peter began, but Ben cut him off.

"You are," Ben said firmly. "That's a good thing. Just be yourself, Pete. If she's as great as you say she is, she'll see what we see, a smart, kind, slightly awkward but very lovable kid."

Peter's face burned. "Yea, you really know how to give a pep talk."

"Hey, it worked, didn't it?" Ben fired back with a grin.

May handed Peter his second sneaker. "Here. Don't forget this, unless you're planning to really impress her with your one-shoe look."

Peter rolled his eyes but could not quite hide the grin that crept onto his lips. "Thanks, Aunt May."

So Ben called after him as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. "And remember, kid—Italian places usually give you breadsticks first. Don't fill up before the main course!"

Peter groaned loudly. "I'm going now! Bye!"

He was there, at your door, heart pounding heavily, as if wanting to burst out from the body. He lingered for a while, staring at the doorbell.

What if this is a mistake?

But before you could think otherwise, the button pressed his finger.

And then echoed the sound of the bell from inside, and Peter felt that the earth would open up and swallow him whole in an instance. He heard footsteps, and then the door opened.

There you were.

"Hey, Peter!" you said, smiling that effortless way that made his breath catch in his throat, stepping aside and gesturing for him to come in. "You're right on time, I just need a minute to grab my bag."

Peter managed a small smile and stepped in, wiping his sweaty palms against his jeans. "Yeah, of course. Take all the time you need."

You disappeared into another room, leaving Peter hanging awkwardly at your door, his eyes darting about. It was a very warm and inviting house, in harmony with the kind of person you were. The faint hum of a television in another room was muffled, someone talking, and he could hear that easily.

Your presence returned with your bag slung around your shoulder and you ignited the nerves again in Peter.

“So,” you said, smiling at him, “where to?”

Peter hesitated just a beat too long, his mind scrambling to come up with an answer. "Uh, I was thinking Italian? That okay with you?"

"Italian sounds great," you said easily as your smile widened.

Peter's heart raced as you stepped out the door, walking beside him toward the small restaurant a few blocks away. The night air was crisp, and for the first few minutes, he was too caught up in his own head to say much. But then you started talking, asking him about his day, about the project, and the sound of your voice eased some of his tension.

You made him feel like he belonged, even without having a word to say.

When the restaurant came in sight, Peter turned to you. Nerves still there but mixed with something else: a quiet and hopeful excitement.

Maybe just maybe, tonight will be the beginning of something real.

The walk to the restaurant was such a nerve-racking experience. Each step Peter Parker took beside you felt like a step closer to something he wasn't ready (or was actually hoping for). His hands buried deep in his jacket pockets, fingers curling and uncurling, while trying to keep steady pacing alongside you.

But you appeared to be at full ease. You talked about the cool evening, how the trees' leaves were beginning to rustle with the cold wind blowing, and even the faint smell of roasting chestnuts from a street vendor a few blocks away. Peter heard everything, nodded, and punctuated things now and then with the occasional "Yeah" or "Totally," but as for his thoughts, they were running wild within him.

This is well. This is the standard. This is alright, He didn't over hypothesize for the hundredth time.

As much as there was relief in now having something solid to focus on, Peter was panicked that it all became real at that moment.

He opened the door for you, his hand trembling slightly as he held it.

"Thanks," you said, giving him a swift smile before stepping inside.

"Uh, yeah. Of course," Peter mumbled as he hung his head and followed you in.

The hostess took you to a corner besides the glass window, a cozy little spot with a flickering candle in the middle of the table. Peter's hands trembled as he took the chair and gestured you to sit on it.

The menu in front of him could be in another language as he stared dumbly at it, words bringing into a blur while the thoughts buzzing in his head were getting harder to put to rest.

Don't be weird. Just be normal. What does "normal" even mean? Stop overthinking! You've got this!

"This place is nice," you commented as you scanned the menu. "How did you discover it?"

"Oh, um, my aunt used to like it here," Peter said, grateful he could answer such a question. "She says the lasagna is the best."

You grinned. "Aunt May has good taste. I will try that."

He nodded, yes, but could not stop the rush of nervous thoughts flooding his mind. He glanced at the menu as if studying it although he already knew what he would order. But his mind was instead filled with every possible thing he could screw up tonight.

Don't talk too much; don't laugh strangely; don't look like an idiot.

Here came the waiter, and you ordered effortlessly, laced with a polite smile as you handed him the menu. Peter stammered out his order and felt his palms sweat as he gave it. When the waiter walked away, Peter could feel your eyes on him, and it took everything he had to meet your gaze.

"So," you said, leaning in with elbows planted on the table, chin cradled in palm, "what's your thing, Peter?"

"My thing?" he said, taken aback. "Like, my thing?"

"Yeah, like… what do you do for fun? What are you really into doing when absolutely no one else is watching and judging?"

Peter blinked, trying to think of something that wouldn't sound lame. "Uh, well, I like photography," he said. "And science, I guess. Experiments, stuff like that."

You perked up. "Photography? That is cool. What kind of pictures do you take?"

"Mostly city stuff," he said, his voice gaining a bit of confidence. "You know, like weird angles, shadows, reflections. It's probably not that interesting to most people."

"I think it sounds interesting," you said. "I would love to see your pictures sometime."

Peter's heart was pounding so hard. "Really? Uh, yeah, sure. I mean, if you want."

That made the conversation flow more easily. You told him about your love-hate relationship with math, how sometimes you spent too long procrastinating by watching cooking shows instead of doing your homework, and how one time you tried to make crème brûlée and almost burned your stove.

“I had to open every window in the house,” you said, laughing. “My mom came home and thought I’d burned dinner. I didn’t tell her it was supposed to be dessert.”

Peter grinned, feeling just a little bit more at ease. “Maybe stick to cookies next time, huh?”

“Noted,” you said with a mock-serious nod.

Then it was time to eat. You both started digging into it while still keeping up your conversation. Peter quickly found himself becoming much more relaxed, finding it absolutely easy to talk to you when he didn't over-analyze every word. You burst into laughter each time his jokes finished, and whenever his eye fell into yours, everything around faded.

There was little doubt that he was doing this because he was desperate enough to strike a topic that wouldn't make him sound like an idiot; this was the reason why he asked, "You, uh, good with the whole project?"

You leaned back, fiddled with the napkin on the table, and said, "Yeah, it's actually been fun. Well, I mean, we work well together, and you're much smarter than I had thought."

Peter blinked. "Wait, you thought I wasn't smart?"

"No, I just-" You smirk, it's clear you're enjoying his reaction. "You always seem kinda… busy with stuff, you know? You're not exactly the loudest guy in the room."

"Well, I, uh…" Peter rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I'm, uh, more of a behind-the-scenes guy. You know, less talk, more… action?"

You laughed, the sound light and easy, and Peter felt himself get a little more relaxed. Maybe you weren't judging him.

'This place have wine?' you ask all of a sudden, not looking up from the menu.

Peter blinked. "Uh… I think so?"

You smirked and put your feet up on the table after throwing the menu on it. "Perfect. I could use a glass."

Peter was at a loss on how he should respond. It just didn't seem like the kind of person who would order wine to go with dinner-at least, not in his limited and admittedly romanticized view of you. But when the waiter came by, you ordered an entire bottle without hesitating, barely glancing at Peter for confirmation.

"Um, yeah, sounds good," Peter said weakly, even though the thought of drinking anything stronger than soda made him nervous.

The waiter nodded and disappeared, leaving the two of you alone in an awkward silence.

But the waiter was back again, this time with a bottle and two glasses, which he laid down with a polite smile. And before you knew it, the deep red liquid was already swirling around in your glass because you had poured it in haste from the bottle.

Want some? You asked, already halfway through your first sip.

“Uh, maybe later,” Peter said.

You shrugged and took another long drink before putting the glass down with a satisfied sigh. “Suit yourself.”

The most casual kind of conversation developed between you: you asked Peter about what he was interested in, and he managed to stumble along throwing together great lengthy descriptions about why he loved photography and science, and the words came out too fast for him to think them. It almost seemed like you were listening to him, however, because he went on to nod before even asking follow-up questions, which made him for the first time in a long time feel that he wasn't entirely invisible.

By that time, he was becoming aware, as the hours slipped away, that you were filling up your glass more and more often. The bottle was now half empty when the food came, and you were already sporting rosy cheeks when the alcohol was pouring into your system.

“This is good,” you said, hardly bothering with your plate in order to gesture with your fork at it. "I mean, really good. Good call, Parker.”

The smile that appeared on Peter's face was that of nervousness. "Thanks. I'm glad you like it."

Now you leaned back in your seat, holding your glass up to the light. "You know, I don't really do stuff like this. I've kind of never had dinner with classmates. It's just a little… weird, you know?"

Peter sank a little. "Weird, how?"

"Not bad weird," you said immediately by waving your hand. "Just… different. Like, generally, I would just be at home watching some lousy reality show and trying to forget how much homework I have to do."

Peter chuckled, even though he had no idea what to say next.

After a sip of wine, the boy looked up at Peter who immediately landed his gaze upon the bottle. You seem well into your first glass with a heightening sense of ease that you appeared to be at his home. Maybe it was because of the wine or perhaps how you were looking at him right now-not with judging spectatorship but with a strange kind of understanding that made him feel as if he were not really out of place.

It was only a count of seconds before the food arrived while you already had a second glass in hand. Peter's stomach flipped at that moment. This wasn't the way he was used to seeing you, all loosened up and speaking without that slight guard he usually saw when you were around. You appeared different tonight, and Peter couldn't quite figure it out if it was a good thing or not.

However, the conversation was still going on, only that as soon as you took a few more drinks, conversations shifted to more profound, much more personal things. Laughter spilled from your lips more freely, although Peter saw that smiles were now somewhat uncontrollable. Maybe it was the wine; maybe it was just the ambience. In any case, he could feel something shifting, like you were letting him see this version of yourself you weren't sure he was supposed to see.

"Peter", you said, looking at him with wide eyes after a long sip. "What's your big dream? Like 20 years from now, what do you see yourself doing?"

He shifted around uneasily on his chair. And that question was sudden, a little more intense than he would have reckoned it to be. He was not used to being asked about his future like this.

"Honestly?" said Peter, leaning back a little and looking down at the half-finished plate in front of him. "I don't really know. I think- I think I want to do something with science, or photography. Maybe combine. Don't know really. Just like, I want to fix things, you know? Help make the world a little less broken.''

You were quiet for a moment, and Peter wasn't sure whether it was because he'd said something wrong or whether you were just thinking. But when you finally spoke, your voice was softer, almost quieter than before.

"I think that's really admirable, Peter."

That was it. That one simple sentence hit him harder than he expected. He wasn't used to compliments like that- not from you, not from anyone. The words were a strange dream, and for a second he just looked dumbfoundedly at you trying to really understand what you mean.

Peter had never imagined the night to go this way. Not even in a million years. But here he was, walking alongside you, swaying slightly on the sidewalk with less steadiness in your step than before. Surprisingly, the wine had hit you faster than he figured, and he wasn't so sure if he should be concerned or just chalk it up to the kind of night it had turned into.

"Hey, I'm-" You hiccupped, laughing lightly at your own clumsiness. "I'm fine, Peter. Really."

But Peter wasn't so sure. His instincts were whipping him into overdrive-the same ones that always made him want to leap into action when something was amiss. "Yeah, I don't think you are," he said, trying to keep it light. "Let me just walk you home, okay? Just to make sure you're good."

But you rolled your eyes, with an almost sheepish smile you gave in, "Fine, fine. I get it. You're worried about me."

"Yeah, I am," Peter said, his voice a little quieter than he intended. "But you're my responsibility right now, okay?"

You exhale a small laugh, and Peter can't help but take note of how completely giddy it sounded, a little like you weren't quite sure where you were or what you were doing. You leaned against him, and then Peter was surprised at how easily you let him help you with that.

The way home was otherwise silent except for the occasional trip and the muttered apologies from you. But Peter didn't mind it, sensing closeness, although strange. Everything was just weird tonight. The brushing of your hand against his as you reached for your keys. That laugh of yours that wouldn't leave his ears. The vulnerability you seemed to wear in your eyes at that moment.

So, then you reached your door, and you suddenly stopped and stood there, fumbling with the keys in your hand. Peter moved closer but silently offered to help. You shook your head.

"I've got this," you said, though your words were slurring just enough for Peter to catch the uncertainty behind them.

After much effort on your part, the door finally opened. You leaned in again, and Peter nearly lost his heart as he had to rush forward to steady you.

"Whoa, take it easy," Peter said catching you as you stumbled. "Let me help you."

You smiled up at him, glassy and unfocused. "I'm fine, Peter," you slurred. "Just a little…tipsy."

Peter chuckled and guided you up the walkway to your front door. "Tipsy, huh? Well, let's get you inside and safe, then."

As you both reached the front door, you fumbled with your keys and Peter had to gently take them from your hand and unlock the door himself. You smiled up at him, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

After some time and a couple of tries, she got the door opened.

"Okay, inside," he said, his tone a little more powerful now. You did not resist him as he helped you through the door, but there was a strange sadness in your eyes that twisted Peter's stomach.

You moved slowly to the couch and finally sank down on it; the wine was exhausting. Peter stood near the door for a moment, wondering his next move. He wanted to shoot his shot, his thoughts wandered to somethings more inappropriate. Wasn't this all about getting you safe? Ensuring you did not end up passed out somewhere in a big, messy pile of sheets and regrets.

"Can you just… stay for a bit?" you asked quietly, with barely a whisper.

Peter hesitated. He didn't want to go too far, and he couldn't just leave you here, not looking so…fragile.

"Yes," he spoke softly, entering then into the living room. "I'll stay for a bit"

You nodded at him, gazing at him with tired eyes. "Thank you."

Peter perched on the edge of the couch; his hands awkwardly balanced on his knees. What a strange space there was between you two now, strange in that it was so very close, yet so far away. He wanted to be of some use and ensure you were okay, and yet the way the glance kept coming from you in that direction somehow felt… off. It was like walking on a fine line.

Peter looked at you longingly, you were so beautiful.

Too close and too perfect, he found himself sitting next to you, and Peter felt the pressure of so many things left uncommunicated fill his chest. He needed to do it. He needed to say it.

"Peter?" Your voice was a soft whisper, a little uncertain. Wine had aided this whole relaxing process, yet made almost everything feel slightly out of focus.

Peter swallowed, heart pounding in the chest. He wasn't entirely sure if it was the alcohol that has found narrate in your system, or if it was the raw honesty of the moment, but he knew very well it was now or never, the one chance to say all he had kept bottled up for months.

"Yeah?" he whispered, getting closer so that he was almost against you now.

"It's just that, I… I'm sorry if I've been too much tonight," you said, your words slightly slurring as you allowed your gaze to drift over his face. "I didn't mean to get that drunk."

Peter felt his breath hitch in his throat. "It's fine," he said, his voice softer now. He could feel his palms sweating, his heart racing faster than ever. "I just… I just want to make sure you're okay."

You smiled up at him, but it was a little foggy, and Peter could tell that the wine had dulled your clarity. Still, you were so beautiful, standing there, looking at him with those eyes—eyes that made him feel like he mattered.

Peter took a sharp breath and let a sudden breath of air come out. It was as if a magnet was pulling them together, and he was drawn to it. "So, uh– I was thinking…" He hesitated for a moment, then recovered his composure, trying to calm the trembling in his hands. "I've been thinking about you for a long time. Like, longer than I should have."

His brows knitted further in confusion as Peter quickly realized that the rest of the sentence was failing miserably in getting through your mind, as if the actual words were swimming around in it, suspended in fog. He stepped closer, unable to stop himself.

"If I—" He let out a shaky breath. "You know, I've been loving you for so long now. And tonight, I couldn't hold it anymore and just… broke the dam."

Your expression shifted slightly. Confusion clouded your gaze. You blinked, trying to piece together his words. "Wait, what?"

Peter took a step closer, completely incapable of holding himself back. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, and he felt the heat between you intensify. He reached out, his hand brushing gently against your arm. "I love you," he whispered again, barely able to breathe. "I love you so much, and I've been too scared to say it. I've watched you for so long, and I—" Peter stopped mid-sentence as he looked at you, eyes looking like a lost puppy.

"You're so beautiful, so so beautiful" He leaned in, your face was so close to him, his lips brushed against yours. He held your face as he licked your lips.

You could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin with just the proximity of Peter's face to yours, and the goosebumps it sent down your spine. Those eyes were filled deeply with a longing expression and captured yours as if drowning you in its depths. There was air that quite vibrated between the two of you, and the heat that seemed to take form could even be felt emanating from his body.

"I wanted to do that for so long," Peter whispered. His voice shuddered with desire. Gentle words falling like a caress to send shivers through you: "Wanted to touch you, hold you, kiss."

His lips brushed against yours when he spoke, making your body spark with electricity. You were pretty much melting into him, as if his very desire were consuming your human body. His lips, soft and gentle, just as firm and insistent. You tasted like wine.

"You're so beautiful" he said as his hands went underneath your dress, his hands inching close to your under garments. He touched your clothed core; he used his index finger to rub your clothed cover clit

You squirmed in his touch, "P-peter" You mewled in his mouth

This just seemed to fuel Peter even more, as he set aside your panties as his smooth fingers rubbed your now exposed core. Peter looked at you, he slowly kneeled as he spread your legs.

He looked at your wet core, as if it was a painting that he couldn't understand. Without warning he then sucked your glistening pearl; his tongue probed the inside of your gummy walls as his fingers rubbed your pearl. You cried out, your body arching up to meet him, and Peter felt a surge of excitement. He was in control now, and you were at his mercy.

He knew it was wrong, you were drunk after all, but he couldn't help it, this was his only chance.

He licked and sucked at your clit, his fingers plunging in and out of your dripping wet pussy, you cried out in ecstasy, your hands tugging at Peter's hair. But he didn't care, all he cared about was your dripping we cunt.

Anticipation dwells in the coiling mouth against your body, sending shivers along your spine. Every inch of you is lulled into stimulation by his gentle probing, drawing near to a soon-to-be-hidden insistent demand. You can feel that hot air glazing across your skin, soft scraping with teeth, and relentless pressure from his lips, all of which accompanies his tongue.

Your hands are clenched while he works, fingers digging into the sheets or perhaps his hair, holding him there. Your hips jerk primitively, as though to push him deeper and encourage more pressure, while your breathing makes raspy sounds mixed with soft mewls of pleasure.

One hand is busy at your hips, molding you solidly into place, while the other slips only up over the curve of your waist before settling over your breast.

You feel yourself immersing in the sensation as your focus is honed into one. The only critical thing is the feeling of his mouth on you. The whole room begins to fade away, and you're left with only the slushing wet sounds he makes and your breathless gasps, groans, and cries.

Peter on the other hand felt like he was in cloud nine, his mouth was now fully covered in your arousal, but he didn't care. He continued lapping at your cunt, accompanied with his middle finger thrusting in and out of you.

As the intensity rises, so do your frantic movements: the hips jerk and thrust as though reaching toward some ill-defined height. His mouth is a scythe-like blur of tongue lashing and probing until the pressure builds and you're all quivering trembling muscles, precariously balanced on a knife edge of release.

Your mouth is wide open, frozen in a silent scream on your lips, and your entire body starts quivering at the moment of release.

Then silence engulfs the outside world; its only inhabitants are trapped in a silent world of raw lust. His mouth is a furnace, raging, and threatening to engulf you completely, but you lean into the flames, thirsty for the intense heat that only he can provide. Your skin is slick with sweat, your heart thundering like a runaway train as your body builds toward the inevitable climax.

Your cries intensify as tension rises, a mournful cry into this frantic air, a scream savage, echoing off the walls as your body strains towards that release. Your muscles quivering.

Before you knew it, it almost hit you like rough wave of pleasure.

His cock twitched, his balls tightening with anticipation, as he felt the warmth of her your release in his mouth. That alone could make him cum his pants. He had never been this close to a woman before, and the thought of exploring your body was almost too much to bear. And here he was doing exactly just that.

You were beautiful to Peter, but you looked ungodly when you were in a state of release. The way your chest would heave up and down, how your mascara was running down your eyes, and your lipstick smudged on the side of your face.

"You're so beautiful" he said, barely even above a whisper.

"P-peter— OH MY GOD!"

He suddenly took a long slow stripe of your pussy, as if savoring everything, but then stopped when his tongue reached your clit. He sucked on your little pearl as if it was lollipop.

You moaned loudly as your back arched and your toes curled, "P-peter" You whimpered

The way he was sucking on your clit, along with his fingers that was thrusting deep inside you. It made it nearly unbearable. The last few moments or so almost sent you spiraling into one of those severe orgasms that made you see stars on your ceiling.

Loud moans slipped from your mouth, you wondered if your parents were at home, what if they see their sweet girl falling apart underneath the so-called weird kid of your school.

Your hips bucked against his mouth, trying to ease the bittersweet pleasure he was giving you. "P-peter, oh god, stop, I c-can't take it anymore" you begged in a voice very nearly a whisper. Body trembling, your hands reached instinctively for his hair, holding him.

He continued his performance on your clit. A familiar knot kept building inside you. Suddenly, the moans turned into loud gasps, and your body began to shake uncontrollably. P-peter, I…I think I'm going to come again" you finally whisper. To that, he only sucked harder, licked harder, his fingers falling on a rhythm with his tongue swirling relentlessly on your sensitive spot, bringing you to sweet agony. Your back arched up, you gasp while screaming, "P-PETER!"

Heaving and shaking with each pulsing moan, you lay there with your body's hypersensitivity after such intense pleasure receding. Finally, Peter raised his head. That satisfied smile on his face was testimony to your ability to elicit such feelings from him. And with his eyes, he stared at you, every flicker of lust speaking volumes about what was crossing his mind. Then he kissed near the center of time in your inner thigh, his lips dragging softly, and then moving to lie with you at the side of the couch

Peter's smile slowly faded as he noticed your catch of breath, replaced with a show of real concern. He stroked your hair as he gazed into your eyes. "That was intense," Peter said. "You're shaking." His voice was tender, wrapping around you like a soft blanket. "Time to get you to bed, all right?"

He managed a slowly rise from the couch while extending his hand forward towards you. You grasped onto it and found your balance shaky; nonetheless, Peter assisted you toward leaving the living room, down the hallway, and into your bedroom.

Peter opened your door slowly, revealing the bedroom from that night. Snap out of your thoughts Parker!

The bedside lamp cast a warm glow over the room. Peter placed you carefully at the edge of the bed. He knelt down to remove your shoes and started undressing you slowly and carefully. He threw the covers over you as you laid back in bed, tucking you in like a young child.

"Rest," he whispered as he brushed his lips against your forehead. "Sleep, I'll be here when you wake." He sat beside you, stroking your hair with his hand. Your eyelids began to feel heavier, and weariness, along with all the forms of pleasure, finally overtook you. Peter was the last person you remember as you slipped into slumber, where upon you felt the warmth beside you that offered the source of a much-needed sense of safety.

@gloomskulls 2024, DON'T COPY, TRANSLATE OR USE OF MY WORKS IN ANY OTHER WEBSITE. Photos don't belong to me

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23victoria · 8 months ago

Text

𝔤𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔢𝔫 𝔣𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔰𝔶

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word count:11𝓀

*☾⋆･ﾟ synopsis: paying for sex was a first, but after all, who could blame you? it had been too long, and you deserved to have a little fun too. besides, it was just a straightforward transaction—money for pleasure. what could possibly go wrong? 𝔠𝓌!☠︎ pornstar, escort, pet names, praise kink, rough sex, fingering, oral (f & m), body worship, overstimulation, size kink, belly bulge, dacryphilia, voyeurism/exhibitionism, creampie, face sitting, double penetration, threesome, wax play, blindfolded, anal play/sex, throat fucking, nipple play, begging, aftercare

authors note: i am so sorry is this is complete shit, i struggled with this so much and….yea, i hope it’s good and again i’m sorry likes, asks, and reblogs are appreciated! i hope you enjoy :)

𝔴𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔞 𝔟𝔢 𝔞𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔶 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱?! CLICK HERE!

*☾⋆･ﾟ f1 MASTERLIST. KINKThe TOBER MASTERLIST.

The plush carpet muffled your footsteps as you paced the length of the suite, the glass of wine in your hand barely touched. You weren’t here for the wine, after all. The cool rim of the glass pressed against your lip was a distraction, a flimsy attempt to calm the anxiety swirling in your chest. Your reflection caught in the mirror, and you almost rolled your eyes. Dressed in the black lingerie you’d splurged on for the occasion, you looked... ridiculous. Sexy, sure, but ridiculous. Who pays $6k for sex? Apparently, you do.

You snorted, shaking your head at yourself. God, what the hell am I doing here?

The reasoning had seemed airtight at the time. Two years of celibacy after that disaster with your ex—who, naturally, had managed to ruin not just your relationship but your self-esteem too. He'd cheated, and when he left, he took a piece of you with him. Trust, confidence, maybe even desire. All of it was locked away in the aftermath of his betrayal. But you were a grown woman, an adult who could make her own decisions.

I could fuck anyone I want to, right? You thought, half-defending yourself, half-mocking the idea. Right. Except I haven’t. The lingering anxiety had kept you paralyzed, unable to even flirt, let alone let someone close again. So, you made an impulsive choice, one that had you sitting in a five-star hotel, waiting for a stranger.

Not just any stranger, though. The best. That's what the website had promised, and you had researched thoroughly—more than you cared to admit. Every review, every service listed, the options detailed right down to the type of man you could request. It all felt clinical, safe. A transaction.

That’s all this is. A simple transaction. You repeated it like a mantra, hoping the words would settle the knot in your stomach.

But the number—$6,000—echoed louder in your mind. Six grand for sex. You winced, taking another slow sip of wine, trying to justify it again.

He was supposed to be the best, though. The reviews had gushed, the site had practically bragged about how this guy was the epitome of everything you could want: good-looking, professional, discreet. For what they charged, he better be.

But that didn’t stop the anxiety from clawing at your chest. What if you got too stuck in your head? What if, after all of this buildup, the wine and the lingerie and the research, you chickened out? You’d waste his time, your time, and a small fortune on top of it. $6,000. Jesus.

You laughed at the absurdity of it. Of course, I’d make a stupid decision like this.

But the laughter faded quickly, leaving you standing alone in the middle of the suite, your skin buzzing with nerves. What if this doesn’t even help? What if it makes things worse? You pushed the thoughts away, though they clung to the edges of your mind like a fog you couldn’t quite shake off.

The sound of a knock at the door yanked you from your spiraling thoughts. Your heart lurched. You hesitated for a moment before setting your wine glass on the table. With one last glance at yourself in the mirror, you crossed the room and opened the door.

And there he was.

For a split second, your mind went completely blank. Standing in front of you was, hands down, the hottest man you’d ever seen in person. He was just a couple of inches taller than you, with a lean but muscular build that suggested he worked out without being overly bulky. His shirt hugged his chest in all the right ways, and his dark hair was styled effortlessly. You blinked, mouth slightly open, as you tried to take him in.

“Bonsoir,” he greeted, his voice a low rumble laced with the softest French accent. “My companion should be here any moment. Sorry, he’s running late.”

You blinked again, still processing. Fuck. That accent. You were barely listening to what he was saying, too distracted by the smoothness of his voice, the way the words rolled off his tongue with an effortless charm that made your stomach flip. Lord. This man alone was worth the $6k.

But as his words finally registered in your brain, confusion crept in. Companion?

You stared at him, your mind catching up a little too slowly. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, his head tilting as if trying to read your expression. You must’ve looked confused—because you were.

Before you could voice the question on the tip of your tongue, there was another knock at the door.

You froze for a second, then watched as the man—Charles, you assumed—stepped aside to let in whoever was on the other side. And that’s when he walked in.

Another man, just as stunning as the first. His presence hit you like a wave. Taller than Charles, with broad shoulders and an air of confidence that instantly commanded attention. His smile was devilishly handsome, and his dark eyes sparkled with something teasing as he took you in. He introduced himself with a thick, sexy Spanish accent that nearly made your knees buckle.

“I’m Carlos,” he said, his voice so deep it sent a shiver down your spine.

You just stood there, mouth slightly parted, trying to process the fact that two incredibly hot men were now in your hotel room.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The room was quiet, a charged sort of anticipation lingering in the air as you moved about, keeping yourself busy. Both Charles and Carlos stood patiently in front of you, but you were distinctly aware of every glance they exchanged, every slight smile they gave each other. In a weak attempt to fill the silence, you turned to the small minibar by the window, which you’d noticed was stocked with a surprising assortment of wines and liquors.

“Would you guys… like a drink?” you offered, trying to keep your voice steady. “I think there’s some champagne, maybe wine, or even whiskey if you want.”

Charles’s eyes followed your every move, and Carlos leaned back with an amused expression, both men seemingly content to just watch as you babbled on.

“And, um, I got some food, too.” You gestured to the tray of tiny sandwiches and fruit that sat on the table near the window, small bites you’d hoped might keep your nerves in check. “You know, just in case anyone’s hungry. They’re little, so they won’t ruin your appetite, but they’re actually quite good! I mean, the hotel did a great job with the whole presentation thing…”

You trailed off, catching the amused smiles that Charles and Carlos exchanged as you kept talking. Charles raised a brow, and Carlos bit back a laugh, clearly enjoying your rambling. You suddenly felt heat rise to your cheeks and stammered a little as you continued, “I just figured, you know, if we’re going to spend some time here together, it would be good to… um, settle in, I guess?”

Carlos leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed as he watched you with a look that was both patient and playful. He exchanged a knowing glance with Charles, who finally spoke, his soft accent lingering on your name in a way that made you freeze mid-sentence.

“Y/N.”

The sound of it in his French accent, low and smooth, made your heart flutter. You could feel yourself hanging on every syllable, the room somehow feeling even warmer as you turned to face him fully.

“Yes?” you murmured, breath catching in your throat.

He held your gaze, his lips curving up at the corners in a gentle smile. “Breathe, relax.” He reached out and placed a comforting hand on your arm, his fingers warm and reassuring. “What are you nervous about, baby?”

It felt like a dam broke, and before you knew it, the words were spilling out. You hesitated, took a deep breath, and finally, with a tentative glance between them, you spoke. “I… well, it’s just been a long time for me,” you admitted. “I haven’t done anything like this in a couple of years.”

They both nodded, their expressions patient and encouraging, inviting you to go on.

“I was in a relationship,” you continued, voice quieter now. “He cheated on me. It… kind of destroyed me, to be honest.” You offered a small, self-deprecating laugh. “He also had a few choice words to say about me before we ended things. Made me feel… insecure, I guess. Like maybe I wasn’t good enough.”

Charles’s expression shifted instantly, his jaw tightening. “What a fool,” he muttered, clearly unimpressed. “He’s an idiot and a piece of shit for saying any of that to you. You deserve better, you know that, right?”

Carlos nodded in agreement, stepping closer with an intense look that softened when he met your eyes. “He didn’t deserve you, mami. But tonight? We’re making up for those two years, trust us.”

They both looked at you, waiting, not pushing, but you could feel the anticipation building between you. It was like standing on the edge of something exhilarating, and a part of you wanted to let go and trust them. You took a breath, feeling a surge of boldness. What were the odds that two men this stunning would walk into your life again?

“Okay,” you whispered, looking between them, the single word hanging in the air with an almost electric weight. They shared a look, subtle but charged, and then turned back to you.

Charles smiled. “Before we get started, there’s just one more thing. We need a safe word. If you want to stop at any point, if anything feels uncomfortable or just too much, you can say it, and we’ll stop, no questions asked.”

You thought for a moment, rolling the idea around in your head before giving a small smile. “How about… wine?”

Both men chuckled, Carlos’s deep laughter filling the room as he tilted his head. “That’s cute, mami. Okay, ‘wine’ it is. And we’ll use a few more, too—just to make sure you’re always comfortable. Say ‘green’ if you want us to keep going or go a little faster, ‘yellow’ if you want us to slow down, and, of course, ‘red’ if you need us to stop. Sound good?”

You nodded, the nervous flutter in your stomach finally beginning to settle. Carlos smiled warmly, eyes meeting yours. “I need verbal confirmation, mami,” he said, his tone gentle yet firm.

“Yes,” you replied softly. “That sounds good.”

They exchanged another look, a shared understanding passing between them, and then Charles turned to you, his gaze soft but filled with a quiet intensity. He moved closer, settling on the edge of the bed beside you, and lifted a hand to gently stroke a strand of hair away from your face.

“Okay, baby,” he murmured, his voice just above a whisper. “Let’s start.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

As you lay back against the silken sheets, your heart raced, caught between excitement and nerves. Charles was so close, his presence enveloping you as he leaned down, brushing his lips against your neck. The sensation sent shivers cascading down your spine, igniting every nerve in your body and causing you to arch instinctively toward him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice deep and sultry, a velvet caress against your skin. Each kiss he placed along your collarbone was tender yet deliberate, a promise that made you melt into the bedding, your body responding to him without reservation.

His mouth traveled down, kissing a path that made you gasp softly, your breath hitching as he lingered at your chest. The warmth of his body hovered over you, and as he pressed his lips against the soft curves of your body, it felt as though the world outside faded away completely.

“Let me take care of you,” he breathed, his voice low and commanding as he settled between your thighs, looking up at you with an intensity that made your heart race. The anticipation hung in the air, heavy and sweet, as he moved closer.

“Charles…” you whispered, almost pleadingly.

“Trust me,” he replied, and with that, he pulled down your lacy black underwear pressing his finger on your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through your veins. The sensation was overwhelming, and you gasped as his fingers slowly entered you, moving in and out slowly. He coaxed you into the rhythm as he curled his finger expertly, finding that spot deep inside you that made you gasp even louder.

“See? There you go,” he praised, his voice smooth and honeyed. “So perfect. So responsive for me baby, hmm.” Each word seemed to seep into your skin, igniting something within you. The room felt alive with the sounds of your breathy moans and the soft rustle of the sheets beneath you.

Charles watched you intently, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he added another finger, stretching you deliciously. “So beautiful,” he breathed, his eyes locked onto yours as he focused solely on you. “You taste so delicious.”

Your cheeks flushed at his words, feeling the heat pool lower in your abdomen as he licked his fingers clean, savoring every drop. The sight of him enjoying you so thoroughly sent another wave of heat through you, your heart racing faster than ever.

“Don’t hold back,” he urged, a low growl escaping his lips as he maintained that intoxicating rhythm. “Let me hear those pretty sounds.”

You could feel yourself spiraling, the pressure building as he curled his fingers deeper, drawing out moans from you. “I… I can’t…” you managed to whimper, the words barely escaping your lips as you trembled beneath him.

“Shh, just let go,” he encouraged, his voice dripping with a mixture of authority and tenderness. “You can do it. I’m right here.”

His confidence flooded through you, and with every thrust of his fingers, the world outside the hotel room faded away completely. You surrendered to the sensations, feeling the tension in your body reaching an unbearable peak. Your vision blurred, and you could feel the heat pooling inside you, ready to explode.

“Charles,” you gasped, feeling the waves of ecstasy start to crash over you. “I’m—”

“Yes, baby, let it happen,” he coaxed, his eyes dark and fierce as he continued his relentless pace. “You’re doing so well.”

With a final curl of his fingers, you came, the pressure bursting as pleasure washed over you in a tidal wave. Your body tensed, trembling beneath him as moans spilled from your lips, each sound wrapping around the dim room like a spell. Charles watched you with an intensity that made your heart race, his fingers never faltering as he helped you ride out the high.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. You floated down from the heights of bliss, feeling both blissfully vulnerable and utterly adored.

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, the taste of you lingering between you. As he pulled back slightly, a playful smirk danced on his lips. “Told you I’d take care of you.”

The intimacy of the moment left you breathless, a lingering warmth settling in your chest. You smiled back at him, your cheeks still flushed from pleasure and the glow of the dim light, feeling both exposed and cherished.

But before you could catch your breath, another wave of desire crashed over you, and you felt yourself yearning for more. Charles shifted closer again, his lips brushing against your neck, igniting the fire that still simmered within you. “You’re not done yet, are you?” he teased softly, his breath warm against your skin.

You shook your head slightly, the thought of indulging in this moment with him—and with Carlos, who you knew was still there, waiting, watching, heightening the anticipation—sent a thrill through you. “Let’s see how far we can take this,” he murmured, a wicked glint in his eye as he kissed along your jaw, his lips trailing down your throat.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Carlos broke the tension, his voice low and sultry. “My turn now, mami. Let me taste how sweet you are.”

Before you could fully process his words, Carlos was there, his mouth on yours, and it sent a jolt of electricity straight through your body. His lips were warm and inviting as they enveloped you, and the sensation was overwhelming. You gasped, when he pulled away, kissing his way down your body until he’s between your thighs, your hands instinctively finding their way into his hair, gripping tightly as he teased you.

His tongue flicked expertly against your clit, sucking and biting, driving you wild. Each swirl of his tongue sent shockwaves of pleasure rippling through you, building on the lingering sensations from Charles. “Oh, fuck Carlos…” you moaned, your back arching slightly, the pleasure making your heart race.

“Fuck, baby, that’s hot,” Charles muttered, his eyes dark with desire as he watched Carlos work his magic. The sight of your pleasure fueled him, and you could feel the heat radiating off both men, the intensity of the moment heightening every sensation.

Carlos wasn’t holding back; he was relentless, his mouth moving skillfully as he worked your clit, driving you further into ecstasy. And when his tongue plunged in and out of your warmth, every movement made you whimper, the sound escaping you before you could catch it.

“God, yes…” you breathed, your hips instinctively rolling against his mouth, seeking more, needing more. The world around you blurred, and it was just you and the exquisite sensations you were feeling.

“Ride my face, mami,” he groaned against you, the vibration of his voice sending an additional thrill through your body. You obliged, moving to sit on his face, your hands on the headboard as you instinctively moved to grind against him, the pleasure building higher and higher.

“Ohh, fuck,” you yelped, feeling the tight coil in your abdomen beginning to unravel. The waves of pleasure crashed over you, and you felt your body respond, shaking under the intensity as you approached the precipice of your next orgasm.

Carlos continued his relentless assault, slipping three fingers inside you, and you moaned loudly at the feeling, pulling his hair tight, urging him on. “Yes! Just like that,” you gasped, the combination of his fingers and mouth driving you wild. “P-please don’t stop!”

And he didn’t, his mouth and fingers working in perfect harmony, drawing you closer and closer to the edge. As he inserted a fourth finger, the sensation was overwhelming. You felt yourself teetering on the brink, ready to plunge into that sweet abyss of pleasure.

“Carlos! I’m gonna—” you gasped, feeling your body tensing, the waves crashing around you.

“Let go, mami. I got you,” he encouraged, his voice deep and sultry as he lapped at you hungrily. At those words, your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, leaving you gasping and shaking, your body writhing under him.

Carlos didn’t stop; he continued to eat you out through the waves of your orgasm, each thrust of his fingers and flick of his tongue sending aftershocks through your body. “Oh my God, Carlos!” you cried, feeling the intensity of it all consume you.

“Fuck mami, you taste so good,” he murmured against your sensitive skin as he licked you clean, his eyes filled with a mix of awe and lust. “I could stay in between these sexy thighs of yours all day.”

Completely breathless, your body a trembling mess of pleasure, as you basked in the aftermath of everything. Carlos finally pulled away, leaving you dazed and reeling from the intensity of what just happened. Your legs felt like jelly, and you were sure you’d lost all sense of reality for a moment.

Charles chuckled softly, clearly entertained as he watched you come down from your high. “I’d say that’s a successful start,” he teased, his voice filled with satisfaction.

You managed a breathy laugh, your heart racing as you looked between the two of them. “You two… wow.”

Carlos grinned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Just wait until you see what else we can do, mami.”

Charles leaned closer, a playful spark in his gaze. “What do you think, baby? Are you ready for more?”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I think I’m ready,” you said softly, your voice steady and filled with determination.

Charles’s eyes lit up, and Carlos’s smirk widened. “Good,” Charles replied, his tone sultry. “Because we’re just getting started.”

“Close your eyes, mami,” Carlos said, his voice a deep, seductive whisper that sent shivers down your spine. You hesitated, a flicker of doubt creeping in. “Wait, what? Why?”

“Do you trust us?” His tone was confident, teasing yet soothing, coaxing you into submission.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle over you like a warm blanket. This was all new territory, a blend of exhilaration and trepidation. “Yes,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. You closed your eyes, surrendering to whatever they had in store for you.

You heard a soft sound, like fabric ripping, and your heart raced as you felt something cool and smooth wrap around your eyes. The realization hit you: they had blindfolded you. The world around you shifted into a haze, every sound amplified, every sensation heightened. You could feel the heat radiating from both men as they surrounded you, their presence both comforting and electrifying.

“Just relax, mami,” Carlos murmured, and you felt him lay down beside you. His lips found your skin, kissing up along your breasts, his mouth moving with deliberate care as he bit and licked, teasing you into a frenzy.

A soft moan escaped your lips, involuntarily. The sensation was exquisite, a mix of pleasure and delicious anticipation, your body arching towards him, craving more.

As his mouth worked its magic, you felt another warmth against your thighs, a slow, deliberate caress. “You’re so sexy, baby,” the voice said, and you realized it was Charles. His breath was hot against your skin, teasingly close but never quite touching.

Your heart raced, the anticipation leaving you trembling. They were both here, right next to you, guiding you into a world where your senses reigned supreme. You felt someone’s hands travel up your thighs, moving closer to your core, teasing you. “You like that?” Charles asked, his voice deep and low, sending another shiver down your spine.

“Y-yes…” you gasped, biting your lip as the sensations heightened. You could feel the tension in the air, thick and charged with unspoken promises.

“Let’s make this even more fun, shall we?” Carlos said, his voice low and seductive.

Suddenly, you felt warm wax drip onto your stomach, and the sensation made you gasp, your body instinctively reacting to the heat. “What are you doing?” you managed to stutter, a mixture of excitement and fear flooding through you.

“Just trust us, mami,” Carlos cooed. “You’ll love it.”

As he leaned down to kiss the area right next to the wax, the contrast between the heat of the wax and the coolness of his mouth was intoxicating. He pressed gentle kisses along your skin, creating a delicious tension that left you breathless.

The moment felt electric. With every kiss and caress, you surrendered a little more, letting them guide you deeper into this world of pleasure. Carlos’s fingers lightly traced your clit, teasing you, while Charles’s kisses grew more passionate, sloppy and eager on your mouth.

Suddenly, you felt Carlos’s fingers slip lower, just brushing against your asshole. A sharp gasp escaped you as he continued to tease you, working you into a frenzy. “You’re doing so well, baby,” he praised, his tone dripping with lust. “Just let go and enjoy.”

The tension built inside you, a knot of anticipation tightening with every flick of his fingers. You could feel your body responding instinctively, the heat pooling low in your stomach. “Carlos…” you moaned, your heart racing as he continued to tease you.

Then, with deliberate slowness, Carlos pressed his finger inside you stretching you and making you squirm. “Shhh,” he soothed, as you felt the slight burn of being filled. “Just relax, mami. It’ll feel good, I promise.”

You could hardly process the pleasure coursing through you as he added a second finger, moving in and out, stretching you just right. “Oh, fuck!” you gasped, your body arching into him as the sensation intensified.

“That’s it,” Carlos murmured, his breath hot against your skin. “So good for me, mami.”

Charles, ever watchful, leaned closer, kissing you more deeply, coaxing your tongue to dance with his. You melted into the kiss, feeling utterly consumed by them both. The combination of their touches was intoxicating, and you surrendered completely, losing yourself in the pleasure.

“Three fingers now,” Carlos warned, and your breath hitched in anticipation. He pushed a third finger inside you, and your body quivered, an involuntary moan escaping you as the sensation hit you like a bolt of lightning. The stretch was exquisite, a heady mix of pleasure and slight discomfort that made your heart race even faster.

“That’s it, mami,” Carlos coaxed, his fingers curling just right inside you. “You’re taking it so well.”

Charles pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes, his expression a mix of admiration and lust. “You’re incredible,” he said, breathless.

The combination of their praises and the sensations swirling around you was almost too much. You felt yourself teetering on the edge of ecstasy, ready to plunge into that sweet release. “I’m—” you began, but Carlos cut you off.

“Not yet, baby,” he said, his tone firm yet playful. “I want you to feel every second.”

And with that, he began to move his fingers in a rhythmic, deliberate motion, curling and pressing against your most sensitive spot, coaxing you closer and closer to that edge. You couldn’t help but moan louder, your body betraying you as you let yourself slip into the abyss of pleasure. “Please, Carlos… I can’t hold on much longer.”

“Good,” he replied with a smirk, clearly enjoying the control he had over you. “That’s exactly where I want you.”

Charles leaned in closer again, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss, deepening the sensation and pulling you even further into the haze. You felt your body quivering, the heat coiling tightly in your belly as Carlos continued his movements, the rhythm building higher and higher.

With a final thrust of Carlos’s fingers, you let go, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave, intense and consuming. You cried out, your body trembling as pleasure surged through you, leaving you breathless.

“Fuck, yes,” Carlos said, his fingers continuing to work you through your release, coaxing every last bit of pleasure from you. You could feel his excitement radiating, and your heart raced with the intensity of it all.

“Perfect, mami,” he murmured, kissing your thighs softly as you came down from the high.

You lay there, utterly spent, but also electrified. Charles and Carlos exchanged knowing glances, clearly pleased with how you had responded.

“Are you okay, mami?” Carlos asked, his tone softening as he brushed a strand of hair from your face.

“Yeah,” you breathed, trying to catch your breath.

"That’s good baby. Are you ready?" Charles murmurs, his accent wrapping around each word. You nod, and he gives a small, reassuring smile, waiting for your permission as he begins slowly pushing himself into you, the sudden stretch making your back arch off the bed as you cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure.

He’s patient, attentive, and entirely focused on you, each movement deliberate and giving you the time to adjust to his size. The slow, steady rhythm of his thrusts pulls you in, allowing you to relax into the experience. Feeling bolder, you breathe out, “More.”

Charles raises an eyebrow, smirking slightly as if surprised, but a spark lights his gaze. “What was that, baby?” he teases softly, his voice playful, inviting.

“Faster, please,” you manage, giving in to the sensation. His grin widens, satisfied. And as he begins to deepen his thrusts as he moves faster.

Charles’s pace was relentless, every thrust deeper and harder than the last, driving you closer and closer to the edge. Your back arches, your fingers gripping the sheets as your body moves with his. His hands grip your waist firmly, pulling you closer to him as he pounds into you, the room filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and the breathless gasps escaping your lips.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” Charles groans. His pace doesn’t slow, his body moving with precision and force. You can feel your orgasm building, the tension winding tighter with every thrust until it feels like you’re going to break.

“Damn, mami. You look so pretty like that,” he murmurs, his gaze smoldering. “Look at that face, those lips… I love those lips,” he says, leaning closer until he’s right by your head. “So beautiful. Open up that sweet mouth for me, please.”

Your eyes meet his, filled with desire, and you nod, parting your lips invitingly.

parting your lips as Carlos slides his cock into your mouth, his grip firm but gentle on your throat as he begins to fuck it. The sensation of being filled from both ends sends your mind spiraling, the overwhelming pressure making it impossible to think of anything but the pleasure consuming you.

Charles’s pace quickens, his grip on your hips tightening as he continues to fuck you relentlessly. Your moans are muffled around Carlos’s cock, but you can feel the vibrations from your sounds as they travel through your throat. The weight of it all—the fullness, the pleasure, the intensity—has you clawing at Charles’s thighs, trying to ground yourself, but it’s futile.

“So sexy,” Carlos praises, his voice rough as he thrusts into your mouth, his grip on your neck keeping you in place. “Doing so good mami… taking both of us like this.”

The praise only spurs you on, even as your body threatens to give in to the intensity of it all. Your mind is foggy, lost in the pleasure as Charles hits that spot inside you that has your toes curling, a rush of heat surging through your core. The tension in your body snaps, and before you know it, you’re coming hard around his dick, your thighs tightening around him as waves of pleasure crash through you.

Charles doesn’t slow down. He continues to fuck you through your orgasm, each thrust pulling more pleasure out of you until you’re trembling, your body a mess of overstimulation. Carlos’s hand moves to pull your hair, holding you steady as his cock moves deeper into your throat. You feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes from the overstimulation but the heat between the three of you only intensifies.

Your body shakes with the aftershocks of your orgasm, but Charle’s fast pace pushes you toward the edge again. His grip tightens on your hips, as he moves faster before he pulls out realising on your stomach.

Carlos’s thrusts grow erratic, and with one final one, he comes down your throat, his groans mixing with Charles’s. You swallow easily, the warmth of him filling your mouth.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You’re still reeling from the intensity of your orgasm when you hear Charles's low voice. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he says, his tone sultry and full of admiration. “But I think it’s time for us to give you a taste of something truly unforgettable.”

Carlos looks at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You ready for that, mami? We’re going to take care of you.” His confidence radiates, and you feel that familiar flutter of excitement mixed with nervous anticipation.

“W-What do you mean?” you ask, your breath still shaky from the pleasure they’ve already given you.

“We want to show you just how good it can be when you let go completely,” Charles explains, moving closer, his body brushing against yours, making you acutely aware of every part of him. “You’re going to feel incredible, I promise.”

“You can handle us,” Carlos says, and your heart races.

“Okay,” you reply softly, feeling a surge of warmth at their reassurance.

“Good girl,” Charles praises again, his voice rich with affection. You hear the sound of movement, and you can only guess at what they’re doing. Then, you feel the bed shift as both of them position themselves closer to you.

“Now, let’s have some fun,” Carlos murmurs. You feel his warm hands on your thighs, gently pushing them apart, and your pulse quickens as anticipation builds.

“Are you ready for us, baby?” Charles asks, his voice husky and low. You nod, your breath catching in your throat as you feel the heat radiating from both of them.

“Remember, you can say the safe word at any time,” Carlos reminds you. “Just relax and let us take control.”

“Okay,” you whisper, feeling both excitement and a hint of nerves. “I’m ready.”

You feel one of them—Charles, you think—kissing along your thighs, slowly moving closer to your center, while Carlos positions himself at your ass. You can feel the heat from his body, the weight of him above you, and it makes your heart race even faster.

“Don’t worry, mami,” Carlos says, leaning down to brush his lips against yours. “I’ve got you.” You can taste the sweetness of his breath, and it ignites something primal within you.

As Charles starts kissing your folds, you gasp, the sensation sending ripples of pleasure coursing through your body. “So responsive,” he praises, his voice muffled against you. “I can feel how much you want this.”

You arch your back instinctively, craving more of the delicious sensation. “Charles!” you moan, the name slipping from your lips as he devours you, his tongue flicking expertly over your sensitive clit.

“More, baby?” he asks, teasingly slow. You can hear the smile in his voice, the confidence that makes you feel safe.

“Yes. Please!” you gasp, urging him on.

Just then, you feel Carlos’s mouth on yours, his kiss deepening as he leans in closer. Charles, the pressure inside you builds again, and you feel your body responding instinctively. Carlos pulls away just enough to let you catch your breath. “I want you to look at me while we do this,” he says, his dark eyes locking onto yours, filled with a heat that makes your skin tingle.

You nod, focusing on him, even as you feel Charles continuing to work his magic below. The two of them are a perfect harmony of pleasure, each taking you higher as they share their attention. Then you feel it, the burning stretch as Carlos’s dick enters your ass. You can’t help but moan “Oh fuck!” at the sensation, feeling him fill you up so deeply in parts that never been touched before. The world outside fades away, leaving just the three of you, locked in a moment of raw ecstasy.

“Keep your eyes on me,” Carlos urges softly, watching you intently as he thrusts in and out of you slowly, his fingers griping your ass, as he works to increase the pace.

“Can you feel how good that is?” Charles asks, looking up at you, his dark eyes filled with mischief and desire. “I want to see you come again. Show me how much you want it.”

“Oh fuck! Too much!!” you cry, feeling another wave of pleasure crash over you. The combination of his movements, the way Carlos is fucking you, it all blends into a perfect storm of sensation that’s utterly overwhelming.

“Yeah, just like that, baby. I love those sounds,” he says, his voice sultry and encouraging, and you can hear the excitement in his tone.

“More, please,” you beg, your body writhing against the sheets as you surrender to the pleasure.

Charles moves to lay in front of you, his hands moving your leg to lay over his waist as you feel his dick enter your pussy. Not expecting that, you yelp. “Charles!” The initial thrusts are slow, giving you a moment to adjust, but the sensation is still overwhelming. You feel every inch of them as they slide in and out of you, each movement perfectly synchronized. It’s too much, too intense, and yet you can’t stop the moans spilling from your lips.

As their pace quickens, your body gives in to the pleasure, the overwhelming fullness pushing you toward another climax. You try to hold on, but the sensation is too much. “Oh fuck,” you gasp, your voice barely holding together as they both pound into you. “It’s too much… I can’t…”

“You’re such a good girl for us,” Carlos praises, his pace relentless as he pounds your ass.

“Come for us, mami,” Carlos urges, his voice deep and throaty. “We want to feel you around our cocks.”

You can’t hold back any longer; the sensations are too intense, too beautiful to resist. “Oh, oh fuck” you cry, your body arching as pleasure overwhelms you, a wave crashing over you that leaves you gasping for breath.

They don't stop, their pace quickens, thrusting in and out of you even faster, fucking you through your orgasm, driving you further into ecstasy. “That’s it, baby. So beautiful,” he praises, his voice filled with desire.

As you ride the waves of your release, you feel Carlos leaning in, kissing you softly, his lips warm and inviting. “You’re so perfect,” he murmurs against your mouth, and you can feel the heat of his body against yours, adding to the delicious tension.

“Can you handle more?” Charles asks, a wicked smile on his lips as he watches you with dark, hungry eyes.

You nod, feeling that familiar heat igniting again. “Yes, I want more,” you breathe, craving both of them in ways you never knew possible.

“Alright, let’s give you what you want,” Carlos grins, moving to position himself behind you while Charles remains at your front, his dick still buried inside you.

You can feel Carlos adjusting himself behind you, the anticipation making your heart race. “Are you ready, mami?” he asks, his voice a deep growl that sends shivers down your spine.

Yes,” you whisper, your body aching for their touch.

“Good,” he replies, and then you feel him moving closer, pressing against you, the weight of him enveloping you. “Just relax for me, okay? We’ll take care of you.”

With that, he gently slides into you against Charles's cock, filling and stretching you in a way that you've never experienced before, sending a jolt of pleasure and pain through your body. “Oh my God!” you scream, the sensation overwhelming as both of them stretch you beyond your limits.

“Just breathe, mami,” Carlos whispers, his voice soothing yet filled with desire. “We’re going to make you feel so good.”

Charles leans in, capturing your lips with his, the kiss deepening as you feel Carlos thrusting behind you, his movements slow and deliberate, each thrust pushing you further into bliss.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” Charles praises, his voice low and sultry against your lips. “Just let go and feel everything.”

You’re too full, your body overstimulated, your mind unable to process the sheer intensity of both of them stretching you. Pounding into you at the same time, the feeling is indescribable, leaving you on the edge of tears as your body adjusts to the fullness. Every inch of you feels like it’s on fire, and yet, you crave more.

You nod, surrendering to the sensations as they both take you higher, your body responding instinctively to their every touch. Carlos grunts, quickening his pace behind you while Charles continues his relentless pace too as he kisses you deeply, every brush of his lips igniting sparks within you.

With each thrust, you can feel the pressure building again, your body teetering on the edge. “I’m so close!” you cry. As their pace quickens, your body gives in to the pleasure, the overwhelming fullness pushing you toward another climax, the sensation is too much. The pressure builds again, stronger this time as their movements become more urgent. Both of them drilling in and out of you leaving you in a blissful fucked state.

“Come for us, baby,” Charles urges, his voice a low whisper filled with desire. “We want to see you fall apart.”

With a final thrust from them both, the wave crashes over you, and you scream out in ecstasy, your body shaking as pleasure washes over you completely.

“That’s it, mami! So sexy, fuck!” Carlos praises, thrusting into you as you ride out your orgasm, the world fading into a haze of bliss.

Charles looks at you with that wicked smile. “You’re incredible,” he whispers, and you feel your heart swell with warmth and desire.

As you come down from your high, you realize that you’ve never felt more alive than in this moment with them.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

As the aftershocks of your intense release begin to fade, you nestle comfortably between Charles and Carlos, feeling a comforting warmth envelop you. The dim lighting of the hotel room casts a soft glow, highlighting the contours of their bodies as they lean in close, their breaths mingling in the sultry air.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Charles asks, his voice low and filled with genuine concern. He studies your face, searching for any sign of discomfort or hesitation. There’s something tender in his gaze, making your heart flutter unexpectedly.

You nod, feeling a rush of warmth spread through you. “I’m more than okay,” you reply, a smile breaking across your face. “That was... amazing.”

Carlos chuckles, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief. “We aim to please, mami.” He shifts slightly, pulling you closer to him, and you can’t help but revel in the sensation of being sandwiched between two incredibly attractive men.

As Charles gets up to get the warm cloth, Carlos remains beside you, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on your thigh. “You’re still shaking still,” he observes, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Honestly, I’ve never felt anything like that before,” you admit, your cheeks flushing at the memory of the pleasure you just experienced. “It was overwhelming.”

Carlos nods, his expression softening. “That’s completely normal, mami. Just take your time. You did an amazing job.” His voice is warm and reassuring, wrapping around you like a comforting embrace.

Charles returns with the cloth, a bottle of water, and some snacks, pouring a glass for each of you. “You were perfect, baby,” he says, laying back down next to you, a satisfied smile on his face.

You snuggle between them, your heart swelling with gratitude and affection as their presence envelops you.

*☾⋆･ﾟ taglist! @ham1lton @ietss @animeandf1lover @nelly187 @heartsfromtaeyong @bloodyymaryyy @nor-4 @zacian117 @mel164 @uhhvictoria @hadidsworld @zabwlky1999 @sya-skies @lillysbigwilly @avengers-assemble123456 @santanasaintmendes @km-23mr @hookhausenschips @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ronpho @minekarina @aeongism @formula1-motogpfa @slagclarens @aleexvqa @f1updates4you @booksandflowrs @chaostudee @winkev1 @strawblueberrys @blakesbearblog @cel-be @perfumejamal @aykxz98 @pandora-08 @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @demyackerman @poppyflower-22 @danieldaviddarren33 @oledoledoffen @jimcarreyfann42 @acesbakery @oliviah-25 @goldenroutledge @matcha—-matcha @unkownmystery_22 @sophienorris @armystay89 @tellybearryyyy @magixpracticality @eoduuung @danieldaviddarren33 @flowerpetalk

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lonerslug · 15 days ago

Note

Sevika x masc sweetheart reader who has to be soothed to sleep because of trauma??

Fluff or smut is fine‼️‼️

You Can Rest Here

a/n: yess keep the sevika requests coming 👅👅

masterlist

✶⋆.˚

You didn’t even know how long you’d been pacing.

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. All you could hear was the rhythm of your own breathing, the creak of the floorboards under your socked feet, the anxious shuffle back and forth as your body tried to outrun the thoughts clawing at the back of your skull.

You didn’t hear the door open. Just the heavy exhale, and her boots hitting the floor.

“Hey.”

Sevika’s voice came low and tired, but warm, that familiar rasp already loosening the knot behind your ribs. “You’re still up?”

You froze mid-step.

Didn’t look at her. Didn’t know if you could. Not like this. Not shaking like a leaf with panic coiled tight in your chest, face drawn, jaw clenched like you were about to cry or break something.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you mumbled.

Sevika didn’t ask why.

She never did, not when you were like this. She just stepped closer. You heard the faint clink of her arm, the soft brush of her shirt as she crossed the room. You felt her hand on your back, big and grounding, her palm sliding up and down between your shoulders once, twice.

“C’mere.”

It was that gentle. That simple.

You let her guide you, let her turn you in her arms and press you close to her chest, like she knew your body didn’t always feel safe to be in, but it felt safe with her. Your face was buried in her collarbone, your breath shaky.

Her hand came up and cupped the back of your head. She started stroking slowly, her fingers dragging through your hair, down your neck, soft little circles like you were glass she’d take all night to mend.

You felt your chest heave once.

Twice.

Then the tears came, sudden and hot and mortifying.

But Sevika just held you tighter.

“You’re okay,” she murmured. “You’re alright, baby. I got you.”

And fuck, her voice was everything. That deep gravel softened with affection, with the kind of devotion that made your knees weak. She pressed a kiss to your temple and swayed you a little, like it was instinct, like you were some frightened thing she could rock to sleep if she just whispered to you long enough.

“You wanna lie down?” she asked against your hair.

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to. She guided you anyway, slow and steady, both of you lowering to the bed. She pulled you on top of her, your head on her chest, her arm slung over your waist, your thigh nestled between hers. Her fingers never stopped moving. Up and down your back. Under the hem of your shirt. Over the muscle of your shoulder.

“Still with me?”

“…Yeah.”

“Mm. That’s my sweetheart.”

The tension in you unraveled inch by inch.

You stayed quiet a long time, long enough that she started pressing small kisses to your forehead, your cheekbone, the edge of your jaw. You reached up and touched her chest with a shaky hand, fingers brushing the scar along her collarbone.

“I feel stupid,” you whispered.

Sevika lifted her head a little. “The fuck for?”

“For falling apart like this.”

A pause.

Then a deep exhale, and both her hands on your cheeks, firm but cradling. Her thumb swiped under your eye, rough fingers on your jaw. She made you look at her.

“You ain’t falling apart,” she said. “You’re surviving. And you don’t have to do that alone.”

You blinked at her.

“I know what it’s like,” she added. “To not sleep. To wake up and think you’re back there. I used to flinch at every noise. Used to drink ‘til I passed out just so I wouldn’t feel shit. You don’t have to be like that. Not when I’m here.”

You kissed her.

It was messy, desperate. You didn’t mean to. You just needed her, needed the warmth of her mouth and her hands cupping your hips, the press of her body under yours like it could anchor you. And Sevika let you have it. She held you like you’d break without it, kissed you back slow and deep, let you climb into her lap and rock against her like you were searching for breath.

Clothes stayed mostly on.

You just needed to feel something good, needed her hands on your waist, her mouth at your throat, her lips murmuring,

“You’re safe. You’re so safe with me, baby.”

When it was over, she wrapped you in the blankets, half on top of her, her thighs warm against yours and your head rising with every breath she took.

And she kept petting you.

Over your short hair. Down your back. Fingertips dragging over your spine like she meant to soothe the ghosts out of you.

You blinked slow. Your heartbeat steadied.

“Sleep,” she murmured. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

You did.

You didn’t even stir when the light came through the curtains.

But Sevika did.

She blinked slow, muscles stiff, your weight curled against her chest like gravity itself had claimed you. Her arm was still around your back, your nose smushed softly into her collarbone, legs tangled like you’d tried to fuse yourself to her in your sleep.

And god, she loved that.

She loved waking up like this.

She barely moved, not wanting to wake you too fast. But her eyes dragged over you: the tension that had left your jaw overnight, the way your mouth parted with every slow breath. You looked softer now. Still, maybe a little heavy with whatever haunted you, but less brittle. More… at peace.

She kissed your forehead gently. Just once.

You shifted a little.

Your hand twitched against her waist, fingers curling into her shirt, then sliding under it like you were seeking skin. Sevika stayed still as you nuzzled into her sleepily, voice muffled against her chest.

“Mm. You’re warm.”

“Yeah?” Her voice was thick with sleep, but amused. “You’re clingy.”

“Can’t help it.”

She smiled, just a little. Hand stroking your spine now. Her fingers dipped under the band of your sleep shirt, her palm spread across your lower back, thumb brushing your skin like she was checking if you’d melt.

Then she felt it.

Your thigh hitching higher between her legs. The way you pressed a little closer. The way your hips shifted, not frantic, not needy, but soft. Tender. Like you were asking something with your body before you had the words for it.

Sevika’s voice dropped, low and rough and still gentle.

“You want me to touch you?”

You nodded against her.

“You sure?”

“…please.”

She let her hand wander.

Down your back. Along your side. Her fingers hooked into the waistband of your boxers, slowly easing them down just enough to cup your ass and pull you flush against her.

She rutted into you once, slow. Your breath caught.

Sevika kissed your jaw. “Still with me, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

You felt her reach between you. One hand sliding over your front, palm grazing where you were already warm and wanting. Her fingers stroked you through your underwear, so gentle it made your hips twitch.

“Fuck,” you whispered, “Sevika…”

“I got you. Just relax.”

And she took her time with you.

Her mouth found yours, slow and unrushed. Her fingers dipped under the band of your briefs, finally touching you where you needed it, slow strokes, steady pressure. You were still melting into her, soft little gasps leaving your throat as she coaxed pleasure out of you with careful reverence.

You were always so gentle with her, but this time?

She gave it all back.

“Let go,” she murmured. “You don’t have to be strong right now. Just feel me.”

Your forehead pressed to hers. Your body rolled with hers. You were panting against her mouth by the time she made you come, soft, gasping, eyes fluttering shut as she stroked you through it with whispered praise against your skin.

“Good girl. That’s it. Breathe, baby.”

When it was over, she held you again. No rush. Just warmth and her arm tight around you while your pulse slowed and your chest rose against hers.

You kissed her collarbone and whispered,

“Thank you.”

Sevika kissed the crown of your head.

“You never have to thank me for loving you.”

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norrisjpg · 26 days ago

Text

── ☆ champagne & complications

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series: my kind of woman, LN⁴

content: the miami grand prix, swearing, mclaren's team strategy, zak brown being oblivious

pairing: lando norris x fem!oc

rora's thoughts: hey everyone! i am on a rollllll, and feeling super motivated. i also watched the entire team redline stream last night and honestly max is so funny i can't even - and on that note, i have opened a max blog! nothing is posted on there as of yet, but i do have a fic in the works. enjoy!

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THE MIAMI HEAT hit like a punch to the chest as soon as she stepped off of the air-conditioned paddock shuttle. humid, blinding, and impossible to ignore, let alone avoid. lily winced, taking a deep breath and adjusting her sunglasses as she looked around the bustling paddock – taking in the sound of generators, turbocharged engines, and distant team chatter.

“i swear it wasn’t this hot last time.” max muttered beside her, pulling his cap off and wiping the sweat from his forehead.

“you say that everytime we go somewhere that’s not england.” lily quipped, rolling her eyes.

lando’s invitation to max had backfired, in his favour for once. pietra had an unmissable modelling shoot so she wasn’t able to attend the race weekend – providing lily with a perfect opening. but again, lando wasn’t aware of the younger girl’s presence yet, and she didn’t know that he hadn’t been told she was there either – great job, max.

max gave a shrug and turned to face her, paddock pass around his neck swinging. “no i don’t. anyway, welcome to miami, try not to melt.”

“i am already,” lily muttered, adjusting her tank top on her lower back. “how far away is the hospitality?”

“like a ten minute walk i think?” the brit shrugged, like a ten minute walk wasn’t about to feel like miles to them, and as if he wasn’t going to complain the whole way.

her nerves knotted a little tighter as the engine revs got louder, and the luxe papaya hospitality building came into view. she was walking onto his turf unannounced, again. she was hopeful that they’d fall back into their normalness like they had at the weekend, and that he’d be his usual self – kind and sweet to her. but she wasn’t so sure, she’d never been in the mclaren garage on a race weekend, let alone when he was stressed and fighting for the lead of the championship.

“this is a mistake,” lily said to her brother as they walked up the stairs. “i don’t want to throw him off or something.”

“don’t be so dramatic, el.” max replied, tugging at the collar of his t-shirt. “it’s character-building.”

“you said that when i broke my arm after you pushed me out of a tree.”

“well, it still is.” he gave her a stupid grin, fiddling with his lanyard as he plopped down on one of the couches. “besides, it’s not like you had better plans this weekend.”

“i was planning to see harry, actually.”

“like i said, not like you had better plans.” he repeated, shrugged. “i’ll see you in a bit, i’ve got some hilton stuff to do in the stadium.”

“are you kidding–”

“later, sis!”

before she could say anything else – which was probably for the best – max was disappearing back down the stairs with a wave and quick glance. typical max. drop her in the deep end and then swan off somewhere else.

she lingered near the staircase, toying with the bracelet on her wrist as she tried to muster up the courage to walk downstairs and explore the paddock. the unit was buzzing – hospitality staff constantly moving between floors, fans clustered at the fences, mechanics rushing back and forth between the garage and the motorhome. everything was bright and loud and a little too fast.

and then she saw him.

cap pulled low, head down, clad in his mclaren kit. race suit rolled and hanging around his hips, fireproof undershirt clinging to his torso. he looked flushed from the heat, or maybe from rushing around – either way he looked hot.

he hadn’t seen her yet. he was walking up the stairs with purpose, eyes glued in front of him like he had somewhere very important to be. lando just so happened to scan to his right, and their eyes locked, just for a second – but it stopped him in his tracks.

“lily?” his brows pulled together slightly, a surprised expression crossing his face. “i didn’t know you were coming?”

“sorry, didn’t max tell you?” she winced as she spoke, shifting on her feet nervously.

“no, it’s a nice surprise though.” his voice softened, a smile gracing his lips. “you good?”

“a little nervous, it’s um… it’s a lot here.” lily nodded, glancing around. “are you?”

“hot, very hot.”

she hummed in agreement, nodding her head and avoiding his gaze for a couple seconds. “yeah, sorry max didn’t tell you, we only decided on like… tuesday – p had a shoot.”

“oh, i see.” lando pursed his lips, but the look in his eyes never wavered. “don’t apologise though, it’s good to have you here.”

“uhm… thankyou.” she smiled.

“have you ever been in a garage before, like at a race?” he asked, tilting his head.

“not properly.”

“criminal behaviour from your brother.” he shook his head, taking a step back from the stairwell so there was enough space for her to squeeze in front of him. “come on, let me fix that.”

“it’s okay, you’re really busy–”

“come on,” he repeated. “let me give you a deluxe tour – i’ll take you places even max hasn’t been.”

lily smiled appreciatively, and walked down the stairs in front of him, grateful for the movement – and even more grateful for how normal he was making all of this feel. and just like that, lando norris was guiding her through the paddock, her heart pounding in a rhythm only he ever seemed able to disturb.

• • • •

THE MCLAREN GARAGE was a cluster of engineers tapping away at tablets and mechanics elbow-deep in machinery. towering stacks of tyres with two names on them were loaded into their designated spaces, making everything seem carefully orchestrated – like a live performance, only the lead actors wore fireproof suits, and the supporting cast lived in headsets.

the pair stopped near the back wall of the garage, where two driver headsets hung from their hooks beside a sleek monitor glowing starkly with live data. lando reached for the one with ‘LN4’ printed neatly on the sides.

“c’mere.” he said gently, motioning for lily to get closer to him.

“hm?” she hesitated, brows lifting as he held out the item.

“just–” he stepped closer to her, fingers brushing her face as he slid the headset down over her ears. “trust me.”

lily held still, hardly breathing at all, the faint scent of polo red drifting through the heat around them. his fingers grazed the side of her neck as he adjusted the size, and a current practically zipped down her spine – sharp and unexpected.

a collection of precise words filled the headset – voices overlapping, data being exchanged, tyres being discussed like sacred artifacts. the world sharpened in her ears. engineers talked in clipped phrases, strategies cross-referenced with cool precision. one voice called out lando’s lap deltas; another referenced oscar’s tire temperatures. it was intimate in a whole new way – a language she didn’t understand, but one that lando lived by.

she turned her head slightly, eyes slightly wider than usual – he leant in, mouth near her ear so that she could hear him through the noise.

“that’s what i hear before every quali, every race, any time i go out on track.”

“it’s intense.” she swallowed, nodding her head.

“only place i don’t overthink things.” he said, gently taking the headset off of her head, leaning down a little so his face was level with hers.

for a moment, it felt like the rest of the garage had disappeared. the noise dulled, the buzz softened, and they were standing too close in a space that wasn’t meant for moments like these. his expression was open in a way she’d hadn’t seen before, not even over the previous weekend. a flicker of vulnerability under all the easy charm.

“most people think i just wing it.” he smiled, small and a little crooked.

“how on earth do you stay calm?” she asked, voice quiet enough to be heard by only lando.

“i don’t,” lando admitted. “not really. i’ve just… learnt to breathe through it.”

“doesn’t it all get a bit much sometimes?” her gaze dropped to his mouth, then back to his eyes.

he hesitated, “yeah, it does.”

it was quiet, almost confessional – the type that wasn’t mean for press conferences or a netflix microphone. just for her ears, and her only.

“you don’t wing it,” lily said softly. “it’s all right there.”

he looked at her – really looked – something unspoken shifting in the way he held her gaze. vulnerable. not unguarded, but reluctant to be seen.

“no one’s ever said that to me.”

the fewtrell girl gave a small, shy smile, “then no one is paying enough attention.”

lando’s mouth curved gently, but his eyes stayed serious. for a heartbeat, neither of them moved. she was sure that if she leant in, then they’d be a lot closer than they were allowed to be. but what she wasn’t certain of was the look he was giving her, pliant and almost desperate. the air between them crackled – not just with attraction, but understanding. a quiet, undeniable gravity.

then someone called out his name – sharp and professional – and the spell snapped like a taut-pulled thread.

“quick, follow me,” he said quietly, “let me show you my driver room before i get dragged off to another briefing.”

his hand slipped over hers, tugging her back out toward the paddock and through the chaos. lily followed him, steps steadier than her heartbeat as fans swarmed him. his grip on her hand tightened a little as the crowd thickened, keeping her with him.

“jesus fuckin’ christ.” lando mumbled as the doors slid shut behind them.

“tell me about it.” she laughed, slightly overwhelmed by the volume of people and the fact that lando was still holding her hand.

“i’m this way,” he nodded, gently guiding her down the hallway toward the door labled – lando norris.

the room was small, cooler than the garage had been, more clinical and less personal than she’d expected. there was a grey couch underneath a mirror, a doorless wardrobe, a mini-fridge humming away in the corner filled to the brim with monster energy cans, along with a built-in bathroom. it smelt like him too – lemon and cedarwood and cologne.

“it’s… blander, than i was expecting at least.” she said quietly, glancing around the small room.

“disappointed?” lando rolled his eyes playfully.

“tiny bit.”

“i’ll tell zak to add a disco ball for next year.”

she laughed and dropped onto the couch, exhaling softly. “is this where you go when you want to be alone?”

“sometimes,” he replied, shrugging as he plopped down next to her. “or i’ll just sit in the car with my helmet on and pretend my radio isn’t working.”

lily chuckled softly, before sobering. “do you like the silence?”

“sometimes, it depends what kind of loud i’m escaping from.” he said with no hesitation.

she nodded, understanding more than he knew. they sat there for a couple minutes, lando’s body leaning into her own ever-so-slightly, legs pressed together.

he checked the richard mille on his wrist – “i’ve got a sponsor block in ten, you can stay in here if you want.”

“it’s okay, i should probably get back upstairs, max will be back soon.” lily said, standing and brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “thankyou, for showing me all this.”

lando smiled, a little tired but clearly genuine. “you’re not just any other guest, you know?”

“what do you mean?”

“you’re max’s sister, and more importantly, you’re you.”

there was something in the way he spoke to her – a subtle weight, like the sentence meant more than the content of the words. like he was giving her space in his world and she wasn’t quite sure what to do with it just yet.

he smiled at her thoughtful silence, “see you after quali, yeah?”

“yeah, good luck, lan.”

• • • •

THE REST OF THE MORNING passed in a blur of heatwaves and engine echoes. lando had hurried off toward a flurry of sponsors, media, and his own carefully-constructed routine before qualifying, while lily lingered just inside the cool air-conditioned lounge with a bottle of water and her phone.

although her and max were chatting way about who they thought was going to get pole position, her mind stayed behind – back in the garage, the headset, the softness of lando’s voice and the hotness of his breath on her skin. the subtle moment before something pulled him away – before something shifted and everything returned to normality.

it had been nothing, so why did it feel like something?

lily, in the end, didn’t have much time to think about it – because soon, a mclaren staff member was ushering them to the papaya garage and handing them headsets to wear at the back of the garage.

he was there, of course. lando was clad in his relatively tight race-suit, hanging around his race engineer with his fluorescent helmet on, visor flicked upward so his piercing eyes were visible. the driver was frowning, furrowing his eyebrows at what the older man was saying, and shrugging. he’d glanced over, gave a small wave and a wink – small enough to mean nothing, big enough to make her heart thump a little faster.

the moment lando lowered himself into the cockpit, the world outside narrowed to engine noise, brake pressure, and the pulse pounding in his ears. qualifying was about two things – speed and precision under pressure, threading the car through every apex with brutally unforgiving accuracy. one twitch too early, one fraction too late, and the lap was pointless. inside the helmet, his breathing was measured but sharp, like a man running toward something he couldn’t afford to miss. the radio crackled in his ears, his engineer checking it was working before feeding him data – it was muscle memory, and lando wouldn’t have changed it for the world.

from her standing position in the back corner, lily watched the monitors with slightly wide, unmoving eyes, her fingers clenched around the edge of her mclaren pass. to the outside world, qualifying was clinical – data, lap times, sector splits – but in person? it felt like standing at the edge of something volatile. his car slipped out of the garage and drove down toward the pit exit, ready to put on a good show in the papaya monster.

the way he drove was relentless, razor-sharp – no hesitation, no room for error or doubt itself – and yet it wasn’t just the precision that held her attention. it was the weight behind it, the need. she could see it in the way he moved, the way his hands twitched on the wheel in the replay footage, like he was chasing something more than pole position. as if this mattered in a way no one else could understand.

second place on the grid, behind max verstappen.

he seemed happy, smiled for the cameras and was as charismatic as usual.

but he really smiled when he re-entered the garage after all of the media obligations and defriefs from the team – making a beeline for max and lily.

“nice one, mate.” her brother patted his shoulder firmly, nodding his head.

“yeah, congratulations, lan.” lily nodded with a smile, watching the little glint in his eyes return.

“thanks guys,” he smiled. “i have like a thirty minute break before more interviews, what do you want to do?”

“i said i’d catch up with oscar at some point.” max told them. “haven’t seen the bloke in a while.”

“alright, see you in a bit.” lando replied, nodding as the boy headed off toward the other side of the garage. “come on, you.”

“hm, where are we going?”

“there’s quite a few people i’d like you to meet.” the driver explained, before mumbling, more to himself – “my performance coach is upstairs, actually.”

lando gestured to the flight of stairs she’d already been up and down at least four times, and guided her toward them, his hand lingering on her lower back.

“jon!” lando called, and a man with a beard and glasses replied, looking up from a table.

“yes?” jon replied, as lando and lily walked over to him, sat down with a laptop open in front of him. “oh, is this lily?”

“i–yeah. hi.” she blinked, smiling politely.

the older man held out his hand, warm and firm. “i’m jon, lando’s performance coach – basically means i stop him from eating whole tubs of nutella on race weekends.”

“lovely to meet you, jon.”

“i’ve heard a lot about you this week.” he said, sending lando a look.

lando’s cheeks heated up, “right, we’re going there.”

“oh, really?” lily laughed nervously. “all good things, i hope…?”

“actually yeah, lando won’t–”

“–and okay! got to go jon, we’ve got lots of people to see!” the brit interrupted cheerfully, grabbing lily’s hand and whisking her away.

“bye jon!” the girl laughed, earning a wave from the performance coach.

outside, the miami sun was still blazing, and the air was rich with humidity and noise – fans calling from barricades, team members rushing between motorhomes, flashes of cameras capturing every sliver of a movement. lando walked closer to her, head down slightly, but not avoiding attention so much as managing it.

“you alright?” he asked as they passed a crew of sky sports cameramen setting up outside of the red bull hospitality.

“yeah — just lots of people.” lily shrugged softly, glancing upward at him fleetingly.

“well, i wanted to introduce you to max and camila.” he gently nudged her shoulder with his own.

she nodded, “yeah, okay.”

he grinned, and then, just ahead – another figure appeared from the red bull motorhome. unmistakable in posture and calm in presence. max verstappen. he was laughing at something a curly-haired woman had said, her elegant figure walking beside him in a chic, soft blue dress that was effortlessly flawless.

“oi,” lando called casually. “max, cam.”

max turned first, a smile gracing his lips. “lando.”

his eyes flitted to lily, and his brows rose slightly in a lack of recognition. “i don’t think we’ve met, i’m max.”

“i’m lily, nice to meet you.” she replied politely, shaking the hand he held out to her.

“ah, you’re lily.” camila realised, like a lightbulb had flicked on in her brain. “i’m camila.”

“hi camila.” lily replied softly, briefly furrowing her eyebrows at the girl’s revelation.

she didn’t catch it, but the mclaren driver to her left sent the pair a warning glare, which seemed to steer them away from the incoming topic of conversation – something along the lines of lando has told us a lot about you.

the conversation was easy, as if they were old friends catching up. camila had immediately disarmed lily with her lightly musical brazilian accent, she was softer than she’d originally perceived, and the youngest fewtrell sibling immediately liked her. max was different to what she’d expected too – if anything, he was more immature than lando was, giggling at boyish jokes lando would make and quickly responding with similar humour – it felt… real. like something that had always been and never wouldn’t be.

“see you around.” camila had said, giving lily one more kind smile and a wave before they slipped away to the myriad of cameras and microphones – max adding in, “bye guys!”

once the pair were out of earshot, which lily checked quite a few times, she turned to lando. “they’re not what i expected.”

he raised a brow, “you and camila seemed to get along really well, so i assume better than expected?”

“way better, camila’s lovely, max is really funny, actually.”

“she is, terrifyingly perceptive, but yeah – lovely.” lando agreed. “you fit in here, you know?”

“i’m trying.” she laughed softly.

“no, seriously – it’s like you belong here, you’re doing great.”

and for the first time all day, lily let herself believe that might actually be true.

• • • •

SUNDAY ARRIVED with it’s usual electricity – race day tension always had a way of clinging to the paddock like static in the humid florida air. the grandstands were packed, swaying with papaya flags, camera lenses, and practically vibrating with chants. lily stood just outside the mclaren hospitality suite, leaning against the railing with a bottle of water pressed against her wrist, watching the world surge around her in precisely controlled chaos.

max had told her they were going to head to the grid once the cars were there, to support lando and maybe have a chat with martin brundle. pietra had texted her early in the morning, with a picture of pancakes in portugal, followed by a stream of emojis which could have meant literally anything, from i miss you or tell max to cut his hair.

lando had stopped by the suite briefly that morning, still in his hoodie, curls damp and a little unruly from a cold shower. “you’ll hear me before you see me,” he’d joked, gesturing toward the radio pack on the table.

she’d laughed, telling him to be safe and wishing him good luck.

even from her tucked-away position inside the garage, lily could feel the intensity of the race as it unfolded – heart-hammering overtakes, radios full of clipped instructions and foreign terminology, a barely-there gap between lando and oscar that had stretched and shrunk like an elastic band all afternoon. when the british driver crossed the line in second place, the garage exploded in celebration – another successful weekend, another mclaren one-two. but, she’d caught it immediately, the subtle dip in his expression as he watched zak and andrea hug oscar, the shadow just behind his smile as they simply shook his hand.

the podium ceremony was miami glitter: palm tree confetti, flamingo-coloured banners, champagne mist caught in the sunlight. lando stood one step down from oscar, eyes squinting against the brightness. he clapped when it was expected of him, posed for photos, even sprayed oscar with the fizzy liquid, laughed when oscar tried to do the same to him – but it didn’t fully reach his eyes.

“hell of a result, huh?”

the voice came from her left as she looked up at the podium. zak brown.

she straightened, giving him a polite smile. “definitely.”

zak didn’t seem to notice her unease. he was already turned fully to the podium, arms folded proudly over his chest. “oscar’s on another level this season, no errors, the mark of a future world champion right there.”

lily nodded, lips tight. “mhm, he’s been impressive.”

“a real asset, we’re lucky to have him.” zak chuckled, oblivious.

something about the use of lucky rubbed her the wrong way. her eyes flicked up to the stage, where the three were making their way off of the podium.

lily turned slightly, voice soft but firm – “lando drive an impressive race too, those last ten laps – i don’t think anyone could have handled that pressure like he did.”

the man blinked, almost caught off-guard by her tone.

“he’s been consistent all weekend,” she added. “and honestly, the way he fought through that middle stint was so impressive.”

“yeah, true. lando did great too.”

before he could even think about pivoting back to oscar, lily offered him a small smile, turning to leave already – “i should go find my brother, have a nice rest of your day.”

she didn’t wait for a reply.

• • • •

POST-RACE NOISE had dulled down, the shadows of the paddock had stretched long across the asphalt, and lily found herself wondering back to the mclaren unit with max. the energy was quieter now – crew members coiling cables, engineers packing away laptops, sponsors sipping drinks in the upstairs lounge.

they didn’t expect to find lando there. she’d figured he’d be busy in debriefs, or somewhere private, but when they stepped through the glass door, he was sitting at one of the small corner tables, with jon, near the back. he’d changed into a black mclaren polo, curls damp once again from either podium champagne or a shower. a can of monster sat untouched beside him.

he looked up at the two encroaching people, internally assuming they were fans or something and ready to put on a polite smile – but when he saw the two, a real smile tugged at the corners of his mouth – not the media-trained one, not the clipped and tired post-race version. just something soft, and real.

“there you are,” he said, making jon turn his head toward the pair.

“ah, hey lily,” jon smiled. “hi max.”

“hey,” lily responded, feeling like she was interrupting something, max responding in tandem.

“okay, we’re done anyway, lando. you’re free to go when you want.” jon stood up, shutting his laptop. “i’m sure i’ll see you two soon, have a nice week.”

“thanks jon, see you tomorrow.” the driver waved, frowning as max took jon’s seat as he walked away. “dude, you have no manners, let her sit down.”

“get your own chair.” max poked his tongue out childishly, making lily laugh.

“knob.” lily laughed, grabbing a different chair and sitting down in between the two boys.

it wasn’t until later, when max was flat-out in the back seats of the rental car lando had for the weekend, that he brought it up.

“jon told me what you said to zak,” lando spoke quietly, glancing over at the woman in the passenger seat. “he was stood in front of you.”

“oh,” lily pursed her lips. “yeah, sorry about that.”

“nothing to be sorry for, i was going to thank you.” he explained. “he doesn’t do it on purpose, you know? he does it oscar sometimes when i win.”

“but?” lily said for him, sensing there was more he wanted to say.

“i should be happy with second, you know? it’s points, it’s progress, but–”

“–it feels like it doesn’t belong to you.”

“exactly.”

the silence hung, gentle and soft, comfortable and much needed. lily couldn’t understand how he was feeling – she hated it when people told her they understood how she felt – but she knew what he meant by what he was saying, and how he hesitated in telling her, like he wasn’t allowed to vocalise his feelings.

he smiled, genuine and thankful – and for the first time in a while, something shifted in lando’s very soul, something deep and meaningful.

he just hadn’t realised it yet.

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on-a-lucky-tide · 7 months ago

Text

Simon's body matures into its prime. There's only one mate he wants. #GhostPriceWeek.

Day One: Confession/Kneel.

cw: omegaverse, penetrative sex, dubcon by nature of Price's sex negative attitude, gentle sex, bonding. ( @gomzdrawfr )

Simon wasn't sure what had changed or why, but he knew he was looking at Price differently these days and he couldn't ignore it for much fuckin’ longer. It was driving him even more insane than he already was.

Price had been helping him–them, all of ‘em–through ruts for the last few years. When it had just been the two of them, Simon would spend the few days leave in Price's Hereford flat exhausting himself between Price's legs and then they would return to normal once the cycle had passed. It had been hard at first, trusting someone, but like in everything, Price had his back. He had only ever treated Simon with dignity and respect.

When the other two joined, Simon didn't bat an eyelid. It made sense. Price was logical like that; easier for them to fuck him and get it over with in a few days, than long it out over a week and risk them snooping around the local villages, potentially ending up with a pup brewing and an angry farmer at the barrack gates with a shotgun. Johnny had priors with it too. Simon had seen the indiscretions on his record, and Gaz was so painfully good-looking that Simon wouldn't be surprised if there were already a few Garrick pups knocking about North London.

The arrangement bloody worked. Everyone seemed satisfied. So why had Simon started… yearning?

The word had appeared when he'd googled his symptoms one day in a coffee shop. He'd headed off base to do it because all the search histories passed over Price's desk at some point, with questionable or worrying shit highlighted by the IT team for review, and he really didn't need that conversation. “Why are your guts aching, Simon? Do you need medical?” Price would ask, that stern line between his brows, lips pressed down in a deep frown.

No, sir, my intestines seem to twist themselves in knots every time I see you shirtless at the moment and I can't stop thinkin' about how much I want to shove my tongue down yer throat, now about that requisition form…

But it wouldn't be like that. Simon would stand there in dumb silence trying to find the words to explain that being around Price at the moment made him ache in ways he had never experienced before. That when he was alone in his own flat a short bus ride away from base, he thought of their time together with a hand around his knot and his knuckles between his teeth. He thought about how good the indomitable John Price would look in the throes of heat, completely vulnerable.

He must have been acting differently, because Price had become more distant. Detached, almost. He was shorter, sharper, than Simon had ever known him to be, even when his temper occasionally flared in the face of red tape and stupidity. Simon needed to get this, whatever this was, under control.

Sitting in that café with his black coffee and Bakewell tart, Simon had learned that an alpha of his age was reaching full maturity and his body was ready to find a permanent mate. By mid-thirties, an alpha’s strength and esteem within a pack was fully established, or it would be if the world still worked like it did a few thousand years ago. If they were still in loincloths, Simon would have battered his fair share of pack alphas and worked his way to the top by now. An omega would select him as worthy and choose him to father their pups. His body was just doing what it had done throughout millennia. Preparing.

In all honesty, his sex ed’ had been woefully lacking. Partly because the mixed comprehensive he had attended had been in special measures and the PSHE lessons had been all out brawls at some points, but also because his attendance had dropped below fifty percent fairly regularly throughout his compulsory education. ‘Very intelligent and capable, but limited by his frequent absences,’ had been his school report a few months before he had scraped just enough GCSEs to fall into a trade apprenticeship, and then September eleventh had happened and his whole world outlook had changed.

The guidance on the website also told him that his scent would change. That he might experience more attention from fertile omegas, and notice their scents more, their bodies. There was a paragraph about consent that followed and Simon had winced at the implications of needing it. He had met enough knotheads in his time even outside his own deranged father, fuckin’ Roba, to know why it was there. While most omegas were dominant and fierce by nature, the modern world had flipped things. Sometimes it just wasn't that straight forward.

The notes said it would pass. By late forties, his hormones would ebb away to normal levels again and by then he'd either be mated or, in his case, probably dead. The odds weren’t exactly in his bloody favour with his current choice of career. They also said his attention would probably flit between options, from omega to omega, as his body sought to spread its genetics as far as possible.

Except it fucking didn't, did it?

There were other omegas on base. A gorgeous blonde in logistics with tits and arse for days, a strapping redheaded mechanic with strong thighs and a pretty smile, then there was the brunette in medical. But those are cursory observations. Simon saw them as attractive in the detached manner you looked at someone who was attractive in the traditional sense. Yeah, he could see it, but he didn't want it.

He wanted Price. His fockin’ captain.

Tart and coffee finished, Simon had headed back to base. He tried to exhaust himself in the gym, finished some paperwork, and eventually wandered to the mess hall for some dinner. It was just as he was tucking into a pile of mashed potatoes and gravy that his phone pinged.

CJP: My office.

Simon chucked his tray onto the trolley and headed out. By the time he was knocking on Price's door, his heart was beating hard in anticipation. Of fuckin’ what, he had no idea. Clearly needed to watch less porn because the image his mind provided of Price spread out on his desk, presenting, was bloody unhelpful.

“Simon.” Price acknowledged him with a glance as he shut the door behind him. The room was warm, the old radiator beneath the window chucking out more heat than was strictly necessary this early in October. The lights were dim too, the brightness on Price's monitor turned down lower, and there was a subtle, sweet scent beneath the must of paper, furniture polish and old wallpaper that usually hung in the air.

The primal part of Simon recognised it for what it was, and the rest of him caught up as he got a good look at Price; his cheeks flushed, his blue eyes bright. Pre-heat. Price was getting more sensitive to everything; light, the cold. The smell in here had to be bloody awful to his sensitive nose. Simon blinked slowly, taking a deep breath through the fabric of the mask just to taste more of that glorious promise. If he could lick it out of the air, he would.

“We've got a problem,” Price murmured, slumping back in his chair, his fingers wounded together over his belly.

Simon didn't need to ask. He knew. “S’not a problem, sir. I can keep it under control.”

Price looked down, his face twisting in a brief grimace as he considered the edge of his desk. “S’not just you, Simon. It's me as well.”

Simon blinked, shifting his weight. “Wot?”

“Yer think I can't smell ya? When ya left the gym few hours ago I was meetin’ with Saunders about some performance data. Could smell ya from the otherside of the corridor.”

“Weren’t that fockin’ bad…”

“T’ normal man, no.”

There was an edge in Price's voice. Simon knew his secondary sex was a sore spot. If Price could have chosen, he would have been born an alpha. He despised everything about what he viewed as his ‘condition’. No one else knew, of course. The captain played his personal life close to his chest. Most of the time people assumed he was an alpha and didn’t look any closer. He was six foot two, built like a soldier should be; there was no reason to assume otherwise.

Perfect in every way, Simon's mind offered unhelpfully. Followed by an intrusive thought about how strong and intelligent their pups would be. Fuckin’ ‘ell.

“Was’the plan?”

Because there was always a plan and Simon would follow Price into hellfire if he asked.

“Thought about sending you away, reassigning you,” Price said, his gaze flicking up to level Simon with a pensive look. “Bu’ I couldn't. Need ya. 141 needs ya.”

Simon realised he could breathe again. The mere idea that Price would send him away - to fuckin’ where? No reasonable officer would take him on - left him frozen, every muscle seizing like he'd been turned to stone. Need ya.

Not just the 141. But Price. Price needed him.

“Then wot? Wot we doin’ ‘ere?” Simon’s voice crackled, the words cloying in his throat.

That grimace was back. A pinched look of regret pulled Price’s lips back, his eyes squinting. He scrubbed a hand over his beard and breathed in a deep breath through his nose. “Gonna ask ya sommin’. Ya can say no. S’your right t’ say no. Ya’understand?”

Simon’s fingers clenched into his palms, and he dipped his chin in a barely perceptible nod.

“This… whatever it is. Could put ‘em danger, Johnny, Gaz, any soldier we have with us. It's foggin’ our minds, distractin’ us. I can't afford that in the field,” Price spoke slowly, like he was trying to reason with himself as well as Simon. “Way I see it is we need t’ nip it in the bud. Best way to do that is give it what it needs. A bond.”

An errant gust of wind could have knocked Simon to the floor at that moment. Like a giant rotten oak tree barely clinging on in the soil. His mouth went dry, huffing in another deep lungful of Price's scent as his heart accelerated in his chest.

“I know ‘m askin’ a lot of ya. More an’ I ever have. But what we do, the greater good we fight for, s’too important t’--”

“Yeah.”

“Wot?”

“Yeah, I'll do it. I wan’ it. Wan’ you.” The confession tripped out of Simon's mouth before he could stop it. He stepped up to the desk, his hands planting on the surface, which, in hindsight, had probably been a poor choice. He watched Price tense in his chair briefly, before he slowly rose to his feet, weathered palms planting opposite Simon's to level him with a stern look.

“That's the hormones talkin’. Ya need t’ think it through.”

“Naw, I don’t,” Simon said, studying the freckles on Price's face, the sun damage on his forehead, the wrinkles around bright blue eyes, strong jaw framed by his uneven beard. A face he linked with safety and certainty and leadership. “S'you, s’always been you.”

Price dropped his eyes away, his head hanging for a moment, the sigh that followed sounded dog tired. When he looked up, those blue eyes had hardened, the light dulled.. “Simon, ya committin’ to a bond. S’for life. And ya not gettin’ a sweet thing that’ll fawn over ya. I'm not gonna give ya a pup, no family of yer own, ‘m not gonna kneel for ya, not gonna walk barefoot round yer kitchen, do ya laundry. ‘m not some pretty arm piece, Simon. Few years of lookin’, ya might find yerself a proper mate.”

“Don't care ‘bout any of that. Never have.”

“Because ya never gave yerself a chance,” Price growled, rubbing at his face again. “Take a day. Think about it. Fer…” he swallowed, “...fer me, if not for yerself.”

Simon could smell something new. It was bitter on the back of his tongue. Distress. He lifted one of his hands without thinking, reaching for Price's face, but the captain flinched back. It was an involuntary response and Simon hated himself for causing it. “Sorry,” he grunted, fingers curling into his palm.

“S’fine, jus’...” Price stood up straight, adjusting his t-shirt, thumbs hooking in his belt. Recovering himself, “...go, fink it over, don't give me an answer ‘til tomorrow after work.”

“Right.” Simon stepped back from the desk even though every instinct was screaming at him to protect Price from whatever was causing that smell. There was no immediate threat so he couldn't even fight something; his entire skill set rendered useless in the face of whatever battle was going on inside Price's head. “See you for mornin’ briefing, sir.”

Price nodded. Simon left.

He didn't sleep that night. He stared up into the gloomy grey above his bed, wholly fixated on the parting image of Price, his face pinched, his scent riddled with distress and misery. He didn't want this, did he? Didn't want Simon like Simon wanted him. But what was new? Simon was perpetually unwanted. It was the story of his life.

This was the right thing though. For the 141 and, Simon knew, for him. A mate like Price was more than he could have ever aspired to in normal circumstances. He had resigned himself to dying unbonded, to never experiencing what it felt like to be one with another person, to hear their voice and feel peace, to smell their scent and feel joy, to taste their skin, hold them, and feel whole.

He had given himself to Price in all but bond anyway. This was a natural next step, even if Price himself seemed conflicted. It was an imperfect solution, riddled with grey, the cracks in the facade papered over, but that was them through and through.

The following day went by slower than a slug crawling across a salt flat. Price was nowhere to be found, sequestered away in his office while he tried to tidy up urgent matters before his three days of booked leave. Simon ran courses with the new batch of rookies up for selection and sparred with Johnny in the gym. The opportunity to exercise his physicality was welcome. His body was strong, capable, the best part of him. The part of him that would serve Price loyally.

After dinner, Simon headed back to Price's office and tapped the door. The voice from the other side sounded even more exhausted than it had the night before. “Simon,” Price said, not looking up from the form in front of him. “Got yer answer then?”

“Yeah,” Simon said, “it's a yes. I accept. I… wan’ to bond with ya.”

Price placed his pen down slowly and leaned back in his chair. There was sweat on his temples and Simon could smell him even stronger than the day before. Fuckin’ delicious. “Right,” Price said. “Simon, you, uh… you need to know my heat, it's uhm… I find it difficult. Never shared it with anyone before.”

Simon could see Price's discomfort. How much he hated exposing this vulnerability. He sniffed, scratched his chin, and finally looked up at Simon's masked face. Simon blinked slowly. “S’ok. We’ll take it at your pace. You headin’ off tonight?”

Price glanced at the duffel bag on the chair by the window and nodded. “Yeah. You, uh… we can wait ‘til next time if you were savin’ yer leave for somethin’ special.”

“Naw, I'm good. You alright to put it through so I can go shove some pants in a bag?”

Price huffed. “Fuckin’ ‘ell, not only approvin’ your leave requests but now I'm fillin’ ‘em in for you lazy bastards.” He tapped at his keyboard and jutted his chin at the door. “G'won. Leavin’ base at nine. Don't be late.”

Simon left Price to do his paperwork and headed back to his quarters. He grabbed some underwear, some clean t-shirts and a pair of flannel shorts, his headphones and the Asimov paperwork he was chewing through at the average pace of a single page every three days. Omegas needed to sleep at some point, right?

The final hour for departure sped by and soon Simon was heading out into the base car park to find Price's old Land Rover chugging away on the tarmac. Price sat in the driver's seat, wrapped in his coat and scarf, beanie pulled low over his ears, breathing into his hands.

“All good?” Price asked as Simon climbed into the passenger seat.

“Yeah. You… uh, you ok to drive?”

Price’s jaw twitched and Simon regretted opening his stupid fucking mouth. “Yeah. Fine. Stupor will set in later. Once I'm…” his voice dropped, “nesting.” He said it like it was an embarrassing admission, not a natural part of his instincts and cycle. Simon didn't probe any further and sat in silence as Price pushed the Landie into first and pulled away. The drive into town was quiet. Price turned on the radio once they'd pulled off base and they listened to the latest chart on BBC Hereford & Worcester.

Price had a little one bedroom flat in Leominster that he commuted from most days. Sometimes he kipped over in the barracks after a long shift and it wasn't unusual to find him asleep in the rec room if a briefing had over run and he was too tired to drive back. The 141 knew it well as they had spent their ruts there since they'd joined the task force. It was cozy, clean, with traces of their captain as a man rather than a legend.

When Simon stepped through the front door, the Land Rover tucked up for the night in the carport, he drew in a deep breath and felt his eyes flutter. He shed his coat and kicked his boots off and watched with no small amount of affection as Price grabbed them immediately to stack next to his, before slipping into a pair of well trodden slippers. “Brew?” Price asked as they headed into the open plan living room.

“Yeah, gaspin’,” Simon said, placing his duffel down by the arm of the couch before slumping into the middle of it. The material was a well worn brushed cotton, with two tartan fleece blankets thrown over the back. Simon pulled his mask over his head and ruffled a hand through his flattened hair, before burying his newly naked face into the scent of Price soaked into the soft material. He could picture him here in the evenings, wrapped up and snoozing, probably snoring his bloody head off like he did on op. But relaxed, at home, nested.

“Yer like a fuckin’ bloodhound,” Price grumbled as he walked over, a steaming mug of tea clutched in each hand.

“I ain't drinkin’ outta that Liverpool mug.”

“Ahh, wind yer neck in, it's mine.” Price dumped the other mug on the coffee table in front of Simon, and then fell into the armchair. Still keeping a slight distance. This was different from when they met to weather Simon's rut. Simon was the vulnerable one in that and he trusted Price implicitly, but now their roles were reversed, and Price wasn’t used to not holding the leash.

Simon slurped a mouthful of tea - perfect brew, strong, two sugars - and glanced at the telly when Price switched it on. The ten o’clock news, a slew of reports about how the world was going to shit and the rich were benefiting from it. Simon was only half paying attention, maybe not even half, because from the corner of his eye he was observing Price.

He was slumped low in the chair, his lips parted, his eyes misty. The scent rolling off of him was saccharin, deeply appealing, and Simon's fingers twitched against the warm ceramic of his mug. Price managed to finish his before his eyes slid closed, his breathing growing a little ragged as his fingers kneaded at the arms of his chair. “Captain?” Simon prompted, his mug landing softly on a coaster.

“Yeah, I'm good…”

“D’ya need anythin’?”

Price swallowed, observing Simon from beneath low lashes. A grimace passed over his face, his thighs pushing together. “Gonna shower… there's scran in the fridge, help yasel’.” His accent thickened briefly as his mind struggled to find purchase, and Simon watched him head into the bedroom with a faint smile. He listened to Price move around his bedroom through the wall, and then the rush of water as he turned the shower on.

How long did he wait? Did he coax? It was usually easier than this. Price led the way, tugging Simon's clothes off, praising him in that rough, no-nonsense way he had; stable, certain. This Price was different. He was distant, anxious, even. Simon waited until the stream of water was disrupted, sloshing against the glass and tiles, before he rolled to his feet.

Maybe it was a shitty thing to do, but he knew he needed to do something. Price was clearly struggling. Limping through the last few hours before his heat settled in and dreading every moment of it. Simon pulled his clothes off, folding them over the laundry basket near the bedroom door, before he walked into the bathroom. He found Price panting in the steam, his hands against the wall as the water streamed down his freckled back, head bowed low between his shoulders.

He wasn't quiet as he slid the glass shower door to the side and slipped into the cubicle, his palm sliding over Price's ribs to glide up his chest. Price startled with a snarl, twisting around to latch a hand around Simon's throat as the other snatched his wrist. “Easy,” Simon whispered, airways restricted as Price squeezed. “Lemme help. Not gonna hurt ya, John.”

Price's shoulders heaved, blue eyes bright and feverish. Simon leaned into the palm at his throat and realised Price’s arm gave. He was shaking. Simon slid a palm up the tiles and eased Price back against his forearm as he pushed further, closer, until his lips slotted to Price’s and his tongue swept into his mouth. Simon used his greater height and bulk to his advantage, enveloping Price in his arms and drawing him into the warmth of his body, hand sliding down his back to his arse to bring their hips together.

Price was skittish, he wanted the kiss but kept drawing back before licking forward again, like he was clinging onto the cliff edge by his fingernails. His hands scrambled over Simon's chest, pushing him, gripping him, uncertain how to respond to the alpha swamping him. Price wasn't small, not by any standard, but Simon had a little extra, enough to cradle him, make him feel safe. Where Price was athletic and lean in his height and strength, Simon was bulky. Lots for a hungry omega to sink his teeth into.

“Simon…” Price grunted, tensing up as Simon's mouth kissed down his throat to the slope of his neck where his gland sat beneath his skin. His nails bit into Simon's shoulders, lips peeling back in a low growl. “Don't… not… not ready, can't…”

“S’ok, I know,” Simon murmured. “Relax. Need ya t’ trust me. Not gonna hurt ya.”

“‘m… don't judge me, for…”

“Not gonna. None o’ this will make me think anythin’ less of you, sir. S’a gift.”

Price flinched. “S’a curse. I… I fuckin’ hate it.”

“I know,” Simon murmured, opening his mouth to suckle on Price’s neck as he caressed up and down his body. Every pass of his palms over flushed skin seemed to be easing the tension, gentling him into his heat. His touch only paused to grab the soap and shampoo, washing Price tenderly, encouraged by the way he arched and writhed beneath the smooth glide of skin on skin. Simon worshipped every scar, every mole, every dip and curve of muscle. Those ragged pants broke around soft whimpers and soon the steam was saturated with the scent of an aroused omega’s heat.

When his fingers slipped over the full curve of Price’s arse to the crease of his thigh, Price’s foot shifted out, inviting Simon's caress between his legs. Simon gladly provided, fingertips stroking gently over slick folds, pressing a little firmer with each pass until he was teasing Price's hole, tight muscles fluttering at Simon's finger in eager anticipation. “Fuck… you're wet…”

“‘m.. in the shower..” Price rasped, sounding dazed, and Simon smiled against his neck. Tentative hands began to explore Simon’s body, following familiar paths around his full tits and down his stomach to the thick, hot length of his erection pressing into Price’s hips. Simon shifted his own until his shaft could slide between Price's thighs. Spread as they were, it was just a tease, the ridge of his crown drawing back and forth over Price's slit, glans catching across the swell of his own small cock and making him stutter.

Simon moaned into Price’s neck, the scent, the heat, the feeling of Price's strong body yielding to him inch by inch, it was a heady mix that was teasing him higher into feverish excitement. But he couldn't knot Price here. The first one took a while to go down and he didn't fancy keeping six foot plus of omega pinned to cold tiles while they waited for the tie to end.

Simon drew Price out of the water and wrapped him in the warm towel from the radiator. The bedroom was warm, the bed even warmer as Simon lowered Price into it, tugging the towel into the floor, and nudging his thighs apart as he leaned down for a kiss. Simon ground his cock through Price's folds, smearing slick and precum over flushed hot skin. Price arched, opening his hips and hitching his legs high up Simon's sides.

Simon gathered one of Price’s hands and wound their fingers together, pressing them into the mattress above Price's head as he reached down to guide his cock. He held it steady as he thrust his tip into the tight clutch of Price's body, teasing back and forth. It was sweet, sweet torture.

“Simon, hnn, ahh… please…”

“Tell me ya wan’ this.”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck… ahh, please…”

“Yer fuckin’ gorgeous, sir. Look at you.”

Simon kissed him, sucking his lips, his tongue, but drew back when he began to thrust in deeper. He wanted to watch Price’s face as he was taken for the first time. The way it relaxed in bewildered pleasure, blue eyes rolling; glistening, kiss-swollen lips parting as a low moan trembled from his chest. Simon bottomed out, his balls pressed to the underside of Price's arse, full and heavy in the heat.

He had never wanted to knot and breed so much in his life. Not even in the chokehold of rut did the urge feel this strong. The scent of heat soaked his tongue, cloyed in his throat, and as Simon began to thrust deep into Price's body, the snug, warm grip of it sucking so eagerly on the thick girth of his prick, Price finally relaxed, his head tilting back as he panted and moaned.

The sheets dampened beneath his arched back, Simon's hand slipping beneath him, encouraging the curve of his spine as Simon sat up on his knees, drawing Price up onto his lap to bounce him down onto his cock with his furred chest pressed up and open, letting Simon suck and kiss his full tits, his dusky nipples pebbled hard in arousal as tongue and teeth swept over them.

Price clenched a hand in Simon’s hair, the other dropping behind him to support his weight against the mattress so he had agency in the roll of his hips, meeting each of Simon’s thrusts over his sweet spot. Now that he didn't need both hands to support Price’s body, Simon snuck one between them, thumb rubbing the swell of Price’s leaking cock. Price got loud, more than the stifled pants of their usual trysts. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck–”

Price's thighs pushed wide as his orgasm curled through him, sinking down until every inch of Simon’s thick cock was inside him. Simon ground in, growling low in his chest as he felt Price pulse and throb around his cock, slick dripping down his balls and thighs. Price was completely lost in pleasure, fockin’ beautiful, flushed and euphoric. He didn't fight when Simon shifted him onto his front and raised his hips, mounting him while on his feet, two big hands pressing down on his waist. Price dropped his chest to the bed and spread his knees wide, cocking his hips so that Simon could thrust deep. It was a natural breeding position and Simon's arousal intensified, cock rock hard as his omega presented.

Watching Price's back muscles flex, his arse cheeks ripple under the force of Simon's thrusts, hearing his blissed out noises as they were punched from his chest, soon teased Simon's knot out of him. It swelled just as Price's second orgasm tightened his hole, and Simon ground forward, circling his hips until it popped inside clenching muscle.

Price cried out, his orgasm intensifying as his body pulsed, instinctually milking Simon for every drop as he came. It was intense; mind-fuckingly good. Simon scrunched his eyes closed and saw lights behind his lids, and he listened as Price’s gravelly voice broke and whimpered through the swells of pleasure rolling through him.

When the aftershocks calmed, Simon eased them onto their sides, wrapping Price in his arms as his knot stayed snug inside his body. He pressed kisses into his damp hair, teased sensitive skin, and whispered praise. They dozed like that, surfacing to exchange lazy kisses before drifting off again. When Simon's knot went down, he drew out gently, only to replace his cock with his fingers. Price's hole was sloppy, loose and relaxed, and Simon groaned low in his throat. “Gonna breed you, love. Gonna make you mine.”

Price chuffed softly in response, thighs flopping open so that Simon could caress him properly, pushing his leaking seed back inside. Simon didn't need asking twice.

They mated throughout the night into the early morning. Simon left the bed long enough to get some food and water, and helped Price with both as the haze of heat made his movements sluggish. After a few hours of sleep, Simon woke him with another knot, holding him back to chest as he slid into him from behind. Each knot was a thorough breeding, their hormones, their scents, their bodies mixing until Price was ready to be bonded.

Simon was hilt deep when he finally sank his teeth into Price's gland. His omega draped over him, back to chest, strong body arched in submission. Simon cupped beneath a thigh, thrusting into him with a semi-inflated knot that was making his eyes roll in overwhelming bliss. He tilted his head away under the guidance of Simon's hand at his chin, and Simon finally claimed the object of his desire, knot swelling inside him and triggering an intense wave of pleasure that made Price's body seize up.

The wound stopped bleeding as Simon licked it. He remembered vaguely reading something about alpha's having a clotting agent in their saliva sparked by the process of mating. Price’s pained huffs faded into softer sighs, and Simon held him as his body adjusted to the sudden surge of hormones in his bloodstream. Simon slid his palm over Price’s belly and cupped beneath its slight swell.

“I know ‘m not your first choice,” Simon whispered in the quiet, his throat hoarse. “But…”

“Simon,” Price murmured, soft, wistful. “You're it. Jus’... always thought ya deserved better ‘an me.”

Simon's heart clenched in his chest, his nose burying in Price's hair. “Ain't nothin’ better ‘an you.”

“Got… bad taste in clothing and men, that bloody bally…”

“Olrigh’ boonie hat,” Simon chuckled, rocking his hips up a little in revenge. Price groaned, his body bearing down around Simon’s knot in a sudden throb of pleasure. “Heard bonded mating is a whole new level, but this… fuck, the noises you make.”

Price huffed softly. “Gettin’ a big head, Riley…”

“Naw, reckon I'm on the money, maybe I need t’ remind you again.” Simon slid a hand down Price's body to stroke his cock, rolling his hips slowly to grind his knot over Price's sweet spot, the stretch just the right side of too much. Price gasped, his back arching, and Simon clamped an arm around his chest to keep him still, giving him no choice but to endure the heated pleasure curling through his hips.

They had another day and a half to secure their bond before they had to return to work, and in that time, Simon would make sure Price never had a reason to dread his heat again.

#captain john price #simon ghost riley #ghostprice #ghostpriceweek #there is definitely a typo or two left #but i am outta time lads #i will scan back through tomorra

354 notes · View notes

theshiniestgemstone · 2 months ago

Note

...what if Gideon was like really possessive about Y/n and his family teases him about it?

Like they're at a water park or smth and Judy buys Y/n a pretty small bikini and some guy starts flirting with her and Gideon flips out and Jesse is watching from afar so excited to embarrass him at dinner that night

Relaxing, they said.

Just a weekend at the beach, they said.

What they didn't mention was that Gideon was about to pop a blood vessel, once this morning.

His eyes nearly bulged out of his head, his throat growing dry when he spotted Y/N in the large standing mirror. He was barely awake, blinking a few times as if he couldn't trust what he was seeing. There she was, smoothing out wrinkles in the string bikini, adjusting the knot behind her neck.

"You're going to wear that?" He asked, voice hoarse. More from the sight of the way the bottoms accentuated the curve of her hips. The top covered just enough to keep her breasts in place.

"It's too much, right?" She snickered. "Not enough. Judy pulled it off the rack when she saw me pick up a one-piece. She said I had a 'rockin' hot bod' and I should flaunt it. Then she called me bitch so I think she likes me."

Gideon could barely string two thoughts together, let alone form a proper sentence. His hand shot up, rubbing the back of his neck as he turned his face away like it burned him just to look at her.

"No, it’s-" He cleared his throat, coughing once. "Fine. It’s fine."

Y/N turned to face him fully, one brow arching high. She wasn’t stupid. She knew exactly what kind of effect she was having, standing there barefoot with that playful glint in her eye.

"Relax, Gemstone," she teased, grabbing a towel off the counter and tossing it over her shoulder. "I’ll be in the water half the time anyway. It’s not like you gotta stare."

He followed her like a lovesick puppy most of the morning, rubbed sunscreen on her back when they finally made it down to the beach. He sat down in a lounge chair between his mother and aunt. He spent about an hour with Y/N in his arms, listening to the waves crash. Then, right after lunch settled, she took off her wrap and headed for the water.

He smiled, watching her walk away. Gideon leaned back in his chair, feeling the warmth of the sun on his skin, but his eyes never left Y/N. As she waded into the water, her movements were effortless, almost like she'd done this a thousand times before. The breeze tossed her hair around, the sunlight glinting off the ocean like it was made just for her. He felt that familiar tug at his chest, the one that made him want to keep her close, the one that made him want to protect her from everything.

"Quit staring," his mom teased from beside him, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Gideon rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I’m not staring," he muttered, trying to focus on the conversation at hand, but his eyes still kept drifting back to the water.

Half the time. The words rolled around on his tongue the other half of the time when she stood at the bar, a cover-up wrapped around her waist as she waited for a drink after about an hour of playing in the water.

“Gideon, baby, put your sunglasses on,” Amber said, reaching up and tugging them down from where they were perched uselessly on the crown of his head. She settled them firmly over his eyes, patting his cheek like he was a fussy toddler.

Gideon grumbled under his breath, crossing his arms over his chest. He wasn’t squinting because of the sun; he was glaring, burning holes into the back of some muscular guy wearing bright green swim trunks, who apparently couldn’t stop staring at her. He watched as she came out of the water. His eyes were on her when she wrapped the mesh fabric around her and asked everyone if they wanted anything.

Judy snickered, smearing sunscreen onto BJ's nose and cheeks. "I told her she'd look good in that."

BJ nodded. "The cut of the bottoms really bring out her figure and-"

Gideon gritted his teeth. "Come on, guys."

Judy and BJ barely looked up at him, too busy chatting amongst themselves to notice the storm cloud forming over Gideon's head. They were oblivious, talking like it was just another day at the beach, but all Gideon could see was the way the guy in the green trunks kept lingering a little too long in Y/N's direction, laughing a little too loudly at something she said.

"I swear to God," Gideon muttered, pacing a little on the sand. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the guy, even as Y/N strolled casually away, blissfully unaware of the war raging inside him.

Green Trunks followed her. "Can I, like, get your number or.."

Y/N turned around. "Why?" She rolled the straw between her fingers.

Green Trunks faltered, clearly caught off guard by her cool demeanor. "Uh, I dunno. You're, like, really... uh..." He trailed off, eyes flicking to her figure, his words getting lost in his uncertainty. "You're just... pretty."

Y/N didn’t respond right away. She just held his gaze, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. She took a slow sip from her drink, letting the silence hang in the air like a challenge.

"That's cute," she said finally, her voice cool, but her eyes gleaming with amusement. "But my boyfriend's waiting on me."

The man scoffed. "I make six figures. No kids, no baby mama drama. What about these?" He flexed his arms. "I'll take care of you."

Gideon felt his chest sting. He was about to step forward but Y/N laughed. Not a polite one, either, but one that sliced through the air and took every Gemstone's attention. "Yeah, dude, because that's attractive."

He waved her off. "Your boyfriend looks like a bitch. At least you'd be with a real man."

Gideon’s blood ran cold at the words, but before he could do anything rash, Y/N's expression shifted. The playful smirk was gone, replaced by something far sharper, more dangerous. Her eyes narrowed at the man, and she took a slow, deliberate step closer to him.

"That’s funny," she said, her voice low and cold now, like a blade being drawn from its sheath. "Because I don't see a man here. I see a man who's too insecure to even take a hint. I'm. Not. Interested."

The guy blinked, clearly thrown off by her confidence, but he was too proud to back down. "What’s your problem, sweetheart? You think you can do better than me?"

Gideon felt his body tense, fingers itching to shove the guy off his feet. He stormed forward, only stopping when Y/N raised her arm. "Not worth it, baby."

Gideon glared at the man for a moment before he uttered a curse under his breath and turned around, his hand landing on Y/N's hip. She stood beside Gideon for a moment. "I'm feelin' a little tired. I might go take a nap."

Gideon’s hand stayed on her hip a moment longer than necessary, the contact sending a jolt through him. He didn't miss the way her body tensed under his touch, her muscles relaxing only once she gave him a quiet, reassuring look. She knew exactly what she was doing, making him feel things he hadn’t expected.

She turned toward the house without waiting for a response, but Gideon couldn’t help following her, his mind racing. Every step felt like a pull, an invisible tether between them. He knew he should leave her to her space. Let her have her time to recharge, but the intensity of that moment had left him feeling like he couldn’t walk away.

The moment the door closed, she pressed her lips to his.

"What was that for?" Gideon asked, breathless.

She snorted, smoothing out the lapels of his dress shirt. "I like when you get defensive. And possessive."

He rolled his eyes. "No, I-"

"Gideon, you didn't move from that chair once and watched me like a hawk." She looked up at him with the big puppy dog eyes that would make him do anything for her. "Show me I'm yours?"

+++

The night at dinner was a scene straight out of one of those awkward family gatherings where everyone knows exactly what happened, but no one wants to be the first to mention it. They were late to dinner and Y/N's bikini had been exchanged for a t-shirt, walking into the dining room with a slight wobble. All eyes were on them when he pulled the chair out for her and she sat down with a wince and a quiet thank you.

Judy, as usual, was the one to speak up, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "So," she started, her tone light but with a knowing edge. "Someone looked a little tense today. I mean, I thought we were going to have to get a fire extinguisher for all that smoke coming off of him."

Gideon groaned, rubbing a hand over his face as Amber stifled a laugh. "Aunt Judy, can you-"

Jesse, sitting across from him, was leaning back in his chair, grinning from ear to ear. "No, no. Let’s hear it," he said, his voice dripping with amusement. "We got a real situation here. Gideon’s got that...what's the word...oh, yeah, 'protective' look down pat."

Gideon shot him a glare, but it only made his father more delighted. "Yup, protective," Jesse continued, raising his glass of iced tea. "I don't think I’ve ever seen someone look like they wanted to choke a guy out for just talking to a woman before. But, then again, that’s what happens when you're clearly a real man."

Y/N, who had been quietly sipping her water, couldn't help but smirk at Gideon. "What exactly are you implying, Jesse?" she asked, her voice teasing.

Jesse put his hands up, feigning innocence. "Oh, nothing! Just that maybe Gideon’s finally figured out that you're not some little girl anymore." He leaned forward, eyes twinkling. "Right, son?"

Gideon stiffened, his jaw clenching as the rest of the family looked on, clearly entertained by the awkward tension. His voice came out rougher than he intended. "I’m not... I wasn’t jealous," he muttered, clearly trying to defend himself, though no one was buying it. Not even him.

"Oh, honey," Amber chimed in, eyes sparkling. "We all saw it. You had your eyes locked on that guy like he’d stolen your last sandwich. Don’t think you're fooling anyone."

Y/N couldn’t help herself. She threw a quick glance at Gideon, her smirk growing wider. "It was cute, honestly," she said, her tone light but full of amusement. "I didn’t realize you cared that much."

Gideon was practically blushing, and the family was eating it up. Jesse, especially, was loving every second of it. "Look at him," Jesse said, practically rubbing his hands together. "Gideon’s a real man now, folks. He’s out here fighting for his girl like he's got something to prove."

Y/N’s smirk only grew, her eyes twinkling as she caught the way his fingers curled at his sides, a clear sign of how uncomfortable he was. She leaned forward slightly, her voice low but full of that teasing warmth only she could bring. "He is a real man," she said, her gaze lingering on Gideon before turning back to the rest of the table. "Showed me just how much of a man he is." She smirked again, giving Gideon a wink, letting him know that his discomfort wasn’t going unnoticed.

Amber tutted from across the table, her brow furrowed in mock disapproval. "Y’all better not be making any grandbabies in this house," she said with a shake of her head, her tone dripping with playful sarcasm.

Eli, on the other hand, seemed to be taking this all in stride, a slow chuckle rolling out of him as he looked over at Gideon. "Let 'em," he said, raising his glass with a knowing look. "I don't know how much time I have left," he added, voice soft but filled with a strange sense of finality. He then turned his gaze to his grandson, giving him a slow nod. "But at least I saw at least one grandkid become a man."

Gideon groaned loudly, sinking lower in his seat, wishing he could just vanish into the wooden chair. "Oh, Jesus Christ," he muttered under his breath, half-exasperated, half-embarrassed. The appetizers haven't even been served.

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