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orangeblossomsintheair · 15 days ago

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WRITTEN IN THE SAND | CS55

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

wc : 8.5k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bonjour,” you said, breezing past her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kika frowned. “Step one material?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To Carlos or Charles’s ghost?”

“Whoever makes it there first.”

—-

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

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

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

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

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

“Wanna go to Ibiza with me?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm. Okay.”

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

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

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

“I’ll kick harder if you don’t move.”

—-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dios mío.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Carlos!”

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

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

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

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

Sister?

Oh, no.

Oh, god.

He just flirted with Charles’ sister.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He swallowed hard, his throat dry.

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

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

Charles, blissfully unaware, gave Carlos an out.

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

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

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

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

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

This week was supposed to be about relaxing.

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

—-

Carlos had made his decision.

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

It was the only logical choice.

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

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

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

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

He’d lock it all down.

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

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

It was a good plan.

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

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

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

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

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

Carlos had always considered himself good at poker.

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

You were to blame.

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

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

You didn’t have anything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Carlos barely noticed them.

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

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

Carlos acted before he could think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It kept happening.

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

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

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

“Desperate,” Pierre corrected, his tone smug.

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

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

He shook his head. “I’m fine.”

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

Not this time.

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

Your eyes widened. “Carlos-”

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

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

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

“Guess that’s it for me.”

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

Carlos’ stomach dropped. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

“Trust me?” he echoed carefully.

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

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

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

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

Charles raised an eyebrow.

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

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

“I know,” he said simply.

Carlos blinked. “You... know?”

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

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

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

Carlos nodded quickly, swallowing hard. “Understood.”

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And oddly suspicious.

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

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

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

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

You felt it immediately.

The tug of the water.

The loosening of straps.

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

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

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

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

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

Option one was looking more appealing until you heard the soft crunch of footsteps on sand.

Carlos.

Of course, it was Carlos.

Because fate had a sense of humor, and apparently, you were its favorite punchline.

He ambled out of the villa, a towel slung lazily over his shoulder, his dark curls sticking up like he’d just rolled out of bed. His face was adorably grumpy, the pout of someone who hadn’t had coffee yet. And then his gaze landed on you.

He froze.

You froze.

You tried to act casual. Well, as casual as one could while half-submerged, hugging their chest like they were reenacting a dramatic shipwreck scene.

Carlos’s frown deepened, concern flickering across his face as he took a hesitant step closer. “Are you… drowning?”

“Not drowning,” you chirped, your tone overly bright. “But thanks for checking!”

“Oh.” His voice cracked slightly. He cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at you. “Right. Uh… do you- want me to…?”

His brow furrowed. “Then why are you…?” His words trailed off as his eyes drifted to the water, where your bikini top bobbed lazily with the current.

Realization dawned like a slap, his cheeks instantly turning a satisfying shade of pink.

“Be my hero, Carlos,” you said with exaggerated sweetness, gesturing dramatically toward the water. “Save my dignity before the ocean claims it forever.”

He stared at you for a moment, his lips twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or groan. “Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath before tossing his towel onto the sand and wading into the water.

You tried not to watch him, but… well. You were stuck here, and it’s not like there was much else to look at. The way his muscles flexed, the water slicking over his skin.

It was distracting. Infuriatingly distracting.

He resurfaced a moment later, holding up your bikini top like a trophy.

“Got it,” he called.

“Oh, congratulations, Captain of the Swim Team.” You clapped. “Now bring it here before someone else decides to take a morning stroll.”

Carlos swam back, wading into shallower water as he handed it to you. His smirked when you snatched it from his hand.

“Need help putting it back on, princess?”

You raised a brow. “Funny. Actually, yes.”

That wiped the smirk off his face.

“…What?”

You turned your back to him, holding out the tangled strings over your shoulder. “It’s all knotted. Be a gentleman, Carlos.”

He made a strangled sound. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nope. Chop-chop.” You wiggled the strings for emphasis.

Carlos muttered something in Spanish, but he stomped through the water toward you anyway. You could practically feel the heat radiating off him as his hands carefully took the strings.

His fingers skimmed over your bare skin, and your breath caught in your throat. Sharp and shallow.

“Stop fidgeting,” Carlos muttered, his voice rough with concentration.

“You’re taking forever.”

“It’s not exactly easy tying this thing without looking.”

“Look, then.”

Carlos froze.

The silence stretched.

You could feel his breath behind you, hot against the curve of your neck.

Slowly, deliberately, his hands tightened around the strings. Not painfully, just firm enough to make you gasp and spin around.

“Carlos!”

He didn’t flinch.

His dark eyes locked on yours, sharp and unreadable. Then, with a darkness you recognized, his gaze flicked to your lips and lingered.

Too long.

Your pulse stuttered.

“Carlos,” you warned, softer this time.

He didn’t move. Neither did you.

And then it happened.

His mouth crashed into yours, hot and demanding.

You barely had time to gasp before his arms wrapped around your waist, yanking you flush against him.

For a moment, the world dissolved. The waves, the sun, the beach. All of it disappeared beneath the heat of his kiss.

And then he pulled back, breaking the moment with a frustrated groan.

“We can’t do this,” Carlos said, his hands still gripping your waist.

“Sure we can.” You grinned, breathless, leaning closer. “We’re already doing it.”

His grip tightened as if he was trying to anchor himself. “I’m too old for this. For you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, please. You’re thirty, not eighty.”

“That’s not the point,” he snapped, his voice rough. “You… You deserve someone younger. Someone who-”

“Someone who what?” you interrupted, your eyes narrowing. “Someone who’s scared of me? Who wouldn’t be able to handle me?”

“Someone who doesn’t know better,” he said quietly, his gaze dropping to your lips again.

You softened, leaning closer. “Maybe I don’t want someone who doesn’t know better.”

Carlos let out a strangled laugh, shaking his head. “You’re going to ruin me, you know that?”

“Good,” you whispered, brushing your lips against his.

For a moment, he gave in, his mouth claiming yours again, desperate and unrelenting.

But then he tore himself away, his chest heaving as he stepped back, the water lapping at his thighs.

“This is a bad idea,” he said, his voice rough.

“Carlos,” you said softly, stepping toward him.

His hands came up, stopping you. “You don’t get it. I can’t just-” He gestured between the two of you, struggling to find the words. “If this goes wrong…”

“It won’t,” you said firmly. “You’re overthinking it.”

For a long moment, he just stared at you, torn between caution and temptation.

“God help me,” he muttered before pulling you back into his arms, kissing you like he’d never stop.

“Oh, please. You like it.”

That did it.

Carlos groaned, a raw, frustrated sound, and suddenly his hand was in yours, gripping tight.

“Come on.”

“Where are we-?”

“Somewhere with fewer witnesses.”

You laughed, breathless and exhilarated, stumbling after him as he dragged you toward the rocky outcropping at the edge of the beach.

“Oh, now you’re worried about witnesses?”

Carlos shot you a look over his shoulder. “Yeah, well, I’m not tying your bikini back on twice.”

You snorted. “Coward.”

“Keep talking, and I’ll leave you naked out here.”

“Oh, threats!” You giggled, letting him pull you behind the rocks, the world disappearing behind towering stone and crashing waves.

And then he was on you again.

No hesitation, no teasing.

Pinned against the rough stone, your body trembling in Carlos’s firm grip, his mouth crushed against yours with a ferocity that left you breathless.

His hands slid over your waist, pulling you flush against him, the heat of his body searing into yours.

He kissed like he had all the time in the world. Like he was determined to take every last bit of air from your lungs.

You gasped, fingers clutching at his shoulders as he backed you harder into the rock, the scrape of it barely registering against the dizzying sensations he drew from you.

His lips left yours, trailing down your jaw, to the tender spot just below your ear, and you shivered as his teeth scraped lightly over your skin.

“God, Carlos-” you whispered, but the words broke off into a gasp when his hands slid under your thighs, lifting you higher against him.

“Mm.” His lips curved against your throat, and he hummed low, a sound filled with lazy amusement. His mouth worked along your neck, deliberate and unhurried, leaving your skin flushed and tingling.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes roamed over you.

Your swollen lips, your heaving chest, your thighs trembling where they rested against his hips. He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth curving up, the faintest smirk playing on his lips.

“Has anyone ever made you come with their mouth before?” he asked though he looked as though he already knew the answer.

The heat in your face intensified, your breath catching as his hands wandered down your thighs, teasing the edge of your bikini bottoms.

You tried to respond, but the words stuck in your throat, and all you managed was a small shake of your head.

His smirk deepened, a low chuckle escaping him as he brushed his thumb over your flushed cheek. “Didn’t think so,” he murmured. “You’re so damn pretty when you’re flustered. Cute.”

Your hips instinctively arched toward him, but he didn’t rush. He held you steady, hands firm but gentle, guiding you with a patience that only heightened the ache between your legs.

His lips found your collarbone, kissing and nipping lightly, as though savoring every inch of you.

When he finally moved between your legs, the sight of him looking up at you from between your thighs sent a fresh wave of heat crashing through you.

His hands spreaded you open with a careful precision that made your heart race. Carlos nudged you higher against the rock, shifting you into position, gaze sweeping over you like he was memorizing every detail.

“You’re shaking already,” he said softly, his voice edged with amusement as he pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Relax, baby. I’ve got you.”

You whimpered, fingers tangling in his dark hair as his lips moved closer, teasing, never quite giving you what you wanted.

His stubble scraped lightly against your sensitive skin, making you shiver, and when his breath fanned over your core, you nearly bucked against him.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice trembling, desperate.

Carlos’s low hum vibrated against your skin, and he pressed another kiss to your inner thigh, his smirk audible in his tone. “So needy,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Then, without warning, his mouth was on you.

The first long, deliberate swipe of his tongue over your clit drew a sharp cry from your lips, your back arching off the rock.

He didn’t falter. His tongue worked you with slow, measured precision, every flick and circle designed to draw you closer to the edge.

You tried to move, to grind against him, but his grip on your thighs tightened, holding you firmly in place.

He was relentless, alternating between soft, teasing licks and harder, more focused strokes that made your vision blur.

“Oh, f-fuck-” you gasped, your voice breaking, your fingers tugging harder at his hair.

He didn’t respond, didn’t lift his head, just let out a soft, pleased sound that sent vibrations through you, his mouth working you even harder. His fingers joined in, slipping inside you with ease, curling just right, hitting a spot that made you cry out.

The tension coiled tight in your belly, your entire body trembling as he brought you closer and closer. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t frantic. Just steady, unshakable control, like he knew exactly what you needed before you did.

It was overwhelming.

The pressure, the heat, the way his tongue and fingers worked together. It all built into something you couldn’t stop, couldn’t hold back even if you tried.

Your body tensed, and with a broken moan, the wave crashed over you, leaving you shuddering, your thighs clamping around his head as he worked you through it.

Carlos didn’t stop until you were nothing but a trembling, breathless mess, every last tremor wrung from you.

Only then did he pull back, his lips glistening, his chin wet with you.

He lifted his head, hands brushing gently over your thighs as if to ground you.

He leaned in, his mouth finding yours in a slow, deliberate kiss that left you dizzy all over again. The taste of yourself on his lips only heightened the intimacy, the rawness of it.

“First time for everything, huh?” he murmured against your mouth, his tone low and teasing, though his eyes were warm, almost soft.

Your breath came in shallow gasps, your body still trembling, and as you looked at him, at the way he gazed at you with that infuriating, knowing smirk, you knew you were ruined.

You barely recognized your own voice when you whispered, “Fuck me.”

His eyes found yours, dark and hungry, his control fraying at the edges. For a brief moment, he stayed still, as though restraining himself, the tendons in his neck taut, his jaw clenched.

Carlos had you against the rock again in seconds, his hands firm on your thighs, his body pressing into yours with a force that left no room for hesitation. He moved without teasing this time, his lips crashing into yours.

Your fingers gripped his shoulders, your nails biting into the hard muscle beneath his skin as he angled you higher against the rock.

The rough scrape of it bit into your back, but the discomfort was drowned out by the searing warmth of him, his mouth moving down your jaw to your neck.

You tried to gasp his name but he didn’t give you time to finish.

He lifted you higher, spreading your thighs wider around his hips. The strength in his hands was almost dizzying, his grip unyielding as he shifted your body to his liking. When his lips trailed down your throat, sucking hard enough to leave marks, your head fell back, exposing more of your skin to him.

His swim trunks were gone in a moment, and when you glanced down, your breath hitched at the sight of him.

Thick, hard, and impossibly big, he stood there like he was made to ruin you. The sheer size of him sent a shiver through your body, heat pooling low in your belly as your thighs clenched involuntarily.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, his tone low but soft, the edge of a smile playing at his lips as he reached for you again. “Relax, baby. I’ll make it fit.”

Your breath stuttered, your fingers clutching his shoulders as he lined himself up, the head of his cock pressing insistently against your entrance. The first push was slow, almost gentle, but the stretch was immediate, sharp, and overwhelming.

“Carlos,” you gasped, your voice breaking as your body struggled to take him.

“You can take it.” His jaw clenched as he pushed in another inch. “Just breathe, baby. Let me in.”

You did, your breaths coming in shallow pants as he fed you inch by inch. The stretch was nearly unbearable, your body clenching around him as if trying to resist.

He groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder, hands steady on your hips as he worked himself deeper.

“You’re so tight,” he muttered, his voice strained as though the effort of holding back was physically painful. “So perfect.”

The fullness was overwhelming, the sheer size of him stretching you beyond anything you thought possible. He didn’t rush, didn’t force it, but every inch was a challenge, your body trembling as it adjusted to him.

Finally, he was fully seated inside you, the press of his hips against yours sending a jolt of pleasure and relief through your body. For a moment, he stayed still, his chest heaving against yours, his hands gripping your thighs so tightly you knew you’d feel the bruises later.

“Fuck,” he growled, his voice rough, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re so perfect. Made for me.”

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t think.

Your body stretched and full in a way that left you dizzy.

The ache was sharp but fading quickly, replaced by the thrum of pleasure that sparked with every small movement.

Then he began to move.

His hips pulled back slowly, the thick length of him dragging against your walls before he thrust forward again, burying himself deep.

The sensation was electrifying, your body tightening around him as he set a steady, deliberate rhythm.

Each thrust was measured, controlled, as though he was determined to make you feel every inch of him.

The pressure was unrelenting, his cock hitting spots inside you that sent waves of pleasure rippling through your body.

You clung to him, your nails digging into his back as his pace quickened, the strength of his thrusts leaving you gasping.

The rock behind you scraped against your skin with every movement, but the sting was nothing compared to the pleasure building inside you.

Carlos shifted, lifting you higher against him, angling his hips to drive deeper. The new position made you cry out, your head falling back as the sensations intensified, every nerve ending in your body alight.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice thick and rough, his hands tightening on your hips as he moved faster, harder.

The fullness, the stretch, the relentless rhythm. It was too much and not enough all at once. Your body trembled, your thighs shaking around his waist as the tension inside you coiled tighter, threatening to snap.

“Carlos,” you gasped, your voice breaking as your hands fisted in his hair, desperate for something to hold onto.

“Come for me,” he growled, his hips slamming into yours with unrelenting force. “Come on, be a good girl and come for me.”

His words sent you spiraling. The wave of pleasure crashed over you, your entire body trembling as you shattered around him.

Your cries filled the air, your walls clenching tight around him as the release ripped through you.

Carlos groaned, his rhythm faltering as he chased his own release. His thrusts turned erratic, desperate, and with a final, shuddering moan, he buried himself deep, his release spilling into you in a rush of heat.

For a moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breathing, the crash of the waves a distant echo.

His forehead rested against yours, his hands gentle now as they smoothed over your thighs, grounding you.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded faintly, your lips curving into a small, breathless smile. “I’m perfect,” you whispered.

He chuckled, his arms tightening around you as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered, his voice tinged with both amusement and awe.

“Then you’ll die happy,” you teased, your fingers brushing lightly over his jaw.

He smiled, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was slow, tender, and unhurried.

—-

Carlos insisted on carrying you back to the villa, effortlessly lifting you into his arms and wrapping a towel around you to shield you from the cool evening air.

You tried to protest, laughing half-heartedly while squirming a little in his hold, but his arms only tightened around you, pulling you closer.

The warmth of his body against yours was a welcome contrast to the crisp early morning air, and despite your teasing resistance, you felt a pull of affection.

“Carlos, no, seriously. I’m fine,” you said, attempting to push lightly against his chest. “You don’t have to carry me like this.”

“Shh,” he murmured, adjusting his grip to make sure you were even more comfortable, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “You’re not fine. I just fucked you, and so I’m taking care of you. Aftercare, baby. So stop fussing.”

You rolled your eyes at the sentiment. “Carlos, seriously. Charles is going to murder you if he sees-”

Carlos’ grin only widened, a spark of mischief lighting up his eyes. You could feel the confidence radiating off of him as he held you effortlessly, his voice dropping lower, laced with amusement. “Charles already knows.”

Your brows shot up, a mix of surprise and confusion flooding through you. “Wait, what? He knows?”

Carlos’ grin softened slightly, the playful edge in his tone giving way to a hint of sheepishness. "Yeah… Poker night.”

You blinked, the realization dawning slowly but surely. “Poker night?” You almost laughed at the absurdity of it. “Oh my god, you told him?”

“Well, he kind of guessed. And then, the next morning, he gave me the talk.”

You stared at him for a moment, blinking as the full weight of the situation sank in. “The talk? That talk?”

“The one and only.”

You snorted. “I can't believe you let him talk to you like that.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the banter. “Trust me, I wasn’t about to argue with him.”

You nestled into his chest, feeling the warmth of his body, and smiled up at him. “You’re lucky I don’t have a talk with you myself.”

He raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eye. “Oh? You’d have the talk with me too?”

You leaned in closer. “Maybe later,” you said softly, the affection in your voice undeniable.

Carlos’ grin softened as he held you just a little tighter. “I’ll be waiting for it, cariño.”

—-

Hours later, Lando and Pierre stumbled into the living room, bleary-eyed and still caught in the haze of sleep.

They froze in the doorway, blinking in surprise at the sight before them.

You and Carlos were both fast asleep, tangled together on the couch, your head resting comfortably against his chest. His arms were draped around you, one hand resting lightly on your waist, the other tangled in your hair as you slept soundly.

Pierre raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a grin as he cast a glance at Charles, who was sprawled across the couch like he had nowhere else to be.

Charles didn’t even look up, clearly at ease with everything happening. Pierre nudged him lightly, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You’re okay with this?” he asked, voice low but tinged with disbelief. “I mean, just like that? No big deal?”

Charles didn’t stir, stretching out lazily as if the whole situation was perfectly normal.

He met Pierre’s gaze with a smirk, the kind that only came with complete indifference to drama. “Are you seriously asking me that?” he drawled, as if the question were almost laughable. “Better than any of you, I’ll tell you that much.”

Lando, however, was having none of it.

He threw his hands up in mock exasperation, his dramatic flair coming to the surface even as he tried to stifle a yawn. “Hold up, hold up!” He pointed an accusing finger at Carlos, his voice raising slightly, though still laden with sleepiness. “I can’t even flirt with her without getting death threats, but Mr. Smooth Operator here gets to just waltz in and- what? -sweep her off her feet? No questions asked?”

Carlos stirred slightly at the noise, his arms tightening around you instinctively as he shifted to get more comfortable. His voice was low, heavy with sleep, but there was an undeniable warmth to it as he spoke, still gazing down at you with affection. “That’s pretty much it,” he muttered, the hint of a lazy chuckle rumbling in his chest as he tightened his hold on you just a little more.

Pierre shook his head slowly, blinking as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “So… this? This is serious?” he asked, voice almost whispering as though not wanting to disturb the peaceful moment.

Carlos let out a soft sigh, the sound barely audible as he pressed his cheek gently against your head, completely content in the quiet. His eyes fluttered open, and he met Pierre’s gaze with a slow, sleepy smile.

“Trust me,” he started, barely awake. “There’s more to figure out, but this?” He paused, glancing down at you, his eyes soft with affection. “This is happening.”

—-

Permanent taglist :

@papichulomacy @alilcloudy @lilorose25

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eztul · 1 year ago

Photo

Lap - Pool An illustration of a substantial traditional backyard fountain with a rectangular lap pool

#pool #sun lounge chairs #white seat cushions #fountains in pool #stacked stone siding #natural stone tile patio

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blobsandberries · 1 year ago

Photo

Lap Pool Pool fountain - large coastal backyard concrete paver and rectangular lap pool fountain idea

#rectangular pool #white pool cushions #modern pool #pool lounge chairs #white sun umbrellas #concrete pavers

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latrespada · 14 days ago

Text

ᯓ ✈︎ rotten to the core

Caleb’s jealousy knows no bounds. He becomes fiercely possessive whenever anyone gets too close to you, especially if he sees you interacting with someone else. The moment he perceives a threat, a "punishment" follows, one that’s far from ordinary. His discipline feels more like a mix of control and intimacy, blurring the line between pain and pleasure. As intense as it is, you can’t help but crave more, questioning if it’s truly a punishment when it leaves you yearning for more of him.

lads caleb x reader

warnings: jealousy, teasing, light bondage, couch sex, finger sucking, caleb's evol going out of control, slight choking, possessive sex, rough sex, sex while on the phone

6k words rated : e

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62332453

A/N: I find Caleb's jealousy attractive; not the toxic kind, but the pathetic type that tries to one-up everyone, even over trivial matters. Also the possessive jealousy. That is HOT!!

Take note of Caleb’s outfit in this; it's that nerdy one he wore in his trailer when he’s upset for poking his plumpy butt. The one with the white sleeveless top and his thick, beefy, veiny bicep. And the glasses.

If you don't know what I mean, check it out : https://x.com/kittysylus/status/1879371878793724285/photo/2

CRED divider by @enchanthings-a

The golden hues of the setting sun spill through the windows as you step into your home, finally free after a long day of finishing work reports and your monthly physical. The sight of Caleb sprawled out on the couch immediately warms you. He’s lounging with one arm propped behind his head, a book balanced casually in his hand, the picture of relaxed ease.

“I’m home,” you call out as you flop onto the couch, not caring that you’re practically lying on him.

“Hectic day?” he asks, his voice low, a welcome balm to your weary mind.

“Not really,” you murmur, rolling onto your back and wedging yourself into the narrow space between him and the couch cushions. “I’d still rather be off fighting Wanderers than stuck doing paperwork, though.”

“At least you weren’t in danger,” Caleb replies, turning a page in his book before tucking his arm back behind his head.

You sigh deeply, staring at the ceiling. “I had another appointment with Zayne today. The results are steady, which is good. I just have to keep taking my meds.”

Caleb’s tone shifts slightly when he replies, darker somehow. “Is that so?”

You glance up at him, sensing the tension in his words. He’s staring at the book, but it’s clear his thoughts are miles away.

“Yeah…” you answer cautiously, tilting your head to catch his eye. When he notices your gaze, he snaps the book shut and tosses it to the floor with a thud.

“Does Zayne really need to be your doctor?” Caleb asks abruptly, his voice laced with something unspoken.

You blink, startled. “I mean, he’s the best cardiologist—”

“I know that,” Caleb interrupts, his words sharp but not unkind. “But that doesn’t really answer my question.” He reaches out and places a hand over your face, shaking your head gently, as if to dismiss the topic.

You bat his hand away and sit up, turning to face him directly. “Don’t I deserve the best there is?” Your tone carries a faint edge, one you didn’t intend, but it’s there nonetheless—a hint of hurt.

Caleb frowns, his expression clouding with something close to jealousy. “You do,” he admits, but the words come out like a hiss.

“Then Zayne will stay my doctor,” you say firmly, standing and blowing him a playful kiss as you make your way toward the kitchen.

Behind you, Caleb mutters under his breath, then calls after you, “Why him, though? Isn’t there some policy against this?”

You stop in your tracks and turn to him, confused. “What are you talking about?”

Caleb gets up and strides toward you, his smirk not quite masking the seriousness in his eyes. “You can’t have some sort of intimate relationship with your doctor—family, romantic, whatever. Maybe I should report him.” He chuckles, but the sound is hollow.

You close the distance between you, placing a hand firmly on his chest. “That’s not funny, Caleb,” you say, pouting as you meet his gaze.

His laughter fades, replaced by a look you can’t quite read. The tension lingers in the air between you, heavy and unspoken, but the warmth of his presence anchors you nonetheless.

“I’m joking. Since when can’t you take a hint?” Caleb ruffles your hair as he walks past you, heading into the kitchen. He’s trying to play it cool, but there’s an edge to his voice, something unresolved. “What should we have for dinner?”

You lean over the counter, your arms folded, watching him closely. The way his shoulders tense, as he opens and closes cabinets, gives him away. It’s painfully obvious that his mind is still on Zayne.

You can’t help but laugh softly to yourself.

Caleb freezes mid-motion, turning to face you with a puzzled expression. “Oh great, you’re probably thinking of a joke he said.”

You snort. “Zayne and jokes, really?”

Silence falls between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. The two of you lock eyes, a silent battle of wills. His expression falters for just a second, enough for you to see that even he knows how ridiculous his comment is. Zayne’s humor is notoriously flat, and everyone knows it. Caleb breaks eye contact first, turning back to rummage through the cabinets, feigning interest in their contents.

You rest your chin on your crossed arms, a smirk playing on your lips as you study him. You know Caleb like the back of your hand—better than anyone. He’s never been one to openly admit jealousy, but his actions scream it louder than words ever could. Caleb has a compulsive need to be the one who makes you smile the widest, laugh the loudest, and feel the most alive.

The thing is, Caleb’s never shown this kind of jealousy toward Zayne before. Back in the day, things were simple; everyone was friendly, and there was no room for these petty emotions. But ever since you became a hunter, with mandatory check-ups and more frequent visits to Zayne’s clinic, Caleb’s demeanor started to shift. Not that he’d ever outright forbid you from doing something—he knows better than to try that—but his subtle, possessive tendencies? Oh, they’re there, and they’re obvious.

You bite your lip, a mischievous glint in your eyes. You’re plotting now, deliberately trying to press his buttons.

“You’re so clingy, Caleb,” you drawl, dragging the words out just enough to poke the bear.

“Hm.” His nonchalant response is laced with tension.

“I mean, just last week, you did the same thing.”

That gets him. Caleb slams a box of pasta onto the counter with a thud, his palms splaying out as he leans forward, head tilting back toward the ceiling like he’s begging for patience. He inhales deeply before turning his head, not his body, to look at you. His eyes are sharp, and piercing, and there’s an intensity to them that makes your breath hitch.

“I said I was sorry,” he says, his tone eerily calm, almost robotic.

“Yeah, well, things escalated, and he heard us,” you grumble, leaning back for effect.

Caleb picks up the pasta box again, shaking it as he waves his arms dramatically. “Why does the upstairs neighbor even need to talk to you every time he sees you?” he complains. “What’s his name again, Xander?”

“Xavier,” you correct without missing a beat.

Caleb freezes mid-motion. His shoulders stiffen as he turns his head just slightly, his expression neutral but with just enough of a comedic edge—thick-framed glasses perched on his nose, his jaw set—to make you stifle a laugh.

You catch the faintest twitch in his bicep, a telltale sign that your teasing is working.

You press your hand to your mouth, trying to smother a grin and the laughter bubbling in your throat. You know full well that Caleb remembers Xavier’s name perfectly; he just deliberately got it wrong to downplay how much he pays attention. And now, judging by the look on his face, he regrets giving you an opening to correct him.

“He’s my work partner,” you say with a light chuckle, trying to sound casual. “We were talking about work…” You pause briefly for effect, watching his expression remain frozen. “A work gathering.”

The silence that follows is heavy with unspoken thoughts, but the way Caleb’s jaw tightens just enough lets you know you’ve gotten under his skin. You don’t mind, though—it’s all part of the game.

“And what? Did this Xavier complain?” Caleb sneers, dragging out the name like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. His exaggerated disdain is so obvious, it’s hard not to laugh.

“No,” you reply with a chuckle. “Worried, maybe. But honestly, how do you even explain that situation?”

Caleb rolls his eyes in mock frustration, the gesture exaggerated but not unexpected.

“And to answer your earlier question,” you continue, pointing a finger at him while puckering your lips for emphasis, “Zayne isn’t breaking any rules.”

Caleb’s gaze drops to the box of pasta in his hands as if seeking answers there. His silence speaks volumes, and you can almost see the cogs turning in his head. He’s not even trying to mask his annoyance anymore.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” you tease, leaning casually against the counter. “Zayne and I do have a personal connection, but that was way before he became my doctor. Besides, we lost touch long before any of that. So, technically…” you smirk, “no rules are being broken.”

Caleb tosses the pasta box onto the counter with the dramatics of a jilted soap opera star, the motion so over-the-top it makes you laugh.

His jealousy is nothing new—it’s always been there, simmering beneath the surface. But when it comes to Zayne, it’s glaringly obvious and almost endearing. What makes it funnier is that the jealousy is entirely one-sided.

He doesn’t speak. Instead, he just stares, his gaze unyielding but not threatening, more predatory. The intensity in his eyes sends a shiver down your spine, but you bite your lip to hide the thrill it gives you.

Finally, Caleb strides toward you with purpose. Your arms instinctively fling open as if welcoming his approach, and his hands grip your waist firmly—almost possessively. It stings, but not unpleasantly. Before you can process it, you hop up, wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck.

His nose brushes against yours, the warmth of his breath fanning across your lips as he whispers, “It’s not fair. He gets to listen to your heart, to be so close to your chest.”

You laugh softly, his childish complaint both absurd and hypocritical. Caleb spends more time listening to your heartbeat than Zayne ever could. Every chance he gets, he lays his head on your chest, claiming it’s his right.

“Zayne needs a stethoscope to hear my heart,” you tease, letting your voice drop into a husky, breathy tone. “But you don’t need that.”

In one swift motion, Caleb spins you around and lays you flat against the counter, his hands gripping your hips. His lips trail down your torso, his breath hot against your skin.

“I should be the only one listening to your heart,” he murmurs, his voice low and possessive. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I know every inch of your body better than any doctor. Why would you even need them?”

“Doctors can tell a murmur from a regular heartbeat,” you retort with a smirk.

“I’m done talking about cardiology,” Caleb mutters, his grin wicked. “I was talking about other doctors.”

He spreads your legs slightly, resting his head against your stomach, his breath fanning over your skin as he exhales deeply.

“Am I being punished again?” you ask, your voice laced with a mix of amusement and curiosity.

“Do you want to be?” he mumbles, his lips brushing against your skin.

You chuckle softly, biting your bottom lip. “No.” With a quick push against his head, you slide off the counter before he can pin you further. “I need to get out of these clothes. It’s been a long day,” you say, your tone dripping with sass.

As you move past him, Caleb grabs your wrist, his grip firm but not forceful. “Let me help, then.”

“No,” you reply, shaking his hand off with mock defiance.

He sighs, his voice dipping into a playful growl. “Be a good girl.”

“No.”

“Sit.”

Before you can process what’s happening, your knees buckle, and you find yourself on all fours, your hands bracing against the floor for balance. Caleb’s gravity control Evol pins you down just enough to make his point.

“Atta girl,” he teases, his tone light yet commanding. He crouches before you, tilting your chin up with a gentle but firm hand. “Let. Me. Help. You.”

“He’s going to hear us again,” you giggle, finally achieving the reaction you’d been aiming for.

“Then tell him to stop eavesdropping, pipsqueak,” Caleb retorts with a smirk.

Releasing his control, he effortlessly picks you up and tosses you over his shoulder. With a playful grin, he throws you onto the couch and towers over you, his overwhelming and intoxicating presence.

“Another word and I’ll have to keep you quiet,” he warns, reaching for his glasses.

You grab his wrists, your eyes wide and pleading. “No, don’t!” you gasp, as if what you’re about to say is of utmost importance. “I really like those glasses,” you pant.

He pauses, his confusion almost comical.

“I think they’re better than Zayne’s,” you add with a sly smile, exhaling deeply.

Caleb’s lips twitch as he suppresses a grin. “You’re so greedy when you want something, aren’t you?” Without waiting for a reply, he slips two fingers into your mouth, his touch teasing and deliberate, a silent dare for you to defy him again.

The wet, suctioning sound of your lips wrapped around Caleb’s fingers is maddeningly erotic, a melody of your surrender and his control. His fingers press harder against your tongue, sending a jolt down your spine. You gag reflexively, but instead of pulling away, your hands shoot up to grip his wrists, holding him in place, determined not to cough them out. His fingers glide in and out in steady, rhythmic waves, teasing and deliberate, while your chest rises and falls with labored breaths. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, but you keep them locked on his lips.

Caleb’s tongue darts out, wetting his lips before his teeth catch the bottom one in a fierce bite. His eyes, dark with intent, linger on the way your cheeks hollow with every movement of his hand. It’s written all over his face: this is a prelude to what he really wants. He’d rather have your mouth working over his dick than his fingers.

With a low chuckle, he pulls his fingers free, leaving your lower lip glistening with saliva. He holds his hand up, watching the way the wetness glimmers under the dim light. “You really enjoy using yourself as your own lubricant, don’t you?” he says with a teasing laugh, his voice dripping with smug amusement.

“It’s natural,” you pant, wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand.

Caleb shifts, rising onto his knees as he peels off his shirt, tossing it carelessly onto the coffee table. His toned torso gleams, and he snaps his fingers at you, motioning for you to sit up straight. You comply without hesitation, adjusting your posture as he towers over you.

With one knee between your legs and the other planted firmly on the couch, he removes his dog tag, dragging the cool chain across your face. “You know the rules,” he says, his grin wicked.

You pout, rolling your eyes. “I gave you that as a gift, and you’re always using it for your twisted games.”

He smirks. “Then get me another one.”

“No way. It’s one of a kind.” You slide your hands up his torso, fingers tracing every dip and ridge of his muscles. “There’s no duplicate. It’s yours and only yours,” you murmur, cupping his face. Finally, you clasp your wrists together in silent surrender, signaling you’re ready.

Caleb places the dog tag between his teeth. He tugs at the hem of your shirt and in one swift motion, it’s off, discarded to the side. You unclasp your bra, letting it slip from your shoulders as he deftly begins wrapping the chain around your wrists.

“You could use your evol this time,” you suggest, your voice sultry and playful.

His hands pause for a moment, his eyes focused on the chain. “Yeah,” he mutters, though his tone is uncertain. “Last time I tried that, I used it on the bed instead of you. Snapped the legs and bottom planks clean off.��

A smile escapes you, breaking the tension. “That was your fault.”

“Fair,” he admits with a mischievous grin, “but with the way you were screaming my name and begging for more, I got… distracted.” He pulls the chain taut around your wrists, his eyes locking with yours. The tightness isn’t just around your wrists—it’s in the air, a tension so thick it makes your heart race.

Before you can say anything, he grabs his shirt that he tossed aside earlier. Caleb moves behind the couch, you tilt your head back to catch a glimpse of him. He’s smiling, a wicked grin that makes your pulse race. He steps closer, and gently pushes your head forward. “Let’s try something new,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. The soft fabric of the shirt wraps around your eyes, plunging you into darkness.

Your heart stutters, a mix of excitement and apprehension swelling inside you. What does he have planned? Did you push him too far this time? The not knowing leaves you vulnerable, every nerve ending alive with anticipation. Bound and blindfolded, you realize the gravity of your position. Your hands are useless, your sight is gone, and as the shirt muffles the sounds around you, you feel the loss of another sense creeping in. You’re at his mercy, and the uncertainty is both thrilling and maddening.

You strain your ears, desperate for any clue to his movements. The soft padding of his footsteps echoes faintly, but you can’t discern their direction. Is he in front of you? Behind you? The muffled noise seems to come from everywhere and nowhere. You sit still, biting your lip to stifle a nervous breath.

Then, the sound sharpens—familiar and unmistakable. His shoes hit the floor with a soft thud. Your breath hitches as the faint jingle of his belt buckle follows, the metallic clink chilling you to the core. The slow, deliberate rasp of his zipper being pulled down comes next, and you swallow hard. You hear the rustling of fabric sliding against his skin before the faint sound of his pants hitting the floor.

Your pulse pounds in your ears. Caleb is naked. And you are completely unaware of where he is. From which angle he’ll approach, you have no idea. The suspense builds with every passing second, your senses heightened as your imagination runs wild. Every breath, every rustle of fabric, every shift in the air sends a jolt of anticipation through you.

In an instant, you’re pulled, your body shifting swiftly before you can even process it. You find yourself lying awkwardly on the couch, your legs raised high, teetering off balance. The soft plop of your shoes hitting the floor fills the room, and then his hands are on you—strong, purposeful. His touch slides down your calves, lingering at your thighs before settling firmly. It’s clear now—your legs are on his shoulders.

The faint sound of your belt unbuckling breaks through the haze of anticipation, followed by the slow, deliberate unbuttoning of your pants. You feel the cool air on your skin as he slides them down with excruciating patience, taking your underwear with them. The quiet thud of your discarded clothes hitting the ground feels final, leaving you bare and exposed.

Caleb lowers your legs gently, guiding you upward. His hand rests on your back, firm yet careful, directing you as you take a few hesitant steps. The walk is short, and before you can ask what he’s doing, he presses your back forward, bending your upper body over the armrest of the couch. Your belly rests against the soft fabric as he positions you, spreading your legs apart just enough to make you feel vulnerable, your feet planted firmly on the ground.

His hands are warm as they settle on your lower back, and then you feel it—the slow, teasing slide of him rubbing against you. The head of his dick brushes your clit with deliberate precision, sending sparks of heat shooting through you. A silent moan escapes your lips as he continues the agonizing tease, his movements designed to drive you to the edge of madness.

Caleb leans in, his breath ghosting over your ear. “As of now,” he whispers, his voice low and dripping with desire, “I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who knows how fast your heart is going.” With no warning, he thrusts into you, forcing a gasp from your lips.

“Nngh… Caleb…” you moan, your voice trembling.

His rhythm is relentless from the start, his hips driving into you with an intensity that leaves you breathless. Each thrust pulls a sound from you, your bound hands trapped beneath your chest as the chain lightly grazes your skin, heightening every sensation.

“Haah… fuck,” Caleb groans, his voice rough with pleasure. “Do you even know… ha… how possessive I can get?”

You’re silent, unable to form words as your face presses into the couch, your teeth biting down on the fabric in an attempt to stifle your cries.

“And to… ahh, fuck,” he chuckles darkly, his voice strained. “To edge me on like that… mmhn… you must like—” His words are cut off by his guttural moan as his body shudders.

Leaning forward, his teeth sink into your shoulder, the sharp sensation blending with the intensity of his thrusts. His hips angle upward now, hitting a spot that sends you spiraling, his warm breath fanning across your skin.

“Mmmh, Caleb…” is all you can manage, your voice raw and pleading as he consumes every part of you.

Caleb shifts his weight, pulling back just long enough to stand upright. With fluidity and strength, he flips you onto your back. The movement leaves you momentarily breathless, your body pliant beneath his control. He raises one of your legs over his shoulder, his fingers gripping your calf with a possessive firmness. The other leg, he adjusts carefully, ensuring your foot rests securely on the armrest, but not before gently pushing it outward, spreading you even wider for him.

His breathing is labored now, audible and heavy, and though you can’t see him clearly, you can imagine the sight of his chest. Broad, muscular, and glistening with sweat, rising and falling with each ragged inhale. It’s a sight that would’ve stolen your breath, if it hadn’t already been taken by the moment.

One of his arms snakes around the leg draped over his shoulder, locking it in place with a grip that’s equal parts firm and tender. His other hand anchors itself on your hip, steadying you as he positions himself. And then he begins again.

The first thrust sends a jolt of pleasure through you, his rhythm rough yet calculated, each movement hitting the spot that leaves you trembling. His hips snap forward with a force that feels primal, yet controlled, a deliberate effort to draw out every sound, every reaction from you. You’re soaked, your arousal slick against him. The lewd sound of your bodies meeting fills the room, every thrust accompanied by the wet squelch of your fluids mixing. It’s intoxicating.

He leans in slightly, his lips hovering close, his voice dropping to a low, husky whisper as he murmurs your name. The way he says it feels reverent, like a prayer or a plea, and it makes your chest tighten.

“Yeah…” you breathe, your voice soft and airy, surrendering to the moment.

“Let me be…” he pauses, “…let me be the only one… to make your heart—” His voice falters, replaced by a sensual chuckle, deep and rough. “God, let me be the only one to make your heart race like this.”

“Mhm…” your reply comes out sweet but low, carried on a sigh. “Okay…”

The air between you and Caleb is electric, every touch igniting sparks that threaten to burn you from the inside out. With your leg still firm on the armrest, you use it to push your body to the other side, forcing Caleb to adjust. As your leg drops off his shoulder, he moves instinctively, following your silent invitation to walk around the couch.

Before you can process his next move, he’s sitting in front of you, pulling you up with ease until you’re perched on his lap. His hands are warm and firm, one gripping his dick as he guides himself back inside you, the other trailing up your back in a slow, deliberate motion. His fingers rake through your hair, sending shivers down your spine, before tangling and tugging gently but possessively. The motion tilts your head back, exposing the curve of your neck to him.

His lips hover there, a breath away from your skin, teasing, promising. You can feel the heat of his desire, the way his breathing deepens as he restrains himself from biting down.

“Mine,” he breathes, his voice thick and husky.

“Yours,” you moan in response, your voice trembling, “always yours.”

The words seem to fuel him further. He releases your hair and leans back into the sofa, his strong frame supporting you effortlessly. You stay balanced on your toes, knees bent, riding him with an aching, deliberate rhythm. His hands grip your waist tightly, guiding you, pulling you down harder onto him as your hips sway back and forth.

He curses your name, his voice dripping with raw hunger.

“Just like that…” he groans.

Your knees finally give out, and you collapse forward, your body trembling. Though your blindfold keeps you from seeing him, you can feel his presence—his lips so close to yours, the warmth of his breath mingling with your own. You bite your lip, a soft laugh escaping through a moan. With your bound hands, you fumble to touch his face, brushing against the frames of the glasses he kept on.

Your frustrated laugh makes him grin, and before you know it, he’s shifting you both, rolling you onto your side. Spooning you, Caleb pulls your top leg back, hooking it around his own. His arm snakes beneath you, gripping your neck gently but firmly, while his other hand finds your bound wrists. You feel his fingers slide beneath the chain binding them, his touch deliberate.

“If I take this off…” he murmurs, his hips pressing forward as he thrusts deeper, making you gasp. “You have to promise to keep the blindfold on. Got that?”

“Okay…” you manage to moan.

“That’s a good girl,” he groans, his laugh dark and low. With a swift pull, the chain loosens, and your hands are free. Before you can react, he places the dog tag in your mouth. “Here, bite this,” he commands, his lips brushing your ear as his tongue flicks against the sensitive skin behind it.

His pace picks up again, rough and insistent, each movement sending waves of heat through your body. His hand on your neck tightens ever so slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that he’s in control.

His other hand moves to your breasts, squeezing and kneading, his grip leaving no doubt about how much he wants you.

Desperate to feel closer, you swing your now-free hand behind you, finding his face and pulling him down toward you.

“C-Caleb…” you choke out, his name a breathless plea.

“That’s it,” he chuckles against your skin, his teeth grazing your shoulder before biting down softly. “Say my name. Let me be the only name you call.”

His words are a command and a prayer, each syllable dripping with possession. He presses into you harder, his teeth grazing your skin again, his groans mingling with your moans.

The tension between you and Caleb is palpable, every motion from him driving you further into a realm where pleasure and desperation intertwine. His grip on your neck tightens, stealing your breath in the most intoxicating way, your vision blurring with unshed tears as your body reacts to his overwhelming dominance.

Your voice, broken and raw, escapes in a gagged gasp. “C-Caleb…” The dog tag tumbles from your lips, clinking faintly as it hits the surface below.

Without warning, he flips you onto your stomach. You barely have a moment to adjust before he pulls your hips upward, your breasts pressing into the couch. His thrusts are erratic, primal, and you claw at the armrest, arching your back deeply to meet him. His hand finds your hair, tugging harshly, while his other grips your waist with a force that leaves bruising promises. His silence, punctuated only by rough breaths and muffled grunts, speaks volumes.

You’ve witnessed this before—when his composure cracks and his evol flares, chaos is inevitable. Around you, the room trembles with his lack of control. Items crash to the floor, shattering against the walls. You gasp, instinctively reaching for the blindfold to tear it off, but Caleb’s hand leaves your hair and slams your wrist to the armrest.

“What did you promise?” he growls, his voice venomous yet dripping with that intoxicating edge of command. His fingers lace with yours, pinning your hand firmly.

His pace quickens, his movements losing all semblance of rhythm. You’re caught between gasping for air and choking on moans that feel too loud, too needy. Your head drops forward, but your body remains arched, submitting entirely to the chaos you ignited.

The destruction crescendos until it feels like the entire room collapses in a cacophony of falling objects and Caleb’s unrelenting presence. Then, it stops. Abruptly. Caleb pulls out and steps away, leaving you trembling, breathless, and straining to track his movements through the sound of his footsteps.

“Flip over,” he commands, his tone brooking no argument. You comply, lying on your back, your chest heaving.

He spreads your legs, his touch suddenly gentle as his fingers trace your most sensitive places. He slides them inside you, teasing, coaxing moans from your lips. It’s a stark contrast to his earlier ferocity, and it leaves you spinning.

Then you feel it—a cold, slightly heavy object placed on your chest. It vibrates softly, confusing you until you catch the faint ringing sound. A phone.

Your hand instinctively moves to grab it, but before you can pull your blindfold down to see who he’s calling, Caleb snatches the device away.

“Tch. You’re just not listening today, are you?” His voice carries a mix of irritation and amusement. “Invite him to dinner,” he says, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

Confusion floods you. Who? But then the line connects, and you hear Zayne’s voice on the other end.

“Hello?” Zayne asks, his voice tinged with polite concern.

Your heart skips a beat as Caleb presses the phone to your ear and aligns himself with you once more, thrusting in with devastating precision. Your hand flies to your mouth, desperately trying to stifle the moan threatening to spill out.

“Zayne!” you yelp, your voice trembling. “W-would you like to… haaa… join Caleb and I for…” You trail off, unable to finish as Caleb’s pace intensifies.

There’s a pause on the other end. “I’ve got work to do, unfortunately,” Zayne replies, his tone shifting slightly, as if he’s picking up on something amiss. “Are you alright? You sound… in pain.”

“I’m okay,” you manage, your voice strained. “You sure… about dinner?”

Caleb chuckles softly, low enough that only you can hear, and it makes your cheeks burn.

“I’m sure,” Zayne says, his tone now skeptical. “Is it your heart? Is that what’s hurting?”

“What?” you gasp, your voice cracking.

“Is it your heart that’s hurting?” Zayne repeats, his voice calm but laced with something knowing.

“No! Of course… ngh… not,” you insist, struggling to keep your composure.

“Hm…” Zayne hums, his voice dropping as if the realization has hit. “Take care of yourself. Doctor’s orders.”

“I will. You too… and… haaa… doctors shouldn’t be skipping meals…” you add quickly, finishing in a rush.

Caleb pulls the phone from your ear, grinning like a cat who’s cornered his prey. “Yeah, the busiest man should at least join us for dinner every once in a while,” he says, his tone laced with taunting competitiveness.

“Hang up!” you insist, your voice tinged with panic.

Caleb smirks, clearly enjoying your reaction, but he obliges, ending the call. He pulls off your blindfold, his mischievous gaze locks onto yours, his dominance and jealousy radiating all around you.

You pull Caleb closer, your legs instinctively wrapping tighter around his waist as his hips snap forward, sending waves of pleasure through you. Your hands push his glasses up, and you kiss him—a gentle initiation that Caleb quickly turns hungry. His lips capture yours, biting softly at your lower lip, his kisses messy and demanding, speaking a language of unspoken need. Your arms wrap around his neck, nails digging into his back as your laughter mingles with soft moans, the sound a harmony of shared desire.

“Let me see,” you sigh, pulling away just enough to speak.

Caleb tilts his body slightly, granting you a glimpse of him sinking into you, his movements hypnotic. The sight drives you to arch your back, pressing your body further into his, making him reach deeper. You gasp, throwing your head back before kissing him again, your lips clinging to his as though he’s the air you need to breathe.

“Mine,” Caleb murmurs between kisses, your name falling from his lips like a vow. The rawness in his voice sends a shiver down your spine.

His rhythm grows relentless, each thrust drawing you closer to your peak. The pressure of his evol pins you firmly against the couch, intensifying every sensation.

“Caleb…” you whimper, your voice breaking, “I’m gonna come…”

“Hold on,” he growls, his voice strained and desperate, as though battling his limits.

“I… I can’t.”

The confession tears through the haze of pleasure, but it only drives him faster, his movements erratic and unrestrained. Your body tightens around him, and his voice grows hoarse as he whispers your name like a prayer.

The tension snaps, pleasure rushing through you in waves, your cries mingling with Caleb’s as he follows. The room shakes under the force of his evol—objects crashing and scattering as the world seems to respond to his intensity.

Breathless, you both collapse into the quiet aftermath, the weight of gravity settling once more.

“Fuck…” you both exhale in unison, voices harmonizing as you lie tangled together, your heartbeats racing in sync.

Caleb’s glasses slip off his face, landing carelessly beside you as he collapses onto your body, his weight pressing you into the couch. His breath is warm against your skin, uneven but soothing. With a gentle shift, he maneuvers you so that you’re lying on top of him, your head resting on his chest.

You listen to the steady rhythm beneath your ear, his heart racing but calm in its consistency. “Your heart’s going fast,” you murmur, a hint of amusement in your tone.

“That’s because of you,” he replies, his voice soft but filled with sincerity. He reaches for the dog tag nestled between you both, pulling it free as he tilts his head down to kiss the top of yours. “I want to be the only one whose heart you make beat like this,” he confesses, his words a vow and a plea all at once.

“You’re impossible,” you tease, your fingers idly tracing around his chest, circling his nipple in lazy patterns.

He catches your hand, his eyes falling to the blistered marks along your skin. His expression tightens with guilt as he lifts your hand to his lips, kissing each mark tenderly, as though his touch could erase them. “I’ve got to stop using this to bind you,” he whispers, his voice laced with regret.

“It’s fine,” you assure him, your breath finally steady. Sitting up, you straddle him, bending down to kiss him softly. His hands rise to cradle your face, his touch gentle, reverent. Your foreheads touch, the dominant air that usually surrounds him dissipating completely.

For a moment, it’s just you and him, hearts beating as one, and the world fades away.

You rest your forehead against his, your breaths mingling as the quiet settles between you. His hands stay on your face, thumbs brushing softly against your cheeks, as if grounding himself in your presence. “Stay like this,” he whispers, the words almost inaudible but weighted with meaning. You nod, your lips curving into a small smile, and close your eyes. In this moment, there’s no jealousy, no chaos—just the warmth of his embrace and the unspoken promise of always coming back to each other.

#caleb x reader #love and deepspace caleb #lnds caleb #lads caleb #love and deepspace angst #caleb love and deepspace #love and deepspace #lads fic #lads mc #caleb fic #l&ds reader #l&ds caleb

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mysteryshoptls · 2 months ago

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SSR Idia Shroud - Room Relaxation Voice Lines

Whew... Finally that pesky sun's gone down... Now, it's my turn to shine!

Summon: Fheeheehee, once I change into these clothes, I'm utterly invincible!! ...K, guess I'll go grab the birthday voice lines from my games, then.

Groovification: I wake up on my birthday with horrible bedhead and stiff joints everywhere after falling asleep during gaming... Ah, another wonderfully normal day!

Home: This is when my true form is unlocked...!

Swap Looks: I can fix my bedhead in a snap, so.

Home Transition 1: Haaah～ I need more soft things to cuddle... Maybe I'll buy a kitty-shaped cushion as a birthday gift for myself...

Home Transition 2: Cater-shi and the other guys in my class said to come by the classroom on my birthday and they'll celebrate with me... Well, unfortunately, I've got a stomachache planned for that day...

Home Transition 3: I snuck out to the Mystery Shop in the middle of the night and saw someone that looked just like Epel-shi covertly buying huge chunks of jerky. Or, was that a dream?

Home Transition - Login: Oh, a new high score! Looks like with the new memory upgrade, both me and my computer have gotten better! Fheeheehee!

Home Transition - Groovy: I can't believe he heard my mumbling to myself... A beastman's ーor ratherー Jack-shi's sense of hearing is something to be feared.

Home Tap 1: I may hate exercise, but I could dance and cheer to my fav idols for hours on hours... Never underestimate a fanboy's potential!

Home Tap 2: If I braided my hair like Jamil-shi does, maybe it'd look cool, like a flame whip... Nah, I'd definitely get teased for it. Nevermind.

Home Tap 3: Ah! Ortho's gonna get mad at me again that I left all my manga laying around. Guess I'll just have to clean it up with a bit of magic.

Home Tap 4: Why've there been waaaay too many good anime to watch recently!? I got not time to watch everything, there's still older masterpieces and movie adaptions I need to watch too!!

Home Tap 5: Since I'm just a shut-in pretty much all the time, it's not like I've set aside clothes for lounging and clothes for going out. I've even gone to town wearing this... You got a problem with that?

Home Tap - Groovy: Oh, this? It's a limited edition Premo shirt from one of their live performances. Hey, wait, you better not buy one from a reseller just 'cause they don't sell it anymore. Don't do it!

Duo: [IDIA]: I'm getting birthday wishes... from Jack-shi!? [JACK]: 'Cause it's your birthday, Idia-senpai!

Birthday Login Message: Hi... Need something from me? ...My birthday? Oh, well, now that you mention it! Th-Thanks... I completely forgot after Ortho wished me a happy birthday this morning... Did I get anything from anyone else? Wh-Wh-Why're you asking a loner like me that!? I p-pretty much just avoid everyone else, so. The most I did today was play with Azul-shi during our Boardgame Club time... Obviously I utterly crushed him!! ...Eh, you think he went easy on me 'cause it was my birthday? Uh-huh... If you really think that, how about a game, then? Don't come crying to me later after you lose, though, fheehee.

Requested by @farfalla049.

#twisted wonderland #twst #idia shroud #jack howl #twst idia #twst jack #twst translation #twst birthday #mention: cater #mention: epel #mention: jack #mention: jamil #mention: ortho

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leclerc-hs · 10 months ago

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can't get you outta my head - cl16

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader (friends to lovers!) summary: in which you and charles are in the same friend group and find solace in one another OR you and charles fuck and can’t forget about it warnings: smut under the cut! oral (f-receiving!), outdoor sex, p in v, angst, pining, badly translated french (pls correct me), NOT PROOFREAD word count: 5.4k! (lengthy) author’s note: IN HONOR OF HITTING 1,600 FOLLOWERS I AM POSTING THIS TODAY!!!! double-postings today!!! i wrote this SOOO fast so sorry if there’s any mistakes. loved writing it tho and i know i was going to make it more enemies originally but making him softer and cutesy just felt right for now. i can always do another one if you guys want!! just let me know what you think! love hearing from you guys!!! xoxo

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

BENEATH THE BRILLIANT canopy of the sun’s golden embrace, you recline comfortably upon the plush cushions of the lounge chairs, creating a sanctuary of comfort amidst the vast expanse of sand. Around you, a kaleidoscope of colors and textures unfold: vibrant beach towels strewn around carelessly, the glistening ocean stretching endlessly before you, and the verdant palm trees swaying in rhythmic cadence against the bright blue sky.

The sound of the ocean’s embrace upon the sandy shoreline murmurs in the background, a subtle undercurrent beneath the symphony of voices of your friends that fills the air. Your gaze drifts towards a cluster of your friends cavorting in the embrace of the water. Their figures, silhouetted against the shimmering expanse of the ocean, exude a carefree vitality. Like playful spirits unleashed, they tumble and wrestle amidst the crash of the waves, their laughter echoing.

You smile softly listening to a few of the girl’s banter over last night’s drunken escapades, flipping a page of the cheap magazine you purchased earlier.

“Joris a pratiquement mange de la merde hier soir.” Joris practically ate shit last night. Your best friend, also Joris’s girlfriend, to the left of you says in between laughter, as you all careen over with a laugh.

“Au moins, il va bien.” At least he’s fine. You say with a soft smile, turning another page of your magazine. “Can we talk about Antoine shooting a firecracker out of his ass?” The words spark an immediate eruption of laughter, tears threaten to fall from your eyes from the sheer hilarity of the memory.

“Qu’est-ce qui est si drôle?” What’s so funny?

You turn your head and find yourself locking eyes with a pair of captivating green. In that moment, your heart skips a small beat, and a soft smile graces your lips as you gaze warmly at him. “Making fun of Joris and Antoine, bien sûr.” Of course.

A smile plays at the corner of his pink lips, and you can’t help but envy their perfect hue. You can’t help but notice the subtle dimples that grace Charles’ cheeks as he smiles. Did he always have those? With a casual grace, he raises a hand to scratch the side of his stubble before reaching for a towel casually draped over your lounge chair. As he leans over, droplets of water cascade onto your warm skin, a gentle reminder of the ocean’s embrace. You steal a moment to admire the bronzed glow of his skin, the sunlight dancing upon the small beads of water that cling to his sculpted muscles with a tantalizing allure.

A peculiar aura envelops the relationship between you and Charles. You didn’t speak often, although you were in the same friend group, and have known each other for forever. However, in the recent weeks, a shift has occurred. Perhaps it’s the shared experience of a newfound singleness has drawn you closer together, prompting conversations to flow more freely than ever before.

A delicate blush creeps onto your cheeks, a fleeting flush of warmth that you hope goes unnoticed against the backdrop of your sun-kissed skin. You feel a jolt of electricity shoot through you as Charles’s fingers brush lightly against your shoulders while the grabs the towel, igniting a subtle spark between you two.

“Allons-nous au club ce soir?” Are we going to the club tonight? One of your guy friends asks, sinking onto a sandy towel with a groan as he collapses onto the soft grains.

For a moment, maybe a few seconds, silence hangs in the air. As if each person is lost in contemplation, weighing the prospect of the evening’s plans. Then, in a synchronous chorus, a resounding chorus of “yes” erupts from the group, breaking the silence with unanimous enthusiasm.

You remain silent, immersed in the pages of a trash magazine, each turn revealing scandalous tales that undoubtedly blur the lines between fact and fiction. Charles watches you intently from his position in the beach chair across from you, though not directly opposite. Positioned slightly to the right, his gaze lingers on you with a subtle curiosity, his expression betraying a hint of contemplation as he observes you amidst the circle of friends. Always in your own world.

“Lovie, tu participes?” Are you in? Your best friend beside you seems to notice your lack of response. Her arms stretch across the gap between your chairs, and she gently squeezes your wrist, a silent gesture of reassurance and solidarity.

Lovie. You don’t exactly know why you got that nickname, but it stuck. And it carried over to most of the friend group calling you that since childhood.

You lifted your head up, the sun beading down on you causing your eyes to slightly crinkle, as you gave her a look that said duh!

Your friends smile widens as she claps her hands together, her excitement palpable as she sits up from her previously relaxed position. Her enthusiasm is infectious, casting a warm glow over the group as they all eagerly cheer in happiness with her. “Mon dieu!” Thank God! It was a squeal of relief. “Maybe you’ll meet a sexy man and fall in love and have his babies so you can forget all about that loser.”

Your heart clenches at the mere mention of your ex. The smile on your lip’s falters just slightly, but you quickly regain composure, determined not to show a hint of sadness surface while on vacation with your friends. With a subtle effort, you smooth away the brief flicker of vulnerability, masking it beneath a façade of cheerful resilience.

You roll your eyes, “Nous verrons.” We’ll see. Your tone carries a hint of mystery as you look back into your magazine, letting the conversation of your friends flow into a different direction.

“Es-tu sûre que tu devrais en prendre unautre?” Are you sure you should have another? Joris says into your ear, making sure you’re able to hear him over the pulse of the music, his arm slung over the back of the booth behind you. You lean into his body, a drunken smile pulled on your lips.

He harbored a slight concern for you. While you were his girlfriend’s best friend, your friendship dated back to childhood, long before his relationship with her, and he held you in high regard. His care for you ran deep, and ever since your break-up, he knows that you haven’t been the same.

“Arrête de t’inquiéter pour moi.” Stop worrying about me. You shove his shoulder gently, before pointing to your best friend on the dance floor. “Inquiéte-toi pour elle.” Worry about her.

You let out a soft laugh as you witness Joris’s eyes widen in surprise at the sight of his girlfriend standing on the stage. With a knowing smile, you begin to slide out of the booth with intent to make your way to the bar, sensing the need for a fresh drink to accompany the unfolding spectacle.

Before you can even slide out of the booth, a fresh drink—scratch that, a refill of your drink, is placed in front of you. Your gaze follows the masculine hand holding the glass, adorned with an expensive watch at the wrist, tracing its path up the arm until your gaze meets Charles’ intense stare. His eyes, dark and captivating, lock onto yours, already filled with questions and a silent understanding.

You slide back over, silently signaling him to sit beside you. As he eases into the spot beside you, the proximity of his body sends a shiver down your spin, the heat radiating from him igniting a primal longing within you. Your bare skin tingles with anticipation as his presence fills the air with an electric charge, a silent dance of desire playing out between you in the dimly lit confines of the booth.

In the midst of the pulsating club music, words between you two remained scarce. Yet, you both found solace in the quiet companionship that enveloped you both. The energy of the club swirled around you, but the warmth of each other’s presence, you felt a profound sense of ease settle, much like a comforting blanket.

It wasn’t unnoticeable to the rest of the friend group. In fact, it was very noticeable. The way you and Charles seemed to find a connection with one another, especially post break-ups.

It’s not that you were never friends, you just were never as close. So it came as a slight surprise to a few of your friends as they picked up the little changes that were made.

Like when Charles refills your drinks for you. Or when he notices that there is coconut in your meal, which you’re very allergic to, and sends it back to the kitchen.

Like when you remind him to put on sunscreen, knowing he tends to burn easily. Or when you find yourselves sitting out by the fire at night, long after everyone went to sleep, just talking about the most random things.

“The CGI in that movie was terrible!”

“It’s a classic! You can’t hate a classic!”

“That doesn’t make the CGI better!”

“I’ll have you know I’m a culinary expert.”

“Charles, I’ve known you for forever. Don’t lie!”

“I’m an innovator! Who else could turn pasta into charcoal with such ease?”

No matter the topic at hand, you and Charles always found yourselves engulfed in laughter, the gentle sound filling the air with warmth and camaraderie.

You didn’t want sadness to cloud your vacation, but sometimes emotions have a way of washing over you like relentless waves. One of the evenings, while your friends made plans to dine out, you made the wise choice to stay in. Although you didn’t want to miss out, you felt that you were not in the right mindset to be out with everyone. Some protested your decision, expressing concern, but you assured them that you would be fine on your own and ready to party it up all day tomorrow.

Charles shot you a funny look as he slid his hands into one of his pockets, leaning casually against the kitchen archway. His white linen shirt, barely buttoned and snug against his muscles, accentuated his tan, making it seem even more vibrant against the stark contrast of the fabric. A single glance from him stirred a whirlwind of emotions within you as you perched on the bar-stool chair, clad in nothing but a tiny pair of sleep shorts and a well-worn t-shirt. It was your ex-boyfriend’s shirt, a garment you should have long discarded, but its comfort proved too irresistible to part with. Despite the pang of guilt that tugged at your conscience, you found solace in its familiar embrace, a reminder of the past you couldn’t quite let go of yet.

The villa you currently stayed in was beautiful. Its whitewashed walls and wrought-iron accents blended modern and luxury all in one. Inside, the warm glow of the setting sunbathed the spacious rooms, casting an ethereal orange hue over the abundance of white and wood-colored furniture. As the click of the front door echoed through the villa, the chatter of your friends faded into near silence as they departed for dinner, leaving you alone in complete silence.

You find yourself eventually nestled in the corner of the oversized couch, cocooned in the warmth of a fluffy blanket draped over your body. With the television remote in hand, you flip through the channels, searching for something to capture your interest. Nothing quite grabs your attention, until you stumble upon a cheesy rom-com you’ve seen hundreds of times.

Lost in a trance, you’re oblivious to the world around you, the gentle breeze whispering through the open windows. The creak of the front door opening barely registers, and it’s only when Charles’ silhouette materializes in the archway beside the TV that you snap back to reality. A soft smile tugs at the corners of Charles’ lips as he gazes upon you, nestled comfortably on the couch, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth. His heart skips a beat at the sight of you, at the sight of your eyes looking at him with such softness.

“Que fais-tu de retour?” What are you doing back?

He shrugs nonchalantly, pushing off from the wall’s archway and making his way toward you. With an easy grace, he plops down beside you, propping one leg up on another couch cushion and allowing his shoulder and head to half-lean against you.

You both settle in a comfortable silence, the sound of the movie filling the air around you with a comforting ambiance.

“Penses-tu jamais que tu le surpasseras?” Do you ever think you’ll get over him?

The words send your stomach into a frenzy of somersaults, and a tightness forms in your throat, making it difficult to swallow.

You don’t answer immediately, instead you stare ahead at the television, your fingers fumbling with the fabric of the blanket nervously.

“Je l’espère.” I hope so.

His eyes are solemn as you look at him. “Parfois,” Sometimes. He begins, straightening his posture so he can fully look at you. “I think I’ll never get over her.”

His words hang heavily in the air, and though they sting a bit, you understand. You share the same sentiment.

“Mais toi,” But you. His hand reaches to yours, the one fumbling with your thigh. His eyes dart between both of yours, like he’s struggling to formulate his next words. “You just,” He starts before squeezing your hand in his. “You just make my days feel easier.”

You nod slowly, knowing exactly what he’s trying to say. “My pain, my heartache, just disappears whenever I’m with you.” Your voice is soft as you speak the words. The truth of them daunting.

“Sometimes I just wish I could turn my emotions off.” You say, unwrapping the blanket from your body, so that it only sits underneath you now. “Like I could just fuck someone and move on.”

Charles’ eyes widen slightly as the word ‘fuck’ slips past your lips. He nearly lets out an audible groan, his eyes tracing the contours of your collarbones peeking out from the oversized shirt that slips tantalizingly of your shoulder.

He licks his lips, swallowing a pronounced gulp, as his eyes trail back to your face.

“Yeah.”

You could feel the tension in the air, like the both of you were considering fucking each other here and now. Charles couldn’t escape the thoughts of spreading you out on the cushions right here, spreading your legs and fucking you with his tongue.

As he locks eyes with you, you feel a flutter in your stomach, your thighs clenching involuntarily as his gaze lingers on your lips. You part your lips to speak, but before you can utter another word, a loud burst of commotion erupts through the front door. No doubt your drunken friends, clamoring for the fire pit.

You and Charles find yourselves in an awkward dance since then. Not too awkward, but the idea of you fucking each other escaped neither of your minds.

It was honestly twisted. The fact that Charles couldn’t stop picturing what you would look like beneath him, what your moans would sound like in his ear. He had fucked his fist twice to the though of you since he even heard the word ‘fuck’ slip past your lips on the couch the other night. It was honestly pathetic.

You couldn’t handle it either it seems. You found your eyes lingering on Charles way longer than necessary. The flex of his muscles as he enjoys a morning workout by the villa’s pool, the small smiles he gives you from across the room, and the small touches he gives as he walks by you has you driving yourself up a fucking wall.

So, when your friends decide to head out for a spa day, you and Charles hang back sitting across from one another a tad too far apart on the outdoor couch for it to be normal. It was as if you needed the space to stop from jumping each other’s bones.

The skimpy red bikini you wore did little to ease Charles’ thoughts. But he couldn’t help but feel grateful for the first time in weeks he isn’t thinking about his ex-girlfriend. No, he’s too engrossed in the idea of fucking you. Hearing your sweet little moans he just knows you would have. Feeling your smooth skin beneath the pads of his fingertips.

Charles could feel himself harden just by glancing at you lounging comfortably on the outdoor couch, the clouds covering the sun engulfing you guys in a moment of shade.

Across the couch from him, you tried to do everything but acknowledge Charles’ longing stare. But you couldn’t. Your body was all tense, in need of a release.

“Charles, will you—”

Before you could even finish the sentence, Charles was standing over your figure on the couch. His hardened cock visibly noticeable in his short swimsuit. The muscles of his thighs flexed before you, as he visibly gulped at the vision of your breasts spilling out of the top.

“Assieds-toi droit.” Sit up. He murmurs softly, his voice carrying a gentle command as he shifts, prompting you to straighten your posture.

Was this really about to happen? You really hoped so.

It was as if Charles can see the desire in your eyes, answering the question of if you wanted this in his head almost instantly.

“Est-ce que je peux t’embrasser?” Can I kiss you? His thumb toyed with your bottom lip, tracing it as he licked his own.

You nodded your head before his lips pressed down onto yours, capturing them in a sweet embrace. His fingers tangled in your hair, gripping it firmly near your scalp as he deepened the kiss, igniting a surge of warmth and longing between you.

A soft moan escapes your lips as he slips his tongue into your mouth, pressing it hotly against yours. He pulls away for a moment, still standing above your sitting figure, as he takes in your blown out pupils.

“Ça a un gout si doux.” Tastes so sweet. His hand remains in your hair, holding your head in place to look at him. His eyes stare at your sightly swollen lips, a clench of need forming in the pit of his stomach.

He falls to his knees before you on the couch, kneeling between your two legs, as his other hand presses against your chest, forcing you to lean back against the cushions of the couch. The sun peeped through the clouds momentarily, allowing you to drink in the sight of just how light his eyes were.

His thumb grazes your bikini cladded core, rubbing light circles in a teasing manner. The pressure of his thumb wasn’t enough, but it was everything you needed.

He looked at you from between your legs, a smirk on his face like he knew just how crazy he was driving you. It was an image you never wanted to forget.

“Touch me.” You begged, a breathy moan leaving your lips as his thumb pressed harder onto your swollen clit.

It was all he needed to hear before sliding your bikini bottoms to the side and shoving his tongue to where you needed him most. The cool air of the outdoors was a stark contrast to the heat you felt between your legs.

He took his time with you, like he wanted to savor every sweet moan you gave him. His tongue flicked around your clit a few times, before wrapping his lips around it. Your hand slid into his brown locks, slightly lightened form the sun over vacation, and pulled as you rutted your hips against his face.

“Mm, that’s it,” He groaned into your cunt, his words vibrating against you, sending your hips into a faster frenzy. He slipped two fingers into you, lifting his head to watch as you lulled your head back against the cushion and took your hands from his head to your breasts. You stretched the bikini top slightly, until your breasts spilled over the tiny triangles, your nipples already hardened from the need that burned within you.

Charles slipped one hand up to your breasts, taking one of your nipples in between his thumb and forefinger and pinching.

“M’god,” You half-shouted, biting your lip to prevent yourself for being too loud.

“Don’t deprive me from your sweet little moans, yeah?” He pulled his lips off your clit for a few seconds, giving you ample time to look at them glistening in you. You nearly came at the sight of it.

He dropped his head back between your legs, flicking fast kitten licks to your clit, which had you careening forward with a cry of pleasure.

He sucked hard on your clit, eliciting loud mewls from you that were like a sweet melody to his ears. Charles could feel his cock straining against the tightness of his swim suit, he flexed his hips into the couch before him, in need of some sort of relief.

He could feel you teetering on the edge of your orgasm, shoving his face deeper into you, his tongue slipping in and out of you at a fervent pace. It hit you hard. Your hips had a mind of their own, as they rode his face, the bony structure of his nose pressing against your clit sending you into a frenzy.

Charles replaced his tongue with his fingers and watched as you came down from your high. His fingers still working you over as he coaxed you through your orgasm, not letting up.

“I knew you would taste like heaven,” He smirks, finally removing his fingers, before slipping them into his mouth, and moaning at the taste of you on his tongue.

You groaned, your pupils blown out as you looked at him, your legs still spread and cunt fully exposed to him and the outside air.

“Need more,” You practically begged.

“Need my cock, hm?” You nodded, wasted no time in answering. He pushed himself up from his knees, sitting beside you on the couch as he pushed his swimsuit down enough to free his cock. It was hot and heavy in your hands as you reached for it, precum already dripping from its tip.

You straddled his waist, raising up just enough for him to slip his cock into your already saturated core. Your hands grip the back of the couch behind Charles’ head, your fingers clenching it tightly as you take in each inch of him. His hands grip your waist, large fingers sprayed across as he guides your movements over his cock.

The squeeze of your cunt on his cock was better than Charles could ever imagine. The fact that he had to use his fist before you was honestly a punishment compared to this.

“Mon dieu,” My God. You groan as his cock stretches your walls. You waste no time in working yourself over his cock, the pleasure of it too good for you to do it slow. You chased that second orgasm as it teetered on the edge. You were already so close.

“That close already?” His smirk was permanent on his face as he flexed his hips up into you, hitting you deeper than before.

You nodded, soft mewls escaping your lips constantly. It was as if you couldn’t shut up now. His hands grip your hair tightly, pulling your head back to look up at the sky, as he pulls one of your hardened nipples in between his teeth.

You didn’t have time to tell him you were coming again, but the clench of your walls on his cock was enough of a warning for him. Your walls fluttered around him repeatedly, as his name fell softly from your lips followed with a string of curses.

As if he couldn’t hold back his orgasm any longer, he lifted you up off him and placed you to the side, his hot cum spilling over his cock and stomach in stringy spurts. Your body was limp against the cushion, your bathing suit covering nothing.

Still hazy from your climax, you look from the blue cloudy sky to Charles beside you. His eyes were glossy as he smiled, like he was fully content.

“Merci,” Thank you. You said softly, an acknowledgment for him giving you what you mentioned the other night.

He nodded once, giving a small smile as if to say thank you back.

It’s been weeks since you and Charles fucked on the outdoor couch of the vacation villa. You haven’t seen each other much since, not that you expected it. You were thankful it helped you forget about your ex-boyfriend just a little bit more. Like you could bare the idea of meeting other men. Which you were.

You claimed that Charles was a one-time thing. Although it was probably the best sex you’ve ever had, you knew you couldn’t do it again. It was a mutual one-time thing.

So, when you found yourself pressed against the bathroom door of the five-star restaurant, your short little sundress bunched up at your waist, and Charles’ cock buried deep in your cunt, it was a little unexpected. Not completely.

It was hard and quick, nothing but a string of breathy moans between you two as he pressed your chest forward into the door. You both came quickly, your chest flushed red and his cheeks slightly pink as if he just performed a hard workout.

“Who’s your date?” He asks, the words slip out fast, like he’s trying to act like he doesn’t care.

You furrow your eyebrow for a second, before looking at yourself in the mirror, Charles standing tall behind your figure. “Just met him last night,” You flattened your hair as much as you could to make it seem normal. “I’m trying to get back out there.”

Charles smiles at you, although it seems slightly pained. “Good. Your ex-boyfriend didn’t deserve you.” His words were kind, and it made you smile that he even bothered to say it.

“I should get back,” You begin, turning to face him. His eyes look at your lips one last time, like he’s contemplating kissing you again. “I’ll see you next week at Joris’s, right?”

He gave you a small nod.

Charles Leclerc is a liar.

Well, a liar when it comes to him saying he doesn’t think about you sexually. The way you feel around his cock. The way your breathy moans turn him on to no end. The way your breasts bounced with each thrust of his cock. The taste of your cunt on his lips.

He’s a liar if he says he doesn’t fuck his fist almost every night to the thought of you.

But he was also a liar when it comes to him saying he doesn’t think about you not sexually. The way you loved to read trashy magazines, the way you always fidgeted with the rings on your fingers when you were nervous, the way your eyes glowed whenever you laughed.

So, when Joris mentions you and a new potential boyfriend, he can’t help but feel slightly annoyed at the idea. The clench of Charles’ jaw at the sight of you and this ‘potential boyfriend’ across the yard at baby shower, does not slip past Joris’s eyesight.

“Y a-t-il quelque chose entre vous deux?” Is there something between you two?

Charles clutches the neck of the beer bottle in his fingers, bringing it to his lips, before straying his eyes from you to Joris beside him.

Charles’ eyes gleamed like he didn’t know how to answer this without admitting feelings he hasn’t even admitted to himself. He shook his head. No. Because there wasn’t.

“Vous étiez proches en vacances.” You guys were close on vacation.

It was just a statement, as if he wanted to see Charles’ reaction. Charles didn’t know if Joris was trying to insinuate anything, but Charles didn’t respond. Not as Joris’s girlfriend, your best friend, popped up behind you both, a tray of cupcakes in her hand.

You sat across the yard, deep in conversation with Theo, at one of the many heavily decorated picnic tables. The short purple sundress that adorned your body is a vision of effortless elegance. Delicate straps grace the shoulders, framing your breasts with a feminine charm. The skirt flows gently with every movement, swaying gracefully in the warm breeze.

You both knew it wasn’t anything serious, at least yet, but he had a way of making you smile, nonetheless. Despite only knowing each other for a few weeks and sharing a handful of dates, he made a point to take his time with you. He was considerate, never pressuring you into anything, especially after you had confided in him about your previous messy relationship one night.

“Tu es belle.” You’re beautiful. Theo whispered into your ear, his fingers toying with the fabric at the ends of your dress, resting right above your knees.

You blushed, your cheeks flaring a light shade of red, as you smiled into your lap. You lifted your head slightly, looking across the yard, where your eyes met with Charles. His eyes already watching you with such heat in his eyes it made your stomach do a somersault.

He felt an intense surge of resentment towards the guy who dared to lay his hands on you, his anger boiling as he watched him lean into whisper into your ear. Your cheeks flushed a brilliant shade of crimson under his gaze, betraying the effect of his words. What could he possibly be saying to you?

It was just his cock you were coming around last week. So, why is this fiery sense of jealousy threatening to consume him entirely?

It didn’t make sense. How could he feel such intense jealousy over someone he never even had a real relationship with? He never even felt this jealous over his ex-girlfriend.

It was just sex.

He told himself repeatedly. It was just sex. But it only made the burn in his chest only grow more.

You were a liar if you said that Charles Leclerc is never on your mind. You were a liar if you said that it was just sex.

Because, for some inexplicable reason, you can’t seem to get Charles Leclerc out of your mind. You remember how he made sure none of your dishes contained coconut, how he bought you those trashy magazines he knew you loved so much, and how he always made sure that you were smiling.

So, when Charles Leclerc stood silhouetted in the doorway of your front door, the moonlight casting a soft glow around him in the middle of the night, you couldn’t help but feel your heart skip a beat.

You took note of his hair in disarray, as if he had run his hands through it a dozen times, and the soft grey sweats that hung loosely on his hips. The taut muscles of his arms peeked out against the seams of the black t-shirt he wore.

“Je n’arrête pas de penser à toi.” I can’t stop thinking about you. He utters the words with a look of anguish etched on his face, each step carefully navigating around your figure as he stands in the foyer of your apartment, a space he’s been in countless times over the years. But never alone. Never without friends.

You close the door and turn to look at him, not realizing just how close he was to you. “It’s like you,” he begins but freezes, taking a step closer toward you. You take a step back, the tight tank top you wore did little to hide your hardened nipples from the cold air, and your back hit the front door. “It’s like you possess every thought I have. Every single thought. You. You. You.”

You sucked in a breath as you looked into his eyes, more darkened than normal, almost as if he was angry at you.

“Qu’est-ce que tu m’as fait?” What did you do to me? His fingers trail up your arm to your collarbones, a trail of goosebumps following in their wake.

You gulp audibly, your lips slightly parted from the feel of his fingertips on your skin for the first time in weeks. You struggle to find the words until Charles is pleading.

He laughs slightly sarcastic, like he can’t believe this is happening to him. “I even bought those trashy magazines that you like so much, a whole stack of them at my place, because I cannot get you out of my fucking head.”

“Dit moi, it’s not just me.” Tell me.

You would be a liar if you said it’s just him. Your hands trail up to his shoulder, your fingers squeezing them in comfort as you stare into his eyes. His breaths getting heavier as your fingers trail his t-shirt classes skin, like he was yearning for it so much, like it burned him.

“It’s not just you.”

He doesn’t give you time to say much more, not until his lips are crashing down onto yours again. Like he couldn’t last one more second without your lips pressed to his.

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fic #f1 imagine

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littlelamy · 3 months ago

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PLEASEE dad Rafe where the reader is like a Pilates mom trophy wife, and she and Rafe have kids and UGHHHHHHHH traditional rich family the kind Rafe would have.

⭐️i love making little moodboards for this theme so disregard if you dont like it, but i hope you enjoy! ⭐️

rafe pulls up in the blacked-out suv, the engine a low, contented hum as he steps out, shoulders squared, exuding that effortless confidence that still sends a spark through you. the sun dips lower in the sky, casting golden rays over the sprawling lawn as the kids burst out, laughing and calling back to him, backpacks slung carelessly over their shoulders. they race each other toward the house, shouting over who gets the last snack in the pantry, and rafe just shakes his head, watching with that quiet pride that’s become second nature to him.

you’re settled by the pool, lounging on one of the cushioned chairs with your favorite oversized sunglasses perched on your nose, a fresh iced latte in hand. you’re fresh from pilates, dressed in a crisp white athleisure set that rafe has already told you he loves—a little too much, given the look he’s giving you right now. you pull your sunglasses down, meeting his gaze with a smile that’s just for him.

he saunters over, hands sliding into the pockets of his perfectly tailored pants. the sun catches in his hair, bringing out the few strands of blonde that the summer hadn’t quite left behind. there’s a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, that warm gleam in his eyes, hinting at that wild edge that he still carries, even now. and it’s there, in that look, that you see how completely wrapped up in you he still is.

“hey, stranger,” you murmur, lifting your drink in a silent toast as he drops into the chair next to you, leaning close enough that you can catch his aftershave, something dark and woodsy. you see his gaze flicker over you, taking in every detail like he’s still half-surprised by the life you both built.

“missed you today,” he says, voice low and sweet. you give a playful shrug, pretending not to notice how his hand casually finds yours, warm fingers threading between yours, the way he’s always done.

you shake your head, leaning back and giving a little sigh, mock-serious. “all i did was pilates and a trip to the club, rafe,” you tease. “how’d you survive without me?”

his laugh is quiet, but you catch that glint in his eye. “barely,” he says, thumb tracing gentle circles along the side of your hand, a gesture so natural you barely even notice it anymore. he pauses, looking out at the kids, who are now a blur in the distance, likely digging around for snacks or on their way to the game room. and it’s in that moment—just the two of you with the day slipping into evening—that you feel the absolute certainty he has in this life, in the family you’ve built.

you turn to him, watching as his gaze softens, and there’s something that pulls at your heart, this deep, endless feeling he has for you, even after all these years. you’re the perfect vision of his world, a pilates-mom trophy wife, the gleaming pool and manicured lawn the backdrop to a life that’s both beautiful and grounded, something he never knew he wanted until he had it. and yet, in his gaze, it’s so clear how much he appreciates every inch of it.

“think i’m going to make something special for dinner,” you say, though you both know it’ll be the chef taking care of most of it. but the idea of you, his wife, planning out dinner like this is exactly the sort of scene he loves—a glimpse of something tender and old-fashioned, just for the two of you.

he grins, giving you that lopsided smile. “save some time for me afterward?”

“always,” you reply, resting your head on his shoulder as the sun dips low. it’s not the first time you’ve had this moment, and it won’t be the last—but that’s exactly what makes it so perfect.

he’s quiet for a moment, eyes still tracing the outline of your face before his hand slides around to the back of your neck, pulling you in close for a slow kiss. his lips press into yours with that intensity that still makes your heart race, like he’s savoring every second, every touch.

when he pulls back, his gaze is a shade darker, playful but serious all at once. he lowers his voice. “the kids aren’t here, you know.”

your heart flutters, and you bite back a smile. “they’re just inside,” you murmur, a teasing note in your voice.

“exactly. not here.” his hand drifts down your arm, sending a shiver through you as he smirks, voice dropping lower. “and, by the way… that little package you ordered just came in.” his fingers trace along your wrist, up your arm, igniting little sparks of excitement. “saw it in the bedroom.”

you feign a casual shrug, but the look in his eyes makes it impossible to keep the smile from your face. “oh? did it now?” you ask, feigning innocence. “must have slipped my mind.”

he laughs softly, his thumb brushing across your cheek as his gaze roams over you, lingering in a way that makes you feel like the only woman in the world. “you knew exactly what you were doing,” he murmurs, voice tinged with admiration and something else—something wild. he leans in, his lips just grazing your ear as he whispers, “think you could model it for me later?”

your cheeks warm, and you feel your pulse quicken, unable to hide your grin. “if you think you can keep the kids distracted…”

his smirk widens, a promise in his gaze. “i’ll figure something out,” he says, his voice filled with that familiar mischief. he presses another kiss to your lips, lingering just long enough to leave you breathless, anticipation simmering between you as the sun sinks lower, casting long shadows over the beautiful life you’ve built together.

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#rafe obx #rafe imagine #rafe cameron #rafe x you #rafe fic #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron blurb

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satellite-evans · 21 days ago

Text

A/N : could not help myself okay I’m sorry

The afternoon breeze rustled through the trees, carrying the scent of summer grass and distant flowers. You sat cross-legged on the patio, your knees brushing against the edge of the lounge chair where Harry sprawled, head propped up on a cushion, a weathered orange book in hand.

"Charles Bukowski, huh?" you teased, craning your neck to get a better look at the title. "Isn't he a bit dark for a lazy afternoon or you know, for you ?" You said, with a teasing voice.

Harry’s green eyes peeked over the top of the book, a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "It’s not all dark," he countered, flipping a page. "It’s poetry. It’s... raw." His voice dipped at the last word, as if tasting its edge.

"Raw," you repeated, mimicking his tone with a grin. "Look at you, the literary connoisseur."

"Oi, don’t mock me," he retorted, the book lowering enough for you to catch the light flush creeping up his neck. "Just because I don’t read your fluffy romance novels—"

"Excuse me!" you cut in, feigning offense. "Romance is a legitimate genre, thank you very much. And for the record, your taste in books is just as dramatic."

Harry chuckled, the sound deep and easy, like honey spilling from a jar. "You love my dramatic taste."

You didn’t argue, because it was true. Instead, you leaned back on your palms, tilting your head to the sky. The cobblestones beneath you were warm from the sun, and the distant chirp of birds filled the silence between your banter.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched him. His face softened as he read, brow furrowing slightly with each line that seemed to strike him. His thumb absentmindedly stroked the edge of the page, the same thumb now painted a soft yellow that you’d insisted on doing last night. He’d let you, of course, laughing when you got a bit of polish on his knuckle.

“Do you want me to read you some?” he asked suddenly, breaking your reverie.

You turned your head, meeting his gaze. “Yeah,” you said softly. “I’d like that.”

Harry sat up a little, clearing his throat dramatically before starting. His voice, smooth and measured, carried the weight of Bukowski’s words effortlessly, transforming the poetry into something alive. You listened, entranced—not just by the poem, but by him. By the way he looked at you in between stanzas, as if gauging your reaction, as if each line mattered more because you were there to hear it.

When he finished, the world seemed quieter, like the poem had pressed pause on everything else. He closed the book with a satisfied sigh, looking at you with a raised eyebrow. “Well?”

“Very raw,” you teased, but your smile gave away how much you’d loved it.

He laughed, tossing the book onto the chair beside him. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” you shot back, crawling up onto the lounge chair with him. You nestled into his side, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as if it had always belonged there.

#harry styles writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles fiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fic rec

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thecushioncompanynz · 7 months ago

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theonottsbxtch · 4 months ago

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THE OTHER GUY PT.2 | FC43

an: this one is dedicated to @iimplicitt teehee, i turned you into an oscar girl. this is my next mission xx

fc: random brunette's on pintrest

part one

ynpiastri

📍 spain

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, landonorris and 35,746 others

summahhhh ☀️☀️

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The late afternoon sun bathed the resort in a warm, golden hue, casting long shadows across the sprawling terrace. You stretched out on a lounge chair, your oversized sunglasses hiding the exhaustion that had followed you all the way from Baku. Spain had seemed like the perfect escape—far from the relentless media attention, from the pit lane politics, and most importantly, from him.

You sipped your iced tea, letting the coolness of the drink momentarily soothe your frustration. You’d spent weeks defending Logan online, battling fans who were celebrating his replacement, all while watching the media fawn over Franco —her newest enemy. He was charming, sure, with his flashy smile and ridiculous sense of humour, but you saw right through it. He was the reason Logan was out of a seat, and no amount of good press could change that.

"Vacation," you muttered to herself, scrolling through your phone with half-interest. "More like damage control." You caught sight of a headline featuring Franco, and instinctively, your blood boiled. Another interview where he effortlessly charmed the reporters, cracking jokes, talking about his "new chapter" with the team.

Your fingers itched to type something snarky, but you resisted. You were supposed to be here to forget about him, not let him take over your every waking thought.

The sound of waves crashing gently against the shore and the soft chatter of other resort guests faded into the background as you sunk deeper into the oversized cushion. A brief moment of peace, a break from everything that had been weighing you down since the start of the season.

Your phone buzzed again. You swiped at the notification, but instead of seeing another message, you found herself back on his Instagram. There he was, shirtless on a yacht, sunglasses perched cockily on his nose, and that same aggravatingly perfect smile. You couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

Ugh, him again.

Tossing your phone aside, determined not to let him ruin the one place where you were supposed to be free from all the F1 drama. The warm breeze ruffled your hair, and you let out a deep sigh. Maybe the sunshine and a few more days of disconnecting would finally help you feel better.

You slipped your sunglasses further down over your eyes and leaned back in the chair, letting the sun soak into your skin. Just as you were beginning to drift off, the sound of distant laughter and voices pulled your attention toward the pool. A group of people, probably other guests, gathered around, laughing and chatting as they played a game of volleyball. You tried not to focus too much on them, but something felt oddly familiar about the scene.

Then you heard it—a voice that sent an immediate chill through your body, a voice that had been haunting you far too often lately.

"Come on, you can’t let me win that easily!"

Your eyes shot open, and there he was. Of all the places in Spain, of all the resorts you could’ve chosen, he had to be here, of course.

Franco Colapinto — Logan’s replacement —stood shirtless at the edge of the pool, a volleyball in hand, grinning like he didn’t have a care in the world. Your stomach twisted in irritation as you watched him toss the ball to one of the resort guests, laughing easily, his carefree attitude only making you hate him more.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Quickly grabbing your phone, ready to escape to your room before he could notice you, you stood up trying to ignore the piercing headache you got for standing up too quickly. But before you could slip away, that familiar voice called out again.

“Well, fancy seeing you here. I knew you couldn’t stay away, hermosa.”

You froze. Heart sinking, and her fingers tensing around your phone. Of course, he'd spotted you. He always seemed to know exactly where you were, like he had some sixth sense for ruining your day.

Reluctantly, you turned around, eyes narrowing as they locked on him. He was leaning against the pool railing now, dripping wet from his earlier game, an insufferably smug grin on his face.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," you muttered, shaking your head. This trip was supposed to be about getting away from him, not running into him at every turn.

He casually pushed himself away from the railing, moving closer, still dripping as he walked towards you. "You look surprised. Didn’t think you’d be lucky enough to spend more time with me, did you?"

"Surprised? No. Horrified? Absolutely," you shot back, folding your arms across her chest, your usual defences kicking in.

He laughed, that low chuckle you found utterly irritating. "Relax. I’m not here to ruin your holiday. You just happen to be where the fun is."

"You call this fun?" you gestured vaguely to the pool and surrounding guests, "Seems pretty desperate if you ask me."

"Desperate? Me? No, I’d say it’s fate." He smiled. "Destiny brought us here together, Chiquitita."

"More like bad luck. What are you doing here?" you seethed, looking at him venomously.

"Same thing as you, I imagine. Bit of sun, a bit of relaxation..." Franco grinned. "Or maybe I came because I knew you’d be here, hermosa."

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the sudden warmth in your cheeks. "Right. Because stalking me across Spain is your idea of fun."

"Stalking’s a strong word. Besides, it’s not my fault you chose the same resort. Destiny, maybe?" He took a step closer, and you instantly regretted not fleeing the second you saw him.

You scowled. "This place is big enough. Stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours."

He chuckled, not taking the hint. "You’re funny. You know, I’ve seen your posts—those little digs at me. It’s almost cute how much you hate me. But hate’s just another kind of passion, isn’t it?"

Your stomach twisted. He was being playful, teasing, as usual. But underneath the banter, there was something more—something that made your skin tingle and your defences rise.

“I don’t have time for your little games,” you shot back, trying to sound as unaffected as possible. “You’re just a reminder of everything that’s gone wrong with Logan.”

His smile faded slightly, and for a brief moment, there was a flicker of sincerity in his eyes. "I’m not trying to be. Believe it or not, I didn’t want things to go down the way they did with Logan."

You paused, thrown by the unexpected change in tone. You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

“Look, just stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours.”

francolapinto

📍 valencia, spain

liked by williamsracing, alex_albon, olliebearman and 983,365 others

first slide is what i look like sliding right into a girl's life 🤪

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A few days later, you were starting to settle into the rhythm of the resort. Early morning swims, afternoons lounging by the pool with your book, and quiet evenings spent at the beachfront bar. It was exactly what you needed—peace, space, and time to forget about the fact that everywhere you were, he was too.

But of course, that was too much to ask.

It was late afternoon when you had found herself once again in the outdoor seating area, soaking up the sun, your book lying forgotten on your lap, eyes closed, letting the soft sound of waves crash in the distance.

“Don’t tell me I’m the reason you’ve been hiding out all week.”

Your eyes flew open to see him standing next to your table, casually leaning on the back of the empty chair across from you.

"For the last time, I’m not hiding," you said, exasperated.

"Right. Because reading that same page for the last hour doesn’t look like someone avoiding their surroundings," Franco teased, glancing at your book. Before you could protest, he sat down, uninvited.

"Are you really doing this? Here, again?" you glared at him, tempted to just pick up and leave.

“Relajarse (relax),” he said, waving over a waiter. “I just wanted to talk.”

“About what? About how great you are at ruining perfectly good days?”

“Ruining days? Or making them more interesting?” he grinned, ordering a drink in his perfect spanish. “I can’t help that you always look bored when I’m not around.”

“I’m bored because you won’t leave me alone.”

Franco laughed, but there was something softer in his eyes this time, a subtle shift in his demeanour. “Look, I get it. You think I don’t deserve the seat. You’re angry about what happened to Logan. But I’m not here to be your enemy, hermosa.”

Your jaw tightened. “It’s not just that. It’s everything. You come in, all smiles and charm, acting like none of it matters. Like everything that happened to him is just... a part of the game.”

“It’s not a game to me,” he said, and his voice was lower now, more serious. “I worked my whole life to get here, just like he did. I didn’t want to take anything from him. I had no choice in that decision.”

You looked away, biting the inside of your cheek. You hated how he could make you question yourself. Hated that the confidence he wore like armour could falter and reveal something deeper, something that made you doubt your automatic disdain.

"Why do you even care what I think?" you asked quietly, almost more to yourself than to him.

“Because you’re different,” he said simply. “And maybe... maybe I care about what you think more than I should.”

Your breath caught in your throat. There it was again—that unexpected softness breaking through his usual flirty, cocky exterior. You didn’t trust it. Didn’t trust him.

But still, a part of you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe—just maybe—there was more to him than you wanted to admit.

Clearing your throat, trying to regain your composure, you looked at your empty drink, ignoring the new one he’d ordered for you. “Well, I don’t care what you think.”

He smiled knowingly, leaning back in his chair as the waiter set down his drink. “I can change that.”

twitter

text from logan to yn

the end.

teehee 😚✌️

#f1 #f1 imagine #f1 smau #f1 fanfic #logan sargeant #williams #franco colapinto #franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto x you #franco colapinto x yn #oscar piastri #oscar piastri sister #williams f1 #williams racing #williams formula 1 #logan sargeant angst #logan sargeant smau #f1 social media au #franco colapinto smau

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