#Touch You Where It Hurts (SINGLE) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yandere-daydreams · 4 months

Text

Title: Ferine.

Pairing: Yandere!Toji x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 4.1k.

TW: Hybrid AU, Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Slight Manipulation, Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Knotting, Mentions of Blood + Violence, Slight Breeding, and Biting.

Toji was, by far, the largest hybrid you’d ever taken care of.

Which, technically speaking, wasn’t that big of an accomplishment. This was barely your third month at the research facility, and you could count the number of hybrids you’d encountered before being hired here on a single hand. Still, even compared to the other wolves you currently looked after, Toji was beyond impressive. His long, pointed ears and stocky build set him well above six-foot, and even if he’d lacked height, he would’ve been able to make up for it with the planes of sculpted muscle circled around his biceps and thighs, laid over his chest and back. Top it all off with a set of claws each longer than your pointer finger and sharp enough to pierce reinforced steel, and he was practically fit for exhibit. Not that Toji could ever actually be a show dog, no – he’d tear the judges apart before they’d so much as heard his name. He was sweet, but he had a temper. You had to be careful not to set him off.

His fangs were impressive, too – perfectly in-tact despite years of less-than-adequate care, only a touch duller than a real wolf’s. You were careful not to let your hand stray from where it cupped his cheek as you looked for signs of damage or rot only to, of course, come up empty. The longer you spent with him, the more convinced you were that nothing could actually hurt Toji, even if the faded scar stitched into the corner of his mouth suggested otherwise.

“All done,” you started, letting go of his cheek. Immediately, Toji’s jaw snapped shut with enough strength to take off a finger, had you given him the chance. “Perfect as always, Toji. I think you might be my best patient.”

A cocky smile found its way to his lips, and you could hear his tail beating lazily against the dirt floor of his enclosure. The facility was committed to replicating the natural environments of their more exotic hybrids as closely as possible, even if Toji claimed he’d trade it all for a punching bag, or better yet, something ‘real’ to dig his teeth into, whatever that meant. “Do I get a treat, doc?”

It was asked playfully, but still, you hummed by way of confirmation, pulling your duffle bag into your lap and fishing Toji’s well-earned rewards – a generic chocolate bar and a can of some painfully acidic, sickeningly sweet brand of soda your hybrid patients couldn’t seem to get enough of. It was a meager prize, but it was as much as you were able to spare considering how strict his caretakers were when it came to his diet. You’d probably save yourself a few dirty looks if you didn’t give him anything at all, but it didn’t feel right to leave him empty-handed.

He accepted your humble offering greedily. While the chocolate bar was stowed away for later consumption, the can was pierced with a clawed thumb and emptied in one long, unpleasantly audible swig. You’d only started to push yourself to your feet when Tojj finished, letting the now empty can fall to the ground before turning his attention back to you. “It hurts my feelings, knowing you’re just gonna run off and put your hands on another animal.” His ear pressed flat against his scalp, as if he was trying (and failing) to feign disappointment. “If I didn’t know better, I’d start to think you didn’t really care about all the time we’ve spent together.”

“You’re not exactly in desperate need of medical attention,” you chided, throwing your bag over your shoulder. “And I’m on a schedule. Not all of us can sit around, grooming ourselves all day.”

That earned a breathy laugh, a coy lilt to his smile. “Well, if you wanted to take a shot at it, I wouldn’t—”

“Save it. I get enough of that with the cats.” Just thinking about it made you grimace. It was one thing to think that Toji might bite you. Knowing Satoru and Suguru – the bonded leopard and panther pair who shared a check-up date with Toji – would insist on licking any exposed skin raw before letting you do your job was a much more tangible reality. “I’ll see you in a couple of days. You’ll be good until then, right?”

“I’m gonna gut those fucking strays.” His answer was blunt, immediate, but he cracked as soon you shot him a purse-lipped frown. “Kidding, kidding. I’ll just rough ‘em up a little – make ‘em regret putting their paws on you, y’know?”

You couldn’t help but soften. Toji was rough around the edges, but he wasn’t a bad dog. He just had a protective streak and that, paired with his brash personality and tendency to bite before he barked, was enough for most people to write him off.

You really did have a long, long list of other appointments you had to get to before the end of the day, but against your better judgement, you paused as you passed him, reaching down to rake your fingers through sleek black hair. He was stoic, especially for a hybrid, but even his cool, dark eyes and wry smile couldn’t hide the way his tail moved just a little faster at the feeling of your nails raking over his scalp, his ears immediately perking up. It only took a second for him to bat your hand away, but you only laughed as you started towards the staff exit, waving to Toji over your shoulder.

Maybe, for his next check-up, you’d see if you could sneak in something special.

“Your mutt’s been unruly, lately.”

You glanced up from your clipboard, turning your full attention to Nanami and quickly finding that he hadn’t paid you the same courtesy. He was one of the senior researchers and, so far, the only one you could stand to be around for any longer than a few minutes. Since the higher-ups expected you to fill out your reports with one hand while you took a four-hundred-pound tiger’s temperature with the other, you tended to camp out in Nanami’s office when you had paperwork to file. “Toji?” Nanami nodded, and you rolled your eyes. “I’m just the vet, Kento. If his handlers aren’t doing their—”

“The problem isn’t his handlers, it’s him.”

His voice was flat, his tone icy. You laid your clipboard over your lap, crossing your arms over your chest. “He’s an animal. It’d be more out of character if he didn’t lash out occasionally.”

Nanami opened his mouth, but closed it just as quickly. After a lengthy pause, he leaned back in his seat, bringing a hand to his temples and massaging absentmindedly. “Do you know why he hasn’t been released back into the wild, yet?”

Obviously. Working with hybrids – let alone exotic hybrids – was dangerous, and your debriefing had drilled the face, name, and background of every animal in the facility into your memory. “He was born in captivity. He’s too acclimated to human society to adjust to the wilderness.”

Nanami pressed his lips into a thin line – an expression you’d learned to read as ‘you’re right, but I’m not going to say that’. Still, a degree of satisfaction accompanied his silent confirmation. “He was found in a dog fighting ring – or, what was left of one, at least. It took three rounds of sedation and two broken muzzles before our recovery team was able to get him under control.”

A knot formed at the base of your throat. Fuck chocolate, Toji deserved a blanket and as many hugs as he would let you give him. “That’s terrible, Kento. Were the organizers arrested?”

“The organizers—” Nanami straightened. “—were found mauled and stuffed into a kennel. Their bodies were so thoroughly mutilated, we had to rely on blood samples to identify them.”

“Wolves aren’t known for attacking unprovoked. It could’ve been another—”

“One of his handlers is currently hospitalized,” Nanami went on, as if you hadn’t cut in. “And two have already turned in their resignations – a resounding fear for their welfare in the workplace, supposedly.”

Your eyes fell to the floor, and that knot in your throat tightened until only the barest whisper could find its way out. “He’s not a bad dog,” you muttered, nearly under your breath. “He just— He loses his temper, sometimes. He doesn’t mean to hurt anymore.”

“He’s never tried to hurt you?”

You didn’t have to think before shaking your head. “Never.”

That, of all things, seemed to catch Nanami’s attention. For the first time, his eyes flickered briefly to you before falling back to his desk, his paperwork. “Good,” he said, marking down something on a piece of scrap paper in front of him. If he felt the need to elaborate, he clearly didn’t deem it worth the effort.

Later that day, you were informed that you were being transferred to the reptile wing indefinitely. If you’d been there for a few more months, if you’d had a little more experience to throw around, if you’d had a little more authority, you might’ve protested, but it was all you could do to nod and set to memorizing your new schedule.

It took exactly three weeks for you to see Toji again.

One of his handlers – a woman in her early twenties sporting a pressed scowl and a gauze-padded bandage on her cheek – met you at the facility’s gates and flatly told you that Toji was injured. You’d never been in the facilities (much less with a hybrid) after sundown, and in the simulated wilderness of his enclosure, it was easy to forget that you were never more than twenty feet away from a security camera, that there was only one apex predator you had to be afraid of. After checking your usual meeting spot (clear spot near the center of his enclosure – neutral territory, safe territory) and finding it vacant, you reluctantly stumbled your way to his den, dragging your feet despite the urgency of the situation. Toji wouldn’t deliberately attack you, but any animal could react if provoked. You didn’t want to set him off. More importantly, you didn’t want to prove Nanami right.

You’d never ventured far enough to see his den, but you knew what to expect. A square shell of cement occupied the deepest corner of Toji’s enclosure, bracketed off by a metal door tucked inside of a deep entryway meant to give the illusion of privacy. You approached it slowly, stepping underneath the shadowed overhang with no small amount of caution, but you didn’t get the chance to knock before a hand manifested on your shoulder and shoved you against the cold steel.

Claws bit into to the dip of your shoulder, then your wrist, too, as he caught your hand and shoved it into the small of your back. You felt hot air on the nape of your neck, heard heavy panting laced with the barest trace of a throaty growl, and it took everything you had not to panic, not to struggle, not to give him a reason to dig his teeth into your neck and tear. Toji wasn’t a bad dog, but he was still a dog. He’d still bite, if given an excuse.

“Toji,” you started, slowly, taking care to soften each harsh syllable of his name. “I’m here to help you.”

He didn’t respond, his hold only tightening. His check pressed into your back, and there was a short, airy noise – sniffing, as little as you wanted to put a name to it. “Toji,” you repeated, with more urgency. “I heard you were hurt. Will you let me help you?”

A second passed in silence, then another. Finally, he pulled away from you, releasing your wrist first, then your shoulder. He remained where he was – a little too close, a little too looming – as you shuffled to face him, forcing yourself not to consciously acknowledge that you were in a very big cage with a very poorly behaved animal. His handlers hadn’t mentioned why they’d needed you, but you didn’t have to wonder for very long. Even in the pitch dark, you could see the dark blood covering his jaw, washed over his throat and chest. It was on his hands, too, coating the white bone of his claws, and matted into his dark hair. Your waning self-control faltered then shattered altogether, your hands shooting to his head, his face, searching for bruising or swelling or broken bones, but surprisingly, all your worry earned was an airy laugh. “It’s not mine, doc.” He laid a hand over yours. “I’m doin’ just fine. Even better, now that you’re here.”

But he wasn’t. Twin sets of puncture marks were littered across his throat, his face, his arms. Something had taken a chunk out of his left bicep, and five matching scratch marks had been etched deep into the skin of his chest. The wounds looked feline, but you couldn’t bring yourself to linger on the implications. “You’re hurt,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him. Your hands fell to his shoulders, pushing him downward gently. “I— I’ve got bandages, and sutures—” You let your bag fall from your shoulder to your elbow, already reaching for the zipper. “Find somewhere to sit. We should get you cleaned up before something worse sets in.”

Panic was quickly overshadowing your better judgement, but Toji didn’t move, didn’t look away from you. He was still wearing that coy, sardonic grin – almost teasing, given your anxiety. “I already told you, I’m just fine.” His smile widened, until his pointed fangs caught in the dim light. “I didn’t think you’d actually come. They said I could ask for whatever I wanted, but—” He paused, sucked in a sharp breath. “I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“Toji, you’re not making any sense. You need help.” Again, you pushed gently on his shoulders, and again, he didn’t seem to notice. This time, though, he shifted, leaned toward you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You scowled, shoving a little less gently on his chest, but Toji didn’t move. “Toji, please, just let me help—”

“You’re gonna be the death of me, princess.” You felt his hands on your waist, then your ass. His chest was slotted against yours, and his tongue ran unabashedly over the curve of your neck once, then twice before he went on. “Keep sayin’ my name like that, and I won’t be able to control myself.”

Something pressed into your thigh – hot and hard and, like the rest of Toji, fucking huge. Your heart fell into your stomach, the air flooding out of your lungs and leaving you dazed, breathless.

Fuck. Fuck.

You should’ve stuck with the fucking reptiles.

Toji was panting audibly, again; his tongue lapping over your neck, your cheek. You were still cursing yourself for ever applying for this shitty job in the first place when Toji fell to his knees, forcing your thighs onto his shoulders as his claws caught on the fabric of your pants, decimating the thin material in an instant. His teeth tore away your panties just as quickly, leaving you exposed, splayed out on a silver platter in front of him. You reacted reflectively – knotting your fingers in his hair and doing your best to pry him away from you, but your strength was nothing compared to his and in the end, all you earned was a throaty groan, a tight squeeze to your ass before he buried his face in your cunt. His teeth grazed against the tender insides of your thighs, his claws biting into your now-unprotected skin, but the feeling of his tongue laving over the length of your slit replaced every other sensation with pure heat.

Predictably, he was near animalistic – his thick tongue fucking into you as the bridge of his nose ground shamelessly into your clit. From a distance, it would’ve been hard to tell if he was trying to eat you out or eat you alive; every noise he made feral and wet, punctuated with rough growls and little, uncharacteristic whines. It would’ve been impossible not to feel anything, but still, you couldn’t help but hate yourself when it started to feel good. His tongue was thick and textured, long enough to fill your pussy and flexible enough to curl inside of you, abusing the walls of your cunt without mercy. It was difficult to tell how much of the gloss staining his chin and the inside of your thighs was his drool and how much of it was your arousal, but even if your mind was disgusted by every slick noise and sharp flick of his tongue, there was nothing your body could do to block out the sudden pang of heat in your core, to fight the way your legs ached to clench around his head and pull the source of your revulsion that much closer.

“To—Toji, no, st—” you tried to say, like you were scolding a normal dog, like any part of you still thought he was listening. A cracked moan cut you off prematurely, and even if it hadn’t, Toji’s only response was a bruising squeeze to your ass, a low moan just loud enough to reverberate against your sensitive clit. Blinding white flashed across your vision, and before you could stop, before you could bring yourself back from that edge, you were coming undone on his tongue, your hips bucking against his face as he nursed you through your mind-numbing climax. Rather than pull away, he forced his tongue that much deeper into your pussy – taking advantage of your hypersensitivity to drag another unwilling orgasm out of you, then another, until the dried blood smeared across his lips was tacky and dripping onto your skin. He only pulled away when your little, pained sounds began to die into half-choked pleas and your limited strength failed, leaning you limp and boneless on top of him, and even then, he took the time to drag his tongue over your slit, to lap up what would’ve been wasted slick. You would’ve given anything for him to just leave you like that – messy and covered in your own arousal, but unfortunately, Toji had never been a bad dog.

His gaze flitted up to meet yours. “Sorry, princess,” he muttered, when he saw the misery knitted into your expression. The broad grin he wore was anything but apologetic, though. “Might’ve gotten carried away after all. Can’t help it – you always come to me, smellin’ like other men, and nobody ever lets me do anything about it.” He nuzzled into the inside of your thigh, nipping at the tender flesh with just enough force to break the skin. There was a tight pinch, of bright spark of pain, but Toji tended to the minimal wound lovingly, running his tongue over the thin stream of blood. “Gonna have you nice n’ scented by the end of the night.” A sharp whimper slipped past your grit teeth as the points of his fangs grazed over your skin, and Toji sighed. “Gonna have you nice n’ bred, too, if you keep making those sounds.”

Bred. Bred. Bred. You turned the offensive word over in your mind, unable to grasp what it possibly could’ve meant, as Toji carefully lowered you onto the ground – never so much as toying with the idea of fucking you into anything other than the cold, raw earth. It wasn’t until his clawed hand fell to the hard, pulsing cock standing stiffly between his legs that you were able to fully process what he’d said, what he was threatening to do to you. Your thoughts went blank, your years of veterinary school and countless hours of animal-handling training and common sense all dissolving into total nonexistence in an instant. It didn’t matter that he was taller than you, stronger than you – you were already throwing your full weight against him, scratching at his chest with your blunt nails, doing everything in your so incredibly limited power just to get away from him. Your latest wave of resistance wasn’t enough to overwhelm him, but it earned a frustrated rumble at the base of his throat, a downward quirk to his cocky smile. Your nails caught one of the puncture marks on his cheek and, reflexively, he straightened his back, brought his hand to his face, left just enough space between your body and his for you to roll onto your chest and scramble desperately towards freedom. You’d barely gotten your knees underneath you when his hand lashed out, catching you by the collar and forcing your cheek into the soil. His chest pressed into your back, his legs caging yours in on either side, and worst of all, his cock throbbed against your ass – somehow, impossibly, harder than it’d been a few seconds ago. You might’ve jotted it down as an impressive display of canine resilience, if you hadn’t felt so desolated.

“Shoulda figured you wouldn’t make this easy on yourself.” His voice was rougher than it had been, but no less self-satisfied. That made sense. Wolves were endurance predators. He would’ve come into this expecting there to be a struggle. “I thought you’d be more of a mate than a bitch, but—” He paused, his mouth settling against the nape of your neck. “—either’s fine by me.”

You clenched your eyes shut. “Please, Toji, don’t do—”

But, it was already too late. He rutted your ass once, then twice, before his tip caught on the entrance to your abused pussy and he was inside of you, fully sheathed without a trace of resistance.

Toji was big, even for a hybrid. He was a hunter, tried and true, all muscle and agility and pure, unfaltering strength. Even with his generous (albeit, unwelcomed) prep, it was all you could do to convince yourself that his cock wouldn’t tear you apart. He was thick enough to press against every soft and sensitive spot inside of you, long enough to leave a tight knot of pressure sitting in the pit of your stomach, and when he started to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in, the force alone was enough to scatter little black spots in the corner of your vision and leave you hazy, light-headed. The way he was fucking into you didn’t help anything, either. Keening whines slipped out of some deep, feral pocket of his chest as he took advantage of your vulnerable cunt, alternating between grinding into you with a desperate sort of clinginess and trying to bully his way that much deeper with bruising, brutal thrusts. One arm wrapped around your midriff, dragging you even close to him, while a groping hand found the delicate buttons of your top and tore, ridding you of what was left of your protection against him. He kneaded half-consciously at your chest as he fucked into you; his own pleasure suddenly his only priority.

His selfishness should’ve been a welcome change, but you were too far gone, your body too eager to find a silver lining to his rough affection. Your hands clawed mindlessly at the ground as he pumped into you, the heat of his body against yours clouding your senses and making the feeling of cock stretching you open, his dull head pounding against your cervix all the more unbearable. You doubted he’d be able to talk, even if he’d had anything left to say, but he was still vocal enough. Raspy groans and harsh grunts rung distantly in your ears, his calloused hands groping mercilessly at your chest, your stomach, your waist. Finally, his thumb found its way to your neglected clit, and with less than a full second of stimulation, you were buckling into yourself, clamping down around his cock with a fractured whimper. As humiliated as you were, Toji wasn’t far behind. With something between a moan and a howl, he was cumming inside of you – predictably making no attempt to pull out. Something hot and vile flooded into you, but it was hard to focus on that when you could feel something hard and bloated and wrong press into your entrance. Toji’s breath hitched as he forced his knot into your tight cunt, and whatever hope you had for coming out of this unscathed curled up and died inside of you.

You could feel him slacken on top of you. You almost thought he would collapse like that, leave you locked to him and trapped under his weight, but instead, he nuzzled against the crook of your neck, his fangs ghosting over your throat before sinking into the soft flesh just underneath your jugular. He stayed like that, his knot splitting open your pussy and his teeth buried in your neck, until you lost any hope of him ever pulling away.

Exhausted, you shut your eyes, sinking into yourself. You’d been right, in a way. Toji wasn’t a bad dog.

He was just a terrible terrible man.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere oneshot #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk imagines #yandere jjk #toji x reader #yandere toji #fushiguro toji x reader #yandere fushiguro toji #hybrid au

4K notes · View notes

yesokayiknow · 6 months

Text

they try, honestly they do, but the doctor isn't a stationary creature and never has been, especially not when they know there's something they could help with. which is to say, it takes a week of soft quiet life before he starts begging kate for a job. kate in turn withstands three weeks of the doctor's incessant begging and big puppy dog eyes while donna noble stands right behind him and mouths don't you fucking dare before she makes a counteroffer: he can work in a lab (the 'very far away from active duty' is implied) as long as he meets with unit's therapist.

and he refuses, of course, loudly and profusely, right up until donna very gently but very firmly tells him that it really could help, actually.

so. therapy. the doctor assumes it won't do anything. the unit therapist is no nonsense and unflinching and very very bright, and twenty minutes later the doctor sits outside the room hyperventilating while kate finishes paperwork and kindly doesn't mention the way he's all but curled into her.

the second session ends much like the first, and the third, and then the fourth he walks out with dry eyes and a tremulous smile. the fifth, kate calls donna and she takes him home and they drink hot chocolate and he doesn't start talking again until the next day. it takes him seven sessions to be able to stay in the room for the full hour; kate pats him on the back and then finally allows him to build a shield for her office as a reward. she sits outside the therapist's office every time he has a session, even though she has to have better things to do. they don't talk about it.

unit only has files on things the doctor's done on earth, and even then, only sometimes, which means that when the doctor talks about some things he just. edits, a little. talks about two weeks in a confession dial and a month in prison, because maybe then he doesn't have to think about the enormity of it all. and every single time he does this, the therapist looks at him and very kindly calls bullshit. it's weird, being known. it's different with donna. he is donna and donna is him, in ways they will probably never talk about. but he sits in that cluttered little office for an hour a week (sometimes two or three times, if he's doing particularly badly) and he feels seen.

after four months, there are memories he can touch without flinching, and people he can talk about without crying. he starts spending a couple of hours just sitting in the vortex, not because he's hiding or running but just because he likes the way it feels against his skin. he cooks dinner every other night and washes up when he doesn't. he takes out the bin every week even though it's rose's job, because he loves her. and he can say that now, and he doesn't think about her short lifespan or about all the other people they've loved and lost. he can say that and just mean it.

part of his contract is an agreement to never offer a trip to a member of unit unless it's actual life or death (the small chemical leak in the lab doesn't count; he takes shirley to new mars anyway) but he finds himself toying with the idea of asking for a session in the tardis. just once, just to see. the therapist looks at him and sees him and it is monstrous and they keep looking anyway and now the doctor can sit through a family dinner without wanting to tear his skin off and he doesn't know any other way to say thank you.

it's funny, almost, how quickly he grows attached to this person who picks through his hurts and rifles through his traumas and holds direct eye contact while doing so. the doctor talks about their deaths and their crimes and their cowardice and the therapist nods and asks him how he feels and it's. it's terrifying. it's beautiful. it's the worst thing he's ever ever been through, and the best. he feels ripped apart and put back together in a way that few people have ever been able to— huh.

after his sixty eighth session (he's unable to not keep count) the doctor walks outside to where kate is annotating a schematic and says, thoughtfully, they're the master in disguise, aren't they. and kate says oh 100% and please don't let them know that you know because they will definitely go to the second stage of whatever long con they've been hatching and they're too good at this for us to let them go

#doctor who #doctor who spoilers #does this count as fic. i mean it's long enough ain't it #the doctor #fourteen #you can decide which one it is exactly tbh #my fanfic

5K notes · View notes

thydungeongal · 3 months

Text

I've briefly touched upon this topic before but here goes; I know you can play D&D for pretty much free because it's extremely easy to pirate, but I think we've settled by now that piracy doesn't actually hurt companies as much as they want us to think, meaning that pirating D&D isn't as big of a "stick it to WotC" move as it's often presented as. Of course if you absolutely have to play D&D (but, like, why?) you won't get any moralizing from me about piracy, like, ever.

But the point is: supporting another game either monetarily or with your valuable time is a much more direct and tangible way to stick it to the cultural monopoly of D&D than playing D&D and not paying WotC. I mean if it's another big-ish publisher I don't have a lot of faith in their working conditions being much better than WotC's, but in some cases it probably is so. As it often happens, the market leader can often afford to pay its employees worse simply due to those positions being more desirable.

But anyway who cares, there's lots of games out there where you can actually get a full game sometimes for less than the cost of a single D&D book and since those games are often built as more focused experiences than the D&D "forever game" formula you're actually more likely to get to experience all of the game instead of a lot of the content existing just as shadows on the cave wall.

3K notes · View notes

peachesofteal · 6 months

Text

Light On - single mom/neighbor fic Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI, soft smut, praise kink, size kink, breeding kink, daddy kink Simon Riley/female reader

If he could choose a way to die, this would be it.

He would choose to die right in this moment, where you're laying on your back in front of him, legs spread wide, chest heaving with the exertion of your second orgasm, limp and pliable, sweet as sugar. He'd choose to die in this room, with your name on his lips, the feeling of your body against his, your muscles seizing and hips jolting under his touch, the smell of your cunt in his nose, taste of your arousal on his tongue. He'd choose to die from happiness, elation, euphoria, the feelings so strong they feel like they might burst free from his veins and flood this room, spill from his heart like it's exploded.

He's mad for it. Mad for you. Allowed his madness to guide him, take over, control his vocal chords, his limbs. He's like a marionette, strings being plucked by none other but yourself, though you're none the wiser.

"Simon?" You whisper, very quiet, careful. You're nervous, he can tell. You've been nervous since he got you home and sent Johnny on his way, nervous ever since he laid you on your back and stripped you bare, ran his lips over every inch of skin possible, every pretty little lightning bolt, every single part you tried to hide.

"I'm here." He answers, taking your wandering hand with his own, squeezing it for good measure. You're floundering, wondering, eyes wide and a little lost, anxious at the lapse. "Just lookin' at you." He says, fingers stroking across your belly, following them with his mouth. "Don't think I've ever seen something so beautiful." You giggle, and it's soft, like the chiming of bells, the kind of music that angels would make, he thinks.

"Should I-" you turn to roll, like you're going to go facedown, or maybe up onto your hands and knees, and he stills you, forearms coming up to frame your face, thumb stroking along your furrowed brow line.

"No." He shifts your hip, settling you into a better position, and then strokes his cock, nudging it against your entrance. "I want to see your face." He wants to see your face, your eyes, your mouth, more than anything else in this world. Wants to see it everyday, wants to see it crying with bliss when he makes you come around him, wants to see it when he goes to bed and when he wakes in the morning. He wants to see it on a little paper picture, tucked up into his tac vest when he's away, wants to see smiling, giggling, content... happy. Safe. There will be plenty of time for the other stuff, for when he bends you over the couch, bends you over his knee, fucks you in the kitchen, in the shower, on the table. He hovers for a moment, soaking you in, blood thundering in his veins, through his ears, throbbing into his cock, and he's so hard it nearly hurts, but he can't rush this. He has to get it right.

"Simon." You whine, hips flexing, thrusting up so he feels the heat of your body, the wet heaven of your cunt. He grits his teeth.

"Fuck, sweetheart." He grunts, and then pushes, your eyes going wide, matching the round o of your mouth, fingernails tightening into his back, fluttering pussy trying to accommodate the stretch. He's big, bigger than you in many ways, he knows, and when your back arches, legs involuntarily folding, knees lifting, he traps you there, holding them steady so he can look down and watch the way he sinks into your body, cock disappearing inch by inch.

"Ohmygod ohmy- it's too- you're-" you gasp, and he leans down, slicking his tongue against yours, stealing your whimpers and moans, greedily drinking them up.

"I know, I've got you." He thrusts a little deeper, getting closer and closer to his hips being flush with yours. "You can take it." He goes slow, working you open, getting you used to him for as long as he can stand it, watching every little expression that falls across your face, every moment of bliss. "Is that good, sweetheart?" He noses at you, and you nod with a gulp, still holding onto him, arms trembling.

"Y-yeah. So good, so so good." You babble, nearly incoherent, cock drunk, and it feeds the reckless, hungry drive inside of him, encoraging him on, faster, until he's fucking into you with enough power that you're starting to inch up the bed moaning out nonsense vowels.

He gets lost, for a second, thinking about if you didn't have an IUD. Thinking about what it would be like, if he was breeding you, filling you with his come every night until it took, until you were growing his baby, round belly underneath a sweater, cradled in his arms in bed, giving Emmaline a sibling, making you a mama again, with him, for him. It shatters across his brain like the ricochet from a gun shot, white hot light searing inside his eyes, nearly making him come inside you right there until he pulls out with a deep breath, letting the head of his cock rest just inside your body as he collects himself, and then thrusts back in.

"Fuck!" You gasp, a little too loud, and you wince, eyes shocked. He puts his hand over your mouth, kissing your nose between where it pokes out between his thumb and forefinger.

"My good girl." He thrusts, and you moan, licking the salt of his palm. "My good," He's so deep, can feel where you end, where he's pressed against your cervix, and your eyebrows crinkle, tears gathering on your waterline. "sweet, mama. Doin' so good, taking this cock." Your eyes roll, and he drags himself along the silky heat of your walls, before plunging back in. "Is this what you wanted, sweetheart? This what you needed?" The word daddy almost slips, almost falls out like- 'is this what you wanted, for daddy to take care of you? Is this what you needed, for daddy to take you home and take care of this pussy- but he holds it in, reels in back just in time for you to nod as answer to his voiced question, and he pulls his hand away, rubbing his thumb against your bottom lip. "Tell me."

"Yeah, oh- Simon, yes-" you pant, a little squeaky, tear rolling down your cheek. You saying his name like this, with him so full inside you, fills him with fire, roaring heat racing through his muscles, and he grinds his hips against yours, making you groan, bucking against him when he finds your clit and glides his thumb across it, over and over.

"Do you wan' be my good girl?" He asks, pumping harder, pushing you the limit, and you cry out against his hand, nodding frantically, which he rewards with a smile, and another swipe across your clit. "Come for me. Let go sweetheart, I'm right here." He coos, still swirling your swollen bud in a circle, your legs practically steel around him, eyes brimming with tears. He'll take care of you. He'll give you everything. He'll never let you go, he swears, he swears, he swears... he doesn't stop, just keeps going relentlessly, fucking you as deep as he can as you come around his cock, exploding like a bomb, silently screaming into his palm. He's following you over the cliff of your orgasm a second later, nose pressed to your cheek, whispering insanity into your skin, half praying you won't be able to make sense of it. Whispers and vows of love, and protection, of care, promises and secrets, until the two of you are limp against one another, basking in the glow and heat of your bodies.

He closes his eyes for a moment. Just for a second, just to take a deep breath, preparing to pull out, to move on to what's next, cleaning you up, getting you in a bath or a shower, making sure you're comfortable, you're cared for, you're cherished as you ought to be. He closes his eyes, and it's just long enough for him to feel the shaking of your chest under his. Just long enough to hear the sniffle, the hiccup, his eyes opening in confusion, concern, cradling your face between his palms. "Sweetheart? What's wrong, what is it?" Panic stirs in his gut, and when you don't answer, his mouth goes dry, fear dousing him in a cold sweat. "Did I... did I hurt you?" When the only answer is the sound of your sobs, fat tears that stream down your cheeks, his heart cracks wide open in his chest.

Maybe he could very well die in this moment. But not from happiness. From agony.

#lmao #peaches writes #light on #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader

3K notes · View notes

cherry-leclerc · 6 months

Text

lolita ☆ cs55

genre: age gap (10 years), porn with plot, affairs, forbidden romance, angst, mentions of suicide, mentions of drugs, tragedy, erotic literature

word count: 14.9k

You were young, alluring, floating through a disastrous life with the touch of a thousand angels. Carlos was successful, irresistible and someone who often kept a distance from catastrophe. Never in a million years did he think he would have a complete moment of weakness. Especially the week of his wedding.

nsfw warning under the cut!

18+... sexual tension, penetrative sex, dry humping, riding, size kink, oral sex (f and m receiving), semi - public sex, deepthroating, praise, fingering, handjobs, lots of dirty foreplay, slapping (like once AH), a bit of edging, overstimulation, a bit of crying, sucking on fingers, squirting - i should stop now, oh god.

inspired by this and this !

STOP AND READ:

This by no means - in any shape or form - is something that should be admired or looked up to. It does deal with serious topics such as: grooming, suicide, and drugs. While the reader is of age (19), this is not my way of impulsing my own readers - especially younger ones, if by any chance they come across this - to follow this mindset. Dark themes will take place and if that is not something you are comfortable with, then that is okay, I definitely have more light hearted fics in my masterlist. “Love stories” aren’t always filled with flowers and rainbows, they can also be hurtful and confusing, often misunderstood. This is fictional. Given, this is inspired by Lolita and Blue Velvet by Lana Del Rey (*everyone cheers*) – what that means is that this story will not have a happy ending. Verses of Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov are also mentioned (extremely controversial book - as it should be).

cherry here!…hi, guys! i hope you all enjoy and i’m gonna do it now: I’M SORRY.

She was as dangerous as poison could ever be - with no good intentions. She was malicious, sweet laughter that would make anyone fall in love. An Angel walking on Earth, curiously making it her playground.

He was intelligent. A man of few words, but also simply so, the seven deadly sins all wrapped up in one. Keeping a distance from things he knew would bring him no good.

But in order to understand, we would have to take you back to where it all began.

Where Paradise met Hell.

Growing up in Italy for some odd reason made you out to be the girl you were. Men there would throw themselves at any opportunity if they saw a single daisy looking girl in eyesight. At first it felt as if you were walking a tightrope; you knew it wouldn’t be the wisest idea to fall straight into their traps. Except, slowly, it made sense.

They knew how to sweet talk someone so young and naive - you’ll give them that. It only took one taste and that was the moment you knew.

You liked them older.

Men fucked in a way boys never would. Every single one would always put your needs first - but there was this one man that had you realizing how fucked up you could be in order to get what you want. That’s one prize you’d cheat to win.

And that’s a story for later.

Moving away for college was the best decision you felt you would ever make in your entire life. Given, Italy was home, but the people in it weren’t. Often, you find yourself missing your rendezvous but studying abroad in Spain wasn’t much different.

Note; you didn’t grow up with a tight knit family. Your mother was a drug addict with half of her days knocked out on the couch, your father was someone who was occasionally in the picture. He tried his best.

And your older sister, Ollie?

Well, you’d honestly forgotten you even had one.

Some may say that you’re a whore, a slut, a homewrecker, or any other Spanish slur that spits Madrid, but you never cared. You were having fun and why were you the one always being blamed? Perhaps, men, too, should think with their heads rather than their dicks.

Which is how you find yourself still repeating the familiar pattern you had started a long time ago. Riding your professor shouldn’t feel this good. Mierda, he would groan as you bounce up and down like a bunny. Mewling, you shake the feeling of remorse. Not when he felt this good.

Your phone ringing is what makes you stop, him still inside of you, twitching. Ciao? His calloused fingers would slide up to pinch your nipples as you lightly gasped.

“Tesoro! Haven’t heard your voice in so long.”

Your father’s tone makes you wince at the reminder. Occasionally, he would check up on you in a way you would assume other fathers did for their daughters. You could never hate him, though. In his own way, deep down, he still cared.

“Papi, how are you?”

Sliding off of his lap, you zip your dress back on as you pace the lecture room. Bored, he takes out his secret whiskey from under his desk. Your sister is getting married in a few weeks! I was thinking you could fly back home so you could join us. The thought alone made your stomach churn as you bit down onto your thumb. Signaling at the older man, you click your fingers, hinting for a glass of your own. He obliges, handing it to you.

“I’m busy with summer courses. Maybe I can send a gift?”

You try everything in the book in order to get out of what seems like a crappy, dull, Italian wedding. It had been ages since you last stepped foot there. In no right mind would Ollie’s wedding be the one to change that. But he says things that get to you. I haven’t seen you in years. Neither has your sister. She misses you, you know?

You bite down on a snarky remark as you down the rest of the gold liquid. Last time you spoke, she promised that you were dead to her. That she never wanted to hear from you again. In the moment, it hurt, but you grew used to the idea. And what younger sister doesn’t pick up on what older sister says? Now, you despised her as much as she did you.

“Ovviamente. I’ll be there.”

It’s hot as soon as you land. That you didn’t miss. Ale, your fathers chauffeur, picks you up with a bright smile. Saddened, it dawns on you that you hadn’t seen one of those in ages. He’s nice. Let's you sit in the passenger's seat as he introduces himself. He mentions he has 5 granddaughters and has been married for almost 50 years. It’s sweet. Makes you feel human.

Pulling into the driveway, you almost want to correct him. This isn’t my fathers house. You must be mistaken. Only, he says he isn’t. That he had recently moved into his Italian mansion a year ago. You’re skeptical for a minute, but realize you can’t be one to tell. Years have passed; things change.

Still, that didn’t stop you from gawking at the ginormous house that sits on a hill; overlooking all of Tuscany. It even had a beautiful view of the ocean. Why couldn’t you grow up with this?

“I’ll inform your father that you have arrived safely.”

Taking it all in, you slowly pace the entrance, analyzing everything in sight. The crystals hanging from the chandelier, large - expensive - portraits, shiny mirrors. Quirking your head to the side, you glide over to the golden trophy sitting in the middle of the spacious entry.

Carlos Sainz Sr. : Rally Driver of-

“That belonged to my father. He passed away a year ago.”

Startled, you grip onto the trophy tighter as you slightly jump in panic. You curse yourself for being caught as you delicately place it back down before turning your attention to the booming voice.

Instantly, you’re hit with lust. Standing in front of you is a tall man - around his 20’s, perhaps - dark brown eyes narrowed down on you like knives. Messy, untamed, brown hair. Large nose, plump lips, dark brows. His figure is something you can’t wrap your head around that even exists. Richard Mille's watch clung onto his wrist. Giorgio Armani pressed up against his chest, it almost looked as if it didn’t fit due to his rippling muscles. Woody, rich, scent filling up the room.

He was the most beautiful man you had ever laid eyes on.

“I am so, so, sorry.”

Your voice is so soft, it has him intrigued. You wore a short pastel yellow dress that didn’t leave much to his imagination; paired with converse and tube socks. Rosy tint on your cheekbones from the humidity. Berry lips. Wide, innocent eyes. He’d be lying if he said you didn’t take his own breath away. Even though you stood far enough away, he could still smell your vanilla perfume.

Inching closer, he waves you off. “I was kidding. My father is well and alive.” You tippy toe nervously before planting your feet back down.

“That’s not a nice thing to say.”

And he’s surprised with your response. Yet, he finds himself extending his tan hand out to you. “I’m Carlos.”

Carlos. His name sounds as attractive as his appearance. Strong and sure. But also…dark. You shake his hand, legs quivering at his warm touch. Deep down, he knew how much he affected you - it’s something he’s grown quite accustomed to, having people admire his looks, but it took a lot to not show that you had the same effect on him.

“Nice to meet you, Carlos. Do you work for my father?”

Amused, he lets out a deep chuckle. Even a simple sound like that had you pressing your legs together, arousal dripping in between.

“You don’t know who I am?” You shake your head, confused. Should you? He smiles. “That’s okay. We haven’t met before…Though you should get to know me since you’re already here…”

Wait.

“You know,” he leans his head a bit, floppy hair following, “Ollie.”

No, no, no.

“It’s so nice to finally meet my fiancée’s sister.”

Foolishly, you try your best to hide your surprise. How does a man like him end up with a bratty, narcissist, like your sister?

What was so fucking special about her?

Envy fills your veins as you try to show that this hasn’t phased you. Excited cheers echo down the hallway as your father runs over, embracing you into a warm hug. You’re here! Wincing, you lean into his touch, eyes still trained on the magnetic man.

Only then, did Ollie fly down the stairs, immediately running into Carlos’ arms. Making a big deal out of it, she kisses him as she runs her hands against his chest.

“Come here, tesoro. I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”

The entire time; Carlos kept his eyes trained on you.

It didn’t make sense. Part of you knows it never will. You’ve only just met him, but you can tell he must’ve been fucked in the head to willingly choose someone like Ollie. Sure, she seemed sweet and kind, but she was anything but that.

Dinner that night is carbonara. Carlos is extremely talented. He cooked this just for you. Tight lipped, you thank him, looking down at your plate to avoid his burning gaze.

“How’s school?”

Turning to your father, you remind yourself that you were here for him; because he wanted you there. That’s all that should matter. “Very good. Thank you for asking, papi.”

The sound of glass hitting the table erupts as Carlos hurriedly goes to pick it up, quickly murmuring a strong apology. His dark gaze shortly flickers past you. It leaves you squirming.

Clearing his throat, he takes a sip of his wine. “Where do you study?” Spain, you tell him as he beams. “No way. I was born and raised in Madrid. Moved to Italy a few years ago for work.” Letting out a laugh, you find the coincidence funny. He moved from Spain to Italy and you moved from Italy to Spain.

“What do you do for work?”

“He’s a Formula 1 driver. Drives for Scuderia Ferrari,” Ollie weasels in as she smirks down on you. Anger bubbles inside of her when your attention remains on the Spaniard. Drumming your fingers against the table, you lick your lips. Formula 1? He’s about to explain it all up until Ollie butts in once again. She rubs his hand, a glistening ring shining right in front of you. You physically have to force yourself to look away. “Oh, amor, she doesn’t know what that is. She’s too…young.”

You know she’s trying to make a weak point: you’re only a baby, therefore, you don’t compare to her. And yes, you are young, 19, but it was stupid of her to think that it bothered you. You tsk before leaning back against your chair.

“Of course, my mistake. I forgot I was still a pure flower instead of a wilting one.”

Ollie’s face switches to bright red as she grips onto his hand. An entertained smile slips onto his lips before flattening back out. He rubs her hand, trying to calm her down. You can’t stop the jealousy burning from within.

“I didn’t mean you, Mr. Sainz.”

The 29 year old brushed you as if nothing, a smile displayed. Eyeing you both, Ollie suddenly stands up, chair screeching. Why don’t you help me bring out the cookies I baked? Ever so gracefully, you nod. Following after her, you stop suddenly as she spins, hair slapping her face. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here? Are you here to ruin my life with your existence?”

“I might.”

Her left eye twitches as she growls angrily. If she didn’t make it this easy to tick her off, then you’d be bored, but luckily for you, it was unchallenging to get under her skin. “This is my wedding; my future husband - so don’t fuck that up like everything else you’ve ever done.”

You try to pretend as if her words didn’t affect you as you stare back blankly. Marching over to the counter, she opens up a box of cookies before sliding them onto a polished dish, leaving you standing there alone.

You thank the higher Gods for not letting you cross roads with Ollie for the next few days. Though, you’re a bit bummed out that you haven’t seen Carlos much either. Peeking out the window, you could see the way a group of workers hurried to set up for the joint bachelorette taking place later that night, right on the beach. The waves look magnificent, so without a second thought, you slip on a bikini before rushing out the door with your necessities.

Lathering a goop of coconut sunscreen, you hum softly to yourself. Weren’t you going out with your sister? Looking up, you see Carlos standing in front of you with his face slightly scrunched up from the bright sun. His cheeks looked as if they’d just been pinched. “Where to?”

He takes a seat next to you. “She said she was going out to go buy a few flowers for later. Said she would invite you.” You shake your head, already bored with the idea.

“You know her,” you tap your head, “Forgetful.”

He cocks his head to the side as he shuts his right eye for a moment. “You two don’t get along, do you?” You try making up a silly excuse. Of course we do. We’re sisters. But he’s looking right into your orbs as if he sees right past your weak attempts. “You’re right. I could be wrong.”

It stays quiet for a while - only the soft breeze being heard. You can see him from your peripheral vision; eyes shut as he takes in the moment of peace he hasn’t had since dawn. Long lashes fan his face, freckles scattered all over.

“Aren’t you too busy to be talking to me?”

“No. Plus, I should take time to get to know my future sister-in-law. Especially since I don't know anything about her even after dating her sister for 7 years.”

7 years.

Squinting at the waves, you slide your sunglasses on. “There’s not much to know, but I can try. I’m 19 years old, studying abroad in Spain, and grew up in Italy. I love the ocean, love a nice cup of hot chocolate - even though I’m allergic - so I only allow myself small sips during the winter. I like to pretend I know how to dance and I kill it in karaoke.” He laughs. You can’t dance? “Unfortunately, I can’t. Once, during my friend's wedding reception, I twirled right into her cake. I spent the entire day on supervision.”

“Dios mío…Remind me to watch out for you on our wedding day.”

Our wedding day. His words slightly sting as you pinch your nose swiftly. Standing up, you brush beads of sand off your legs. Your eyes roam the area before you find your father waving you over. “I should go,” you say as you look down at him. His brown eyes scan you before nodding and standing up. He, too, looks over to where your father waits to introduce you to a group of businessmen. He frowns and that's when you realize just how revealing your bikini might have been, only it's too late now.

“Papi always taught us to greet our elders.”

He clenches his jaw, eyes closing for a second. When his gaze meets yours, you almost choke with how dark and twisted it’s become. “Aren’t you too old to be calling him that?” Confused, you tilt your head.

“Calling him wh- Papi?”

He grinds his teeth together - and then just like that - he’s smiling again.

“Forget it. How would I know?”

Standing next to an empty table, you watch as Carlos and your sister dance along with everyone else. This party has allowed you to pick up on the fact that they seemed to be a much more important couple than you had anticipated. Everyone looked at the Spaniard as if he were a God himself - and being quite truthful - you would agree. There was nothing about him that wasn’t flawless.

Then, Ollie, just looked like any other person. Her eyes were bright, but any time anyone would walk up to him, her stare would become threatening. As if she was his owner and no one else could get close enough to breathe the same air.

Everyone here was older; that much you could tell. Attendees were accompanied by girlfriends or fiancée’s of their own. It made you feel a bit childish, since you clearly were the youngest one there. Reaching out for your margarita, you twirl the straw.

“Not having fun?”

Your attention directs itself to a dirty, blondish, brunette. He looks a bit tipsy, face flushed as he smiles sweetly. He’s tall, handsome. But not as much as Carlos.

“Max,” he introduces himself. Politely, you shake his hand. He points to the large group that dances on the sand. He lets out a croaky laugh. “They could get a bit much sometimes.” You laugh, nodding along with him. He continues talking to you. Brings up how he knows Carlos from driving with him; except he’s signed to Red Bull.

“Everyone here is invited only if they're a driver, huh?” It’s a lame joke, but he laughs and throws his head back as if it were the most fascinating thing he’s heard all night.

“It’s a small circle, but I promise, they're all nice lads.” Discreetly, he takes in your appearance. The way your black dress dances with the wind. Painted red nails glistening under the golden lights.

You were beautiful. Tragically, beautiful.

“You know the groom or the bride?”

“Bride.”

He nods, taking a sip of the beer bottle he had been nursing. You both continue your conversation for a while longer. He’s Dutch. Recently 26. You mention your headache before he brushes his fingers against your hand. Looking down, he pulls away before clearing his throat. He apologizes and asks if you would like to dance. A soft melody now plays and you find yourself taking his hand. It's big as yours disappears into it.

Almost as if he’s shy, he carefully slides his hands down to your waist. You giggle as you throw yours over his shoulders. “I hope slowing down helps get rid of your migraine. Sucks. I get lots of those during race weekends.”

“It is. Thank you for caring.”

He’s sweet. You can tell with the way he blushes when you mention the way you like his dimples. Slowly, you find yourself enjoying his company. You’re in the middle of laughing at some stupid joke he just told, when someone rudely clears their throat. Carlos’ smile appears bitter as he shakes his head.

“I’m sorry - I’ve probably killed the mood.”

“No problem, mate. We were just talking.”

He clicks his tongue before turning to you. Under his scrutiny, you feel as if you’ve just been caught smoking weed for the first time. Dazed, you hum, waiting for him to say something. You know it’s not your place to feel as if he owes you an apology, but you can’t help it.

“Ollie said it’s best if you went to bed.” You let out a sarcastic laugh. Since when does she care if I get a good night's rest? He huffs before running a hand through his hair. “She - she…Just do as you’re told, please.”

Now you’re bothered. Up until that point, you were actually having a good time. Dumbfounded, you turn to Max as he smiles understandingly. Pursing your lips, you apologize. Tippy toeing, you lean up to press a kiss against his stubble. He smiles.

“See you around?”

“See you around, Maxie.”

Walking into the lonely house, you let out a sigh as you pour yourself a cup of water. The summer heat had completely dehydrated you. You could still hear the soft beat playing from outside as you sway in the kitchen. You were upset - angry - that your sister had cut your night short. And any other time you would have put up a good fight, but thought it’d be best to not make a fool out of yourself. Especially in front of people you barely knew.

The door sliding open has you alert as you look up. Carlos silently makes his way in as he groans with exhaustion. Loopy eyes match yours as he clears his throat awkwardly. “So…What were you talking about with Max?”

“Nothing that should concern you.”

His jaw clenches, a large hand running along it. Stepping closer, he takes your cup of water before chugging it down. It leaves you hot and bothered just how close he is. It’s a mixture of salt and musk, his scent. It makes your head spin. Lazily, he takes a step back before nodding.

“Right. Have a good night.”

Carlos knew he had messed up. He had no right lying and saying Ollie had ordered for you to go to bed. That was completely him. It’s just that - seeing you with Max, laughing, smiling, made him seethe - when he knows damn well that he shouldn’t. It wasn’t like he was your boyfriend, after all.

So, he was embarrassed. He kept his distance. In his head it made sense. If you weren’t near then he wouldn’t feel the need to keep his eyes on you all the time. The house felt lonelier, colder without you sliding down the hallways. Rightfully so, you had spent your days locked up in your room. The only person that made happy was Ollie.

Either way, maybe it was for the best. He had a ton of shit to do. Starting with changing their honeymoon destination for what seemed like the millionth time that month. First, it was the Maldives, then Cancún - God - he knew that in a few hours his fiancée would come up with a new place.

“I know, I know we said that, but it’s changed.” He paces the office, stressed. “Can you please just make it fucking happen?”

“Ouch.”

Turning his attention, he sees you peeking at the entrance, phone still pressed up against his ear. Pouting, you enter, sweet aroma filling the room. Excusing himself, he ends the call. “Need anything?” He honestly cared for your response. It had been days without seeing you and he was afraid he blew it before he even had a chance to marry your sister. He told himself it was only because he cared for your relationship with Ollie. But fuck that - he knew not even you both cared that much about each other.

Shaking your head, you walk closer. “You sounded mean. Not a nice look on you, Mr. Sainz.” You’re teasing. You had to be.

“That wasn’t mean. It's called being straight forward.”

Ignoring him, you curiously eye the dark office. Books, trophies, helmets. Letting out a snort, you pick up the nearest picture frame. In it, it’s Carlos and Ollie, smiling wide. Tears brim her eyes as he looks down at her. The sight makes you want to puke.

“When was this taken?”

“The day of our engagement.”

You hum, already setting it back down. You can’t help but picture the impossible. That in the picture it was you instead of her, that you wore that diamond ring, that he looked at you.

Fuck her, honestly.

“Why’d you propose?”

He’s thrown off by your question. He’s expecting you to bring up the fact that it was a joke, but when you looked back for a response, he found himself with a dry mouth. Because I love her?

“Jesus,” you shudder, taking a seat on top of his desk. His eyes wander down your tan legs as you rest them on top of his chair. You're playing mind games - he’s well aware - and still he found himself following them. You were the worst temptation out there. It’s as if you knew the power you held. “I bet fucking her is a chore.”

Shocked at your words, he finds himself dumbstruck. He knew you two didn’t get along, but what the fuck happened for you to aim such insults?

He knows Ollie. Sure, she was a bit much at times, but she was nice. She was pretty. There was no need for your vile words.

You can tell he’s about to get defensive about her and that makes you shrink. Willing, you had handed him a reason to choose her over you.

Looking back at the picture, you purse your lips. “Sorry. That wasn't the right thing to say.”

“You should leave.”

You’re embarrassed over him kicking you out, but you knew you had crossed the line. So much for a peaceful afternoon. You comply, jumping off the desk. Not before making your way over, pressing your soft lips against his neck, which was the only place you could reach, even after tippy toeing. You felt him get stiff.

“Excuse my manners, Carlos.”

Skipping out the door, he’s left with a single thought.

He’s fucked.

The next morning, you’re forced to spend the day with your sister. Whether it was for running errands, fighting; it didn’t matter. As long as you made your father happy. All he wanted was for his girls to get along.

“Go,” Ollie growls as she hands you your bridesmaid dress. Snatching it from her, you slowly climb up the stairs to your room.

It’s a beautiful dress. Strong, dark, cherry red. Just like blood. It hugs your curves the way you’ve always thought all dresses should. For that reason, too, it made you look…older. Trying your best to get rid of the wrinkles, you smooth it down before making your way back.

Papi loves it as he starts throwing out compliments. You look beautiful, tesoro! You are a true gem. His eyes are bright and proud as you stand there with a shy smile. And though you thanked him, nothing else mattered but the man right in front of you.

The Spaniard had just gotten back from a meeting. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to eat and sleep the rest of the day, but as soon as he saw a balsé Ollie and an eager father-in-law, he was interested. She had told him to go relax; practically pushing him away. But as soon as you walked down those stairs, he swore his heart had never melted with such a sight.

His eyes became fixated to the point of no return. You stand there like a divine temptress. A siren who was mixed with innocence. Enough to drool over, but also, to adore from afar. Someone he could worship. If God decided this were his last day on Earth, then he would happily follow, since he finally felt as if his life were complete.

His big brown eyes are glued onto you as your father spins you. Ollie’s attention flickers between her younger sister and her fiancé. Tears fill up her eyes as she springs off the couch. You’re not bothered by it; don’t even bat an eye. That is until Carlos quickly runs off after her. That was a slap to the face as you show off a wounded smile to your father who stands there lost at the sudden commotion.

Later on that day, you find yourself trying to forget it all with watered down tequila. That’s really all you could find in such short notice. Leaning against the balcony, you study the soft waves, cold wind causing your skin to flash small goosebumps.

“Disgusting,” you mumble as you finish the rest of the alcoholic drink. Who knew a simple encounter would set you off?

“Woah there. Are you okay?”

Max cautiously steps closer as you shrug with a sigh. What was there to say? I’m a horrible person. I’m a horrible sister. And yes, we might not get along, but never in a million years did I think I would be falling in love with my future brother-in-law.

“What are you doing up so late?”

Sheepishly, he raises his cigarette. Letting out a low hum, you raise a brow. “Can I have one?” He knows he shouldn't be the one to give a teenager a form of drug, but you looked so upset, so drained, that he felt as if you needed it. Lighting it up, you bring it up to your lips as you squint at him. He laughs.

“First time?”

“No. It’s just been a while.”

You’re still not looking at him, but he notices the way you let out shaky breaths. The way you softly pinch your forearm. He frowns.

“I know we only just met, but do you want to talk about it?”

And maybe it was the gist of the moment. Or that he was being sweet - showing that he cared, but it worked because next thing you knew, you were kissing. He lets out an erotic moan with the taste of your lips. All a mix of cigarettes and tequila. This is wrong. He was friends with Carlos and you were only doing this in a moment of weakness, but you just couldn’t stop. Neither could he. Not when you tasted like a thousand crimes.

His large hands grab your ass as you gasp, brushing against his cock. He hissed as he pressed his lips much harder. Surely, you will have bruises tomorrow. Adrenaline rushes through your veins as you grind against him. Clumsily, you both make your way to the couch that’s nearby. Straddling him, you continue to dry humping. Slowly, but surely, the warm sensation between your legs starts to form. Panting, you pull away as he tries to angle his face closer to yours. You smile tauntingly.

“You know what you remind me of?”

You hum, leisurely picking up your filthy actions. He bites back a smile as he grips harder onto your hips.

“A Lolita.”

A menacing smile looks down at him before you kiss down his thick neck, soft bites being left behind. You can’t recall the moment you start bouncing on his cock, or when he sprawls you open like a map, kneeling down in front of you. It’s all a haze; a delicious one, too. You’re falling like a feather from your climax when you hear a thud. Did you hear that? No, he would mumble as he peppers kisses onto your soft skin.

The tides are crashing harder now, signaling that the night was growing older. Timidly, you share a goodbye as you start to skip your way back into your room, but one last thing caught your attention.

A broken flower pot on its side and dirt trailing into the Italian home.

More days had passed since your last encounter with the devilish Spaniard. If you were ever in the same room, he wouldn’t even glance at you. He would simply just walk past by. He was mad. Upset about something. You tried to think of what it might’ve been, but when he walked into his office with an infuriated expression, you decided it was time to call a truce.

Knocking, you flinch at his sharp tone when he commands you away. Ignoring it, you still step in. Head thrown against his chair, man spreading, he has his eyes screwed shut.

“Are you okay?”

Your tone is sticky like honey. It annoys him the way it strings him in. Drumming his finger against the large chair, he angles his head to look at you. You’re almost scared to ask again, so you decide to stand still until he speaks up.

“Why’d you do it?”

Puzzled, you purse your lips, waiting for further explanation. What was he talking about? Did you do something to make him upset? The thought alone made you feel queasy. When he notices you still don’t understand, he clicks his tongue.

“Why would you fuck a friend of mine?”

Oh. Was it possible that this was something he was jealous of? Bewildered, you know you can’t deny it so you start to word-vomit. I am so sorry, Carlos. He came onto me that night - he kissed me first. I was confused. I was lured in by his words. I didn’t know what I was doing-

His eyes soften up as you try your best to break it down. But you were a liar; a good one. You knew damn well it was all you. You had kissed him first. You threw him under the bus and you knew that. Did he deserve it? No. Of course not. But you couldn't handle the Spaniard being mad at you.

He signals for you to get closer. Securely, he grasps your hand and hauls you onto his lap. It’s embarrassing how wet you’ve suddenly become; how your mind replicates a plate of jello.

“I’m sorry he made you feel like that.”

His rough fingers slide up and down your arms and even that leaves you buzzing. Suddenly, you feel feeble. You assure him that you were fine - that it was no big deal. The way he looks at you is what gives you the confidence to lean in closer. A trace of panic slashes his face for a second. He should probably stop this before anything else happens. There was nothing okay about your ass pressed up against him. Or him craving to taste your plump lips.

“He didn’t make me feel anything I haven't before.”

Your implication irks him far too much, he starts to consider this all an unhealthy encounter. He can’t stop the images of you being with other men. Someone else kissing you, pleasuring you. Whilst your words were suggestive, your features were anything but that. Wide eyes stare back at him, slightly crinkled. Moving your body, you scoot closer as if you weren't already. He growls as he pinches your hip. Then, you're kissing his neck, and he should be pushing you off, but he’s too far gone to pick up on how wrong this all was. I’m sorry I’ve upset you, Mr. Sainz. I didn’t think you would care who fucked me or not.

“I-I don’t. It’s just that you shouldn't be doing stuff like that. You’re too young for all that.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” You narrow your eyes. “I’m wiser than one might think. I’m mature enough to know who can and can’t fuck me the way I like.” Your gaze focuses extra hard with your confession. As if it were meant for him.

Pressing your ass one last time against his tight pants, you leap off, giggling.

“Take care, Carlos.”

It's a business dinner, your father fills you in as you sit nearby, enjoying a bowl of ice cream, hairollers dangling around your head. Pouting, you reach up to clip one back into place. He smiles.

“You know, lots of young, talented guys are going to be here. It could be a great opportunity to meet someone.”

You make a face at his idea. “Yeah. No, thank you.” Marching over to him, you gently pat his cheek. “I’m not here to meet anyone.”

Signhing, he grabs your hands. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Are you and Carlos…” Choking on your own saliva, you push away. What? No. Of course not! Why would you even think that? He lets out a breath of relief. “It’s nothing. Ollie just brought it up, but I told her you would never actually do something like that. I know my precious girl.”

The door creaks open as Satan herself walks in, followed by an Angel. First thing you noticed are their intertwined hands. Ollie tries to be coy as she flashes the action right in front of you. She mainly greets your father as she sticks by Carlos like a piece of gum. Hello, he would say to you as you bite back a smile.

“What are we talking about?”

“Your sister might have a boyfriend by the end of the night, that's what,” your father jokes as you slap his shoulder. Boyfriend? The Spaniard’s eyes burn you, subtle threat evident. Ollie fakes a smile as she tugs him back a bit.

“Wow. You know what? That might actually be a good idea. Could help with how uptight you are. But I’m confused, boyfriend as in Max?”

Fury fills you as you shoot daggers right at her. Ollie’s eyes twinkle with satisfaction. You’re dating Max? “Of course not, papi! Ollie is just being a bitch.”

“No, no, no - I don’t think telling the truth is being a bitch. You should be happy, baby sister! You sure sounded like it when you let him fuck you out in the balcony.”

Shocked at her words, you can’t bring yourself to look at your father who stands disappointed. Ollie, that's enough, Carlos warns as he squeezes her hand. She yanks it away, jewelry clinging against each other.

“My bad. Shit, I forgot. I forgot no one knew what a slut you are. Opening your legs for any man around you. We’re lucky you’re not attracted to your own father.” She lets out a sour laugh. “Now, that would be fucked up.”

“That’s low, Ollie,” you spit, skin feeling as if it's on fire. You know where all this pent up anger is coming from, but she had no right to make up shit for fun. What kind of sister does that? Embarrassed, your eyes flicker to where Carlos stands with a hopeless expression. Licking your lips, you force yourself to walk away.

Slamming the door shut, you let out a loud scream. Why? Why was she always like this to you? A hard knock is what makes you wipe your tears away. Ollie slithers her way in. It hurt you how proud she looked. As if she had achieved something spectacular.

“The fuck - Are you crying?”

“What do you want?”

She takes a seat on your desk as she dusts off imaginary lint. “I just want to talk. The way sisters do.”

Ricocheting off the bed, you march over to her as you glare. “Sisters? No. You’re nothing of mine.” Ollie yawns as she rubs her eyes. Then, she clears her throat.

“Do you want to know why I hate you? You’re so stupid you probably don’t even know, but don’t worry - that’s what older sisters are for. I’ll explain it to you. Do you remember, Romeo?”

You do. It hits you all at once; the memories of the first man you ever slept with. He was nice - kind enough to teach you what a man likes. He had jet black hair, a smirk always lingering on his lips. He was tall and a local from where you grew up. He was the perfect experience.

But that still didn’t make any sense. What did he have to do with Ollie?

She lets out a wet laugh. Already, you can see her own tears as she tries to quickly wipe them away.

“I loved you; I did. You were my sister before my enemy. But I also loved him. He was my first love. Promised me a home high up in the hills. But do you know what it feels like to see someone you love fuck your little sister against a wall?”

We probably shouldn’t-

Don’t worry. I’ve got you. No ones going to see us. Men love a good thrill.

“You and him…”

She licks her chapped lips. “We had barely started dating.”

“I didn’t know - I swear to God, I didn’t know!”

If you had, you never would’ve looked his way. Ollie was everything to you growing up. You admired her. Loved her. That’s why it broke you when she started pushing you away as if you were some disease. Later, when your parents got a divorce, she didn’t second guess it when she made the decision to stay behind; causing you to leave with your mother. She never cared for you after that and you never knew why.

But now you did.

“I was young…Younger than I am now, how was I supposed to know?”

“Well, I’m glad we agree on something. You truly don’t know anything.” Strolling over to you, she smiles at your desperate state. “Which is why I’m not making the same mistake twice. Stay away from my husband.”

Ollie’s words felt as if they had opened up past scars. You meant what you said. Romeo would have been someone you would have disregarded if you had known the truth. But like always, you were the one with the entire blame and that you didn’t like.

Despite wearing a pretty dress - one that everyone gawked at you for - you felt ugly. Has it always been this way? Maybe it did make sense as to why she despised you. Playing with your bracelets, you try to pretend you’re interested in meeting your fathers investors. You feel completely exposed when they all stare straight at your chest area.

“How are we all doing?”

They all look up at the Spanirad as they start spitting out their congratulations for his upcoming wedding. He thanks them before checking up on you. His eyes connect with yours. Butterflies swirl inside your stomach as you smile weakly. He’s the first one to truly talk to you that night. To show he cares about your wellbeing rather than the way your dress fits you. Though, you looked stunning as always. Excusing yourself, you make your way into the kitchen, looking for something stronger.

Serving yourself a shot of vodka, you throw your head back, burning sensation sliding down your throat. Coughing, you grip onto the counter. Soft moans whisper in between the walls. You stop breathing for a minute as you try your best to identify where it might be coming from. Striding closer, you press your ear against the closet door. Fuck, a mans voice groans. This is not something you should intervene with, it's not your right, but that all changes when you hear a name that makes you burn all over again. So fucking tight, Ollie.

Pushing the door open, you see your sister banging one of your fathers investors. Ben, you think his name is. Honestly, you could care less. Briskly, she pushes her gown back down as he zips his pants. You let out a cold laugh as you clap in amusement.

“Oh, God. This is great. Amazing. You really outdid yourself, Ol.”

Stepping forwards, she grabs your arm harshly as she tugs you out. “How much did you see?”

You purse your lips as you theatrically scrunch your face up in pleasure. “Oh, Ben! Fuck me! Oh, oh, yes, baby, right there!” You bow. “That much.”

“How old are you, sweetheart?” The brunette says as he scans your body. Ollie glares at him as he steps back.

“Not a word of this to Carlos.”

“Why would I keep this a secret? He deserves to know. What do you think, Benny?”

Panicked, the older man shakes his head as his eyes plead for mercy. That’s enough. Raising your hands up in defense, you grin back at Ollie. “You’re not mentioning anything if you know what's good for you.”

“Oh, yeah?” You tilt your head back. “And what’s good for me?”

“If you tell him anything of what you just heard - saw - then I’ll just tell him how you’ve been bending over for every man in this house. Charles, Lando, Lewis, Pierre…you name it.”

“He won’t believe you…”

She laughs sinisterly. “No, I think he will. I mean…You’ve already done it before.”

“Hey,” his soft voice enters the room as you turn to look at him. The Spaniard’s eyes dance between you and your sister and Ben. “Is something wrong?”

Ollie shakes her head with a bright smile as she walks up and kisses him. You flinch. “Nothing, amor. We were just talking.” She runs her hands through his hair as his eyes remain on you.

“Are you okay?”

Nodding, you grind your teeth together. “Yes. Ollie was just introducing me to Ben.” Awkwardly, the man waves from behind you. Slowly, Carlos nods.

“Papi asked me to introduce them. You know - with the whole ‘boyfriend’ thing!”

“He was serious about tha- Oh. Okay.” He reaches down to take your sister's hand as he eyes you and Ben. “We should probably leave you two alone then.”

Hastily, you nod. “Sure.”

If you were willing to try and fix your relationship with Ollie before, then that was long gone. This is what you knew her for. A pretender. She wistfully makes everyone believe she’s some sort of saint, when really, she’s a wolf in sheep's clothing. She’s a hypocrite. She has a man that everyone desires and she does this?

You hated her.

You hated seeing the way she beams when Carlos’ mother gives her a necklace that belonged to her own mother. She didn’t deserve it. Or the way his sisters helped her slip in and out of her dress, making sure it's perfect for the big day.

Still, you try your best to be a supportive sister. Especially around the woman who raised a man like Carlos. Biting down on your lip, you take a sip of your champagne as Ollie disappears behind the curtains with the lady who is taking some last minute measurements. Reyes smiles warmly.

“We didn’t know Ollie had a younger sister.”

You smile. “Best well kept secret, right?” The older lady laughs. Your heart warms up as you notice it's the same way Carlos does. Ana and Blanca grin.

“Well, we’re glad to finally get to know you. Might I add, you’re beautiful. Those eyes!”

“Thank you,” you blush.

Ana takes a sip of her drink before clicking her fingers. “That’s what you remind me of! You - Carlos - almost have the same puppy eyes!” She turns to her mother. “Mamá! What’s that saying? Soulmates look alike…Something like that, no?”

“Be quiet, Ani,” Blanca hisses before smiling apologetically. “Excuse her - she can be a bit invasive.”

“No problem,” you reassure as you bite back a smile. Ana frowns.

“Lo siento, I don’t mean to come off as overbearing. It’s just that you do…”

Reyes clears her throat as she winks over at her daughter. “Don’t misunderstand us, please. We love Ollie, we do! It’s just…you’re different.” She examines you. “I like you.”

Their words stick with you like a post it. Do soulmates look alike? Playing with the sand, you circle your finger agonizingly slow. Why did their words matter so much to you?

“I always find you alone.”

You stick your tongue out at Carlos as he chuckles at your childish behavior. You pat the sand, inviting him to join you. What are you doing out here? You point at the ocean. “I told you it was my favorite place.”

“Ah. I see.”

You sneak in a quick look before looking straight ahead. “Nervous?”

“About?”

“Marrying a monster.”

He gives you a deadpan look, bumping his shoulder to yours. “She’s not that bad, you know.” He glances at you. “Ollie has been there for me through so much. Through my failures. Through my accomplishments. She’s the one who convinced me not to quit racing.”

“You were thinking of quitting?”

He nods. “It’s not as easy as it looks. It fucks you up mentally. But she…” He smiles. “She helped me overcome that. I thank her everyday for it.”

It’s a bittersweet feeling hearing him talk about her like that. On one hand, you’re thankful that she had made him realize that he should carry on doing what he loved. On the other, you knew her true reasons. She loved having a famous fiancé; someone she can brag out to the rest of the world.

Somewhere, far away, you hear a melody. It’s low enough that if you didn’t pay close attention, you wouldn’t catch on to it, but you did. You grab his hand, leading him to stand up. He quirks a full brow.

“Want to dance?”

“I thought you said you didn’t know how to.”

“Nice memory, old man.” You gently kick some sand towards him. “But I feel like dancing. Plus, you should be practicing.”

Tugging you closer, he hums. “Alright. Only because that's true.”

His hands feel warm against you - so much so - it feels as if he’s on fire. An ease comes to it, too, as you both sway under the moonlight. You giggle when he spins you, dress flying around you like petals. The way you grin makes his heart speed up in a way he’s never felt before. It’s alarming. He pinches your hip as you yelp.

“Mentirosa.”

“Wha- No, I’m not! Can’t dance to save my life.” Clumsily, you dig your toes into the sand. He winces playfully.

The air grows heavy the moment he brushes your hair behind your ear. Your eyes flutter shut as you lean against his warm hand. One look, and he’s hooked. It’s meant to be something lighthearted, but the way he wishes to feel your soft lips against his indicates that it’s not. He’s tried his best to see you for what you are; his fiancée’s little sister. Someone he shouldn’t find himself caring if they slept well, ate their three meals a day, or that they didn’t talk to any other man that wasn’t him or your father. This was sick and twisted and yet…

His lips meet yours as your eyes spring open for a nanosecond before letting yourself go under. It feels as if you’re exploding like firecrackers on a Fourth of July. Something about the way he cradles your face endearingly has your head spinning. Knees become weak, but his grip is secure. It’s better than you could have ever imagined. His tongue fights for dominance and when you don’t give it to him, he squeezes your ass. Moaning, you open your mouth and that's all it took. He kisses you the way you’ve seen in movies - only better. He’s hungry - desperate - for you as you smile against him. Biting down on his bottom lip, he groans as he kisses you harder than before. You were beginning to think your lips were about to snap.

Letting go, he stands there, staggered. He’s ashamed when he realizes that he regrets nothing. You both stay quiet; only waves crashing and heavy pants being heard. At first you think he’s going to apologize, and maybe that might have been the case, but no words would come out. Pressing a peck against his swollen lips, you smile.

“Goodnight, Carlos.”

Carlos rues the day that he kissed you because that only made things more complicated. He couldn’t find a way to not look for you when he walks into the garden, full of family and friends. Or the way he would want to punch Max when he made you laugh. But there is also something sweet. Like the way you would gossip with his sisters and share stories with his parents. He had never seen them laugh and smile so much, not even with Ollie.

He flinches at the cold hand that wraps around his own. Faking a smile, he presses a soft kiss on top of his fiancée’s head. Continuing the clicking against her glass, she smiles widely.

“Grazie a tutti per esservi uniti a noi!”

Everyone claps and a few of the drivers whistle. Rolling your eyes, you lean your head against your father’s shoulder. His heart skips a beat. Ollie continued her speech filled with thank you’s, thank you’s and more thank you’s. Your father kissed your cheek before making his way up to his eldest. Taking the microphone from Ollie, he starts to share warm felt memories about her. You have to admit, you’re jealous about their bond. Somewhere in the past, that had been viciously stolen from you. He notices the way you shrink with sadness and he finds himself about to walk over to you when Ollie laughs awkwardly. Amor. It’s your turn.

“Right.” Fixing his rolled up sleeves, he smiles at the crowd of guests. “Uh…Well like my fiancée said, we’re extremely happy to have you all here. It takes a lot to get this many people out here all at once.” A few laughs echo as he continues. “This means a lot to me, too, to have my friends and family. To have met new faces.” His gaze flickers past you as your breath hitches. “Many ask me what about Ollie made me fall in love with her…And I’m here to be as brutally honest as I could get. I love the way she makes me feel as crazy as the ocean. I could spend calm days with her and not worry about getting bored. Or I could find myself getting into trouble. Ollie has made me a better man. Because of her I know what true love is…” His loopy eyes meet yours. “True love are the waves that meet the shore.”

He lets out a sheepish smile. I want love like that, Lando yells out as he downs his glass of milk. Everyone claps and cheers and that’s where your nightmare begins.

Let’s give it up for the happy couple! Kiss, kiss, kiss!

The chants continue as Carlos let out a nervous laugh. That’s something private between me and her, he tries but finds himself being booed. Leaning down, he pulls Ollie in for a peck before pulling away with a tight lipped smile. He hates himself for his sudden realization.

Kissing her suddenly did feel like a chore.

With all the whoops and whistles being thrown out by friends, he finds himself trying to find you. It doesn’t take long as he notices you had picked up on your conversation with the Dutchman. His jaw clenches.

“Maybe Ollie’s younger sister would like to share a few words.”

Why would he say that? Frozen, you choke mid sip. Me? Your father beams as he nods excitedly. Oh! That’s such a great idea! Unfamiliar faces turn to look at you as they wait. Taking in a deep breath, you nod as you make your way over.

As he hands you the microphone, he can’t stop himself from grazing his fingers against your hand. Coughing, you yank it fast.

“Ciao a tutti.” Everyone greets you back as you lick your lips. You take a moment to figure out what to say, but there’s not much. Cringing, you try to come up with anything. “As some may know, I’m Ollie’s sister…And I could go on forever about how great she is-” You suppress a sarcastic laugh as Carlos knowingly winks. Your nerves ease up. “But I think I should talk about the man who makes my sister the happiest. Carlos Sainz…When I first met you, you seemed uptight - more than the Grinch - but slowly I got to know the man that even my papi swoons over.”

True, your father laughs. “You’re kind, respectful, and charming…Ollie is one very lucky girl. But there’s something also sensitive inside of you…Despite the permanent frown on your face, you still seem to like days by the ocean. Maybe it's a reminder that peace still exists or maybe it's the way…” Looking up, you see everyone staring deeply. Suddenly, you feel like this might be oversharing as you twirl your dress. “...Or maybe it's the way your face lights up when you take my sister dancing on the sand. Uh…Thank you for making her happy.” Handing the mic back to Carlos, you smile weakly at the strong claps.

“That was quite sentimental,” Max points out as you bite down on your finger. Was it too much? He shakes his head. “Don’t worry. It looks like you and Carlos get along well enough. I, for sure, thought he hated you with the way he looks at you.”

“Oh. Yeah.” You pause. “I thought so, too.”

Aside from the fact that the wedding was approaching quickly, the mansion was quiet. The silence can almost be heard; it's scary. Carefully, you fix your dress as you skip down the stairs barefoot, lollipop painting your lips red.

Peeking around the corner, giddiness fills your body as you snatch a handful of pre-washed cherries. Earlier that day, your father had scolded you for finishing the new batch. Popping them into your mouth, you hum a song as you kick your legs against the kitchen counter. It creeps you out the moment a chill runs down your spine. As if someone were watching.

“Boo!”

“Santa mierda,” you yelp as you clutch your heart. Laughing loudly, the Spaniard bends over as he gasps for air. You pout and kick his knee. “Cabrón, you scared me! Warn a girl!”

“Fuck - I’m sorry.” His lips form a thin line as he stands firm. Slowly, the corners lift up, wobbly at his poor attempt to not burst out laughing. You frown.

“You’re fucked up.”

Again, his laughs echo the dimly lit kitchen. “Can I have some?”

“No. They’re mine. Grab your own.”

He narrows his eyes. “Aren’t you on cherry prohibition or something like that?” You gasp as you look around before flipping him off.

“Keep your voice low or papi will disown me!”

He zips his lips as he whispers. “I won’t tell a soul. But I want one of those in exchange.”

Tapping your finger against your lip, you pretend to think about it before nodding. You extend your hand out, a single red cherry for him. You’re waiting for him to take it and leave to where he came from, but what he does instead has you swallowing a lump down your throat.

Crouching down, he opens his mouth as he picks up the cherry, lips slightly wrapping around your fingers. This was triggering you as you tried your best to keep sane. But there was no way of going about that when he looked up at you with deep, brown eyes. Licking the red juice sliding down your hands, he steps back. He licks his lips before swallowing. It amazes you the way his Adam’s Apple jumps up and down; thick neck begging to be sucked on.

“Fucking delicious.”

Blinking, you look down at the rest of the cherries in hand. All of a sudden they seemed like a sultry fruit rather than a drupe.

“Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Of cours-s-e.”

Stupefied, you throw the leftovers straight into the trash bin. You had no clue what made you do that. A small chuckle escapes past his lips as you shut your eyes in embarrassment. Maybe they weren’t as sweet as you made them seem. Too mortified to speak, you keep your eyes focused on the way your feet hit the wood as a distraction. It takes all of you to not run away as he steps closer once again.

“Is there something in that dirty little mind of yours?”

The room feels hot all of a sudden as you shake your head. There’s no words in your vocabulary when he stands this close. You can smell his cologne mixed with shampoo. If richness were a scent then this would definitely be it. His hands cage you in like a butterfly behind glass. Clicking his tongue, he steps aside as you let out a shaky breath. Taking the opportunity, you jump off the edge, bare feet slapping against the cold tiles. Cuidado, he mutters when you almost slip from the sudden action.

“If you need anything I’ll be upstairs.”

Not sure why you said that, but it seemed like a rationalized excuse. Por supuesto. And that would have been the end of your night. That would have been another successful day of not falling for the forbidden apple. You had held out for so long; the kiss didn’t count. But it only takes a few steps for him to clear his throat. Almost as if this were your secret language, you spin and you find him staring after you; dazzling eyes following your every movement as if he’s trying his best to decipher anything you do.

Smiling wide enough for your eyes to look as if they had a smile of their own, you think - fuck the consequences - as you clumsily run up to him; jumping like a kid onto a tree. Legs wrap around his torso and his hands hold you close to him.

“Do you-”

“Yes,” he whispers. “Since the first day you walked through those doors: yes.”

If you had thought you were obsessed with his kisses before, you were wrong. So very wrong. Because now you were addicted. He kisses you with urgency as you run your hands through his locks, so soft against your fingers. He grunts when you tug on it.

His kisses were stimulating enough for you to plead for something. Anything. Smirking, he pecks your nose before leading you both upstairs. It amazed you how he could continue kissing you as he hurried to get to the bedroom. Noticing him making his way into his and Ollie’s, you pull away. There’s no way you would let him do that. You spin your finger lazily through his hair.

“How about mine?”

He doesn't care if he fucked you against the floor, he needed you. Kicking the door shut, he throws you onto your bed as you squeal. He smiles fondly as you brush your hair out of your face. He’s had his fair share of girls. Models, nepo-babies, Ollie, but none of them compare to you.

He was almost scared of touching you again, even though that’s exactly what he wanted. Doe eyes stare back at him as his cock gets harder at the sight. Ollie had always tried her best to look at him that way, but you didn’t even have to try. It naturally happened. Nothing about this felt forced.

You look untouchable. Like a complete goddess waiting to be ruined. Carlos, you would say as you squeeze your tits, eyes struggling to stay open. Carlos, please. Don’t be mean. Towering over you, he shakes his head.

“Linda, I could never be mean to you.”

Slipping your dress off, he groans when he sees you weren’t wearing anything underneath. He shuts his eyes as he tries to not finish inside his pants, which by the way, were starting to hurt. He pinches your nipple before slapping your tits. You hiss.

“Please tell me you did this for me and no one else…”

“You know it’s always been for you.”

With that, he stands up as he yanks his shirt off; jeans and boxers following right after. A bit worried, you find yourself staring at his rock hard dick. You had never been with some as big as him; it kind of looked as if it would split you right open. That didn’t stop you from wanting it, though.

“Don’t worry. I’ll prepare you nice and good, cariño.”

His lustful tone snaps you out of it as you nod. His fingers rub your wet folds as you cling onto his bicep. C-Carlos. “I know, baby, I know,” he coos as he focuses on the way your face pinches. He slowly starts slipping his finger in as you gasp at the thickness. So big and long. He chuckles. “Oh, come on now. It’s not even fully inside of you yet.”

Stunned, you look down and sure enough, it isn’t. You almost cry out when you notice it’s barely even the tip. “I don’t think it’s going to fit.” He kisses your temple as he slips his finger back out.

“Let’s start off with something else then.”

You almost pass out when he angles himself in front of your pussy. Glistening clit stares back at him as he moans. So pretty, he thinks as he touches you slowly. He stops himself, though, as he goes in for kitten licks instead. You squirm. His large hands pushed you down against the bed, to keep you in place.

“Do you want me to make the ache in between your legs go away?”

“Yes.”

His pink tongue teases you as he hums. You bite down sharply. “You’re going to have to stay still. Relax, bonita.” Following instructions, you close your eyes, trying your best to not think of the handsome Spaniard. As if that were possible. Impressed, he leans in again as he licks you, picking up your pre-cum. Oh, fuck.

Then it’s almost as if Carlos is taken over by something as he dives in like some animal. His stubble burns your legs, but you’re too fucked out to even care. You’re sure you're being loud, but how can you not be when he licks and sticks his tongue inside of you, exploring places you never knew existed. You choke back a moan when he rubs his nose against your clit, only adding to the euphoria.

“Yes. Oh. Fuck, yes.” Looking down at the brunette, you find him taking in your appearance as he rubs himself against the sheets; a way to try and pleasure himself. And that’s enough for you to cum all over his face. He smiles as he greedily tries to drink up everything you give him. He knows he lost control, but he loves the way you were able to keep up. To take everything he gave you.

And that was only going to multiply.

“You taste so fucking sweet,” he groans in between your legs, picking up the white nectar. Crying out, you push his face away as you gasp for air. He sucks your tits as you take a break. His tongue swirls around your bud as you wiggle against him like a fish that jumped out onto land. He laughs. “Can you handle my fingers, now?”

No, you whisper as you push him away. But he knows you’re giving up too soon. He knows there’s an animal inside of you and he’s just waiting for it to decide to join him. He ignores you as he slides his fingers down to your center. You mewl against him. “Hey, hey, I got you, cariño. I’m right here.”

His voice makes you clench harder against his fingers as he grins like a kid at a candy store. Slowly, you start dripping more than before, making it easier for his fingers to slide in and out of your hole. Can you handle a third? “Yes,” you respond, eyes still screwed shut. Hot air hits your ear.

“There she is…Good girl. Justo asi.”

Picking up speed, his fingers reach the gummy part inside of you as you scratch his arms in an attempt to remind yourself to not black out. His long fingers cross, doing figure 8’s as he touches your g-spot as if he knows your entire body better than any map. Leaning up, he bites down onto your nipple before sucking hard. You should be embarrassed with the way you squeal and shake against his actions, but he just made it so hard not to. Much to your surprise, if you dare believe it, he does the thing you last expected.

He adds a fourth digit.

“No, no, no,” you pathetically chant as your eyes fly open. He cocks his head to he side as he clicks in tongue as if seeing you struggle filled him with pride.

“Ah, ah, ah. Just trust me; do you trust me?”

He didn’t need to ask because he knew you did. I do, you whimper out as you start grinding against his fingers. Amazement fills his dark eyes as he looks down to where you clench around him, juices sliding down his arm. It only takes a couple of more swirls before your shriek, velvety walls clenching around him as you reach your climax.

Bringing his fingers up to his mouth, he licks your cum as if it were a meal he’s dreamed of having his entire life. Your mouth hangs open as you watch him lick them clean. You’re sure he’s going to fuck you now, but that flies out the window as he lays down as he drags you onto his face.

This man had stamina. Lots of it. You're trying to beg for a break of some sort. I can suck your dick. Give you a handjob. Just please let me rest. But he wasn’t even listening.

Maybe somewhere deep down, he knew this would be the only night he would have you to himself and if that meant no pauses, then he would push all your buttons.

Like a starved man, he starts licking you all over as you grind against his face. The way he sucks on your clit and adds his fingers make you squeal as you push down harder. His nose rubs against you in such a way, it has you seeing stars. He seems to be enjoying that though, as his moans vibrate against you. Biting hard onto your lip, you try to distract yourself as you reach behind you for his rock hard cock. The moment your small hand wraps around him, he growls like a lion.

Smug over his reaction, your hand slowly starts jerking him off as he eats you out with more urgency. It takes all of you to control your actions as he shakes his face in between your legs. S-slow down, Carlos. He grunts as his actions speed up, but so does your hand. Gripping onto his erection much harder, you furrow your brows as you twist your wrist. Choking on your juices, he opens his eyes wide, whimpers flying past his lips.

Smiling down like the devil, you nod as your hand picks up its pace. Now it's his turn to be groaning with pleasure. He seems to have forgotten what he was doing as he takes in strong whiffs of your aroma. You shudder when his warm breaths escape to warm up your dripping pussy.

His cock twitches and he seems to snap right back into it; already diving back into your hole. Lurching forward, you grip onto his hair as the other remains wrapped around him. It’s a game to see who can make the other cum first, and you were not about to be the loser.

Lively, you circle your thumb around his pink tip as he groans and finishes all around your hand. Sucking hard, he bites gently onto your clit as you screech and trap his head between your thighs. Shaking, you twitch against him as you reach your third orgasm that night. Huffing, you roll off him as he laps his tongue.

The way he looks at you makes you want to ride his face all over again, but you know you needed a break if you didn’t want the night to end so soon. Kneeling in front of him, you raise your ass up high as you lean down to wrap your lips around his cock. He flinches, slightly sensitive, but doesn’t dare push you away. Instead, he rubs your face with his calloused thumb; encouraging you. There's something so hot about the way your lips stretch around his fat cock. The way drool exits your mouth, messy blots of mascaras on the corners of your eyes.

Light of my life. Fire of my loins.

Gagging around him, you squeeze your eyes shut, feet curling up along the way. For sure, your throat would be bruised tomorrow, but you didn’t mind. In fact, you wanted that. Deepthroating him as best as you can, your small hands wrap around the rest of his length. He was huge. Dirty slurps bounce off the walls. You try your best to not pull away when you feel his sticky pre-cum connect inside your throat. Not when he looked so good with his head thrown back. His thick neck is a clear display. With his large hands wrapped around your hair as he fucks your face like theres no tomorrow. Spanish curses flowing past his lips.

“Que linda. Arrodillada como una santa.”

When you giggle around his erection, he groans, head thudding against the headboard. His mind quickly slips over to Ollie - but not in the way one might expect. It hits him like a truck when he compares her to you. With Ollie, she would last at least 20 minutes before calling it a night. He pretended not to mind - he would never force her to do something she doesn’t want to, of course - but once she would knock out, his large hand would slide down past his boxers, looking for a new release.

Then there’s you, ever so pretty. It seems like with everything you do, you want more. You sucking him off as if you’ve done this for him a lifetime ago. Sure, you’re struggling, but that only makes him harder. You’re trying to keep up with him and it’s working. Now, it’s like he’s the one trying to keep up. Swallowing, your throat closes around him as he flies forward, voice cracking as he presses for more.

Glossy eyes look back up at him as you repeat your action. With one last blow, he pulls out as he cums all over your face. His dick immediately gets hard again when you smile wide, fingers going to pick up his mess. Greedily, you pout as you wrap your lips around your finger like the lollipop you had been sucking on a few hours ago.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, abs contracting together as he tries his best to even out his breaths.

“Will you fuck me now?”

You’re moving at a snail's pace as you lick his sweaty neck. A chill runs down his spine with the feeling of your warm tongue. Grinding slowly against his thigh, you throw your head back with pleasure, wet lips rubbing against him. He smiles.

“You’re a dirty girl, you know that?”

“I thought that’s what you liked about me, papi.”

In a flash, he flips you onto your back as he hovers over you like a giant. A beautiful, beautiful, giant. His large muscles he works so hard for stare back at you as you admire with an open mouth. It looks as if he could carry mountains on his shoulders. Dilated pupils admire you as you let out a pathetic whimper. Long gone were his brown eyes as they now appear completely black. Sensual.

“Then you should be fucked as such.”

With that, he swings your tan legs over his broad shoulders, practically bending you like a pretzel. You pat yourself on the back for all those pilate classes. Jerking himself off a bit, he looks straight at you, making sure this was something you wanted. The way you bat your cartoon eyes is all he needs to slip inside of you.

First thing he notices is how tight you are despite him already stretching you out to perfection. Raw moans leave both your lips as you try your best to adjust to his size. You had been with men before - that’s all you really knew - but no one’s cock had ever made you burn with such satisfaction. More than satisfaction. He’s reassuring you with his words in order for you to relax.

I’ve got you, preciosa. Just let go for me. I’m right here.

Still, you can’t help but squirm underneath him. His fingers make their way to your mouth as you stare back confused. Suck, he commands before forcing them in. Caught off guard, you gag around them for a bit before your tongue begins to twirl around them. Your cheeks burn up as you hear your low mewls. Ah- ah- ah, you cry out against his digits as he grins down at you. Retracting them, he slides them down to your clit as he starts rubbing small circles.

“Oh God.”

Instantly, you open up against his tired cock as he hums. There you go, he praises as you make it easier for him to thrust into you. You should both be ashamed of the way gushy sounds bloom from your mixed cum. Or the way he pounds into you so hard and fast that it has you sliding further back against the bed, hair tangling along the way. His fingers dig into your calves as he holds them in place.

“Mierda,” he wheezes as he throws his head back, ripping his eyes away from the way your puffy clit envelopes around him. Pants and whimpers escape you as you arch your back from the fulfillment.

Carlos is a man - you know that - but in this moment; right now: he’s proving it the way a scientist would their hypothesis. His cock brushes against your g-spot as you gasp at the sensation. He’s looking at you as if you held the key to all secrets.

The keys for the gate to Heaven.

Though he knows that this all feels like Heaven, he deserves nothing but Hell for cheating on Ollie. But that’s the least of his worries.

“Does that feel good, bonita?”

Wide eyes look up at him desperately as you nod to the point where your neck starts to ache. Yes - Oh God, yes. So good, Carlitos. Yeah, baby - right there. Snapping his hips harder against you, your mind goes foggy with the way his hair flops around him. Sweat causing long strands to stick to his face. Beads of sweat drip down your legs as he presses sloppy kisses. His cheeks look as if he’s been out in the sun for hours.

In this moment; he looked immortal.

“Carlos, I’m gonna-”

“Hold it.”

Like a doll, you flop back against the bed as you start to leak acid. No - please. Don’t ask me to do that. Feeling a sharp sting, you gasp. His hands dives back in to massage your cheek after slapping you. He cocks his head with fake sympathy. “I know you can do it,” - thrust - “Wait for me, yeah?”

You have no word as you wail - tits bouncing with every assault from his hip. Your stomach burns with the way his abs glisten, with the way his bottom lip juts out, or the way his muscles shine with a layer of sweat as they hug your legs like a teddy bear.

He was yours. In this moment, he was yours.

“Alright, linda-” He brushes your hair out of your face as he wipes your sweat with his hand. “Cum for me?”

It’s an out of body experience the moment you squirt around his dick - the way your tummy feels like it's on fire. Sore groans leave his lips as he finishes inside of you, brown eyes trained on the way you gush around him. He freezes in place at the feeling. You squirm for a few seconds below falling limp against the bed. The room smells like nothing but filthy sex.

Pulling out of you, he carefully places your legs back down before kissing your ribs. Then your bruised tits. Then your cheeks, forehead, and lastly, your lips that taste like home. Sighing against him, you try your best to remember the way he kisses you as if you're the only form of oxygen that exists. As if this were a dystopian world and you were the only source of survival.

He pecks your lips once more before brushing his fingers against your temple. “Get some sleep.” Yawning, you nod as your eyes flutter like a butterfly's wings. Will you stay? And he doesn’t know what takes over him when he says-

“I will.”

When you wake up you notice it’s still dark out. The moon shines, eyes flickering around, looking for the Spaniard. You let out a low breath of relief when you see him sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Ollie,” he whispers into the phone as he runs a hand against his jaw. “...I made a mistake.”

Your heart stops with his words. He makes sure to speak low, thinking you're sound asleep. She - I - it was a mistake. She’s just a kid…Fuck. She’s just a child. Your heart shatters with the evident blame in his voice. You weren’t a kid. Sniffling, you stop breathing when you realize you’re crying. He pauses for a moment before standing up and making sure you’re okay. Bringing the phone up against his ear, he shakes, already walking out the door.

“Where are you? Let me just see you, amor. I’ll explain it all.”

There’s a saying that goes: You know, a heart can be broken, but it keeps on beating, just the same.

You would personally like to punch that person in the face. It’s not true. It doesn’t beat the same - because then why does it hurt everytime it pounds against your chest? Why is it hard to breath when the priest says-

“You may now kiss the bride!”

Everyone’s faces are blurry; cheers sound far away. You can’t be too sure you're standing upright as your father beams at the sight of Ollie pressing her lips up against Carlos. The way his hands slide down to her waist as shows her off proudly like some champion ring is what hurts the most. You feel flames all over your skin, letting out a flinch when your fathers signals for you to clap, too.

You don’t know what happened after that night. Whether Ollie forgave him or not - though clearly she had. Maybe she didn’t know about you the same way he didn’t know about Ben. This was all starting to feel like some nightmare. But it’s very much real life with the way the newlyweds hold hands, smiling brightly as guests throw a mixture of confetti and baby breath.

“Nice ceremony.”

“What? Oh.” You shrug towards Max as he points over at the couple. “Y-yeah. It was…”

He goes over his next words for a moment because Lord knows that if he has it all wrong then he would appear to be the biggest jerk to ever exist. “You fell in love with him, didn’t you?”

“I-I-I’m not sure I understand,” you trample over your words as your cheeks burn the same color of your red dress. He shares a small smile.

“It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone.”

Walking away, you’re left alone, second guessing everything. The violin seemed too happy. The guests seemed too bright. All of this was fake, couldn’t they see? Pursing your lips, you try your best to hide your broken heart as you catch up with old friends. How is college? How does it feel like having a brother-in-law who drives for Formula 1? Must feel pretty great, right?

The night is boring. Half of it you spend faking smiles and the other you spend trying to avoid the Spaniard. Life was better back in Spain, where ironically, he was never around despite it being his home country. You’re in the middle of conversing with the Dutchman - who quite frankly is an honest listener - when Ollie walks up looking like a ball of whipped cream. Can I talk to my sister alone, please? Max’s concerned eyes ask if you’re okay with that as you nod. Slumping away, he squeezes your knee one last time.

Blue Velvet plays as she fixes herself onto the stool right next to you. “Have you tried the cocktails? They have cherry flavored; your favorite.” Something about her sweet voice makes you unsteady as you raise a brow. She shows off her veneers. “This is weird. Sorry. I’m just so…happy.”

“Good to know.”

“But enough about me!” She places her left hand over yours, shiny rock sitting perfectly. You wince. “I want to talk about you! How’s school?”

“Like you care.”

She pouts. “I do now…” You furrow your brows. What do you mean now? She gasps. “Oh, you poor thing! You don’t know I know!” Your stomach drops. “Well, you know, as your older sister, I’m also your guardian since our mother is too fucked up to look after you…And a little birdie filled me in on your reputation back in Spain.” She giggles as she takes a sip of your drink. “Doesn’t surprise me, though. It only makes sense that you keep messing around with men old enough to be your father. You always had a thing for those.”

“What does this have to do with anything?”

Ollie grins ear to ear when she notices how annoyed you’ve become. “Carlos told you he was born in Madrid, right? Okay, well, he also has a whole bloodline there. And let’s just say, a cousin of his - my goodness, his daughters are beautiful - is a professor at your Uni.”

No.

“And well this birdie also told me how you’ve been sneaking in and out of his lecture room, late at night. And I wonder…What have you and him been doing behind closed doors?”

It can’t be.

Professor Vázquez de Castro, he says as he extends his hand out, eyes roaming every inch of your body.

Suddenly, the name sounds familiar. The surname is Carlos’ extended one. Ollie’s eyes shine. “I see it’s clicking.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I want you to leave me and my husband alone. I want you to grab your things and leave. Don’t look back; just leave. Don’t contact papi ever again. I don’t want to hear a single thing from you. It’s bad enough you’ve already fucked my spouse.”

She knows. He told her. And they still got married.

“Ollie, don’t…”

Tugging your hand harshly, she slaps her phone on it. And you don’t know how, but in it, it’s a video of you riding your Professor - Carlos’ cousin.

“Leave or I’ll show this to him. Your choice.”

Wet sobs leave your mouth as you shake your head in disbelief. How did this happen? Who took this video?

“Ollie, please…I love him.”

Her gaze sharpens as she takes the phone back and stands up. “You know what to do.”

Bringing your shaky hand up to your lips, you stare in shock. Wobbly legs walk past Max as he asks if you’re okay. One last smile looks back at him before you brush past by.

Carlos is craning his neck, looking for you. He had confessed that night, but so had Ollie. He was breaking off the engagement. Spilling apologies as she cried against his chest. Despite it all, he still cared for your sister. But he knew it wasn’t going to work out. He was ready to leave when she brought up the tape of you and a cousin he didn’t even know he had. I’ll get her expelled. Don’t do this, Carlos. And so he stayed. He knew how much you loved school, regardless of what others might think. I just want to help others, you swooned one day by the pool. It’s what I wish someone had done for me.

You get to him before he spots you as you tap on his shoulder. He fills up with worry when he sees your red brimmed eyes. Sheepishly, you take his handkerchief as you wipe your rosy nose. What happened? Who made you cry? You shrug.

“Carlos…I love you.” He blinks. You let out a wet laugh as you lean up to kiss him. You didn’t care who saw anymore. This was it. He doesn’t seem to care either as his hands wrap around your waist. Holding you close, as if you might vanish into thin air. He was the waves, you were the shore. Pulling away, you wink. “Save me a dance, yeah?”

Then, you’re walking away. Becoming smaller as you stroll over to the Italian house. Clutching his chest, he chokes: I-I…I.

“Carlos!”

Turning to face Ollie, he sees her waving him over to the giant cake.

“Coming.”

Running into the quiet house, he calls your name. He looks behind every door, hoping to find the girl in red. Stumbling up the stairs, he swings your door open. He breathes heavily when he doesn’t find you, even here. Panicked, he grips his hair in despair. Only then, does it occur to him to open the restroom door, hoping to not scare you.

“¿Bonita?”

Silence. He still pushes it open as he carefully walks in, finding no harm in checking. And why? Why couldn’t he be as truthful like you were? Risk it the way you would have willingly done. Why did he let you walk into the house alone?

Falling to his knees, he desperately crawls over to your lifeless body, dark blood flowing from your wrists.

As red as your dress.

He must be dreaming. This can’t be real. Surely, it can’t.

“No, no, no.” He drags your limp body into his arms. He can’t even pinpoint the moment his tears flow down his face. “Bonita, no. No. No. No.” The Spaniard cradles your colorless face into his hands. He gently taps your face a few times, but almost stops breathing himself when it only rolls back. Blood stains his white shirt. “Hey, hey. C’mon, please. You want me to say it?” Hurriedly, he picks up your head as he kisses your lips over and over. He winces when he feels how chapped they’ve become.

“It doesn’t feel forced. I’m not saying it because I think it’s what you want to hear - I love you. I do. I love you as infinite as the ocean. I love the way you laugh, the way you trip over anything in your way, the way you say my name…I love you.”

But he knew you weren’t listening. Not anymore.

A piece of him died that day along with you. After that, life was a sickening blur. He’s out of it the moment he hears your father yelling out in agony or when Ollie screams at the gruesome scene.

None of it mattered anymore.

4K notes · View notes

lovifie · 18 days

Text

A Ghost Of The Past

Prompt 15 - High school sweethearts reunite and find love again from @glitterypirateduck Ghost challenge - masterlist

Cw: mentions of Simon's childhood, some inaccuracies, little idiots in love, oral sex (fem receiving), pinv, unprotected sex, some glazing, cum play, afab reader

Loving Simon Riley was easy. It came naturally. How could you not?

Throughout every single year of high school, you were seated next to him. Every project was done together. Homework was done together. Study sessions were done together. Everything was done together.

You were never invited to his house, even though you invited him to yours a thousand times.

It was really hard to distract him during class, always saying that he had to pay attention during class because he couldn't study at home. Curiosity always urged you to ask the reason for it, but you never did. Not wanting to risk the friendship by sticking your nose where you shouldn't.

Still, as the two of you started to grow; puberty passing by, changes, new problems, harder courses, harder decisions. Simon found it harder and harder to concentrate, his sight constantly trailing off to you.

He would shake his head, constantly reminding himself to stay focused. To be realistic. You were his friend and you didn't think of him in any other way.

His movements would catch your attention, your eyes lingering for just a bit more than what would be considered casual on his face, on his frustrated looking face. Lips slightly pouting and furrowed eyebrows making you smile.

Still, even as you were growing closer and closer; there was also an abyss threatening to open between the two of you. High school was ending in just a couple of months, and it didn't look like you shared the same plans after graduation.

You were worrying about university, which degree to choose, your exams, where to go and Simon… Simon kept getting to class with new bruises and cuts. And every time you tried to pry in… he would push you back.

“That looks like it hurts…” You said one morning, your forearm resting on his shoulder as you pointed at his busted lip.

“Well, aren't you a genius?” He harshly said, pushing your arm off his shoulder and making you sit straight so as not to fall.

“Well, aren't you nice?” You said back, an annoyed tone in your voice as you turned to your notebook. “No need to be a dickhead, I haven't done anything to you.”

“You never do anything.” He mumbled under his breath.

“I heard that.” You say, turning your head at him.

“Do you want a prize?” He said, with a fake smile on his face.

“Fuck off, Simon. Talk to me when you get the stick out of your ass.” You say standing up, picking up your things to leave.

He didn't say anything.

What he did, was knock on your window in the middle of the night. The glass shaking in the rhythm of the Jurrasic Park movie theme song. You ran your blinds, coming face to face with a bloodied nose Simon; so you unlocked your window, staring at him as he looked ashamed to be there.

"Do you mind if I sleep here tonight?”

“..... c’mon in.” You whispered after a minute, taking a step back to give him space to enter. He swiftly did, silent as ever, his feet barely making a sound when connecting with the ground.

You grabbed his hand, his first reaction was for him to avoid your touch before relaxing. You pulled him to the bathroom down the hall, trying your best to not make a sound. Pushing him to sit down on the toilet, and opening the cupboard under the sink for clean tissues. “I'm still mad, you know?”

“I know… I'm sorry, things… things have been difficult at home, I'm sorry.” He said, looking up at you as you cleaned the dried blood from his face.

“You could have just told me… vent a bit, something. That's what friends are for, you know?” You say, throwing the bloddy paper in the trash can.

“It’s always friends with you, isn't it?” Simon groaned before he could register what he had just admitted. “Forget it.”

“What?” You stopped your movements, looking at his face.

“Nothing, forget it.” He said, trying to take the new paper towel from your hand.

“No, I don't want to. What did you say, Simon?” You ask again, putting your hand away from his reach.

“I like you, okay! There, I said it. You can laugh now or whatever, I don't care.” He grumpily admitted in a whisper, standing up to his full height to drop the tissues on the sink and clean his own nose. An obvious blush flourishing on his face.

“N-No, I… I don't want to laugh.” You say, standing behind him, looking at the eyes of his reflection. “You… like me?”

“Yeah, no need to take the Mick out of me for it.” He groaned again, his face finally clean of the blood.

“I'm not. I'm not teasing you, I… I like you too, Simon.” You whispered back, but he heard it loud and clear; turning around in a blink.

“What?” He asked, too loud to be hiding in the bathroom causing you to shush at him and make him cover his mouth with his hand. “Sorry… but what? You? You like me? Why?”

“What you mean why?” You ask, chuckling softly, your hand resting over his chest as his hand slides from his mouth, catching yours from pulling away. “I just do…”

You notice his gaze travel from your eyes to your lips and the moment you catch his intentions, you feel your face heat up from embarrassment. Simon looking just as flustered.

Still, you look up at him puckering your lips slightly and before you can regret it, Simon does the same; pushing his lips forward and closing his eyes tightly before crashing his mouth against yours.

It's just a second. Maybe even less. But it's enough to have the butterflies in your stomach growing wild, your face more and more red as you realise you just gave your first kiss to your crush.

Simon feels just the same, like his face is about to explode from how hard he's blushing, like everything was worth it, like getting his nose broken was a good thing… his nose!

“Fuck!” He whispers, clutching his nose when the high from the kiss comes down and he realises he smashed it against your face just now.

You chuckle at him, handing him more paper when you notice the blood running again. You want to kiss him again, and again, until you lose count. So you wait patiently for him to pull his hands back.

“Young lady, do you mind explaining what's going on?” Your father's voice makes you jump, taking a step away from Simon. “Simon, what are you doing here?”

“Dad, Simon just-” You try to come up with an excuse before Simon cuts you off.

“Sorry, Sir… I, well. My dad and I had a little… disagreement and I didn't have where to spend the night, I… I'm sorry, I'll leave, I don't want to cause problems.” He quickly says, throwing the blood-stained paper towel on the trash can with the rest.

“I'm not throwing you to the street, Simon…” Your dad answered, sighting as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Simon wondered for a second why he wouldn't when his own father had no problem doing it. “Just… let's go to sleep, I'll give you a sleeping bag.”

Simon and you look at each other for a second before turning away embarrassed of getting caught. You are the first to walk out of the bathroom, Simon diligently behind you turning the lights off.

When you enter your room your dad is setting the sleeping bag on the floor, stealing a pillow from your bed and laying blankets on top. “That's one of my pyjama trousers, sleeping with jeans is not too comfy. Go change.”

He throws the pyjama at him, Simon gives him a quick nod and makes his way back to the bathroom. Once out, your father turns to you as you slip inside of your bed.

“He better not get out of the sack, you hear me, young lady? I'm trusting you two to not make anything stupid, you are too young for those things, am I clear?” He asks, pointing his finger at you.

“Yes, Dad.” You say, dragging the vowel.

He hums, before walking out, sliding past Simon and telling him to behave too, pointing finger and a scowl on his face. Simon enters the room, the tip of his ears still flushed pink, closing the door behind him and sliding on the sleeping bag. You lean over the edge of the bed, propping your head on your hand as you look at him. “Comfy?”

“Very much, yeah.” He says as he shimmies himself into the blankets.

You chuckle at him, slightly raising your blanket just to see his reaction. “You don't want to join me?”

He looks at you, utter disgust on his face. “Share a bed with you? What are you planning to do to me?” He asks, covering up to his face with the blankets. Only uncovering his face to say: “whore”

You slap his arm making him laugh, and he grabs your hand with yours. “I'm playing, I'm playing. Let's just go to sleep, I don't want your dad to kick me out.”

“Alright, alright… prude.” You say, teasing him back making him groan as you laugh.

The next morning, when your mom came to wake you up for school, she didn't say anything about your arm hanging from the bed just to hold Simon's hand.

But this confession, the hand holding, the furtive little pecks here and there, was not enough to fix the abyss pulling apart. Because the argument was not the reason for it, it was something else and you only found out on your graduation night.

When you were sitting on the curb, having dinner from the first fast food place you both could find; still dressed in your fancy clothes and picking the soda cup off the ground.

“I think I'm gonna go into math” You suddenly said.

“Math?” Simon asked, laughing softly.

You nodded. “Yeah… that or physics.” You said

“You are such a nerd.” He said laughing, earning a kick to his feet.

“Shut up! Not my fault you can't count.” You laughed back. “And you? What are you picking?”

The smile on his face quickly turned sour, disappearing into a frown, worry growing in the pit of your stomach. “I'm actually enlisting.”

“Enlisting? Like… like in the military?” You asked, looking at him even though he was looking forward.

“Yeah… exactly like that.” He said, nodding, still not looking at you.

“Why? I thought you hated it, like… Simon, why would you join the military? You don't -” You started to say, food resting on its wrapper on the ground.

“You said it yourself, I can't even count.” He said, dropping his food too. “At least this way I can be useful… I could actually protect somebody.”

“That's not true, Si. You know I was just playing, you are smart. Don't say that.” You say, trying to catch his gaze.

“I barely passed the exams, and… and I already signed in, anyway.” He admitted, looking at his hand.

You remained silent for a second, switching to look forward too. “So that's it, no? No point in telling you my mind when you're already in, not that you seemed to care about my opinion.”

“That's not it, don't get it twisted.” He says, trying to grab your hand to make you look at him. “Love…”

“Don't ‘love’ me, Simon!” You say standing up. “When were you even going to tell me? Were you even going to? Or were you planning on just disappearing like nothing?”

“I was going to tell you, I promise.” He said standing up. “I just didn't want to ruin tonight for you.”

“Well, now is too late!” You exclaim, turning around so he cannot see the tears pooling in your waterline.

“Love, c’mon…” He whined, walking behind you. “You are thinking too hard, they are not throwing me into the battlefield in a week. I'll train, I'll become a good one, I'll get strong, I'll protect you!”

“You can't protect me if you are dead! And what do you need to protect me from, Simon?! Why are you so obsessed with protecting?!” You say, still not turning as you walk towards your house.

He called your name, making you turn to look at him. His heart clenched in pain at the sight of the tears threatening to fall from your glistering eyes but too stubborn to do so. “You don't… you don't get it.”

You sniffle before talking. “You are right, Simon, I don't! Good luck in the military.”

That was the last thing you said to him, venom dripping from your voice as you did. Before disappearing into your house slamming the door behind you.

He drifted a week later, without another word being spoken between the two of you. And even though he didn't live a day without thinking of you, he never spoke to you until 18 years later.

He kept tabs on you, always making sure you were fine, alive and happy. And to benefit his selfish mind, unmarried.

“We are in the middle of fucking Manchester, Laswell! We cannot simply stay in the open without risking civilians' lives! We need somewhere to hide!” His captain's voice barked into his phone, Laswell's response not loud enough for Simon to hear.

He knows your house is just a couple of blocks away, moving out of your parents' house a couple of years after finishing university. He could visit you, drop by, but it is the middle of the night and he is working… no reason to go to you.

“We are on our own, Laswell can't fly us back until the morning. She said they seem to have lost us, so technically we are not being followed so we are safe, we… Let's find some coffee shop or something.” Price says, putting his phone away.

Kyle groans beside him. “I'm fuckin’ starving… and peeing myself.” The sergeant complained.

“Just take a wee on the bush, Garrick.” Soap grunted at him, exhausted after the strain of the mission. “I just want to fucking sleep, I'm gonna pass out…”

“Kids! The bunch of you!” Price barks again. The prolonged deployment clearly wearing down all of them. “We cannot just go to a random house, knock a secret code on the door and be let into a warm bed and hot food. So coffee and a chair is all we are getting if we get lucky.”

Except they do. Because even though you haven't heard from him in years, he knows that you will open your door to him.

“I know someone who will let us sleep in their house.” Simon said, hands resting on his vest.

“You?” Soap asks, looking at him from the curb he is sitting down on. “Who?”

“A friend.” Simon says after a pause, taking his phone out; looking for your number hidden behind the ‘IT Support’ name of your contact.

“.... you got other friends?” Soap asks with his eyebrow raised.

“Shut the fuck up, Johnny.” He grumbles back, his phone dialling. For a moment he expects you to not pick it up, but then he hears your sleepy voice. “Hello?”

“Hey… This is Simon. Riley, Simon Riley.” He says, his fingers pulling at the flap of his trousers pockets.

Gaz looks at Price, only to be met with the same confused expression. That's not how you talk to a friend.

You take even longer to answer, being just woken up not helping with thinking too quickly. “Simon? ...Si? Where have you- What are you- Why did you- What? Simon, what? I don't-”

“I know, I know, love.” The nickname slipped past his lips like a second nature. “It's a long story, I'm sorry, I know I own you a long, long, very long explanation, listen-”

“Simon, it's 3:00 in the morning, this is…” he can hear you sigh on the phone. “I don't think this is the conversation to have over the phone.”

“That's actually why I called, I'm… I'm back in town for a little, do you… do you think I could sleep at your house tonight? You know I wouldn't ask if I had another choice…” Simon says, biting his glove, unable to bite his nails.

You sigh again. “You haven't changed, have you? I'll send you my location, it's close to my parents" Simon knows. “Don't take too long, I need to wake up early.”

Before Simon can answer, you have already hung up. He puts his phone away, a smile on his face when it buzzes knowing you sent him your address; and he turns to the expecting men.

“C’mon, all set.” It’s all Simon says, starting to walk without looking back.

“Are you going to explain?” It’s Gaz the one who's brave enough to ask. Simon simply looks at him before answering with a deadpan expression on his face. “No.”

Meanwhile, you stay lying on your bed, wondering what to do next. You certainly don't know what to expect next, it's been a lifetime since the last time you saw him.

The scrawny lanky kid that kept talking about protecting you, about becoming strong, about being better… has he been kicked out? Was he simply kicked? Was he injured? Why was he back?

He doesn't give you much time to contemplate about what can be the reason for his visit before you hear the knocking on your door. You finally kick the covers off, walking to the door yawning; but the sleep gets quickly kicked off your body when you look out the peephole.

Four massive men standing outside of your door, barely able to fit in the steps in front of it. Obvious guns hanging from the straps of their vest, but any of that it’s as terrifying as the skull mask looking right at you as if he could see through the door.

You can't even see his eyes, only the back voids of shadows; the street lights behind him only hiding his face more. He is the tallest, you can't even see the top of his head, and his shoulders are so wide you doubt he will fit through the door.

Neither of these men is Simon and suddenly you just want to step back into your bed, away from the danger, call Simon and tell him not to come until these people leave. But the man with the skull mask raises his hand again, and then he knocks on the door; the Jurrasic Park movie theme song sounding loud and clear.

You hear laughs outside, a gruff voice complaining to shut up, and you open the door, the short chain the only thing keeping it from opening completely.

The masked man turns to you at the sound, everyone's eyes on you but you can't peel your eyes from him. You hear the alarm bells in your head telling you to close the door, too many stories that start with a dumb decision just like this one.

But you are not the only one unable to move, Simon's eyes are locked on you. He sees the changes, how you have grown older just like him, but you have just grown breathtakingly beautiful. It has his heart beating on his ears and butterflies turning in his stomach.

Butterflies? At his grown age?

But he can't help it, not when your lips look so soft, your hair frames your face like the most perfect frame in a museum, not when your eyes look so… worried? Afraid? You have never looked at him scared before.

He noticed then how you are almost hugging yourself, using your arms to pull distance and how you frantically look at his face. What are you looking for? What's wrong with the mask?

…

He quickly pulls the mask off of his head, realising his mistake and seeing your face relax when you identify the dirty blonde curls stuck to his forehead.

He is Simon still.

You breathe more easily once he takes it off, not completely relaxed at the image of the still unknown men standing right behind him. But you know him or used to, and he is your Simon.

“Sorry, it is… part of the uniform.” He says, a tone of voice any of the men have heard him use before. You look at them, clearly not wearing the mask and catching his lie. He ignores the look you send him, a bashful smile on his face. “Can we come in?”

He leans his body forward, quickly stopping when he notices you move the door closer and look at the man behind him. “They are my team, it's okay, I'll explain it later. It's alright, they are Price, Kyle and Johnny.”

Calling it an awkward situation would be an understanding, when the guy at the back with the mohawk waves at you like a child you sigh; closing the door to undo the chain and open it back up to let them in.

If they wanted to murder you the door was not stopping them.

“Please, c'mon in.” You say, a slight tone of annoyance too difficult to miss in your tone, but it still makes Simon's heart jump at the sound of your voice. “You can leave your shoes on the rack, and well… everything else.”

They do a quick work of their shoes, resting them on the rack leaving a healthy space with yours; the dirt from them remaining away from them. They take off their bags, vests and belts next; their size not shrinking in the slightest.

Simon simply remains massive, his t-shirt stretched out over the wide span of his shoulders, growing looser around his waist, hiding under his trousers that are just as stretch-out over his asscheeks and massive thighs. It’s then, when you are staring at his ass that one of them talks to you, catching your attention.

“I'm really sorry, but can I please use your bathroom?” Is Gaz the one asking, a tiny silly dance of stepping on one foot and then the other as he awaits your response.

You nod quickly, pointing to the door of your bathroom. “Yeah, that one. The light switch is outside.” He quickly moves past you, making you smile when you hear him dramatically groan as you hear water splashing.

“Garrick, close the door!” One of the other men says, the one with the funny-looking beard. “Apologies, he is usually better potty trained; but it's been a long deployment.”

You lift a hand waving it slightly, letting him know that it is okay. Simon can see how you look at him from the corner of your eyes, still awaiting the explanation. Until the loud noise of a stomach rumbling with hunger makes everyone whip their head to the man that waved at you before; a hand on his abdomen and a little coy smile on his face.

“Are you hungry?” You ask as if the sound erupting from him wasn't an obvious sign.

“It's okay, I'll live, don't worry.” He quickly says, not wanting to abuse anymore of the hospitality.

You stare at him, unsure, until his stomach screams again and you move to the kitchen, opening the fridge. “Any allergies?”

You get a group “no” as an answer before you make quick work of the cooking. Simon walks in, coming to your side and asking. “Can I help?”

You shake your head. “It's okay, go wash your hands. All of you.” He nods quickly, instructing your orders to the rest as they quickly move back to the bathroom.

You throw the premade garlic bread on the oven, throwing an obscene amount of pasta noodles into boiling water as you work on the sauce on a pan. You already struggle to measure pasta for yourself, how do you measure for four men built like a brick house?

The oven dings, throwing the bread back onto the plate with your bare hands quickly. You leave the plate on the counter, throwing the noodles on the pan; almost spilling out of it and mixing it quickly.

You pick two of the plates, turning to leave them on the tiny table in your kitchen; almost sending them flying when you jump, not expecting the four men sitting and waiting at the table surprised with how silently they moved.

“Bloody hell, almost shit my pants.” You mumble as you put the plates in the middle of the table, letting them pick their favourites. You turn twice more to pick the rest of the plates, and once everyone is served you sit down too. “Hope you like it, sorry if it's too poor.”

The one who was the hungriest looks at you like you just insulted his mother before diving in, being fair; after living on MRE for months, a warm plate of food is priceless.

You smile when they eat happily, making you wonder if you did too little. You let them eat, standing up to go out of the kitchen; but Simon grabs your hand as you walk past him. You turn to look at him, catching how he swallows hardly the half-chewed bite, before asking. “Where’re you going?”

“To get the beds ready.” You say, smiling when he offers his help again, refusing it. He lets you go, his eyes glued to you as you walk.

“So… a friend.” Johnny says, moving his eyebrows up and down. “I think Sisi has a crush…”

Simon turns to him, his usual stoic expression back on his face. “Shut up… We… we used to be together when we were kids, that's all.”

“Wait… So she's your ex?” Gaz asks, looking at the hall where you just disappeared.

“Lower your voice, will you?!” Simon shouts in a whisper. “It was 18 years ago, it doesn't… it doesn't even count.”

“It counts if it has you blushing.” Johnny says with a singing tone.

“I'm not blushing.” Simon grunts, but he rests his head on his hand, trying to discreetly cover his red ear, making both sergeants chuckle.

The sound of you puffing as you lay down on the sofa has him turning his head, his eyebrows furrowing when he sees you lay a blanket over you. He stands up, walking to you; the three men at the table exchanging a knowing look.

“Hey, lovie…” Simon says as he leans over the sofa, smiling when he sees you yawning. “Long day?”

You nod at him, rubbing your eyes and looking at him. “And a long night… will two beds be enough for the four of you?”

“Why are you sleeping here, luv? You should be in your bed…” He says, unconsciously moving your hair out of your face.

“Because none of you would fit in the sofa… besides, it’s easier to clean the sheets than the sofa. No offense but you are all stinky.” You say, digging your pointer finger into the muscle of his ribs making him smile.

“Sorry for invading your house like this.” He says, his hand moving to caress your cheek with his thumb.

“That's okay… my doors will always be open for you, Simon.” You say looking up at him, your hand moving to rest on his arm. “Even when you come back looking unrecognisable.”

“What do you mean unrecognisable? I look exactly the same.” He says, cocking his head with a fake confused look on his face making you chuckle.

“You look like you have eaten the Simon I used to know, have you come back to eat me now?” You ask without thinking before talking. “Wait, no, that came out weird.”

Simon barks a laugh, making you laugh again as he peels your hand from his arms letting it fall; an offended look on his face as he mutters. “Whore.” Earning himself a slap on his arm just like 18 years ago.

Still sitting at the table, the three men smile to themselves. Seeing a new face of their lieutenant, leaning over the woman and almost waving his imaginary tail like a happy pup.

It's hours later, after they all finished eating and you told them to leave the dishes on the sink and that you would clean it in the morning.

After you told them where the rooms were, and Johnny jumped at Gaz to share the room with him.

After they all said goodnight to you and went to sleep.

It's after all that, that you get woken up by the sound of dishes moving on the sink; sitting up to look at Simon in the kitchen looking at you and groaning when he realizes he woke you up.

“I told you to leave them, Simon.” You say, voice hoarse with sleep as you stand up.

“It isn't fair, you already cooked.” He says, turning to keep cleaning them. “Plus, I couldn't sleep.”

“Why?” You say as you walk up to him, sitting on the kitchen table.

“Price snores like an old car going up a hill, and he is way too close to ignore.” He says making you smile. “And I didn't like you being down here alone, the door’s too close.”

He closes the tap when he is done, grabbing the towel to dry his hands as he turns to you. You sigh at his words, rubbing your eyes. “You really haven't changed, have you?”

He steps closer, standing between your legs and resting his hands on each side of your body. “Can't say I have, no.”

You stare at his face, at some point after you fall asleep he must have washed his face, the black paint that covered his eyes before now gone.

You let your arms rest around his waist, leaning your chin on his chest and looking up at him as his hands rest on your back. “You still need to explain yourself, Simon.”

“I know.” He says, his eyes taking in every spot on your face, the way your hair falls over your shoulder, the way you wet your lips; so he doesn't miss the way the tear rolls down your cheek. His hand quickly moving up to dry it with his thumb. “Hey, hey, what's wrong? Why are you crying, love?”

It's there, engulfed in Simon's embrace that every worry for his wellbeing in the last two decades comes down on you. No matter how hard you tried to lie to yourself, there wasn't a day that you didn't think of him, of what he was doing, if he missed you, if he was still mad at you, if he was fine.

“I thought you died, Simon… I thought you died hating me, because I was an asshole that didn't want to listen to you.” You admit, rubbing your eyes with your hands to hide the tears. “I was afraid of something happening to you and losing you because of it, and I was an asshole that pushed you away, I'm sorry.”

“No, no, no, love.” He says shaking his head, his long-ignored heart cracking at the sight of your tears. He hugs you again, making you bury your face on his chest as he leans his forehead on your crown, his own tears threatening to spill. “I should have told you better, I should have talked to you the day after, or anytime in the last 18 years. Something. I was the asshole, love, I should have done better.”

He feels you shake your head, pushing back to look up at him from under. And god damn if he can't feel his heart beat at the sight of your wet face. “You are not, we… we were kids, it was no one's fault.” You say wiping your face with the back of your hand. “We were kids.”

“We are not kids anymore.” Simon whispers, his hands moving to cup your face as your hand moves back to his waist. You can see on his face that he is waiting, for a sign, a word, a something, to let him know that it is okay to go ahead.

Is like all those years ago, in your parent's house’s bathroom; when you had your first kiss. But so different at the same time. He is not the young boy with the broken nose, he is the grown man with the bump on his nose from where it never healed.

And instead of just pushing your lips out, waiting for him to move, you lift your hand, catching the dog tags hanging from his neck with your finger and pulling him down.

There it is.

The sign he needed.

So he leans down, your face still between his hands, and softly presses his lips against yours.

His warm dry lips, dancing along your salty wet ones. Butterflies in his stomach doing twirls and crawling up the walls. Your hand on his waist digging your fingertips pulling him closer, your tongue probing at his lips and Simon groaning against your lips when he finally tastes your mouth.

It stops being an innocent kiss, not with the way his tongue pushes inside of your mouth, his hands moving down to your hips to pull you closer, his thighs so wide you let one of your legs between his. He groans on the kiss, his fingertips digging into the softness of your body making you groan back at him.

It’s when you move your leg, reaching his groin and causing him to grind his hardening aching dick against your thigh that he pulls back; suddenly unsure of how far you want to take it. “Sorry, I didn't mean to-”

You slap his chest, grabbing the fabric of his t-shirt as you do and pulling him close again. “Don't you run away from me again, Simon.” And with the look of absolute lust and hunger in your face, he can't help it but crash his lips with yours again, your legs circling around his waist and your hand pulling his face to keep him close.

Every inhibition, every second thought, every doubt, easily kicked out of the equation. Everything getting replaced by the need to feel the other, closer, harder, and nothing else but the other.

The only thing that can be heard inside of the kitchen is the heavy breathing of both of you and the filthy sound of your tongues dancing. His tongue reaches every corner of your mouth, your hums reaching the back of his throat directly. He pulls back once again, resting his forehead in your as he sucks in a breath. “Are you sure you wan-”

“Fucking hell, Simon. Yes, yes I wanna.” You chuckle looking at him with a beaming smile on your face.

“Thank goodness for that.” He says stepping back, helping you on your feet and lifting your shirt; groaning at seeing your naked form. He leans down, his lips catching your hard nipple and sucking it in making you hiss as you pet his head.

His wide tongue moves flat over your ribs making you shudder at the feeling, using your hand to lean into the counter. “How have grown so fucking beautiful, sweetheart? I should have come back so long ago, come back to you, my sweet girl.” He slowly turns you around, moving his lips as he kisses up your back; goosebumps erupting as he moves higher, kissing up your shoulder and behind your ear, kissing your ear and biting your lobule.

His massive hands rest on your hips as he grinds his own, making you feel his hardness against the flesh of your ass making you whine in anticipation. His hands move, his thumbs getting under the waistband of your shorts and your underwear; pushing them down and letting them pool at your ankles. His lips move lower again, following the line of your column down your back, you sigh at the feeling, leaning forward and letting your body lean on the counter.

After the torturous couple of minutes, Simon takes to come face to face with your cunt, you don't have to worry about the man teasing you or making you wait. Not with how desperate he is to feel your taste melt into his mouth.

So that's what he does, as soon as his knees touch the ground he's pushing his face forward, burying his face between your folds. He slides his tongue down, pushing your hood back to suck your pearl making you moan as your hips buckle at the hard suck making him chuckle.

He kisses your skin, all around your folds, in circles that grow smaller and smaller as he gets closer to your needy clit. He kisses it last, a soft kiss just like he kissed your lips just a minute ago before the kiss turns nastier; tongue moving out of his mouth to rub it against it, drool falling from the tip of his tongue, sucking your clit softly making you moan his name as you bite your lip.

He moves back, licking up the juices that have spilled from your entrance, drinking them up as he moves closer to its source, slipping his tongue right inside making your walls grasp his wet muscle and pushing it deeper. He groans at the feeling, at feeling your tightness around his tongue, at the taste invading his mouth, making his taste buds fall in love with it, and at the delirious sounds falling from your lips.

Your hands move back, looking for him and grabbing his hand resting on the side of your hip while his other hand pulls your cheeks apart to bury himself deeper. Moaning loudly and shamelessly at the way his face glides easily against your glossy folds with your arousal.

The thumb from the hand on your cheek moves closer, slowly sinking into you making your mouth fall open on an O shape. His mouth moves up again on your entrance, thrusting his tongue deep along his finger into you, making you mewl at the slight stretch.

But the restraint of his hard cock against his zipper has him struggling to focus on how pretty his name sounds when it falls from your lips, unconsciously looking for friction and grinding his boner against the back of your leg.

The hand that is not holding yours moves lower, undoing his belt with it and his button to keep his raging hard-on covered only by his struggling briefs. You look down between your legs, catching the way the angrily red tip of his aching dick pops out of the confines of his underwear when he thrusts forward.

Your head moves back up as you moan when you feel him switch his thumb with his index and middle finger. It makes you arch your back, slightly moving back to meet the movements of his wrist. The squelching sound of your cunt sucking his fingers in only urging him forward, scissoring his fingers to stretch you further.

He can taste your arousal dripping down on his welcoming tongue, his fingers impossibly sticky with your juices. He peels his face away, moving back to stand and using his hand on your hip to push you back up, hiding his face on your neck to whisper. “Are you going to let me in, hm? Are you going to open your legs for me just like you open your door, sweet girl? Gonna let me repay you fucking you silly? Are you gonna let me get up to here?” He asks, resting his hand on your lower stomach on the last question and when he pulls his fingers back you can't help but whine, missing the feeling as you part your legs.

“Please…”

“Please what, darling?” He asks, kissing your neck sloppily as he wraps his hand around his shaft, pulling it off of his underwear and rubbing his leaking tip against your clit.

“Please… Fuck me, Simon, please.” You whine, looking up at him from over your shoulder when he pulls his head back.

He hums, satisfied with your response and probing at your soaking entrance with his bulbous tip; rolling his hips to fill you, stretching your walls to accommodate the girth of his member. He kisses your lips once more, not caring about the awkward angle of your neck as he does so, making you moan inside of his mouth as he pushes forward; groaning when he finally bottoms out. “That's a good girl. Taking me in so well… fuck, you fit like a glove, love… chocking my dick so tightly, shit…”

Your hips are pushed against the counter, his strong arms holding your upper body; almost floating with how tight he is holding you to his chest. The roll of his hips is slow, making you feel every vein and crease of his rigid cock as he drags against your walls clamping down on it, only for him to push it back inside making you mewl as you feel it hit deeper than you have ever felt.

And even though he is lifting you, you can still feel the weight of his body behind you. The strength being held back in the way his muscles tense under his skin, the control of his body with how calculated his movements are and the way he seems to have already lost himself with the way the praises and promises constantly fall from his lips.

“You have always been so fucking good to me… I always loved you more than anyone else on this bloody planet, love. You always treated me so nice, fuck!” He moans into your neck. “I'm gonna pay you back, sweetheart. For every kind word, for every kiss, for every fucking everything. Fucking hell…” It’s such a raspy moan, that you can feel the vibrations of his chest when the deep voice leaves his mouth.

He leans forward, letting you rest your body over the counter as his hands move lower, caressing the sides of your body as they come to rest on your hips. He admires your body for a second, before coming down to press his chest against your back again.

His hips push against yours as tight as he physically can, the light push of his body enough to make you land your feet over his; making Simon fight his inner urge to move his feet only to make you sink lower.

He moves his hands towards yours, keeping your palm flat against the surface of the counter as he interlocks his fingers with yours. Mouth open kisses on your nape making your brain turn fuzzy as his length keeps hitting again and again the lovely spot that has your knees buckling.

“Simon, please… harder, please.” You whine, needing him to give you more, to touch you more, to move more, faster, deeper, harder, anything, but more. And when Simon chuckles deeply behind you, making you realise how something switches on him.

He peels himself back from your back, carefully brushing your hair back into a make-do ponytail; making sure to braid his finger between the locks of your hair. “The Princess wants more, doesn't she?” He whispers against your ear making you bite your lip in anticipation. “Well… anything she wants, I'll get it for her.”

He leans back once again, except this time he doesn't let go of your hair making you arch your back. His hips rolling once more, his painfully hard cock sliding easily between your fold drenched in your arousal; his pace slowly rising making your breathing turn into whiny moans as the tip of his dick keeps pushing the breath out of your lungs with each thrust.

But your moans are not the only ones in the kitchen, his low moans slowly growing deeper as your cunt sucks his dick in, groaning when he sees the white creamy ring of your arousal form around the base of his shaft, pushing him to keep going. To keep thrusting deep, fast and hard even when he feels like he is going to combust at any moment.

He only worries when he feels you clench around him, worrying about missing your face of ecstasy as you finally come around his shaft. So he turns you around, not even pulling out and twisting you around making you look at him with wide eyes.

“I don't want to miss the way you look as you cream my cock, doll. I just know you are going to sing like the prettiest of the birds, love.” His hands move to rest on the back of your head, keeping your eyes locked onto him as his dick keeps drilling into your crying cunt, begging for the release you so badly need.

It can be heard loud and clear the sound of his skin slapping against yours, a harmony of moans falling from the two of you, but still, there is a whiny tone to your moans that rubs Simon the wrong way. “What is it, love?” He whines back, half-mocking you. “What does my pretty girl needs?”

“Simon!” You moan, making him close his eyes to make sure it was engraved into his memories the sound of his name being moaned by you. “Touch me, please.”

“How can I say no, hm? When you ask so nicely, sweetheart.” He says as he moves a hand to rub your clit with his thumb, though little circles sending shockwaves up your back. “That's what you wanted? For me to play with your tiny little clit, hm? Such a greedy girl…”

“Fuck, Simon, yes!” You moan loudly when you finally feel your orgasm grow closer. “Please, don't stop, Simon, please… I'm so close, please don't stop.”

And Simon could get shot in the back of the head right now and his body would keep moving, nothing could make him stop right now. Not with the way your thighs are pulling him closer and your cunt is sucking him in.

He feels you try to throw your head back, eyes closing as you open your mouth on a silent cry. Your orgasm hits you like a bucket of warm honey being spilled over you, sticking every fibre of your body and making you hold onto Simon as your strength leaves your body.

You still manage to keep your thighs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer and deeper, your mind still buzzing with your climax and little white dots still on the margins of your vision.

Your legs are not the only ones clinging to him, Simon groans, furrowing his eyebrows as he feels every rib of your velvety walls wrap around his length like a vice; making him whine when he finally manages to pull out. His heavy balls pressed flush against your spasming cunt as thick ropes of his sticky white seed spur over the soft skin of your tummy. A puddle of his spend threatening to spill over the sides of your body with your laborious breathing; wrapping his hand around the base of his twitching cock to milk every single droplet left inside.

A groan leaving his throat at the sight of your soft body, all pliant and shattered by the pleasure of the orgasm still flowing through your veins as his essence lays calmly over your soft skin.

He bends down, collecting the salty substance with his tongue, keeping it inside of his mouth just for the second it takes for his lips to reach yours; spilling it over your tongue. The taste of his seed coating your taste buds makes you moan at the feeling. He pulls back, smiling and hiding his face on your chest as he chuckles realising what just went down.

Then, weighing out the options and to prevent the awkwardness to take over the situation, he moves back; letting you rest on the counter as he picks the rag he used to dry his hands before wiping the remaining of his spend from your stomach.

“I used that rag to dry my dishes, Simon…” You say looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

“What? Afraid my cum will end up in your mouth?” He chuckles when you slap his hand. He finishes wiping it off and helping you get dressed again, easing you down the counter and walking hand in hand with you towards the sofa.

He lays down, pulling you on top of him, resting your head on his chest and he throws the blanket back over your body. “You still haven't explained much, you know…”

“I know… I need to order my thoughts beforehand, though… there is just so much I have to tell you… but let's just sleep for now, alright?.” Simon says, petting your head as you yawn while nodding..

“You won't disappear again, will you?” You ask, your eyelids falling close with exhaustion but still awake enough to feel his arms tighten around your body. “No. Not again, love.”

The next morning is a bit of a blur, Simon gets shaken beside you waking you up too. “Helo is picking us up in 20 minutes, get dressed.” A gruff voice says over you that you associate with Price.

Simon groans rubbing his eyes as he stands up, letting you lay on the sofa for a bit more before walking towards the entry. You frown when he doesn't walk to the kitchen, realising in that moment that Simon didn't even take his clothes off last night, his face, hands and dick the only skin you saw.

You sit up, watching how he puts his boots on; swiftly putting back on the vest and the belt, his mask hanging from the back pocket of his pants.

The three men are already around, any of them seemed too bothered by catching Simon sleeping with you on the sofa. Simon walks towards you once more, sitting down next to you and holding your hand on his lap. “You have my number now… I'll call you as soon as I touch ground, okay?” He asks, his other hand brushing your hair out of your face.

You smile at him nodding, and before you know it, the loud noises of a helicopter touching ground come from outside your door. You stand, as Price opens the door, waving at the pilot and turning to you, shaking your hand making you smile at the formalities.

“Thank you for your help, love. I'll make sure you get something sent as a proof of gratitude” He says, with an honest smile on his face.

“There really is no need.” You answer, moving to let Soap walk.

“I think she would prefer Simon to deliver it to her personally instead, Cap!” Johnny says as he chuckles to himself, Price slapping his arm as he passes.

Gaz chuckles to himself, trying to cover it as a cough as he passes to walk after Soap. “Thank you for the dinner and the bed, lass. Nice to meet you, I'm sure we'll hear from you soon.”

Simon rolls his eyes at the sergeant, not a droplet of mean feelings in the gesture before he turns to you once you are alone, an apologetic look on his face. “I think we don't have to worry about them hearing us last night.”

“Nah, they probably didn't, don't worry.” He says, the two of you chuckling again. Until you look up to him, your hand resting on his chest. “This is not the last time I will be seeing you, right, Simon?”

“No, love. A week, two tops before I'm coming back to you.” He says, kissing your forehead and resting his over yours. “Will you wait for me?”

“I have waited 18 years and you are asking if I can wait two weeks?” You ask and he nods, completely serious about his words. “I'll wait another 18 years for you, Simon Riley.”

He sighs as if he was afraid of other possible answers.

“You won't have to wait that long.”

“I better not.’

“You won't… I promise.”

“See you in two weeks, Simon.”

“See you, love.’

And with that, his lips kissed you one last time, before rolling his mask over his face and walking to the helicopter. Waving at you before closing the door and disappearing into the sky until the next time you saw him.

Half a life living with him, followed by half a life living without him; and now, after all those years, finally the promise of spending the rest of your life living it with him by your side, like the time apart never happened.

Like Simon Riley never left your side.

And with the promise that he would never do it again.

This was. the longest single-chapter fic I have written before. So please, if you liked it leave a comment and reblog it 💚💚💚

@crashtestbunny @going-to-ikea-for-the-fries @waiting-so-long @mothymunson @cod-z

@lyralein @thevoidwriting @sklt987659 @thatonepupkai @darkangel4121

@spadekip @herefor-tojis-tits @soupinasock @arbesa-mind @cmbghost

@multifandomheathenannie @tooloudarts @panikk-attackkk @reap3erslov3 @mothsdrabbles

@cassiecasluciluce @sleepdeprivedkat @lunamoonbby @hatterripper31 @contractedcriteria

@vxnilla-hxrddrugs @fraserbraw @rosiehale23 @keiva1000 @sw33tsnow

@loveandplanet @sobbingnshtting @dprmoon @simpsallthetime1997 @ladyxtiger

@soapsmohawk-16 @nina6708 @katreintjie @sacvh @thesinsoflust

@sodavrr @yuki2129 @idk-justkane @shanhalen @dukeofjjune @crinoid90

@vane28282 @dracu1ara @vivi2e @lordbugs

1K notes · View notes

deunmiu-dessie · 14 days

Text

(unedited) simon loves you, he's just not the best at showing or saying it.

"no, simon. you don't-," you swallow thickly and forcefully pull your wrist away from his grip. "- you don't get to leave and come back when it's convenient for you." your lips are set but they wobble, teetering with the storm of emotions brewing within you. "i'm done trying. i can't do, whatever this…this twisted game is between us." [i’m sorry.]

he's been silent your whole talk, he seems so stoic as if the conversation is a hassle- like he could care less; and maybe he could. you can never guess what simon was feeling. he was like an impenetrable wall, unwavering— even for you; it left you feeling alone most days.

your eyes flit over his face, hoping to see something, anything that would make you second guess what you were saying. but as usual, he’s unreadable; and tears well up in your eyes as you continue, your voice trembling with a mixture of something akin to pleading and sadness. "i've given you countless chances, simon. i've allowed you to come and go as you please, hoping that one day you would realize the love i have for you. but i can't keep living in this constant state of uncertainty, never knowing when you'll decide to leave again." [no more, never again will i leave you. i swear it.]

you take a deep shuddering breath, trying to steady yourself, but the pain in your chest hurts fiercely. it steals your breath away, and flushes your cheeks with heat. "i deserve better than this, simon. i deserve someone who will be there for me, someone who won't treat me like an option. i can't keep waiting for you to change, to finally see my worth." [i see you. i love you with every breath that i take. until my lungs give out.]

your words hang heavy in the air, you wait for him to say something, to tell you that he loves you, that he’ll do anything to get you to stay. say something, you think. "i've spent too long trying to make this work, trying to convince myself that your attention is enough. but it's not. it's never been enough." [say something! tell her you love her, that you'd die for her. say something, simon.]

a singular, angry and furstrated tear escapes, tracing a path down your cheek. "i deserve a love that is whole, that is unwavering. i deserve someone who will fight for me, who will choose me every single day. and if you can't be that person, then i have to let you go." [don't say that, please. i love you.]

your brows furrow and your chin sets, your hands coiling into fists. tears flow in rivulets down your cheeks and you lift one fist and hit his chest weakly. “say something, you coward.” you utter, your other fist raises to hit him once again. “i hate that i love you so much, i hate you for being the only thing that i think about. i hate you simon.” [i love you, so much that you're the only thing i think about. i love you _____.]

your punches get heavier but he's unmoving, a tic starting in his jaw. in a sudden burst of frustration, you shove at him, your lips pressed tightly together, and your cheeks burning. yet, he remains motionless, his gaze steady and unwavering. “say something, damn it!” you wail, preparing to hit him again, however, his large hands swiftly seize your raised fist before you can and he pulls you into his chest, cupping the nape of your neck and engulfing you in…him. "i love you."

and you know you shouldn't but you melt in his arms, go completely slack, and cry harder. “then say that.” simon presses a kiss to your temple, and you freeze at the tremble of his lips, his chest rumbling as he speaks again. “i love you so much.” and just like that, he reeled you back in, just like he always does; and it felt like coming home. the familiarity of his touch, the warmth of his embrace, it all felt so right, as if you were finally where you were meant to be.

but you knew that as soon as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, that the cracks in your situationship would begin to show. and part of you can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, you were fated to live this exact bittersweet cycle with simon until the end of time.

my eyes were sweating a little when i was writing this ngl

1K notes · View notes

smutoperator · 22 days

Text

Livestream

Shin Yuna x Male Reader

Tags: amateur porn, anal fingering, big ass, butt spanking, chat comments, degradation, deep creampies, deepthroating, facefucking, fisting, fucking like animals, gonzo, human fleshlight, lube, mating press, POV, queefing, revenge, rough sex, sex on camera, sneakers, twerking

Word count: 5826.

Shin Yuna is a high-maintenance girlfriend. You can try your best, but you know that one single man can't satisfy her insane sex drive alone. She will cheat on you every time she gets a chance. Because more than anything, Yuna only cares about sex, no matter who provides it to her.

While Itzy was on tour, you knew Yuna had cheated on you multiple times abroad. She was born to fuck and is the most unloyal, slutty girlfriend that could ever exist. You know it; she knows it. So, as soon as she arrived back home after touring for many months, you made her a proposal.

"Look, Yuna, I know you fucked countless guys while you were away. You're a dirty whore after all, but if you accept this deal, I won't give a shit," you told her. "So, what's the deal?" she asked. "I'm going to fuck you on camera, and everyone is going to see it; show them who the real owner of your slutty body is," you replied.

"So you want to record a sex tape of me? I guess it's fine. It didn't hurt Kim Kardashian when she got hers leaked, did it?" she said. "Basically, but we are going to do it live. I know you fuck better than you sing, so you have no excuse not to put up an amazing performance," you poked her.

"Sure, bring the cameras on," Yuna invited the challenge, creating an account on OnlyFans going by her English name Hussey and teasing her subscribers as she counted down the days for the livestream. You brought one of your friends to be the camera operator and got yourself a handcam to film Yuna's sexy body up close.

The stream started with you filming Yuna's beautiful, naughty face as she walked towards the bedroom. You two were about to set this whole thing up. You two kissed each other in front of the cameras. Yuna then moved in the direction of the bed. Her upper body was completely clothed, but she left her lower body already half naked, with just her panties on. Yuna was truly a natural; she always knew where the camera was and made sure to make the horniest expressions to tease the audience.

You grabbed Yuna by the neck, which brought the first massive cheers from the crowd in the comments. "Choke this bitch," they said. Yuna got on her knees on the side of the huge bed that was waiting for her, licking her tongue as she stared at the camera. You jumped your mouth on her neck like a vampire and gave her a little hickey. The room's camera zoomed on her to show it and captured her very silent but sexy moans.

The kissing and choking session continued until Yuna lied her back on the bad. The aerial view of her body was sensational, as her panties were so small that viewers could already take a glimpse of the outer edges of her pussy. You lifted her shirt and gave the audience the first peek of her boobs from the lens of your handcam. When Yuna puts her hands on her panties, you switch the angle to let them watch her teasing her pink pussy.

You unbuttoned Yuna's little skirt and put her legs over her head, letting the audience get a better view of her lower body. You licked her fabric as you teased her, and she moaned. You moved your tongue all over her thighs and hips as she spread her legs, and you gave her a little spanking.

You finally unveiled the gates of heaven, pushing Yuna's thong to the side and giving viewers the first look at her perfect pussy. "I want to fuck that pussy now," one of them commented. You teased it with your hands, poking her asshole as well and filming it. Yuna enjoyed your touch, especially when you dove to give her cunt a kiss.

You picked up some lube and poured it around Yuna's genitalia, knowing it was going to be tight even if her pussy had served as a sleeve for more than a hundred cocks during all those months of touring. Her meaty lips were driving both you and the crowd in the comments insane. You rubbed her clit hard from the start, searching for that heavenly nectar you knew she would soon gush out of it.

You inserted a pair of fingers inside Yuna's tight cunt, making her moan louder, with your thumb rubbing the hood of her clit. You already panted with the way her walls clenched around your fingers, knowing your cock wasn't going to be an easy task. Yuna is such an experienced whore; her body knows exactly how to react every time a strange object goes inside her vagina, and she makes sure to coat your fingers full of juices.

"Oh shit," you panted, already out of breath, as Yuna used her own hands to finger herself. "Damn, she must be really tight," someone commented. Indeed, she was, so much so that if your fingers had a way to shoot cum, they would be filling her pussy to the brim. Meanwhile, Yuna just moaned and enjoyed you digging deeper inside her.

You gave Yuna a little taste of her juices, which she loved. "Give me some spit," you ordered her as her face filled the camera's lens. This time, you finger-fucked her even faster, making her moan harder as you fisted her entire cunt, which Yuna took with ease, treating your arms just like an oversized cock and showing the flexibility of her vaginal muscles.

You couldn't resist for long and showed your bulging erection to the audience. Yuna smiled and quickly helped you, unbelting your pants and taking them off quickly, placing one hand on your throbbing shaft and another in her pussy. "What a nice cock," someone commented. It could have been Yuna herself, because she was already ready to take it.

Yuna quickly guided her mouth into your pecker. You zoomed right into her face, giving the perfect view of her slowly making it disappear down her warm throat with her eyes wide open. "She looks like a human fleshlight," one comment said as she loudly bobbed her head on your dick and spat all over it.

Yuna took your cock fully deep in her throat, giving you the green light to fuck her beautiful face. Your handcam had zoomed so close that viewers could see the veins both on your shaft and in her face. Her eyes turned red as she choked harder and harder on that dick, a view you wouldn't get in most professional POV porn scenes.

"Fuck her face," the crowd commented. You did just as they ordered, but soon learned it was one of those situations where an unstoppable force meets an unmovable object, as Yuna managed to take all your cock in and fight back, making you come really close to a premature ejaculation. You saved yourself by giving her a huge tap in her cheeky ass that made her react by gagging and pulling your cock out, creating a string of saliva between it and her chin while doing so.

"Give me more," she ordered as you rubbed your shaft against her mouth entrance. You knew you had to think outside the box to tame this brat. She was clearly coming out on top, moving now to twist your cock while taking it in her mouth. "Just like that," you told her. But you knew you had to end her fun if you wanted it to last long; otherwise, Yuna would milk you dry rather soon.

"AHHHHHHH!" you screamed as Yuna deepthroated you and just couldn't detach herself from your hips. You were forced to use your salve valve once again, spanking her ass for a second time. Your tip was full of her bubbling saliva, but Yuna kept looking at you as if she wanted more, licking it before she took it back in her mouth. "Holy shit that bitch knows how to milk a cock," a comment said.

Yuna was driving you insane; the harder you fucked her face, the harder she throated your meat. "Bitch wants to choke on that dick, lol," another comment said. It was time you finally showed her who was in control, but she was only getting bolder, kneeling on the bed and shaking her ass in front of the camera.

Yuna continued to throat and spit on your dick as you lied on the bed. But this time you were having none of it. Using your leg, you reached over her head and locked it, pushing your hips up and pounding her face. "Choke this bitch," the comments ordered, cheering as you fucked her face like a fleshlight and turned it into a mix of her spit, your meat, and her messy hair.

"Yes, take it, all the way deep," you ordered as you dunk her head right into your shaft. Both her cheeks now had matching tones of red. Her naked belly in front of the camera turned viewers on. "Dude needs to put a baby in that tummy," they said. But nothing got more attention than her arched-up ass while she choked on your meat. "Girl got a nice ass," the comments poured on.

The stream kept alternating the camera angles between your handcam and the bedroom's cam. Either angle, Yuna looked hot on both; one satisfied those who wanted to see her beautiful face full of cock and saliva, and the other was a treat for those who loved her hourglass body, especially when she started licking your balls like a needy puppy, leading to her shirt sliding down and unveling more of her torso.

"God damn it," you couldn't believe what you had just done, getting yourself on the edge even further as Yuna showed you she essentially had a throat made of steel. The more you pounded, the harder she could take it. "Hmm yeah, I see daddy loves when his girlfriend chokes on his dick," Yuna finally said a word besides just moaning, smirking at the whole situation and your struggles to survive the human embodiement of sex.

Yuna just couldn't stop throating your shaft. "Is this what you guys wanna see?" the chat moderator asked. "Yes, make that bitch choke on his dick," the comments answered. And Yuna was giving exactly what they wanted, coating your cock full of saliva.

You slapped Yuna's body and forced her to stop to avoid cumming earlier. As you took some time to recover from her throat attack, viewers were treated to Yuna's amazing half-naked body. "Damn, I love her legs," one said. This time, you stood up and let her lie on the bed, zooming as her tongue worked all over your balls while she used one of her hands to jerk you off. You reached under her blouse and started massaging one of her perky boobs, moaning as she filled your balls full of her lipstick, and viewers could see your cock throbbing to the fullest at the camera.

Yuna kept having fun with your balls as you slowly unveiled her torso, groping her tits a lot while doing so. "Hot slut," one commented. You fucked her face as it hung on the edge of the bed, preparing yourself for the next steps, but not without punishing her into your personal onahole, unleashing your anger over her fucking all those cocks while on tour as you pounded her face, pinched her tits, and poked her navel.

"Open your eyes, open your eyes, cunt," you ordered her as Yuna tried to close them. Your shaft hit her whole face, and your balls slapped hard on her nose and eyes. She gagged and turned into a mess of saliva, to the point where it almost looked like you had given her a bullseye cumshot. You were now shoving your balls deep in her mouth alongside your shaft, taming Yuna in the roughest way you could think. It was what she deserved for being a horny cheater who only thinks about sex 24/7. "Keep your eyes open; let them see," you told her, as the audience agreed. "Keep it open, whore; show us how much you want this cock," they said.

Yuna may have wanted your cock a lot, but at that point you wanted her pussy even more, pounding her face as you previewed what you wanted to do to her cunt. "Bitch looks so dumb choking on his dick," one commented. It really turned on the thought of degrading her in front of an audience of thousands, so you kept going, making sure to give them the best looks of Yuna's sorry, bitchy face getting completely obliterated by your massive monster cock.

"Turn around," you told her as her big ass now filled the camera's lens. "Wow, she's got a nice ass," the comments said. But better than her ass were her dangling, meaty pussy lips just hanging in there with a piece of fabric right beside it. You poured some lube at Yuna's lower parties, zooming so close that the camera managed to show the pores of her shiny, lubed butt.

You pushed Yuna's thong further to the side, removing any obstacle in your way. You teased her, rubbing your shaft against the cracks in her ass as your tip touched both her holes and your thumb fingered her asshole. "Which hole, guys?" you picked up your phone to ask. "Pussy!" "Ass!" the comments alternated at an almost 50-50 split. "You guys can't decide," you said. "I guess it'll be up to this whore right here," you said.

Yuna grabbed your shaft and made her choice. "Put it inside you," you told her as she guided it right into her tight pussy just as you two had scripted it. "Ahhhh," you let out a groan as her tightness always manages to surprise you, so much so that it was Yuna who moved first, swinging her hips to clash against yours even on all fours.

"Ahhhh, yes, baby, bury it deep in your pussy," you told her. Yuna enjoyed that even in the most submissive position, she could own your cock. Heck, she could own any cock; they were always whipped, throbbing, and hard, ready to enter her holes at any second.

"Take me, daddy," Yuna orders, arching her hips even further up. Her ass cheeks are already red and on full display for the audience. You zoom closer towards your cock, going in and out of her pussy, which leads to some complaints. "We want to see her ass," some comments say. You oblige, grabbing Yuna's ass as you pound her and showing it on camera.

It doesn't take long for you to pump fast. "Shit," you groan as her pussy crushes your massive shaft like nothing. You take very long thrusts inside Yuna, going all the way and then pulling all the way out. Her moans are a mix of sexy and cute, straight out of JYP's school of slutiness.

Yuna takes your cock with ease; you're just another guy for her countless count. The same can't be said about you. This is the first time you fuck her since she started touring, and adjusting to her ultra-tight pussy proves to be very challenging. Meanwhile, for Yuna, it's just the best sensation; a big cock stretching her holes while holding itself not to burst at any second makes her feel really special.

"Damn, I'm really that slut; Daddy is struggling not to fill that pussy to the brim, right?" she asks. You ignore her provocative ways, trying not to let her get into your head. But you already know her pussy already owns the other head on your body, making it throb and pulsate each time it touches the depths of it.

You let Yuna swing her hips freely, taking some time to record it. She doesn't make it any easier on you, slowly descending on your cock at each bounce. She lets the audience know how much she loves it by winking her asshole right as it gets to the center spot of the camera.

"Come on, bro, fuck the shit out of her; that whore is begging for it," one guy comments. You lose your cool and start pushing fast, spaking Yuna's ass every five seconds. "Fucking dirty slut," you tell her. Her pussy turned you into a primitive ogre that can only pound, spank, and groan while doing so. The camera zooms out and shows you taking on Yuna, who stays like a perfect submissive cocksleve. "Just like that," you tell her as her moans get louder and the camera switches to a top view of her slutty body, with Yuna having to cling to the bed to endure the intensity of the pounding you're now giving her.

"Get this shit in your pussy, whore," you tell her. "Oh my God," she moans as you get rougher, taking your clothes off. Yuna, however, takes advantage of you slowing down and goes back to swinging her hips. "Come on," you tell her, loving the way she bounces and clashes against your hips.

Yuna almost makes you burst once again as you escape yet another close call. She slows down and brags about her perfect, tight pussy. "Tell me, Daddy, you were sick of those fleshlights while I was on tour, right? They can't hold a candle to my tight little pussy, right?" she provokes.

You respond by hammering her even harder. "Fuck me hard, daddy," Yuna tells you, her knees almost falling out of the bed. You do as she wants, bringing her body up and choking her. "Hahaha, choke that bitch," the comments enjoy it. Yuna closes her eyes and licks her chops, a moment the camera captures perfectly.

Yuna's legs get weaker as she loses her breath and collapses into the bed. You take advantage of it and plow into her pussy from behind as you start prone-boning her. The camera moves to the back and shows her wide open pussy turned into a fleshlight as you pound the shit out of it. "Holy fuck, he's going to destroy her," some comment. She starts moaning, her long legs up in the air with just her sneakers on, your faces no longer visible on the camera as you two turn into an animalesque fucking where you're just a raging bull pounding a slutty cow.

"Oh fuck," Yuna moans as you make her completely helpless. The bed starts shaking, and loud noises come from its supports cracking as they try to hold it in place despite you burying your cock deep in Yuna's cunt and pressing her body as hard as you can against the mattress. "Look at her pussy farting," some say in the comments as you stretch it out nonstop and it starts queefing. The more it goes, the less you feel compelled to stop, and as much as Yuna is getting completely obliterated, so does she.

Yuna tries to fight back and arches her ass up. That only makes the crowd react even better. "Bro is fucking her like a dog," one comment says. The loud noises from her pussy getting wetter as you pound her confirm she really likes it rough. You go so hard, her long legs start to swing, and her sneakers hit the camera. "Oh, oh, oh," she moans. That only makes you go more animalesque, putting your body fully on top of her and penetrating her pussy at a straight angle.

"Damn, he's mounting on top of her," a comment says as the camera zooms into your cock, completely stuffing Yuna's cunt and eviscerating her body into submission. Yuna pretends to fight, but she can't do anything; you just bury your cock further deep in her pussy and behave like a dog in heat. "God, he's such an animal," a comment says as you remain on top of Yuna for a good five minutes and she starts howling at each thrust, with her turned into nothing but a cocksleeve.

"Fuck me, daddy, don't stop," Yuna commands. Not like you intended to stop at all; you own her pussy now. The stream viewship reaches further peaks as word of mouth starts to spread out, and people are really enjoying what they are seeing.

"Destroy that bitch," the comments command you. With one hand, you pink Yuna's body; with another, you spank her fat ass. "This is what a proper whore looks like," the comments continue as the camera shows an utterly hopeless Yuna completely pinned to the bed, her naked back and thong to the side making her look like a cheap prostitute.

You push Yuna's body sideways for the viewers better enjoyment. She is completely out of breath as you switch into a spooning position, but keep the intensity. Her little boobs bounce to the camera as you kiss her while pounding the shit out of her. Yuna spreads her legs and reaches down to finger herself. She grinds her teeth, as even for such an experienced slut like her, taking so much cock at such a fast pace is hard.

You take a more passionate approach with Yuna, filling her beautiful face full of kisses, but not forgetting the roughness as you choke her and stay pounding her at all moments. But soon, your animalesque side takes over again as you make it harder and harder for Yuna to breathe, choking her so hard she coughs. But better for you is that the more you choke her, the harder her pussy tightens and throbs.

As you slow down, Yuna, still recovering from the pounding you gave her, lifts her legs for you to finally take her thong off completely. Viewers get the perfect view of her pussy, with her danling inner lips and long outer lips in full display. Yuna then takes her shirt off as you massage her boobs, getting fully naked except for her sneakers. You two kiss each other, then you lower her head and feed her the juices from her cunt.

Yuna looks at the camera; her fully naked body is a treat to the audience. She teases the crowd. "What do you guys want next?" she asks. But you quickly try to put her in her place, shoving your cock back in her cunt and fucking her as the camera captures her body in a close-up and Yuna puts her fingers in her mouth.

The high-intensity affair that follows proves a missionary fucking isn't always vanila. You and Yuna give full effort, entertaining the viewers with torrid fucking and multiple hot moans from her and animalesque groans from you. Her boobs jiggling and the bed cracking as you pick up the pace offer and extra teasing—that gets even better with the close-ups of your cock stretching her pussy out.

Yuna's pussy only gets tighter as the fucking goes on, forcing you to pour even more lube. This time, you entertain the audience by placing it not only in her crotch but also all over her naked torso, making her giggle as the cold liquit hits her erect nipples and perky boobs. Yuna spreads the lube over her body as you continue to fuck her, helping you slide your hands with more ease and tease her as you film her body as eye candy for the viewers.

"Show them your pussy," you say as you zoom into Yuna's cunt and spit on it and finger it as your cock keeps pumping it. The camera captures your pounding perfectly, with you zooming in and out and teasing Yuna's boobs to the audience as well. She moans as you pick up the pace and work all over her clit. "Cum for the camera, baby," you order her, as the clit-fingering continues all the way until Yuna blasts her juices into the lens filming her.

You spank her cunt shortly after Yuna cums. "Good girl," you tell her, groping her tits too, rewarding her with a mating press fucking that ramps up the intensity even further. Viewers can't even see her face as your frame completely covers it, but what they can see damn well is Yuna's ass jiggling and wobbling as you clash your cock right against her hips.

"Damn girl, where did you get that ass?" one comment asks. Yuna holds her legs up and grabs her sneakers as you pound her even harder, choking her again as well. "Stupid cheating whore," you tell her as you spit on her face and top her completely. "Oh my Godddddd~" Yuna can barely breathe as you manhandle her pussy, making her look completely limp and helpless, with your balls slapping her cunt at each thrust.

Yuna tries to escape from your grasp, but she looks completely numb now. She flashes her pussy to the camera, as it doesn't take long for you to fill it again. Her boobs get groped as you spoon her into the bed. "Dude's addicted to her pussy; she must be amazing," someone comments.

Yuna looks at you with her eyes full of lust; one of your hands stays on her neck; another grabs her tits as you passionately continue to fuck her; and she rediscovers what made her fall in love with you: pure, raw, unfiltered hard sex. "You're a fucking animal, daddy," she tells you, as at this point you can only think of fucking her pussy until you die.

The stream stays for a good 10 minutes on some sexy and passionate action between you and Yuna as you two enjoy each other with lots of fucking between hugs and kisses, trying as many positions as possible, but with you taking control as always and turning Yuna into your submissive fucktoy until you finally manage to get tired. Still overwhelmed by so much sex, you and her take a break as Yuna knees and throats your cock with her ass turned right to the camera.

"What a delicious ass," one of the comments says as Yuna ruins what was still left of her makeup by diving deep into your cock. She slowly blows your pipe up, savoring every inch of it and covering it full of her spit as she gargles all over that dick. "Are you ready to sit on it?" you ask her. Yuna doesn't answer, instead taking some good minutes twisting it and getting increasingly sloppy, going all the way down your balls to throat it, and then licking your throbbing shaft as it pulses.

Yuna puts on a great show for the camera, moaning as she sucks your dick and fingers herself. "I want a camgirl like this for me," a comment says. Her little performance captivates the audience. "Now that's a slut who knows what to do," as all eyes focus on her, with Yuna winking to the camera as she deepthroats you to the fullest and covers your cock even further with spit.

You barely survive Yuna's deepthroat as she keeps worshipping your cock, her perky tits bouncing as she makes a mess of your dick, and groaning as she rotates her mouth on it. "Bitch is biting that dick like a dog," a comment says. "Fuck my face," she demands as you get back on top of her. "Lmao, look at her dumb face." The comments continue to fly as you fill her mouth full of cock and bulge under her throat.

Yuna licks your balls as you rub your cock all over her slutty face and make her choke on it further afterwards. She loves the way you treat it like a fleshlight. "Now I think it's ready for me to sit on it," she says.

Yuna positions herself as you guide your cock back into her pussy. Her big ass occupies a large chunk of the frame as your cock slowly disappears under her cheeks. Her moans when she descends down that dick are extremely sexy, as she starts bouncing her ass all over that cock, already putting you on the edge. "Damn, that girl knows how to shake that booty," someone comments.

The camera keeps filming Yuna twerking her ass on your dick as she tries different angles and leads the crowd in the comments to go wild. "Bounce that ass, bitch," they comment. Her performance is so sensational and immersive that it feels like she's bouncing on the cock of someone in the audience. "Oh my God, ahhh, ahhhh, ahhhh," she moans as you hit her cervix. "Damn, this is way better than VR porn," someone comments.

"Oh damn, that's perfect," you tell Yuna as she moves towards fast and straight bounces. Her fat ass causes a quake each time it hits your hips. "Damn, I love that angle," someone says as Yuna's butt is right at the center of the screen and keeps being the star of the show. When you accidentally slide out of her pussy, Yuna starts to tease you, grabbing your shaft and rubbing it all over her butt, paying special attention to her asshole as she pokes your dick on it a few times.

"Come on, keep going," you tell her as Yuna puts your cock back inside and smashes it with hard and violent bounces. "Girl is giving that dick a workout," a comment says. You spank her ass as she gives you yet another close call, but that only makes her go harder. "Spank that bitch," people command in the comments.

You put an end to Yuna's slutty show as you get back on your feet, putting her back on all fours and pointing the camera right at her ass. Your cock pumps her hard and deep as viewers watch it to the fullest, seeing your shaft go in and out of her. More ass-spanking ensues as Yuna begs you. "Spank me, Daddy, please," she says. The camera keeps moving but always lands at a spot where viewers can see a lot of her fat ass while your big cock stretches her pussy.

The camera finally zooms out of Yuna's big ass, and viewers get a glimpse of how tired both of you are after almost an hour of fucking like animals. You two keep going regardless, trying to find every extra dose of energy just to enjoy each other's bodies to the max. At this point, Yuna can barely move, as you are completely on top of her.

You give Yuna a break as you two switch sides, and she gets back on top of you. The camera zooms out back into the crowd's favorite asset. If they want her ass, then let's show them as Yuna sits back on your pole. Her eagerness for sexy goes so far that she is bouncing hard the moment you're back inside her. "Ahhhh, yesss," she moans. Both of your bodies get close and wrapped against each other as you two share the love for each other as you suck her tits while she bounces on you.

Yuna grabs your chest and keeps bouncing, but can barely endure more than 10 seconds now. She's exhausted; her heavily pounded pussy is throbbing. You just slow down and make love with her. Until she delivers the message.

"Breed me, Daddy," she tells you, making you flip a switch. The animal inside you awakens as you put her back against the edge of the bed and give her a hardcore mating press. The crowd in the comments starts to go wild. New viewership peaks are hit every second, and little did they know things were about to get spicier.

Yuna becomes your submissive fucktoy as you spread her cunt for viewers to see. You then slowly mount on her and ragdoll her body. "Holy shit, he's going to destroy her," the people in the comments say. The cameras capture what is essentially a real-life hentai. You, on top of her, press Yuna's body down the bed as you plow the shit out of her pussy. Her face completely disappears, as all viewers see now is her big ass bouncing at each thurst.

"Ahhhh, yessss, fuckkk," Yuna moans as your cock obliterates her pussy. Now you're only going to stop when you cum. The rampage keeps going on as the comments flood the chat. "Pump your cum deep inside her." "Keep fucking the shit out of that bitch," "Destroy this slut," "Look how hard her ass bounces," and so on.

"Give me, please, cum in my pussy; oh my God, give me your cum," Yuna begs, her voice cracking as she can barely stand straight after over an hour of pounding. You start screaming, and soon you grant her wish. "AHHHHHHHHHH," you yell as you empty your balls in her pussy, getting so addicted that you keep fucking her even after you finish.

"Holy fuck, he just can't stop," the people in the comments say as you fuck Yuna until your last drop of cum hits her pussy, resting on top of her with your cock still buried deep in her cunt as you kiss her. "Dang, that was hot," someone in the comments says.

You finally pull out of Yuna. Her pussy is filled to the brim. "Oh my God," she says, not even thinking straight. She was not on the pill and started thinking she'd get pregnant soon. You bring up a speculum and insert it in her cunt, showing viewers how much you filled it up. "Damn, bro turned her into a cum dump," one says as they watch your seeds resting in her throbbing cervix.

As you remove the speculum, Yuna masturbates herself, trying to expel the cum from inside her pussy, with the broadcast ending as she coats her camera full of her juices after a hard squirt. "Ohhh, fuck," are the last words as the livestream ends.

"You did so well today, you fucking whore; guess you missed daddy's cock," you tell Yuna, already off-camera. "And you missed my tight pink pussy, didn't you?" she replied back. You call your friend in the other room, who was operating the broadcast. It turns out he had come on his pants while doing so, unable to resist the sex appeal of Yuna.

The livestream ends up being an amazing success, getting lots of views and bringing tons of money to both of you and Yuna. "You made a great choice of thumbnail there," she tells your friend, talking about her choking on your cock.

Seeing the success of her first attempt, Yuna asks you:

"Hey baby, want to do another one?" she asked

"Maybe later, what do you want this time?" you reply

"I don't know. Maybe anal. A DP. Or even a gangbang where you watch me get destroyed by half a dozen cocks."

Damn, the more you give her, the more she wants. Yuna is, indeed, a very high-maintenance girlfriend.

#yuna smut #itzy smut #female idol smut #girl group smut #kpop smut #male reader smut

1K notes · View notes

pucksandpower · 1 month

Text

Legends Never Die

Carlos Sainz x Senna!Reader

Summary: sometimes the hole in your heart left behind by the passing of your father becomes almost too much to bear, but Carlos and his family never fail to ease the ache

Brazilian Grand Prix, 2023

The roar of the crowd is deafening as you step out onto the podium at Interlagos after winning your home race — the Brazilian Grand Prix — for McLaren.

You wave to the sea of fans, trying to keep your emotions in check. But it’s impossible. Everywhere you look there are reminders of your father.

Fans wave Brazilian flags emblazoned with his iconic yellow and green helmet. Others wear t-shirts bearing his name and race number. Signs reading “Senna Forever�� make your chest tighten.

He’s everywhere … except where you need him most. In your memories.

You were just a baby when he died in that fateful accident at Imola in 1994. You only know the sound of his voice through crackling video footage, his infectious smile from yellowing photographs. But you don’t actually remember him. Your own father, the man whose immense legacy you carry on your shoulders each time you slide into the cockpit of a Formula 1 car.

By the time the national anthem plays and the champagne corks pop, you can barely see through the tears welling in your eyes. You blink them back rapidly, hoping the cameras don’t pick up on your emotional state. As soon as the ceremony ends, you practically run off the podium, heading straight for the sanctuary of your driver’s room.

You barely make it through the door before the sobs start wracking your body. You sink down onto the couch, drawing your knees up and burying your face in your hands as the tears flow freely.

How can you feel so alone when surrounded by so many who loved him?

A soft knock at the door cuts through your cries. You know immediately who it is without having to ask.

“Come in,” you manage to choke out, swiping at the dampness on your cheeks.

The door opens and there’s Carlos, looking concerned but unsurprised to find you in this state. Of course he knows. By now, he can likely sense when these waves of emotion are about to crash over you.

Carlos crosses the room and settles onto the couch, gathering you into his arms. You immediately curl against his chest, comforted by his familiar warmth and scent. One of his hands comes up to soothingly stroke your hair as the other rubs circles across your back.

“Let it out, mi amor,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m here.”

The gentleness in his voice is your undoing. You let out a gasping sob, tears soaking through the material of his firesuit as you finally allow yourself to unravel completely in his embrace.

“I-I don’t remember him,” you hiccup between harsh breaths. “I w-won my home race and all I could see out there were ghosts. He was everywhere b-but in my own mind!”

“Shh, I know,” Carlos soothes, rubbing your back. “I know it hurts, mi vida. But he’s here.” He places his palm over your heart. “Your dad lives in here, just like you live in his.”

You lift your head, seeking out his warm brown eyes through your tear-blurred vision. “How can you be so sure? I don’t have a single first-hand memory of him. I know Ayrton Senna the legend, but not my own father.”

A small, sad smile tugs at the corner of Carlos’s lips. “Because that’s how it is for all of us who didn’t get the chance to really know him.” His thumb brushes away a stray tear trailing down your cheek. “We keep him alive in our hearts through the way he inspired us, the lives he touched without ever realizing it. And for you ...” His expression turns amazed, eyes shining with an emotion you can’t quite place. “For you, he’s here.” He runs his hands over the sides of your body, splaying his fingers wide. “A part of him lives on, in you and through you each time you drive. You embody everything he represented behind the wheel — passion, adrenaline, an unquenchable desire to be the best. That’s your father’s legacy beating within you.”

You stare at him, trying to make sense of the jumbled tempest of feelings swirling inside you. Part of you wants to protest, to insist your longing for a tangible connection to your father can’t be satisfied by philosophical musing.

And yet … Carlos’ words reverberate within you, striking a chord. You think of the split-second decision making, the fearless way you attack corners, your refusal to ever give any less than your full effort.

Those are all traits you’ve been told time and time again you inherited from Ayrton. And maybe Carlos is right — maybe that is how you’ll know him best in this life.

Slowly, you reach up to cradle Carlos’ face in your palms, searching his caring gaze. “How did I get so lucky?” You whisper, a few rogue tears spilling over. “To have someone who understands me, understands this hole in my life, and loves me enough to fill it as best he can?”

The look of utter adoration on Carlos’ face steals your breath. Gently, he leans in to capture your lips in the softest, sweetest of kisses. The tenderness, the depth of emotion in that one simple gesture is enough to make your knees go weak.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. “I’m the lucky one, mi amor,” he murmurs, the words ghosting across your lips. “To be loved by you ...” He shakes his head slowly in seeming awe of you. “You make me feel blessed every day just by letting me share in your existence.”

You let out a watery laugh, rolling your eyes but unable to fight the giddy smile blooming across your face. Trust Carlos to somehow make you feel like the luckiest, most special person in the world after you’ve just spent who knows how long crying on his shoulder.

“You big sap,” you tease, booping him on the nose. You search his expression, your chest filling with warmth at the laughter lines crinkling around his eyes. “I love you, you know that right?”

The words hang there, heavy and significant. You realize you’ve never actually said them before, not with such simple yet loaded sincerity.

From the look of surprise and unbridled joy that overtakes Carlos’ features, he realizes it too. His hands come up to cradle your face, fingers threading through your hair as he holds you tenderly.

“Mi alma ...” he breathes out reverently. “Te amo, mi vida. I love you with all my heart.”

The depth of emotion in his voice, the Spanish words of love and adoration tumbling from his lips, it’s all too much. You surge forward, claiming his mouth in a searing kiss as the last of your tears, these born of happiness and love rather than sorrow, streak down your cheeks.

Carlos kisses you back with an intensity that leaves you lightheaded. His fingers tighten almost possessively in your hair as the kiss deepens, growing more heated and passionate. You’re vaguely aware of him shifting until you’re nearly in his lap, bodies aligned and thrumming with a very different kind of electricity than you’re used to on the track.

Eventually, the need for air becomes too insistent to ignore. You break apart, both of you panting heavily. Carlos’ lips are red and swollen, his pupils blown wide. He looks like a man thoroughly ravished.

You can’t help the impish grin. “So I take it you feel the same way?”

His laugh is low and gravelly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “Oh mi amor ...” he rumbles, nuzzling his nose against yours. “You have no idea.”

You bite your lip, about to suggest taking this celebration elsewhere more private. But a new thought suddenly occurs, giving you pause. Slowly, almost shyly, you meet his heated gaze.

“Carlos … do you really think he would be proud of me?” The uncertainty in your voice is painfully obvious. “My father, I mean. You think he’s ...” You swallow hard. “You think he’s watching over me and approving of the person I’ve become?”

The seriousness of your question douses some of the blazing desire in Carlos’ eyes. But it’s quickly replaced by a look of such fierce conviction, such affection for you, it makes your breath catch.

“Cariño,” he begins, voice thick with emotion as he tucks an errant strand of hair behind your ear. “Your father was the embodiment of passion and integrity in the pursuit of greatness. On the track, he gave everything. He put his heart and soul into being the best driver, the best competitor he could be. And that’s exactly what I see when I watch you race.”

Carlos leans in, resting his forehead against yours as his fingers tenderly trace the line of your jaw. “You drive with the same fire, the same refusal to let anything less than your full ability shine through. And off the track?” He lets out a soft huff of laughter, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well, let’s just say the determination, the sheer force of will I see in you would make any parent proud.”

You bite your lip, struggling against the swell of emotion building in your chest at his words. “Really? You don’t think he’d be … disappointed? That I’m not living up to his legacy or-”

“Hey.” Carlos cuts you off firmly, holding your gaze. “Your father didn’t just leave a legacy of winning championships or setting records, mi amor. He left a legacy of spirit. Of personality. Of being a loving, passionate human being who inspired millions.” His thumb strokes along your cheekbone as his eyes shine with complete sincerity. “And let me tell you — in that way? You are so perfectly your father’s daughter it’s unreal.”

The tears that have been threatening finally spill over, but this time they are born of relief, of love and reassurance. You manage a watery smile, curling your hand around the back of Carlos’ neck to pull him close until your foreheads touch.

“Thank you,” you whisper fervently. “For understanding. For loving me through the shadows and the ghosts. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His arms tighten around you, holding you flush against his body in an embrace filled with devotion. “Well, you’ll never have to find out,” he murmurs lowly, lips brushing tantalizingly against the sensitive skin just below your ear. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

A delighted shiver runs through you at his tone, at the deliciously possessive edge to his promise. Shifting in his lap, you capture his lips in a searing kiss filled with all the love, the passion, the longing you’ve been holding at bay.

Carlos responds with equal fervor, one hand burying in your hair while the other maps searing paths across your back, your sides, pulling you ever closer until there’s no space between your bodies. The room seems to simultaneously tilt and burn away until there is only the two of you, tangled together in a heated spiral of want and need.

At some point, you become vaguely aware of Carlos rising to his feet, your legs winding instinctively around his waist as he lifts you effortlessly. Your back presses against the nearest wall and you moan softly into his mouth at the delicious friction. His hands are everywhere, stoking the fire burning through your veins with every scorching caress.

Finally, and reluctantly, you pull your lips from his with a gasp. “Carlos … if we don’t get out of here soon, I can’t be held responsible for what might happen.”

He grins wolfishly at you, pupils blown wide with desire. “Is that a promise, mi amor?” His voice is low, gravelly, and sends sparks of pure hunger fluttering through your stomach.

Holding his heated gaze, you slowly drag your nails down the back of his neck in a deliberate tease, relishing the way his eyes darken even further. “Take me home, Carlos,” you purr, leaning in to brush your lips against his once more. “And I’ll show you just how promising I can be.”

His response is to capture your mouth in another bruising kiss, pressing you harder against the wall as a growl rumbles up from deep in his chest. Then, without warning, he’s turning and striding towards the door, carrying you easily as your legs remain locked around his waist.

Breathless with wanting, you finally pull away as he reaches for the doorknob, laughing softly. “I see someone’s eager.”

Carlos’s eyes gleam with pure, undisguised hunger as he looks at you over his shoulder. “For you, mi alma?” He leans in, lips hovering tantalizingly close as his beard brushes your tingling skin. “Always.”

With that, he’s swinging the door open and striding out into the hallway, completely uncaring of who might see. His focus, his entire world, is solely on you in this moment. Just as yours is on him.

As the adrenaline of victory fades and the ache of longing for your absent father eases into a dull, familiar ache, you’re reminded once more of the incredible gift you’ve been given.

Carlos’ love, his understanding and acceptance of every broken, yearning part of you is a blessing. One you vow never to take for granted.

Winding your arms securely around his neck, you let yourself get lost in the heat of his gaze, the depth of emotion shining there. And you realize — with him, you don’t feel so alone.

Even if your father isn’t here in person, some piece of him does live on. Not in memories or old recordings. But in the love you hold in your heart. The love you pour into everything you do, every dream you dare to chase. The love that connects you to Carlos so wholly.

Maybe, just maybe, your father is prouder than either of you can fathom as he watches the remarkable life you’ve created together unfold.

Smiling softly, you lean in to feather a kiss along the sharp line of Carlos’ jaw, breathing in his familiar scent.

“Take me home, meu amor.”

Australian Grand Prix, 2024

The podium ceremony is pure pandemonium. Carlos stands on the top step, beaming and cheering, having just claimed his first win of the new season. You’re on the second step beside him, arm raised in celebration of your own P2 finish. The energy from the crowd is electric, filling your veins with the same adrenaline rush as when you crossed the finish line.

You should be deliriously happy. Scoring such a strong result alongside your boyfriend at the third race is the dream start to your championship chase. And yet … something feels off. A strange melancholy tugs at the corner of your heart even as the champagne sprays and camera flashes bombard you from all angles.

Then you spot him — Carlos’ father, beaming at his son from the front of the crowd gathered below the podium. His chest is puffed out with undisguised pride, eyes crinkled at the corners behind his designer shades.

As you watch, father and son’s gazes meet and lock, and the sheer depth of emotion in that one look breaks something inside you.

Oh.

That’s what’s missing.

The realization hits you like a punch to the gut, stealing your breath. You barely register the Spanish national anthem playing as your eyes stay glued to the tender scene before you.

Carlos shooting his father a brilliant grin, chin dipping in acknowledgment of the pride shining through. Carlos Sr.’s face split by the biggest smile you’ve ever seen him wear. It’s such a simple gesture, but one utterly steeped in parental pride.

You should look away before it gets to be too much, but some masochistic part of you can’t tear your gaze from the heartwarming display. Seeing that effortless bond between father and son, witnessing their silent communication and affection laden with years of inside jokes and childhood memories … it awakens a hollow ache, one you’re terribly familiar with.

By the time the ceremony finally winds down, hot tears are stinging your eyes. You blink rapidly, ducking your head in hopes that the dark tint of your sunglasses conceals your fragile state. But of course, Carlos notices immediately.

He pauses mid-celebration, halfway through accepting some prize filled with the event sponsor’s product. Frowning, he leans in close under the pretense of thanking you for pushing him all the way. “Mi alma? What’s wrong?”

You nearly choke on your own breath at the naked concern in his voice. Trust Carlos to pick up on your inner turmoil even in the middle of what should be an incredibly joyous occasion. Steeling yourself, you manage a smile that you hope passes as genuine.

“Nothing, I’m just ...” Your excuse dies in your throat as you look past him towards the crowd once more.

Carlos Sr. is shouldering his way through the mass of staff and media, pushing towards his son. He’s waving and grinning from ear to ear as Carlos straightens up, delight overtaking his features. The second the older Sainz’s feet cross the barriers, Carlos drops everything and bounds over, hauling his father into a tight embrace.

They laugh and cheer as Carlos pumps a victorious fist in the air, the other arm wrapped securely around Carlos Sr. You can’t hear what they’re saying over the noise of the crowd, but it doesn’t matter. Their body language says it all.

Pride. Joy. Celebration. A bond forged in the fires of hardship and sacrifice, of a lifetime pursuing the most elite level of a deadly sport.

Father and son, reveling together in the sweetness of hard-earned success.

Your throat constricts painfully as you watch them, your own arms wrapping protectively around your middle. How many times had you dreamed of recreating this exact moment as a young girl? Crossing the chequered line in first place, only to be swept up in a boundless hug by a beaming, triumphant father?

You remember pretending with your childhood race cars, standing on an overturned bucket that served as your make-believe podium. You’d mimic the anthems and champagne sprays, then launch yourself off the “top step“ and into the arms of an imaginary Ayrton, dreaming about what it would feel like to bury your face in his shoulder as he swung you around, both of you dissolving into happy laughter as you celebrated together.

Of course, those were only childish fantasies even then. By the time you were old enough to understand racing, to grasp what your father did and meant to the world, he was already long gone. You never got the chance to make those podium daydreams a reality.

And you never would.

The harsh truth is like a bucket of ice water over your head. You’re vaguely aware of your sunglasses slipping down your nose as your eyes burn with unshed tears. Angrily, you blink them back, steeling your jaw.

Now is not the time.

You plaster on the brightest smile you can muster as Carlos and his father turn back towards you. Throwing propriety to the wind, Carlos Sr. comes up to engulf you in a tight hug, the scratch of barely-there stubble rasping against your cheek.

“Another stellar drive, mariposa,” he praises in his thick, warm accent as Carlos laughs in delight beside you. “Keeping this one on his toes, I see.”

Despite your fragile emotional state, you can’t help but grin at his spirit and affection. “Always,” you reply, squeezing him back firmly before pulling away to make room for Carlos.

Almost automatically, you take a step back to give them space. You have no wish to intrude on what should be their private moment together. And sure enough, no sooner have you retreated than Carlos is wrapping his arm around his father’s shoulders, guiding him towards the edge of the pit lane where Ferrari representatives are waiting.

You hang back, a sad smile playing across your lips as you watch them go. All the teasing and laughing, the play-fights and unbreakable bonds of family you wish you could have experienced for yourself play out in vivid detail before your eyes.

Off to the side, almost like an afterthought despite your place right beside him on the podium. Just … watching.

Slowly, you turn away, the roar of the fans and celebrations fading into the distance as you head up the ramp to the McLaren motorhome.

A thousand wistful memories drift through your mind. Muted footage of you as a newborn cradled in your father’s arms, grinning up at him in pure innocence and adoration. Photos of Ayrton gazing down at his infant daughter with a look of such unconditional love that it breaks you all over again.

No matter how many trophies you win or records you break, that will always be the one achievement he never had the chance to witness. You’ll never experience a father’s unadulterated pride at his child’s success.

Your breath hitches as you finally reach the solitude of your private room, sinking onto the plush sofa as the tears begin rolling in earnest. Who are you kidding? As much as Carlos and his family envelop you in their warmth, as much as you are unquestionably part of their clan now … there is always going to be an empty space in your heart where a father’s love should be.

You bury your face in your hands, ignoring the wet streaks smearing across your knuckles as you try in vain to compose yourself. You can’t be like this, falling apart every time. Carlos deserves to revel in one of the greatest wins of his career. He shouldn’t have to devote energy to consoling you, not after a spectacular drive like that.

A soft knock at the door startles you. Swiping hastily at your cheeks, you suck in a shuddering breath and call out. “Come in.”

The door opens, and of course, it’s Carlos. Because even in the midst of unbridled jubilation, he senses your inner turmoil. He steps inside, the happiness draining from his expression as he takes in your blotchy complexion and reddened eyes.

“Mi amor,” he breathes, crossing to you in two quick strides and gathering you into his arms. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his sweat-damp race suit as he rubs soothing circles across your back. “Talk to me, cariño. What’s got you so upset, hmm?”

You want to explain, but the words stick in your throat. Instead, you simply shake your head, a few errant tears slipping free to wet the material covering his shoulder. Carlos doesn’t push, just holds you close and lets you cry it out against him.

Eventually, you find your voice, thick with emotion. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your celebration like this. You should be out there enjoying your win, not consoling your mess of a girlfriend.”

“Hey now,” he chides gently, tipping your chin up to meet his concerned gaze. “None of that, mi alma. Your feelings are never something to apologize for.” His thumb brushes away a stray tear from your cheek. “I know today was … difficult. Seeing me with my dad, it brought up a lot of old hurts, didn’t it?”

You let out a watery chuckle, amazed as always by his intuition when it comes to your innermost struggles. “Am I that obvious?”

“Only to someone who knows and loves every facet of you,” he replies simply, stroking your hair back from your forehead. “Will you tell me? Let me in on what you’re feeling so I can try to understand?”

Taking a shuddering breath, you nod and disentangle yourself enough to sit beside him on the couch. You keep one of his hands linked with yours, anchoring you as you gather your thoughts. “It’s just … out there on the podium, when I saw you and your dad together ...” You pause, blinking rapidly against a fresh swell of tears. “It reminded me all over again of what I’m missing. What I’ll never get to have.”

Carlos’ expression softens with understanding and he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, silently urging you to continue. You draw strength from his presence beside you.

“You two have this … bond. This connection, like you’re the only ones who truly understand each other’s perspectives. And I’m envious, Carlos. So envious of the lifetime of love and memories that exists just in the silent communication between you.” You let out a mirthless chuckle, swiping at the dampness on your cheeks. “God, that sounds so pathetic when I say it out loud.”

“No, mi vida.” Carlos is firm, his eyes shining with sincerity. “Not pathetic at all. You’re allowed to feel that longing, that sadness over being deprived of something so integral.” His free hand comes up to cradle your jaw, calloused thumb stroking along your cheekbone. “You miss your dad. You mourn not having that relationship in your life. Those are entirely valid feelings to have, especially on days like this when I got to share my joy with my own father.”

You lean into his touch, fresh tears spilling over at his words as your breath hitches. “It’s like … no matter what I accomplish, no matter how successful I become, there will always be this hole.” Your hand comes up to clasp his wrist, holding him close. “Because he never got to see it. He never got to be that person cheering me on, taking pride in my achievements. Instead, I’m left imagining what it would be like, watching you and your dad and aching for something I can’t have.”

Carlos’ eyes turn molten, brimming with empathy and sorrow for your pain. Slowly, he guides you forward until your foreheads are pressed together, his breath fanning across your lips.

“Mi amor … I can’t replace what you’ve lost, or take away that regret and heartache. All I can do is promise to spend every day showing you how proud I am of you.” His fingers thread through your hair, cradling your head tenderly. “You are the strongest, bravest, most amazing woman I have ever known. Watching you out on the track, giving everything you have with that same fire and spirit as your father … words can’t express how awestruck I am. How honored I feel to witness your brilliance and passion race after race.”

You suck in a sharp breath at the reverent tone in his voice, fresh tears streaking down your cheeks at the depth of feeling behind his words. Carlos tugs you even closer until there’s no space between your bodies, until you’re sharing the same air in an intimate embrace.

“I only wish he could see you the way I do,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours with each word. “I wish he was here to feel the immense pride and adoration I feel every single time you leave me breathless behind the wheel.” A tender, lingering kiss punctuates his words. “You are your father’s greatest legacy, mi alma. And I will spend every day showing you that, if you’ll let me.”

A choked whimper escapes your lips as you surge forward, capturing Carlos’ mouth in a searing, fevered kiss. You pour every ounce of overwhelmed emotion, every bit of ardor and heartache and gratitude into the heated glide of your lips against his. His arms band around you like steel cables, holding you impossibly close as the kiss turns bruising, desperate, all-consuming.

When you finally pull apart, you’re both panting harshly. Carlos’ pupils are blown wide, lips red and swollen and thoroughly kissed. He stares at you with such naked adoration, such devotion, that it steals what little breath you have left.

“Thank you,” you rasp, cradling his face in your trembling hands. “Thank you for loving me so completely. Despite all my broken pieces, you see me at my core and still chose me.”

He leans into your touch, lips brushing your palm. “There is nothing to thank me for, mi amor. You are the sun, I’m merely lucky enough to orbit you and bask in your warmth.” He places another soft, lingering kiss to your wrist, right over your thundering pulse. “I am yours, corazón. Every piece of me, for every piece of you. Never doubt that.”

A fresh wave of emotion rises up, this one filled with pure, dizzying love and affection for the incredible man kneeling before you. Pulling him up, you simply hold him for a long moment, relishing his solid strength surrounding you in the protective circle of his arms.

Here, in his embrace, the ache of your father’s absence dulls to a faded echo in the corners of your heart. Here, you can breathe easy, reassured and loved down to your very core.

Eventually, the sounds of celebration filter in through the door — your team must be getting restless waiting for their driver. Carlos seems to hear it too, huffing out a quiet chuckle against your hairline.

“We should get out there, hmm? Before both of our teams send a search party for their drivers.”

You nod, but make no move to disentangle yourself, soaking up his warmth and steady presence for a few more selfish moments.

When you do finally pull away, there are fresh tear tracks on your cheeks but also a peaceful smile gracing your lips. Reverently, you run your fingers through the sweat-damp curls at Carlos’ temples as his eyes flutter closed, savoring your touch.

“I love you,” you murmur, the words seeming impossibly inadequate to convey the depth of feeling they represent. “Endlessly, meu amado.”

Carlos’ gaze when he opens his eyes practically glows with emotion, pure elation and adoration radiating from his expression. “As I love you, mi alma,” he husks, stealing one more searingly tender kiss. “Always.”

With twin smiles and your hands linked tightly, you exit the room together into the raucous cheers and celebrations. Outside, you can see Carlos Sr. surrounded by a sea of red, laughing and beaming with incomparable pride and joy at his son’s success. Your breath catches when he spots the two of you emerging, arms flinging wide.

“There are my superstars! Vámonos, we have a victory to toast!”

As Carlos tugs you forward into the chaos, his father enveloping you both in a crushing embrace and peppering your cheeks with scratchy kisses, you feel a sense of peace settle over you.

Yes, there will always be an absence where your father should have been, a hollow space in your heart shaped perfectly to his memory. But you’ll never truly be alone.

Not with Carlos beside you every step of the way. Not with his family’s boundless love and affection enveloping you, treating you as their own daughter. They are the salve for when that empty ache becomes too much to bear.

So you let yourself sink into the celebration, into the warmth of the Sainz clan and the sheer euphoria of your personal success. As long as Carlos keeps chasing his passion with the same fanatical devotion as his father … as long as you chase your own with every ounce of vigor and spirit that your father passed down through shared blood … then Ayrton will never stop watching over you both with immeasurable pride and a heart overflowing with love.

And for now, for today, that will simply have to be enough.

Days Before the Miami Grand Prix, 2024

The Miami sun sinks lower in the sky, bathing the hotel balcony in a warm orange glow. You lean against the railing, staring unseeingly at the cruise ships dotting the horizon. Your eyes are glassy, your mind a million miles away.

It’s been thirty years to the day since your father’s life was snatched away. Thirty years of living in his immense shadow, constantly reminded of the racing legend you never truly knew.

Your phone buzzes incessantly in your pocket, a steady stream of texts and calls offering condolences. Old acquaintances you haven’t spoken to in years, suddenly reaching out on this morbid anniversary.

What can you possibly say that the world doesn’t already know? That they haven’t already dissected and analyzed a million times over?

The harsh truth is that so many strangers have more vivid memories of Ayrton Senna than his own daughter. It’s a sobering reality, one that reopens that wound all over again every May 1st.

You feel numb, gutted, emptied out.

“Amor?” The familiar voice pulls you from your reverie. You turn to find Carlos staring at you with soft concern in his warm brown eyes. “Are you alright?”

You try for a reassuring smile, but it feels stale on your lips. “I’m fine, just … thinking.”

He sees right through you, the way he always does. Crossing the balcony, he wraps his arms around you from behind, his chin resting atop your head. You lean back into his solid embrace, drawing comfort from his presence.

“You know you don’t have to put on a brave face for me, right?” He murmurs against your hair. “Not today.”

You let out a shuddering breath, blinking back the sting of tears. “I know. It’s just … it never gets any easier, you know? All these years later and the wound still feels fresh.”

His arms tighten around you. “I’m so sorry, mi amor. I wish I could take the pain away.”

“You help more than you know, just by being here,” you reply thickly. A tremulous smile curves your lips as you cover his hands with yours. “Thank you for putting up with my melancholy every year.”

“You never have to thank me for that,” he says fiercely. “I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

The sound of the balcony door opening draws your attention as Carlos Sr. steps out onto the balcony, his eyes kind but assessing as he takes in the two of you embracing.

“Ah, lo siento,” he says apologetically. “I did not mean to intrude on a private moment.”

“No, no, you’re not intruding,” you assure him, reluctantly extracting yourself from Carlos’ arms. You turn to face his father, subtly wiping at your damp eyes. “What’s going on?”

Carlos Sr. hesitates, shooting his son a questioning look. Carlos nods almost imperceptibly.

“Actually, hijo, do you mind if I borrow Y/N for a few minutes?” Carlos’ father asks. “Hombre a hombre, as they say.”

Your brows knit in confusion, but Carlos just smiles faintly and drops a kiss on your temple. “Of course. I’ll be inside whenever you’re ready, mi vida.”

With a final squeeze of your hand, he disappears back into the suite, leaving you alone with his father on the balcony. The older Sainz settles into one of the plush lounge chairs with a slight groan.

“Please, join an old man,” he says, patting the chair beside him. You hesitate briefly before sinking into the indicated seat. An awkward silence stretches between you both.

“You’ll have to forgive me,” Carlos’ father begins at last. “I am not usually at such a loss for words. But I find myself struggling to know what to say on a day like today.”

You manage a watery chuckle. “Trust me, you’re not the only one at a loss. I don’t even know what to say to myself half the time.”

He regards you with such tender understanding that it steals your breath away. “My dear girl, you have carried such a heavy burden on those young shoulders for far too long. No child should have to grow up in the shadow of tragedy the way you have.”

Tears well up anew in your eyes. “I just … I wish I could remember him, you know? Really remember him, not just what I’ve seen in videos or heard in interviews. It feels so unfair that the whole world has vibrant memories of who he was, but I’m just … left with echoes and fragments of a man I never truly knew.”

Carlos Sr.’s eyes glisten with empathy as he reaches over to take your hand, enveloping it in his calloused grip. “Listen to me, mija. While I cannot begin to understand the depth of your loss, I do know this — it is never strange to mourn someone you loved, even if you cannot recall the time you spent together.”

His words are like a soothing balm on the ragged wound of your heart. You squeeze his hand fiercely, struggling to keep your composure as he continues.

“Your father was ...” He pauses, seeming to carefully weigh his next words. “Your father was an incredible man, one who touched countless lives all over the world. But to you, he was simply your father. And that bond, that love between a parent and child, transcends memory. It lives on in here.” He taps his heart with his free hand. “In a way that no amount of biographies or documentaries could ever capture.”

The tears spill over, streaking down your cheeks. You make no effort to stop them this time. Carlos’ father merely watches you with infinite tenderness, his thumb brushing soothingly over your knuckles.

“I know I cannot replace the father you lost,” he continues softly. “Nor would I ever try. But I hope you know that our family … we love you as one of our own, mija. You will always have a home and a family with us, for as long as you desire it.”

A broken sound escapes your throat and Carlos Sr. immediately rises from his chair to gather you into his arms, his embrace warm and secure and achingly paternal. You bury your face in his shoulder, body shaking with muffled sobs as the floodgates finally burst open.

“That’s it, let it all out,” he murmurs, one broad hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Holding in such grief for so long, it’s a wonder you did not crumble beneath the weight of it long ago. You are stronger than you know, mija.”

You cry until you’re completely spent, until the front of Carlos Sr.’s shirt is damp and your eyes are swollen and puffy. When at last the tears subside, leaving you wrung out but strangely peaceful, he produces a handkerchief from his pocket and gently dabs at your cheeks.

“There now, that’s better isn’t it?” He asks, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles down at you. “I think my son may have plans to cheer you up, if you’re amenable?”

You let out a watery chuckle, feeling lighter than you have in days … weeks … months maybe. “That does sound nice.”

The elder Spaniard presses the handkerchief into your hand, then steers you back towards the balcony door with a gentle hand on your back. “Then what are we waiting for? That boy may look like me, but his sweet tooth is all his mother’s doing.”

You pause in the doorway, impulsively turning to throw your arms around the man who has, in many ways, become a second father to you. “Thank you,” you whisper shakily against his shoulder. “For everything.”

His arms tighten around you briefly. “De nada, mija. That’s what family is for.”

When at last you disentangle yourself, Carlos is waiting just inside, a bright smile lighting up his face at the sight of the two of you. On the counter, a cheerful array of pastries and confections beckons, the delicious aroma of fresh Brazilian baked goods enveloping you in a warm, sugary hug.

Carlos’ eyes are shining with love and relief as you cross the room to plant a lingering kiss of gratitude on his smiling lips.

“I love you,” you murmur when you finally pull back, cradling his face in your palms. “Thank you for being you.”

His forehead drops to rest against yours. “Always, mi alma. I’ll never stop loving you and being here for you, no matter what.”

You hold him tightly for a long moment, savoring his warmth and solidity. When you finally part, Carlos’ arm stays looped around your waist as he turns towards the dessert spread.

“So, I may have gone a little overboard at the bakery,” he admits with an unrepentant grin, waving his free hand at the sugary bounty. “But it’s been a rough day and you deserve to indulge a little.”

You can’t help but laugh, feeling some of the lingering heaviness dissipate at the pure, infectious joy on his face. Leave it to Carlos to try and solve everything with baked goods and affection.

“Well, when you put it that way,” you tease, leaning into his side, “I suppose I can’t say no to that face.”

“That’s the spirit!” Carlos crows, beaming at you with such adoration that it makes your heart squeeze. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he scoops up one of the frosted confections and holds it up to your lips. “Open wide, mi amor.”

You obediently take a bite of the sugary pastry, the rich flavors of doce de leite and buttery dough melting over your tongue. Carlos watches you with rapt attention, his eyes darkening slightly as you slowly lick a stray bit of frosting from the corner of your mouth.

His father clears his throat loudly behind you. “Ay dios mio, get a room you two!”

Carlos has the grace to look abashed, but you just grin unrepentantly at your future father-in-law as he shakes his head in mock exasperation.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Carlos says cheekily, surprising you by suddenly sweeping you up into his arms bridal-style.

You let out a squeak of surprise that quickly dissolves into delighted laughter as he starts carrying you toward the bedroom, peppering your face with noisy kisses. Over his shoulder, you catch Carlos Sr.’s indulgent smile and parting wink before the door swings shut behind you.

The rest of the evening passes in a sugary, affectionate haze. For the first time in as long as you can remember, the grief feels bearable, soothed by the love of your chosen family.

While the ache may never fully heal, you have a newfound sense of lightness in your heart.

As you lay tangled in the sheets later that night, Carlos’ arm a grounding weight around your waist, you send up a silent thank you to whatever cosmic forces brought this incredible man into your life.

And maybe, just maybe, your father can finally rest easy knowing his little girl found her way to happiness after all.

1K notes · View notes