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#I need a passion and I will make it. I demand you all begin to get invested in my universe I promise I’ll make stuff

pucksandpower · 1 month

Text

Best Laid Plans

Carlos Sainz x Vasseur!Reader

Summary: you were just supposed to be a means to an end — a way for Carlos to get back at your father for dropping him — but the best laid plans often go awry and you quickly become so much more than that

Warnings: 18+ content and manipulation

Note: did I spend the whole day writing this to celebrate Carlos’ win? Maybe …

So much love to @struggling-with-drivers for always giving me the best ideas

The warm Portuguese sun beats down on Carlos as he strolls through the luxurious resort grounds, trying and failing to shake the anger simmering inside him.

How could Ferrari do this to him? After all he has given to the team over the past few seasons? To be so unceremoniously dumped for Lewis fucking Hamilton is a slap in the face he can barely comprehend.

He kicks at the pebbled path, hands jammed in his pockets, catching the eye of a young woman lounging by the pool up ahead. She gives him a warm smile that does strange things to his insides for a moment before he recognizes her — Y/N Vasseur.

The reality of who she is hits Carlos like a truck. The daughter of the team principal who betrayed him.

An idea begins to form in Carlos’ mind, a cruel little seed taking root. If Ferrari wants to play hardball, he can play harder. And what better way to get back at Fred than through his precious daughter?

Putting on his most charming grin, Carlos changes course to approach you. “Y/N, fancy running into you here,” he lies easily. “I didn’t realize you were vacationing at this resort too.”

You sit up, shielding your eyes against the sun’s glare. “Carlos! What a pleasant surprise.” Your smile is bright and genuine, setting off warning bells in the back of Carlos’ mind. He quickly silences them — this is just collateral damage.

“I was just getting ready for a dip. Care to join me?” You gesture towards the welcoming blue waters.

Carlos pretends to consider it for a moment. “You know what, I would love to.”

Stripping off his shirt, he can’t help but sneak glances at your swimsuit-clad figure as you slide into the pool, telling himself it’s just for show. You really are stunning though, he has to admit. This might not be so difficult after all.

“So what’s a beautiful young woman like yourself doing all alone at a place like this?” Carlos asks once he’s waded in beside you.

You let out a tinkling laugh, sweeping wet hair away from your face. “Taking a much needed break from real life, I suppose. My job can be … demanding at times.”

That piques Carlos’ interest — to be quite honest, he had just assumed you did nothing all day. “Oh? Do tell, I’m fascinated.”

With a bashful look, you launch into an explanation of your high-powered career that genuinely impresses Carlos despite himself. You’re whip-smart, articulate, and passionate about your work in a way he can relate to.

“Wow,” he finds himself saying once you’ve finished. “I don’t know why, but I wasn’t expecting that from you. Not that I’m judging a book by its cover or anything!” He adds quickly at your arched eyebrow.

You let out another of those bright laughs. “Don’t worry, I get that a lot. People see a privileged girl and make all sorts of assumptions.”

There’s a hint of bitterness underlying the lightness of your tone that Carlos picks up on all too well. He knows what it’s like to be looked down on and underestimated.

“For what it’s worth, I think what you do is really impressive,” he finds himself saying honestly. “And anyone who thinks less of you for it is a fool.”

The words seem to catch you off guard for a moment before your expression melts into a warm smile. “Why Carlos Sainz, I do believe you’re flirting with me.”

He grins back unrepentantly. “Is it working?”

You pretend to consider it for a moment before laughing again. “Maybe a little.”

The flirtatious back-and-forth continues as you both float lazily in the pool, Carlos quickly getting caught up in the effortless fun of it. You match him quip for quip, parry for parry, in a way he’s not used to from women. It’s exhilarating and unexpected.

In fact, he’s so caught up in your company that he nearly forgets his original intention entirely. Until a stray thought brings the memory crashing back down … you’re Fred Vasseur’s daughter.

The realization is like a bucket of cold water being upended over Carlos’ head. What is he doing? This woman hasn’t done anything to wrong him. Going after you just to get petty revenge on your father is ugly and uncalled for. He should just be the bigger man, swallow the insult Ferrari dealt him, and move on.

But then he thinks about the disrespect, the callousness of dumping him like dead weight after all he bled for the team. Perhaps a little payback is in order after all.

With a wicked grin, Carlos begins swimming slowly towards you, an unmistakable glint in his eye. You seem to pick up on it, cheeks flushing ever so slightly. “What’s that look for?”

“Just thinking,” he murmurs once he’s close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath. “About how I could make this vacation even more … memorable.”

His heavy-lidded gaze drops to your lips for just a moment, but you catch it. You bite your lower lip unconsciously as heat blazes between you. “Is that so?”

“Mhmm,” Carlos all but purrs, reaching out to gently cup your jaw, thumb stroking over your cheekbone. You shiver despite the warmth of the day, eyelids fluttering. “If you’ll allow me?”

For a long stretch, you seem to be rendered speechless, pupils blown wide as you study his face intently. Then, so softly, “Yes.”

That’s all the permission Carlos needs before he’s crashing his lips against yours in a searing kiss.

The moment your lips meet his, it’s like a jolt of electricity courses through Carlos. He kisses you deeply, urgently, all thoughts of revenge or ill-intent evaporating from his mind. This is pure want, unbridled desire singing through his veins.

You return the kiss with equal fervor, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling him closer. Your mouth is warm, soft, pillowy — everything Carlos didn’t know he was craving until this very moment. He skims his hands over the slick curves of your body beneath the pool’s surface, marveling at the gasps and sighs he pulls from you with each exploratory touch.

When you finally break apart, you’re both panting heavily, faces flushed. Carlos drinks in the sight of you — hair tousled, lips swollen, and eyes dark with wanting. He’s never seen anything more beautiful.

“Carlos ...” You breathe his name like a prayer and something primal uncurls in his lower belly.

Instead of responding, he simply crushes his mouth to yours once more, walking you backward until your back gently hits the pool’s tiled edge. You let out a muffled moan as he settles between your parted thighs, the heated line of his body flush against yours.

One of his hands slides up over the soft skin of your ribs to cup your breast as you arch shamelessly into his touch. He drags his lips in hot, open-mouthed kisses along the line of your jaw and down the graceful column of your neck, relishing the way you keen beneath his attention.

“You feel so good, cariño,” he rumbles against the feverish skin just below your ear, punctuating the words with a deliberately slow roll of his hips that has you releasing a broken whimper. “So fucking perfect ...”

In this moment, with you writhing and mewling in his arms, Carlos has never been more grateful for his commitment to physical fitness. He knows he can keep this up all day if need be, ravishing you over and over until you’re a limp, sated puddle.

He runs his tongue in a scorching path up the side of your neck before returning to that sinful mouth, swallowing your desperate little moans hungrily. You cling to him as if he’s the only thing keeping you tethered, nails raking deliciously over his back and shoulders in a way that will surely leave marks. Carlos loves it, loves the proof of your passion painted on his skin in thin red lines.

Trailing his lips across the hinge of your jaw, he murmurs “Should we take this somewhere more private, princesa?”

You let out a shuddering breath, hips canting up instinctively to meet each roll of his. “God, yes ... please ...”

The sound of your needy whine sends a molten thrill straight to Carlos’ cock. He’s fully hard and aching for you, straining against his swim trunks with every second that passes. If possible, he wants you even more.

With a grunt of effort, he hooks his hands beneath your thighs and hikes your legs up around his waist in one swift motion. You let out a startled squeak that quickly dissolves into a moan as he shifts against you just right, creating delicious friction. Your arms wind around his neck as you bury your face in the curve where his neck meets his shoulder.

“You feel that, cariño?” Carlos rumbles darkly. “I can’t wait to be inside you. Stretching you so perfectly full of me. Will you be a good girl and take it? Every. Last. Inch?”

He emphasizes each of the final three words with a firm grind of his hips, rutting his rigid length against your clothed heat. Your back bows in response, mouth dropping open on a silent wail of pleasure. Carlos can feel your sticky wetness soaking through the thin material of your swimsuit bottoms and groans harshly.

“P-please ...” You keen, worrying his earlobe between your teeth. “I need you, Carlos. I need it so bad ...”

And just like that, the trance is broken. Carlos blinks, suddenly acutely aware that you’re grinding shamelessly against each other in the very public pool area of this high-end resort. A few pointed looks from other guests are enough to have a flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck.

Clearing his throat, he reluctantly pulls himself back and sets you on your feet. You let out a disappointed whimper that goes straight to his groin.

“P-perhaps we got a bit carried away, princesa,” Carlos huffs out a laugh, running a hand through his damp curls. “Why don’t we go somewhere a bit more … private to continue this?”

You bite your plump lower lip and Carlos has to resist the urge to lean forward and free it with his teeth. Nodding eagerly, you cast a look around before tugging his hand and heading for the exit, leaving a trail of water droplets in your wake.

Carlos follows eagerly, openly ogling the way your soaked swimsuit hugs every tantalizing curve. He’s never been so grateful for his decision to book one of the private beachfront villas at this resort — just a stone’s throw from where you’re leading him, he’ll finally be able to have you all to himself.

The thought has him semi-frantically fumbling for the keycard as you press urgent, open-mouthed kisses to any patch of bare skin you can find — his shoulder, his neck, the line of his jaw. By the time he gets the door open you’re both panting like you’ve run a marathon, desire thrumming white-hot through your veins.

The second you’re inside, Carlos has you pressed back against the door, forearms braced on either side of your head as he towers over you. For the first time, a flicker of uncertainty crosses your features and he’s abruptly reminded of who you are.

“Are you sure about this?” He murmurs lowly, searching your eyes. “Because if we do this, I can promise you there’s no going back for me, cariño.”

You visibly swallow hard but then give a small, determined nod. “I want this, Carlos. I want you.”

That’s all the confirmation he needs before he’s capturing your lips in another searing, desperate kiss that has you melting against him. He walks you backward, never breaking contact until the backs of your legs hit the edge of the plush bed. With a growl, he hooks his hands beneath your thighs and hitches your legs around his hips once more.

You let out a breathless giggle as he tumbles you both down onto the soft cotton sheets, immediately rolling until he’s blanketed by the gorgeous expanse of your body. God, you’re even more stunning like this — hair fanned out in a tousled riot, cheeks flushed and lips swollen, eyes glazed with naked wanting.

Carlos takes a moment just to appreciate the view, raking his eyes over every inch he can see. A tremor goes through you beneath his weighty gaze and he smirks, leaning down to trail open-mouthed kisses along the column of your slender throat.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this, princesa,” he rumbles against your overheated skin. “How many times I’ve thought about having you just like this, spread out beneath me and begging for it ...”

The truth is, he hasn’t thought about it at all until this very day. But something about the way your breath hitches and your hips cant up instinctively at his words makes Carlos want to keep going.

“I’ve watched you, you know,” he lies smoothly, relishing the full-body shiver that wracks your frame. He nips along the graceful line of your collarbone and you whine softly in the back of your throat. “Couldn’t tear my eyes away whenever you were around. Imagining what delicious little sounds you might make with my cock buried inside you ...”

You moan then, loud and unabashed as you tug needily at his hair to bring his mouth back up to yours. Carlos chuckles darkly into the kiss, reveling in how utterly desperate he’s managed to make you for him so quickly.

“Is this what you want, princesa? You want me to fuck you?” He keeps his tone a low, filthy rasp against the plush of your lips. “Hard and deep and ruthless until you can’t remember anything but my name on your tongue?”

“Yes!” The word rushes out in an urgent whine and Carlos lets out a feral growl, slamming his hips firmly against yours in one rough grind that has your mouth dropping open on a broken cry of ecstasy.

Moving with purposeful efficiency, he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your swimsuit bottoms and tugs them down over the swell of your hips and off completely. He shoves his own trunks down just far enough to free his throbbing length, giving it a few firm strokes to spread the pearling bead of precome over the swollen head.

With a low, heated look, Carlos hitches your legs over his shoulders and lines the blunt head of his cock up with your entrance. Just from this angle, he can see how slick and swollen you already are for him, glistening with arousal.

“Last chance, cariño,” he rumbles, rubbing himself in one deliciously torturous swipe through your folds and back again. You moan loudly, back bowing off the bed. “After this, I won’t be able to stop until you’re utterly ruined for anyone else’s touch ...”

The sound you make is practically inhuman, hand shooting out to grasp at his hip almost painfully hard. “Carlos … Carlos, please!”

Never one to deny such a desperate plea, Carlos braces one hand beside your head and slowly, inexorably begins to sink into your welcoming heat.

The tight, slick heat of your core enveloping Carlos inch by agonizing inch is utterly sublime. He has to grit his teeth and squeeze his eyes shut to keep from embarrassing himself right then and there. You’re impossibly tight, so perfectly molded to his shape — he’s never felt anything quite like it.

Beneath him, you keen softly as he stretches and fills you in one steady glide. Your fingernails bite crescent moons into the firm planes of his back as if you’ll fall apart if not anchored to him. Carlos rumbles his approval low in his chest at the sweet sting.

Once he’s fully sheathed, hips flush with yours, he pauses to simply bask in the feeling for a long moment. You feel so indescribably good wrapped around his throbbing length — hot and snug and fluttering subtly like your body can’t decide whether to grip him tighter or ease his way.

“Fuck, cariño ...” The words tear from Carlos’ throat in a ragged groan. “You feel incredible. So perfect for me.”

You whimper wordlessly in response, flexing and releasing your inner muscles in a way that has him seeing stars behind his eyelids. He captures your mouth in a filthy, demanding kiss to swallow your desperate little noises. It’s all he can do not to start pounding away with reckless abandon.

Pulling back slowly until just the thick head of his cock remains inside your clutching heat, Carlos locks eyes with you. Your pupils are blown wide, lips parted enticingly with each panting breath, the picture of wanton desire. He’s never seen anything so erotic in his life.

You must read the promise in his expression because suddenly you’re nodding frantically and chasing his retreating hips with a needy whine.

“Please, Carlos!” You keen desperately, nails scoring lines of fiery pleasure-pain down the rigid plane of his back. “I need it, I need you to-”

He doesn’t let you finish, snapping his hips forward in one hard thrust that buries him to the hilt. The broken cry that tears from your perfect lips goes straight to his dick.

Carlos repeats the harsh, punishing rhythm over and over, relishing the snug drag of your velvet walls against his aching cock. He soon has you a mewling, mindless mess beneath him, whining his name like a holy mantra with each powerful stroke.

“That’s it, princesa,” he rasps against the flushed curve of your neck, lips brushing saltily over your overheated skin. “Take it all for me. Every. Last. Fucking. Inch.”

As punctuation, he slams home with a sharp roll of his hips that has you keening shrilly and throwing your head back. You clutch at him desperately, meeting each heavy thrust in perfect counterpoint as he picks up the pace. The air is thick with the obscene sounds of skin sliding relentlessly together and your punched-out whimpers and moans.

Carlos has never felt so deliriously consumed by physicality before. It’s like his whole world has narrowed down to this moment, this connection of your joined bodies moving as one. He wants to burn the memory of how you feel, how you sound, how you taste, into his mind forever.

“Look at me,” he growls against the sweat-slick curve of your jaw when your eyes start to drift shut in ecstasy. “I wanna see those pretty eyes when you fall apart on my cock, princesa.”

You force your lids open with obvious effort, irises wild and hazy with lust. Carlos feels a molten surge of possessive desire lash through his veins at the sight. He slams into you with renewed fervor, savoring the high, desperate whine it punches from your parted lips.

“That’s it, cariño ... fuck, you’re exquisite like this.” His praise comes out in a ruined rasp but it seems to spur you on. Your nails dig bruising furrows into his lower back as you meet him thrust for bruising thrust.

Carlos can feel the telltale tightening and fluttering in your inner walls that signals your impending release like a vise grip around his cock. He wants nothing more than for you to shatter apart on his length. Slipping one hand between your sweat-slicked bodies, he finds the swollen bundle of nerves and rolls it firmly between calloused fingertips.

You release a strangled scream, back bowing off the mattress as white-hot pleasure spikes through you. “Carlos! Oh my god, Carlos, I’m … I can’t ...”

“Come for me, princesa,” Carlos encourages hoarsely against the side of your neck. He continues to work you over with nimble fingers in time with the punishing snap of his hips. “Let me feel you come apart all over my cock. Fucking soak it ...”

The guttural river of carnal filth coming from his lips seems to be the final straw, sending you crashing violently over the edge. You seize up around him with a shrill, sobbing wail, inner muscles clamping down in hot, pulsing waves. Carlos curses roughly, eyes squeezing shut against the unbelievable sensation of being massaged and milked for every drop.

If he thought the vice grip of your orgasm was intense, the aftermath is even more sublime. You lie utterly limp and boneless beneath him, still aflutter and fluttering in sweet, rhythmic clenches around his cock. He grits his jaw and fights to keep control, knowing he won’t last much longer buried in your intoxicating heat like this.

When you finally regain some coherency, eyes fluttering open with a dazed murmur of his name, Carlos pulls back slowly until just the throbbing crown remains inside. He intends to give you a brief respite before chasing his own thunderous release, but the moment he starts to withdraw your legs lock high around his hips.

“No ...” You keen, nails raking pleadingly down his back. The desperate craving in your tone very nearly undoes him. “Carlos, please. Don’t stop ...”

Growling low in his chest, Carlos immediately buries himself home once more — this time with a single, powerful thrust that has your brows shooting up as the air rushes from your lungs in a strangled cry. Clearly, you still need it as much as he does.

He fists one hand in the tousled hair at the nape of your neck, using the grip to tilt your head to one side as he lays a searing path of nips and sucking kisses along the exposed column. You shudder and whimper beneath him, utterly pliant and receptive to his claiming touches.

“Tell me what you want, cariño,” he rasps between rough drags of teeth over your thundering pulse point. He remains buried to the hilt, muscles bunched and quivering with the effort of holding himself rigid and still inside you. “Use your words and tell me.”

For a long moment, you seem too dazed and overwhelmed to reply. Then, in a small, wrecked voice, “I want … I want you to fuck me, Carlos. Please ...” Your eyes are glazed yet earnest, boring into his from beneath sooty lashes. “Don’t hold back. I need to feel you come too.”

A harsh groan is punched from Carlos’ lungs at your plea. Letting himself go and really taking you the way his body screams at him to would be heaven and hell all at once.

There’s likely no coming back from it — he’ll ruin you for anyone else’s touch, just as he warned. Once all is said and done, you’ll be irrevocably his in a way that frightens and exhilarates him to his core.

For a heart-stopping moment, he hesitates. And then you moan again — a thin, keening sound of utter desperation — and it’s like the last thread of Carlos’ control snaps completely.

“Hold on tight then, cariño ... because I won’t be able to stop.”

That’s the only warning he gives before pulling almost fully out and slamming back home in one brutal thrust that drives the air from your lungs on a high, shocked cry. He doesn’t let up from there — turning you over onto your belly and dragging your hips up onto his thighs so he can take you from behind in a series of ruthless, punishing strokes.

You quickly become an incoherent, sobbing mess beneath his onslaught, hands clawing uselessly at the sheets as he pounds into you again and again like he’s trying to split you apart. Carlos relishes the sharp smack of sweat-slick flesh on flesh, the strained crescendo of your hoarse wails, the drug-like delirium of being utterly surrounded and consumed by your scorching velvet grip.

It’s too much and not enough all at once. He clutches you flush against him, one big hand spread over your lower stomach like he could somehow force his cock impossibly deeper. The other winds around to toy and tug almost cruelly at your taut, reddened nipples — drawing out a stream of broken, overwhelmed whimpers.

Carlos has never felt more powerful. Body and mind, he owns you utterly in this moment. The thought is nearly enough to send him skating right over the edge into oblivion.

Instead, he jerks you up onto your knees fully so he can plunge into your straining, overworked sex at a different angle — this one hitting something deep inside that has you screaming hoarsely. He captures the wild thrash of your head in the curve of one sweat-slick bicep to bare the elegant line of your throat to his hungry mouth.

“Could you possibly have taken any more of me, princesa?” Carlos husks against the side of your neck, relishing the way it makes you tremble and clench even harder around his pistoning length. “You were made just to be split open on my cock ...”

You let out a garbled sound halfway between agreement and overwhelmed protest. Carlos snarls against your racing pulse, sucking a blatant mark of possession just below your jaw where everyone will be able to see before abruptly rolling you both back over.

He looms above you once more, grinding steadily into your core with deep, purposeful strokes that leave you writhing and wailing with over-stimulation. But Carlos isn’t finished yet — isn’t anywhere close to getting his fill.

“Look at me, cariño,” he commands in a guttural rasp, waiting with molten, heavy-lidded eyes until your lust-drunk stare meets his. “I need to see that pretty face when I come inside you ...”

His words seem to energize you somewhat, your eyes snapping sharper with renewed awareness.

And then, incredibly, you cunt flutters and grips down around him again in the unmistakable clutch of another orgasm ripping through you like a livewire. Carlos has to use every ounce of stamina and control not to follow you right over that blinding edge as you thrash and shriek beautifully beneath him.

By the time you come back down, cheeks flushed and chest heaving, Carlos is practically vibrating with the force of his impending release. His movements have taken on a desperate edge, hips snapping in erratic, forceful jabs as he chases that final blissful oblivion.

When your sated, velvety heat squeezes rhythmically one final time, Carlos throws his head back with his own roar of release. White-hot rapture spikes through every nerve ending as his balls tighten in excruciating bliss. His world narrows down to the exquisite pulsing of your sheathed depths rippling and drawing every last drop from him in endless, blistering waves.

It seems to stretch on forever, Carlos unable and unwilling to move from his impaled position even once the final shudders have wrung him dry. He simply remains blanketed over you, lungs heaving and muscles quaking with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

When he finally regains enough presence of mind to open his eyes and look down at you, the devotion burning in your spent, glowing expression makes his breath catch. For a long, fragile moment, it’s like you’re the only two people in the world.

Eventually, your eyes drift shut on a contented sigh and your body goes lax and pliant against the sheets once more. Carefully, Carlos eases out of your swollen, used entrance and rolls to collapse in a sweaty heap beside you. He immediately tugs you into his embrace, savoring the feeling of your damp, feverish skin pressed to his.

As you drift off to slumber coiled against his chest, Carlos presses a lingering, tender kiss to your crown and tightens his arms around you. He can feel the words pressing at his lips, straining to be released into the silence of this moment.

For now, he keeps them locked behind his teeth. But already he knows this isn’t simply lust or passion or a primal need for revenge that will fade with time. This was always meant to be more — something deeper …. everything Carlos never even realized he was missing until you stormed into his life in a whirlwind of smiles and secrets and blinding desire.

He’s in trouble now. Trouble of the very best kind.

***

Pale morning light filters in through the sheer curtains as Carlos blinks awake slowly. For a disoriented moment, he’s unsure of his surroundings — the rumpled white linens tangled around his naked body are certainly not what he’s used to waking up in.

Then the previous night’s events come rushing back in a heated wave. The pool … the frantic, desperate passion as he took you again and again until you were both hollowed out and sated … finally collapsing into a sweaty pile together. Carlos feels his chest tighten with a complicated swirl of emotions.

He turns his head on the pillow to find the source of the delicious warmth pressed along his side. And just like that, everything else falls away.

You’re tangled up with him still, one shapely leg hooked over his and an arm flung possessively across his torso. Loose riotous locks tickle Carlos’ skin where your face is half-buried in the curve of his neck.

He has to tamp down the overwhelming urge to pull you even closer, to wrap you in his arms and inhale the sweet, clean scent of your hair.

Like this — sleep-rumpled and soft in the morning’s buttery rays — you look almost unbearably lovely. An ache blossoms behind Carlos’ ribs as he studies the delicate fan of your lashes brushing flushed cheekbones and the gentle part of those full lips. Disheveled and without a stitch of make-up, you’re somehow even more breathtakingly beautiful.

Unconsciously, Carlos’ fingers find their way into your tangled tresses, lightly stroking and playing with the silken strands. You make a small, snuffling sound of contentment and burrow infinitesimally closer. He freezes, worried he’s disturbed your slumber, but your features remain smooth and serene.

He should get up. He should definitely get up and extract himself from this warm, addictive little bubble you’ve created before things go any further. This was only ever supposed to be a fling — a deliciously vindictive way to get back at your father for how he so callously cast Carlos aside.

Yet even as Carlos turns the thought over in his head, it rings hollow. What happened between you last night transcended anything so petty and cruel as revenge.

When he was sheathed so deeply inside you, your bodies moving in perfect sync like they were made for each other, Carlos felt something far more profound than just physical gratification. It was spiritual … cosmic, even, like every star in the universe had finally clicked into perfect alignment.

He should be disgusted with himself for having such saccharine notions. Carlos has always considered himself a realist — someone grounded in facts and figures, not given to romantic flights of fancy whatsoever. Yet here he is, helplessly mooning over a woman he barely knows all because of one night of incredible sex.

Except … Carlos is self-aware enough to recognize there was more to it than that, even if he can’t put words to the feeling yet. Some invisible cord has been lashed between you in a knot that feels unbreakable. Some intangible shift has occurred in his perspective that he can’t seem to walk back from.

Perhaps you sensed it too in the way you gazed at him afterwards — not just satiated, but glowing with a sort of wondering, naked adoration far too profound for a mere fuck. Carlos knows he should have been unnerved by the depth of emotion in your spent, happy features. And yet, he only felt it mirrored and compounded tenfold within himself.

With a frustrated huff, he tugs you closer and burrows his face into your hair, allowing your warm, comforting scent to soothe his wildly spiraling thoughts. You make another soft sound and your fingers twitch where they’re splayed over his ribs — reflexively trying to pull him in even tighter.

“What are you doing to me, princesa?” Carlos murmurs, low and graveled, against the crown of your head. “This isn’t how it was supposed to go at all ...”

Because the truth is, this was never meant to be anything more than a fleeting dalliance — an explosive joining of bodies and nothing more. But now that he’s had you, had this bone-deep connection to you, Carlos doesn’t think he can let it go so easily. The prospect of never again feeling you wrapped so perfectly around him in every sense of the word is abruptly gut-wrenchingly awful.

Which leaves him at an impasse. Because you … you are the daughter of the very man who unceremoniously discarded Carlos like an old rag after he gave everything to Ferrari. The offspring of the person who threw him away in a way that cut all the way to his core.

How could he possibly pursue anything real with you after that? It would be a horrific conflict of interests and constantly make things unbearably awkward, to say the very least. Not to mention Carlos has no idea if you even want more than just this one night of passion between you anyway. Perhaps to you he really was just an itch to scratch, a bout of impulsive lust to take the edge off before moving on.

The thought makes his stomach churn with jealousy so potent he has to physically swallow it back. Which … is not great, all things considered.

Tilting your head back with the lightest touch beneath your chin, Carlos studies your soft features searchingly. Perhaps if he stares hard enough, he’ll find some hint of deception or shallowness there. Some glaring evidence that this insane sense of yearning he feels is all one-sided — a misguided obsession brought on by the sort of euphoric sex one can never quite recapture once the high fades. He could use that as his cue to bow out now while you’re still tangled up together so prettily.

But even as he looks, really looks, all Carlos sees is the serene picture of a thoroughly satisfied, openly contented woman. There’s no shuttered gaze or pinched expression betraying any darker thoughts and feelings. Just blissed-out joy written in every relaxed line of those lovely features.

Something in Carlos’ chest cracks wide open at the realization that this is real for you too. You’re not just some meaningless one-off fling, but a woman who seems to have had her entire world upended in the same way his has been over the span of one incredible night.

“Carlos?” You murmur then, voice husky and slurred with the remnants of sleep as your lashes flutter open. “What’s wrong, mon beau?”

Your endearment sends a shockwave of tenderness and want pulsing through him straight to the roots. Carlos shakes his head minutely, winding one hand into your hair to hold you steady so he can simply … bask in your presence for a while.

“Nothing’s wrong, princesa,” he assures you lowly, thumb stroking gently over the arch of your cheekbone. “I just woke up early and got a little lost in my head for a bit there, that’s all.”

That small, secret smile he’s rapidly becoming addicted to tugs at your lips as your eyes rove languidly over his face. Your hand comes up to rest over his thundering heartbeat with surprising tenderness.

“Well then allow me to bring you back to the present. Right here with me.”

Your tone has taken on that rich sultriness from last night that shoots straight to his groin. Before Carlos can so much as draw breath to respond, you’re rising up to seal your mouth over his in a searingly passionate kiss.

He groans instantly, every atom of his being tuned to your frequency in a way that’s swiftly becoming terrifyingly natural. Carlos’ hands roam hungrily over your naked curves of their own volition, relearning each dip and swell through the silken glide of skin on skin.

When you break apart at last, you’re both thoroughly breathless and aroused. Carlos splays one big hand over the small of your back and simply holds you flush against him, savoring the feeling of your racing heart thundering in tandem with his own. He brushes kiss-swollen lips along the line of your jaw, prompting a delicious shiver.

“Don’t think for one second that I’ve had even a fraction of my fill of you yet, cariño,” he rasps against the feverish skin just below your ear, using his free hand to tug your head back so he can access the soft column of your throat. “You’ve addicted me beyond any chance of recovery now.”

Your breath hitches as he latches his mouth just above your thundering pulse point and sucks a blatant mark. Carlos revels in the needy whimpers spilling from your lips with each pass of his tongue over the tender patch of skin. He needs to mark you, claim you, render you unmistakable as his in every possible way.

“Carlos ...” You keen, back arching like a drawn bow as he continues trailing open-mouthed kisses down the slope of your neck and over your collarbones. “What are you saying?”

He pulls back to meet your heavy-lidded gaze, searching intently for permission to continue with what he suspects you’re asking. And there it is — desire and hope and invitation burning brightly in your soulful eyes, practically begging him to put words to this singular thing blazing between you.

Cupping your face in both hands, Carlos holds your rapt stare as he slowly, reverently presses a soft, lingering kiss to your slightly parted lips. You melt into him, one hand coming up to clutch desperately at his bicep.

“I’m saying,” he murmurs against the plush give of your pretty mouth. “That I can’t simply let this be the end, princesa. Not anymore. Not after experiencing what it feels like to be so exquisitely connected with someone in every possible way.”

The smile you give him in answer is as incandescent and warm as a living flame. You don’t attempt to contain the rush of emotion threatening to overwhelm you. Instead, you simply wind your arms around Carlos’ neck and pull him down into a molten kiss that somehow manages to convey every single infinite feeling ricocheting between your bodies.

He suddenly feels so overwhelmingly lucky in that moment. Lucky to have crossed paths with you by happenstance. Lucky that, by some miracle, he didn’t allow bitterness or pain or preconceived notions to blind him to your kindness and warmth and inherent goodness despite how this whole crazy thing started in his mind.

Because yes, you are the daughter of the man who turned his life and career upside down. But here, pressed against you, Carlos can feel the truth resonating through his bones — you are so much more than any of that.

And for the first time in his life, Carlos cannot fathom the idea of anything frightening him away.

***

The frantic Melbourne nightlife whirls and pulsates around Carlos in a dizzying kaleidoscope of neon lights and pounding basslines. Normally he would revel in the thrum of energy and excess — drinking in the atmosphere and feeding off the infectious exhilaration. But tonight, seated alone in the VIP lounge of one of the city’s most exclusive clubs, he finds his attention utterly undivided.

You stand out like a siren among the raucous crowd, every tilt of your hips and toss of your hair captivating Carlos completely.

He tracks the line of your body shamelessly as you sway and twist to the driving beat, that tantalizing little red dress riding up to reveal glimpses of toned, silky thighs that make his mouth water. A fine sheen of sweat glistens enticingly along your collarbones and in the hollow of your throat, no doubt making your overheated skin taste like salted caramel.

The urge to slide up behind you and drag his tongue along that slender, tempting slope is damn near overwhelming. He can vividly picture himself molding his larger frame against your softly undulating form, one hand spanning possessively across your lower belly to grind the rapidly stiffening ridge of his arousal against the lush swell of your rear.

He imagines precisely how you would react — arching back against him with a shuddering gasp, fingers threading into his hair to tug his mouth down upon yours in a frantic, needy kiss. How you would whimper and writhe against him, uncaring of the very public surroundings as desire rapidly whited everything else out ...

Almost as if sensing the scorching path of Carlos’ thoughts, you glance over your shoulder and catch his eye from beneath the veil of your lashes. That sly, inviting little smile immediately kicks his pulse into overdrive and lights a slow bloom of liquid heat unfurling in his lower belly.

With a crooked finger and a subtle uptilt of your chin you summon him to your side. And like the hopeless fool he is, Carlos rises instantly and crosses the small distance to enfold you in his arms from behind.

“Having fun out here without me, cariño?” He murmurs in your ear, lips brushing the sensitive shell so he feels the full-body shiver that wracks through you.

You lean back into his embrace, all soft curves and intoxicating jasmine scent. “I’m always having fun when I’m with you, Mr. Race Winner,” you sigh as your fingers trail delicately down the solid line of his biceps. “Even if we’re just sitting around doing nothing.”

The words are simple — honest and unguarded in a way that makes Carlos’ heart seize in his chest. For two people who came together in a wild collision of lust and passion, it’s moments like these that continually remind him of how much deeper your connection truly runs. Far beyond mere physicality into some soul-binding and unbreakable place.

You must sense the shift in his energy because you turn in his arms, expression questioning but so openly caring it nearly steals Carlos’ breath away. Tenderly, you cup his jaw and search his eyes.

“What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours, hmm?”

He shakes his head minutely, leaning down to brush his lips across your forehead before pulling you snug against his chest. You settle easily into the circle of his arms like that’s the most natural place in the world, cheek pillowed over his steadily thrumming heart.

“Nothing to worry about, princesa,” Carlos assures you gruffly, stroking soothing circles over the warm bare skin of your back. “Just feeling … lucky, I suppose. To have found someone like you.”

The words seem to catch you off guard and you pull back slightly to study his face, mouth curved in that secretive little smile that always makes Carlos’ stomach swoop.

“Well, I certainly feel the luckiest woman on Earth,” you tease lightly, booping his nose in a playful gesture that somehow serves to implant roots deep in Carlos’ soul rather than make him roll his eyes.

Instead, he just gazes at you for a long, weighted moment, allowing himself to simply bask in your presence. In the soft beauties that first drew him in — that delicate blush that finds its way across your nose and cheekbones, the little crinkles that bloom when your smile widens to that mega-watt, face-splitting beam, and those soulful eyes that never fail to pin Carlos helplessly in place.

Then there are the quieter, more intimate details he’s gradually uncovered the deeper he delves into your connection. The barely-there laugh lines at the corners of your eyes when you’re feeling particularly pleased about something. The trick of tugging on your lower lip with your teeth when you’re aroused and trying not to show it. The subtle furrow that appears between your brows when you’re concentrating intently on something.

Carlos knows them all now like geography he was born to navigate.

Without conscious thought, he smooths his thumbs over your jaw and guides you up into a slow, thorough kiss that has both your pulses kicking into overdrive. You whine quietly into his mouth, winding your arms around his neck and arching against him in ways that instantaneously have him hard and aching. But Carlos doesn’t give in to the heated urgency coursing through his bloodstream.

Instead, he keeps the languid glide of his lips over yours unhurried and leisurely — savoring the sensation of you pliant and receptive beneath his seduction. You seem to shake off your initial fervor as well, melting further into the molten drag of his mouth claiming yours over and over.

This too is a geography Carlos has long since mastered. The precise angle he needs to tilt his head to slot your bodies effortlessly flush together. The soft, mewling noises he can coax out of you with carefully applied suction to your plush lower lip. The tiny shudders when he swipes his tongue in long, slick caresses over the roof of your mouth.

You’re practically vibrating with restraint by the time he finally releases your mouth with an obscene, wet pop. Your lips are swollen and glistening, glistening with shared wanting. Carlos hums deep in his chest and brushes the pad of his thumb over the slick fullness reverently.

“So impatient, cariño,” he chides with a wolfish grin that has your nipples visibly peaking beneath the thin lace bodice. “You know that’s not what I had in mind for tonight.”

With an adorable little pout, you wind your arms around his neck once more. “And what, pray tell, did you have in mind?”

A dozen filthy scenarios immediately clamor for attention in Carlos’ head. Having you right here, up against the wall of this secluded VIP area. Bending you over the sleek lines of one of the low leather couches. Finding a shadowed alcove and sinking to his knees before you, nosing aside those delicate strips of lace to ...

He banishes each carnal thought before it can take root and produce visible effect. Tangling his fingers through the soft tresses at the nape of your neck, Carlos brings your foreheads together with a soft smile.

“I thought we might enjoy a moonlight stroll along the beach actually,” he murmurs, relishing the way your disappointed huff ruffles against his skin. “Just you and me under the stars, far away from the noise and crowds for a while.”

You regard him dubiously for a moment before seeming to melt at whatever expression Carlos doesn’t realize he’s allowed to show through. As always, you give in far too easily to his indulgent whims.

With a soft, fond roll of your eyes, you press up on your toes to drop a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Of course, mon amour. Just you and me under the stars.”

Twenty minutes later finds you ambling hand in hand down a pristine stretch of beach in the Middle Park suburb. The warm, salty breeze gusts gently over your skin, carrying traces of coconut sunscreen and the briny musk of the sea. Foamy waves lap invitingly against the silvered sands as Carlos steers you towards a small, isolated cove.

He procures a large woven blanket from his bag and unfurls it in a clear spot before tugging you down into the plush nest of fabric. You immediately gravitate into his space — curling against his side and tucking yourself beneath his arm like that’s where you were always meant to fit. For Carlos’ part, he cherishes the easy affection and careless intimacy of the simple gesture more than you’ll ever know.

You spend what could be minutes or hours like that — exchanging lazy kisses and sipping from a shared bottle of wine as the moon rises ever higher overhead. After a while, Carlos sprawls onto his back and you quickly drape yourself half-atop him so he can leisurely card his fingers through your windswept tresses.

The soft, steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear combined with the soothing sounds of the lapping tide soon have your eyelids drooping. Carlos has never felt so at peace — this sublime bubble with you the single point around which the rest of the universe spins, perfectly in balance.

“Hey,” you mumble against the warm, sleep-rumpled fabric of his shirt. “Aren’t you the one always saying we should be living in the present?”

He huffs a quiet laugh, stroking one hand down the dip of your spine to rest possessively at the base. “What brings that up all of a sudden?”

You shift enough to look up at him through your lashes, eyes molten with a familiar heat that shivers down Carlos’ spine.

“I’m just wondering what’s got you stuck in your head so often these days,” you counter smoothly, punctuating the observation by swinging one leg over his hips so you can settle atop him fully, careful not to disturb his still-tender stitches. “We’ve barely been able to share … intimate moments at all the last month or so.”

Carlos sucks in a sharp breath as your weight settles over the rapidly stiffening ridge of his arousal. His hands find your hips of their own volition, squeezing reflexively as you begin moving atop him in a slow, undulating rhythm.

“Perhaps I’ve been overtly romantic,” he allows through gritted teeth, letting his head thunk back against the blanket as desire rapidly thrums through his veins. “Missing out on more … physical expressions of passion just because I wanted to remind both of us that this is built on so much more than lust.”

You hum thoughtfully, sitting up fully and swaying atop him in a way that has Carlos rapidly losing his tenuous grasp on reality beyond this blissful patch of the world containing just the two of you. He’s fully hard and straining against the loose linen of his slacks within moments.

“Then maybe we should do something about that right now,” you breathe huskily, arching your back in an inhumanly graceful roll that leaves Carlos’ mouth dry as the Sahara. His hands track helplessly up the delicious curves of your waist, bunching the delicate material of your dress around your hips.

He sits up to meet you so suddenly your foreheads nearly crack together. You release a breathless giggle that Carlos hungrily swallows with his lips, trapping you in a searing kiss filled with all the smoldering hunger he’s been studiously keeping banked for weeks now.

Mindlessly, he chases the taste of you over and over — salty and sweet and everything he’s been desperately starving himself for. His fingers fumble at the tie closures along your ribs until the bodice finally falls away, baring your breasts to his gaze and seeking hands.

You gasp softly into the heated seal of his mouth when Carlos’ calloused palms close over your soft, pliant flesh. He cups and kneads with reverent, possessive strokes that have you quickly arching your chest further into his touch and throwing your head back on a wanton moan.

“Carlos ...” You breathe his name like a prayer, riding his lap with increasing urgency and bringing your mouths back together in a clash of teeth and tongues. Your fingers slide up beneath the hem of his shirt to map the shifting planes of his abdomen, nails raking over the taut, quivering muscles. “Don’t hold back with me any longer. Not tonight … need to feel all of you.”

A shudder wracks Carlos’ entire frame at your breathy plea. He knows you’re right, can feel that same desperate yearning driving you magnified inside himself. Every cell of his body is vibrating with the need to take you fully — heart, mind, and body aligning in euphoric harmony after so many weeks of well meaning denial.

Seizing your hips in a bruising grip, Carlos surges to his feet and simply holds you against him with easy strength. Your legs immediately wind around his waist as you giggle deliriously against his lips.

“Is this what you want, princesa?” He murmurs lowly, swaying subtly to grind his straining need over the lush juncture of your thighs in counterpoint. “For me to finally have my way with you the way we’ve both been craving?”

“Yes,” you hiss out through clenched teeth, back arching as Carlos nips and sucks a path down the slender column of your neck. “God, yes, Carlos. Will you just fuck me already? Here on the sand and beneath the open sky like something out of one of those romance novels you pretend not to love.”

The easy teasing breaks through whatever lingering threads of Carlos’ control were still intact and he growls low in his chest. In one deft motion, he divests you both of the rest of your clothes and spreads you out on the blanket before him in all your unabashed glory. His gaze tracks over your form hungrily, drinking in every dip and swell as you watch him with dark, wanting eyes.

“Princesa ...” Carlos breathes, gratified to see his own desire and reverent longing reflected back at him tenfold in your heated stare. “No more waiting, no more teasing.”

His meaning is clear even without the punctuation of sinking down to settle fully over your smaller form, blanketing you with his weight and forcing your thighs apart to cradle his hips. You immediately writhe beneath him, winding limber arms and legs around him in a vice grip that sears every point of contact between you.

“Carlos, mon cœur ...” You keen breathily into the scant space separating your lips, every word punched from you in counterpoint to the sensual roll of his hips grinding his arousal through your slick folds. “Please. I need you. Need to feel you all around me again after so long.”

He crushes his mouth to yours in answer, tongue instantly delving deep to taste the exquisite velvet heat of you. You clutch him closer even as Carlos shifts his weight to one forearm so his other hand can roam freely over every inch of bare, pebbled skin he can reach. When his calloused palm finally finds your breast and gives a rough squeeze, you shudder and cry out into his waiting lips.

There’s no more waiting after that. Carlos sheaths himself in one powerful, purposeful thrust that buries him to the hilt and your gasp dissolves into a broken moan. He stills for the briefest of moments, just reveling in the unbearably tight clutch of your molten sheath, every nerve ending alight and thrumming. Then he slowly withdraws until just the swollen head remains inside before immediately surging forward once more.

Your nails score lines of liquid fire down his back at the first deep, dragging stroke. But Carlos barely notices the delicious sting. He’s utterly consumed by the feeling of finally being surrounded by you again — hot, snug, and so utterly perfect. Every sound and shudder and arch of your form against his own is like the sweetest plea washing over him.

He sets a demanding pace, relentlessly pounding into you from that first jarring thrust onward. The only sounds are your mingled cries and the wet, obscene smack of flesh on flesh echoing out over the lapping ocean waves. Carlos wants to make sure there’s no doubt in your mind how much he’s craved every inch of you.

“There’s my good girl,” he rasps hotly against the bullet-hard peak of your nipple before laving it soothingly with his tongue. You release a strangled cry, back bowing sharply off the blanket as you clench down on him in rippling, vice-like pulses. “Fuck … taking me just how you were made to. So damn perfect, cariño.”

Your garbled whimpers and keens of his name drive Carlos to new levels of feverish intensity with each hitching breath. He snakes an arm beneath your sweat-slick lower back to position your hips at a slightly higher angle, seating himself even more deeply inside.

Every purposeful thrust now grinds against that tender cluster of nerves in a way that quickly has your eyes rolling back. You go boneless and whimpering, allowing Carlos to manhandle and use your plaint and plush form in whatever way he craves.

Pressure rapidly mounts within Carlos like an incoming tidal wave as your inner walls begin fluttering around him in telltale pulses. He can feel his own imminent release building in tandem at the base of his spine, that familiar molten curl of pleasure threatening to crest.

“That’s it, princesa,” he grits out raggedly against the sweat-slick arch of your throat. He slides the hand not anchoring your hips down to toy with the engorged pearl at your apex — drawing out a stream of sobbing wails. “Take what’s yours. Fucking milk me with that greedy little cunt. You were made for this cock, made to be split open and ruined on it over and over until you’ve got no idea where you end and I begin.”

The filthy words seems to be your undoing. With a sobbing cry of Carlos’ name, you seize up — inner walls rippling and convulsing like they’re taking him for everything he’s worth. Carlos hardens his jaw and summons the last threads of his control to keep himself from shattering apart at the very first fluttering pulse.

As the shattering waves of your release gradually crest and ebb, Carlos chases them down with powerful thrusts designed to prolong and intensify every aftershock. You writhe and whimper beneath him in overstimulated pleasure, rapidly going boneless and sated.

That’s when he finally surrenders to the smoldering inferno in his belly, hips snapping forward in a few final, erratic strokes before Carlos throws back his head and allows his own orgasm to rip through him. White-hot euphoria explodes across every nerve ending as he empties himself in heavy, throbbing pulses deep inside your spasming core.

“Ah fuck … just like that, cariño,” he rasps out hoarsely, grinding himself as deeply inside you as physically possible and simply shuddering through each exquisite contraction. “Taking every last fucking drop of me right where you were made for it ...”

Utterly spent, Carlos collapses forward with the last dregs of his stamina — just barely managing to catch himself on shaking forearms so he doesn’t crush you beneath his weight. You immediately latch onto him, peppering his flushed face with sweet kisses.

For several long moments, you simply hold each other through the aftershocks, chests heaving and bodies trembling. Carlos has never felt more peaceful or completely at ease in his entire life. His every sense is utterly surrounded and suffused by you in the most blissful of ways.

When his lashes finally flutter open, the first thing he sees is your adoring smile glowing up at him in the moonlight. It nearly steals what little breath remains in his lungs.

“Hi,” you murmur shyly. Carlos huffs out a breathless chuckle and tugs you even closer until your overwarm bodies are aligned from navel to sternum.

“Hi yourself, princesa,” he replies, just as softly against your lips before sinking into another deep, leisurely kiss that tastes equal parts salt and sex and forever.

When you part again, your eyes are sparkling with so much uncomplicated happiness that Carlos nearly melts into a useless puddle on the spot. He’s drowning and he’s never felt more gloriously unmoored.

“I love you, y’know? Like … down to the depths of my soul,” your fingers trail over the sharp jaw and cheekbones you now know better than your own.

The words should terrify Carlos with their intensity and implication. Instead, they simply roll through him in a cresting wave of overwhelming tenderness and clarity.

Of course he loves you. How could he not, when his existence now seems to revolve around your presence as the only fixed point in a dizzying orbit?

So rather than balk or deflect or shove those emotions back down, Carlos allows every infinite but of love and adoration and soul-deep need to shine through unfettered. He cradles your face between his palms and simply stares, committing every minuscule detail of this moment to memory before leaning down to brush his lips over yours in the sweetest, most loaded caress.

“I love you too, princesa,” he murmurs the words directly into your mouth like a sacrament. “With every fiber of my being. You are my everything.”

You tug him down into a heated, clinging embrace, holding him like you never intend to let go.

And at last, Carlos knows without a shadow of doubt that he never will either

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kquil · 2 months

Text

JAMES POTTER | NO MORE HOCKEY PLAYERS!

REQUEST. : I think this might be too vague but can I request IceHockey!James x Reader angst with fluffy ending. I'm acc in love with the way you write him 🤍🤍 ⏤requested by anon

LENGTH : 1.9k

TAGS : modern au ; muggle au ; ice hockey player james potter ; enemies to lovers? but not really? ; enemies by association to lovers? ; protective james potter ; precious reader ; oc!andrew ; reader in a bad relationship ; james being the knight in shining hockey gear ; angst with fluff ending

WARNINGS : toxic relationship ; mentions of mistreatment in a relationship

You knew what was coming. It was something you were used to seeing, to dealing with in the two years you’ve been dating Andrew. As captain of the Ice Hockey team at Imperial College London and playing the Right-Wing Forward position, he was oftentimes compared to his more prominent, more celebrated counterpart, James Potter.

James Potter was the Ice Hockey captain of his team at UCL and also played the Right-Wing Forward position. Through this similarity, they were often compared and Andrew was beyond irritated by the fact. Irritated and fed up. James never appeared to mind the comparisons, however. In fact, he took it in stride because, in his eyes, the results of a fair game will put the constant equating to rest.

Andrew was passionate about the sport, he really was, his position as Captain was evidence of that dedication, however the constant comparisons in his ear made him highly aggressive on top of his already present anger issues. It wasn’t like this in the beginning, he was once very sweet and caring towards you, aware of your needs and was as much of a best friend as he was your boyfriend. Yes, you weren’t exempt from the occasional disagreement or shouting competition but it’s been so much worse as of late.

Just a couple of months ago, he lost a game to James’ team and finally snapped to the point that he managed to make the usually grinning and charming James Potter flush red with anger and commenced a screaming match that inaugurated an infamous rivalry between the two. That one win against him was also the tipping point for all the whispers comparing the two to sharply peak in favour of James. Now, there was always an undertone of James being viewed as the better one of the two. More charismatic, more diligent, more empathetic, more resilient, more consistent, more respectable… more handsome. All of which fanned the flames of your boyfriend’s anger until it reached dangerous levels.

The matches against them were, now, much more exhilarating but also much more aggressive. It frightened you the first time you saw them play against each other after that horrific encounter the previous game. This wasn’t a good display of sportsmanship. They were like two lions going after each other’s throats, pushing and shoving and colliding at top speeds, baring their teeth menacingly but neither side conceding defeat – they refused to surrender; one had to fall for the other to rise. It was horrifying to witness. You worried for Andrew but you also worried for James. They were both equal in brawn and stature so anything could happen to either side and they weren’t the least bit shy in making their belligerent intentions known. Bruises and sore limbs were expected from the sport but you feared that something more serious could be anticipated in the conflict between the two.

Your heart was almost ready to burst out of your chest when each game began and ended. It didn’t help that you were a frequent witness to Andrew’s harsh criticism towards his own team. Due to his frustrations and boiling anger, he demanded more of himself and, by extension, demanded more of his teammates as well. Many times, you tried to remind him of the fact that he wasn’t going about disciplining or encouraging his team in the right way. A familiar confrontation once became a huge fight that his teammates had to get in the middle of, worried for you, who they had come to think of as part of their own and, vice versa. Gradually, his support from the team dwindled, which meant that, during his combative encounters with James in the rink, he was slowly being left on his own with no one to assist him. He was playing at a higher risk each game and it hurt you to watch. Your love might have dwindled during Andrew’s self-destructive tirade but that didn’t mean you didn’t care for his well-being.

The result was inevitable. Owing to the lack of support from his own teammates and having to counter James’ antagonistic plays by himself, Andrew’s anger and jealousy grew and grew. It was a slap to the face when, at every re-match, his self-sabotaging behaviour led to James and his team’s victory. It was predictable, even for you, but you supported Andrew through it all.

At the end of the match, Andrew sulked in the locker rooms while the rest of the team hurried away, disgruntled by their captain’s pathetic plays, selfish agenda and mistreatment towards them when pinning all the blame for their loss solely on their lack of collaboration when, truly, he was the only one to blame.

“It’ll be okay, Andy–”

“Shut up!” his roaring shout bounced off the walls of the empty locker room. His voice echoed with mourning, betrayal and burning hot rage. It made your shoulders tense from the rising tension.

“Andrew, the way you’re acting i-it isn’t right–!” you tried to reason with him despite his hulking form and much larger frame intimidating you. He didn’t even have to look into your eyes for a shiver to run down your spine; the slamming of his locker door, the throwing of his clothes and the reckless handling of his equipment was enough to make you flinch each time.

“YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO TELL ME WHAT’S RIGHT OR WRONG!” he argues through clenched teeth, pushing the locker room doors open and letting it swing back, almost hitting you as you scurry up behind him.

“Well, you should, at least, try!” In a moment of bravery, you puff out your chest and glare at him, your eyes shining with thinly disguised disappointment and fear. He wasn’t like the Andrew you knew at all… this horrible, violent person was nothing like the Andrew you fell in love with two years ago, “I know you can be a great captain but you’re running yourself and your own team into the ground! Learn to put your ego aside for once!”

“WHY YOU!-- WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT TO LECTURE ME?!” his large hand raises and comes swinging down. It’s too late to react, you can only pinch your eyes closed and wait for the impact to come with clenched teeth.

“WHAT RIGHT DO YOU HAVE TO HIT HER?!”

The hit never came. Instead, your eyes snap open to stare in shock at James Potter gripping the wrist of your boyfriend and pushing him away as he tucks you behind him. Too shocked at the situation and the sudden appearance of your boyfriend’s counterpart, you can’t help but just gape at the situation.

No no no! This isn’t meant to happen! You should have left the argument in the locker room!

“She’s my girlfriend! Dipshit!” Andrew snarls and tries to reach for you again but James steps in the way, blocking your view. He’s a solid mountain between you and your irate boyfriend. For the first time in a long time, you felt safe.

“That gives you even less of a right, not that you had any right to hit anyone to begin with,” James pants lightly, his heightened anger making him feel as though he’s run a mile, “If she’s your girl, you should treat her better! Acting like this after a loss is pathetic but pinning it onto your lady is disgusting!” James can handle rough play on the rink because he’s trained for it and he’s grown the thick skin to endure all kinds of impacts. But, when he sees violence like this outside the rink, it’s beyond infuriating, it makes him see red, it makes him want to throw all manner of good will out the window and go charging in like a stubborn bull.

“Fuck! Off!” Andrew shoves him away and grabs your upper arm, tugging you away without any regard for the force in his grip. It happened much too quickly that you couldn’t comprehend everything until you felt a stinging pain bloom in your arm under his grip.

“Ow!… Andrew, stop, please! You’re hurting me!”

“I don’t care! Hurry! Up!” he gives another aggressive tug and you squeal from the pain, willing yourself to suppress it so as to not anger him further. But your cry of hurt was enough to set off an unbelievable chain reaction.

There was a dull but harsh THUMP as James’ clenched fist collides with Andrew’s face, sending him sprawling as two gentle hands come up to your shoulders and gently pull you away from the scene. Those same two hands turn you around and carefully move down to press against your lower back, acting as a guide to lead you a safe distance away. The girl introduces herself as Alice, the girlfriend of Frank, who was the goalie of the UCL team. She leads you with a sympathetic smile past the rest of the James’ teammates, who face forward and grit their teeth at what they were just the witnesses to, some even stepping forward. Whether they wanted to join in or not, you didn’t find out but one was tall with mousy brown hair and the other had dark black hair against pale paper skin and grey eyes – the left defence and the centre of the UCL team.

“You’re okay…” Alice whispers softly, hurrying you along as the sound of punches begin to echo through the hallway, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,”

As tears slip past your lash line, a shaky whimper escapes your bitten lips and you accept her comfort with a small nod.

Suffice to say, you and Andrew broke up. And for good reason. Many people couldn’t even fathom that someone as soft-hearted and sweet as you would ever give someone like Andrew the time of day when you deserved so much more. What they don’t understand is that he was never like that when you first met… but, you suppose, he finally showed his true colours. But thanks to that, you’ve sworn off dating hockey players ever again!

“Oh!” a happy acknowledgement sounds and draws your eyes up to see a handsome, boyish grin beaming down at you, “It’s you!” His freshly washed locks drip with water and he moves to close the locker room door behind him when his words bring the attention of curious eyes from the rest of his team, all peaking a glimpse of you around his frame.

“Yeah…” you smile softly, nerves shaking anxiously as your hands clasp together for some stability, “sorry for suddenly showing up,”

“It’s alright,” James’ beaming smile doesn’t fade the slightest bit as his eyes shine with relief, “I’m just glad you’re looking okay,”

“Yeah, all thanks to you,” the compliment makes him flush bashfully as a large hand comes up to rub the back of his neck. For a guy with a bear-like frame, he pulls off the adorable puppy look pretty well.

“Did you watch the game?” he hurries to change the topic and instead of answering, you hold up a cutely wrapped batch of homemade cookies. Andrew was once the only person who had exclusive access to your home baked goodies but he lost that privilege a long time ago. It’s time to associate your baking with something (someone) more positive and deserving.

“Wow! Thanks!” James eyes your offer with wide eyes and was already drooling from the sugary scent in the air, seducing him into taking it and having a bite. You smile at his moans of gratification and allow his free flowing compliments to boost your confidence, “will you be coming to our next game?” he suddenly asks, catching you off guard.

“Uhh..--”

“Please come,” his eyes plead with you but when you don’t answer, he bargains, “I’ll win it for you,”

No more hockey players be damned.

A/N : i love writing hockey player james potter too~ he's just so dreamy! ahhhhh! it's probably one of my favourite aus of james potter! (,,o // o,,) thank you so much for the request, anon-darling! im so sorry for taking so long, i hope you enjoy the read!

NAVI.

TAGLIST : @melinajenkins @aastonishment @until-i-found-you @corp0real @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @chaosofmanyfandoms @storyofaromance @loving-and-dreaming @somewereinthegalaxi @ashreblogsficshere @cassandra-nerezza-black @stray-bi-kids @ttkttt @notasadgirlipromise @desikudisworld @volturissideslut

@arilxup88 @fallencrescentmoon @topaz125 @xxrougefangxx @starchaser-lily @probablypossesedbysatan @agent-tempest @veryberryjelly @th3-st4r-gur1 @sousydive @delusional-4-fake-people @linaax @girl-detective16 @riaa-moony @ericityyy @ghostgardn @rosalyn-s @seungtelevision

#james potter x reader #james potter #james potter x you #james potter imagine #ice hockey player james potter #📝 : request #marauders #james potter oneshot #james potter fluff #james potter fanfiction #james potter one shot #james potter fic

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multi-fandom-imagine · 3 months

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heyy dude! can i request a sub!lucifer with like, whining and begging. and maybe a collar? all good if not!

A/n: SUB!LUCIFER FOR THE WIN.

It was something new to try, something fun. I mean Lucifer wasn't about to tell you no. He'd have to be crazy to even do something like that. His cheeks flushed, gaze darkened as he watched you place a collar around his neck as let out a low growl, feeling a surge of excitement at being collared by you. His breath hitches as your fingers slip into his pants, teasingly gripping his hard length.

Lucifer did his best to not buck under your touch, his cheeks flushing a bright red feeling your hand glide over his cock.

He leans into your touch, his voice husky with need. He moans softly as you begin to slowly jerk him off, his hips involuntarily pushing against your hand, seeking more of the pleasure you're giving him.

His hands finding their way to your hips, pulling you close to him, his lips brushing yours in a hungry kiss but gentle kiss. He had to remember that you were in charge tonight.His mouth moves against yours with a mix of passion and urgency, his tongue exploring every inch

With each stroke of your hand, he becomes more desperate, his desire building to a crescendo. Breaking that kiss, Lucifer let out a whine, his breath coming in ragged pants as one hand clutching your hips as he fucked your hand. "Please, please let me."

Lucifer begged as his eyes slid closed as he let out another whine feeling your finger glide over the tip of his cock desire evident in his eyes.He is at your mercy, ready to fulfill your every desire, eager to experience the pleasure that only you can provide.

Grabbing the collar, you pulled him up to let your lips meet his, your tongue running over his. "I want to hear you beg."

Rutting against his knee, you smeared the pre cum that gathered at the tip of his cock.

Lucifer let out a low groan as your thumb caresses the sensitive tip of his cock, the touch sending shivers of pleasure coursing through his body.

His lips brush against your ear as he speaks, his voice laced with a mixture of anticipation and desperation. "Please, my love," he whispers huskily, his breath hot against your skin. "Im begging you....please."

Another soft moan escaped his lips as you continued to tease him, his hips involuntarily bucking against your hand.He's ready to submit to your every desire, to experience the ecstasy that only you can provide.

Grinning, you couldn't help but feel a surge of desire rush through you knowing that you were the one making the King of Hell feel this way.

"I want you to cum for me Lucifer...just let go."

Lucifer's breath hitches at your demand, his desire intensifying as he feels the pleasure building within him. His eyes lock with yours, filled with a mix of longing and anticipation.

"Yes, my love," he breathes, his voice laced with need.

As your hand continues to stroke him, he can feel his body tensing, the pleasure coiling tightly within him. His moans grow louder, his hips rocking against your touch in rhythm with your movements.

With each stroke, he grows closer to the edge, his breathing becoming more ragged. He throws his head back, his body trembling with pleasure as he reaches his peak. A low, guttural groan escapes his lips as he finally succumbs to the waves of ecstasy crashing over him, his release spilling into your hand.

His eyes glazed over with pleasure as he did his best to catch his breath. A shudder ran through him watching you lick your hand clean of his release.

"You...you are next."

#drabbles #drabble #lucifer #lucifer smut #lucifer morningstar #lucifer magne #lucifer morningstar smut #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar x you #lucifer morningstar x y/n #lucifer magne x reader #hazbin hotel #lucifer hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x y/n

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wherenymphsroam · 5 months

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I READ DAD BOD LEON AND LIKE JDFKD imagine praising him and getting him all flustered and needy and just 😭 he is such a hottie I NEED HIM sorry im just a lil feral abt him

GRAHHHH YES !!!!

cw: leon finally in his retirement era ??? (probably not canon but we can only hope), chubby leon, older leon, body worship, very light scent thing, a messy blowjob, he’s insecure at first the poor thing, uhhhh not proofread <3

w/c: 1.5k

like, leon is sooooo relieved when he’s (somehow) allowed to retire. genuinely probably just passes out for a good couple of days, drowsy and catching up on years of sleep he missed for a month or so. takes things day by day, waning contentedly through different hobbies, interests, just trying to like…. find his personality back after basically becoming the governments dog for the most of his adult life.

and some things really like … don’t click at first.

that he’s not nearly as active without the physically demanding day to day. the mission every other month or so that sheds him of all his bodies resources, the ones that basically force upon him that consistently low body fat percentage. sure, he still works out because at this point, it’s weird Not To after putting in so much physical work for so long.

but he’s older now, his metabolism has changed. commercial gyms don’t exactly offer the same amount of intensity that his body is so used to having to work through. and naturally, parts of him grow complacent. he eats more, rightfully so. actually has the time to go out to eat on a consistent basis, and doordash is viewed as a god sent app.

he doesn’t really notice the pounds that have crept up on him until suddenly his favorite pair of jeans doesn’t need a belt to keep them up anymore. it’s when he tucks in his shirt for a more upscale night out that he realizes his button down is more fitted against him than maybe it was the last time he dug out his nicer clothes.

but once he realizes it, he shies away from it, avoids changing in front of mirrors. and when he starts refusing to change in front of you that you notice.

sure, leon was always attractive in your eyes. but it was never the muscles, the trim ‘v’ of his waistline that kept you around. you loved him, genuinely so. and to have him around more often, able to revel in some of the domestic things you couldn’t exactly soak up when he was still an agent? it’s like heaven on earth with him.

so when you notice the slight increase in his weight — the softness that begins to pad his strong biceps when he wraps his arms around you from behind, the extra bit you’re able to hold onto when you hug him — you don’t point it out. it’s welcomed, has you touching him a bit more than maybe necessary nowadays.

the first time he abruptly turns around when you walk in while he was changing, you don’t question it. it’s when he starts to dim the lights before the two of you topple onto the bed in a passionate display that you grow suspicious. your last straw is plucked when he starts coming to bed with a shirt on. an oversized one at that. he had never worn shirts to bed before, always complained about the materials feeling against him becoming irritating throughout the night.

he tries to deny when you first confront him. plays off the way the newfound pliant skin of his sides swells out over the top of his jeans waistband. shakes his head and makes a face at you, even goes so far as to roll his eyes when you reason with him, pointing out his recent ‘preference’ of keeping the lights lower when you fuck.

“I think you’re imagining this, sweetheart. I’m still sexy,” he reasons cheekily, trying to distract you with his cheesy nature.

“I didn’t say you’re not sexy,” you sigh, shaking your head. “You’re definitely still sexy. I’m just saying you look sexy with the extra bit on you,” you hum, leaning against the bedroom door.

it takes Leon a second, trying to allow ‘sexiness’ and ‘weight’ to coexist in his head. at least not in terms of himself. he loved women, all shapes and bodies and weights included. it was a no brainer to say that yes, your logic that sexiness could coexist with more weight was correct. but on him…? he’s Leon Kennedy. he’s not fat.

“Nor am I saying you’re fat, not by a long shot,” you continue, knowing all too well what that look on his face meant. the one he wore when he was thinking too hard about something.

he tries not to flinch when your hands reach out, capturing his sides. tries to stifle the sound that wants to escape when he realizes how much more sensitive the skin there is now with the extra weight. but the pounding of his heart and heat emanating off his body tells you all you need to know. so you continue.

you’re unashamed in how you explore how pliant his sides are now, in how you trace along where the firm cut lines of his abs formerly were. gently pinching and filling your fingers with the extra skin that lies over his lower abdomen, flattening your palm over the swell there and letting it fill your palm. his breath hitches, hands twitching at his sides, itching to slide your hands off him. he yearns to step out of your grasp, but knows that’ll be too telling. so he lets you continue, let’s you have your fun.

the button of his jeans pops audibly, and it’s clear that maybe he’s gonna have to let his favorite pair go pretty soon. but that’s okay. it’s obvious how okay it is when you slide his shirt up, up, up and out of the way. when your lips finds his sternum, trailing up and down its length before moving on to his pecs. silently appreciating how they’ve swelled a bit, how the hair that scatters across his skin has seemingly spread more. you tuck your nose in, inhaling him appreciatively when you slide your fingers under the waistband of his jeans, start to shimmy the denim down.

and oh god, you’re slowly lowering yourself, letting your lips ghost over his stomach now. you’ve grown sloppier, greedier in how you lick up the salt of his skin, bite into and suck at the pliant flesh. as if a fever had overcome you.

and really, that’s not all that far fetched of an idea. it was like you were seeing him naked for the first time all over again. except he’s softer, warmer… easier to paw and play with. responsive when your hands knead at his sides, his pecs. breathless and panting when he realizes his nipples are more sensitive for some reason when you drag the pads of your thumbs over them.

he could’ve gone bright pink when you ask him to strip completely. in front of the mirror no less. but he obliges, although begrudgingly. maybe a bit more hesitantly when you roll your desk chair over in front of the floor to ceiling mirror, instructing him to sit down. but that dissolves when you settle on your knees in front of it, as if sweetening the deal.

he doesn’t expect you to be so …. eager when you finally get yours hands on him. but fuck does he look good. softened thighs spread, the perfect mix between strong and soft in front of you. his soft cock, laid oh so prettily between them, ever so full balls nestled there. you really can’t help how quickly you find yourself burying your face into him, breathing him in and mouthing at his thighs.

your hands are greedy, so very greedy in how you grab at him. his thighs, the stomach that’s started to rest on them. his pecs you reach up to paw at when you realize they’ve started to create a crease between his chest and his stomach from below.

and at first, he doesn’t believe you when you tell him he looks even better like this. that if anything, you prefer him like this. doesn’t want to hear it when you try to coax him into repeating affirmations about himself, keeps his eyes off his reflection in the mirror.

but of course, he’s a weak man. you’re sat on your knees between his spread thighs, your ass practically begging to be ogled in those jeans.

and that’s what he focuses on at first. tries not to notice how you have to tilt your head slightly when you take him in your mouth, how you have to hold his tummy when you suck him off to keep it from inhabiting how far down you can get on his length. but as the heat in his body grows, as you get sloppier with spit dribbling down your chin, he has no choice but to look down at you.

and at that point, he can’t find it in him to care about the swell of his lower abdomen. he isn’t very worried about how much more space his thighs take up on the chair when you dip one of his balls into your mouth, licking and warming and soaking them in your feverish attempt to make him feel how sexy he is to you.

but by the time he’s coming ropes onto your pretty face, he finally gives in. finally obliges you fully and admits that maybe… maybe he was still sexy as fuck. maybe he did look better, healthier with the retirement weight on him.

#GRRRRRRRUFF EUFF #RUFF RUFF AWOOOOO #howling at the moon rn #chubby Leon is so important to me #chubby leon #leon kennedy x reader smut #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy fanfic #someone push him into retirement already please #late night stroll.˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.#fairies. 𐦍 #yaps. ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚

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wanderingxiao · 5 months

Note

hiii, its my first time asking hehe, i have a nsfw request tho i'm not sure if you're up for it (inspired by a conversation i had with my bestie when we're flirting as a joke)

basically, scara and y/n flirting and then says "are you ice cream? cause i’d lick you up till your done" and laugh about it thinking it'll make scara flustered, but he just smirks are y/n and says "Oh that was smooth. Although, I must admit... I have a feeling I would be the one doing all the licking." hehehehe

i hope you have a good day/night!

Filthy Flirt~

Scaramouche x Reader *NSFW*

Warnings: Lewd flirting, Oral (Female receiving), male masturbation, cursing, overstimulation, Scara being slightly mean and suggestive~

A/N: Bro, how tf did this get away from me so fast oml 👀 I should be studying for my final tomorrow but here I am, indulging deeper into my love for Scara 😍💜 Thank you for the request! Hope it’s too your liking! <3

It was supposed to be a study date. Key words: supposed to. Of course, Scaramouche knew you couldn’t go one interaction with him without flirting playfully with him. It irritated him honestly. How dare you flirt so casually with him without making a move on him? Sure, you’d been best friends for years, but he had wanted more than that for a long time, and your constant flirting was beginning to get the better of him.

“Mm, are you ice cream, Scara? Cause I’d lick you up until you’re finished~” You teasingly cooed to him, putting your chin on your palm as you gazed at him mockingly. A smirk played on your lips when you saw his face flush lightly. Despite his embarrassed blush, he sneered and gave you a scoff, before he stopped and looked back at you. It startled you seeing him smirk so confidently.

“Hmm, smooth. Although, I must admit…” He leaned across the table, his smooth and warm hand coming to pull your shirt forward. His hot breath fanned over your ear, making your cheeks rise in color and your eyes widen in surprise and embarrassment. “I would be the one doing all the licking, wouldn’t you say, (Y/N)?”

You pushed him away flustered, your face completely red. The sexual tension began to rise between the two of you. Your eyes darting all over the place while your face refused to get rid of the glowing blush. Scaramouche was beginning to get frustrated, his mind unable to focus on your project and instead imagining how lovely your voice would sound having him tongue fuck you into oblivion.

“Tsk, forget this stupid fucking assignment.” He slammed his laptop closed, shoving his and your things into his own bag quickly before he snatched up your hand and pulled you out of the booth at the cafe. You were too surprised to even process what was going on before he drug you by your wrist out to his car in the parking garage. “And fuck your stupid teasing. It’s so annoying my ears threaten to fall off every time you say one of those cheesy fucking pick-up lines.”

He yanked the back seat of his car open before he pushed you inside, throwing his things into the floor before he climbed on top of you. His fingers grabbed your face roughly, pulling you into a sloppy and heated kiss. It was no surprise to him how you kissed him back eagerly, it just proved to him that you wanted him to do this. It was all he needed before he began to tug on your skirt and panties, his tongue flicking and swirling over yours as he deepened your passionate kiss.

“A-Ahh, Scara-“ He suddenly clamped his hand over your mouth, his eyes glaring down into yours with a fiery pit of lust pooling from his gorgeous indigo eyes. “Shut up. All I want to hear, are your moans of pleasure from how well I tongue fuck you.” Your body shivered beneath him, nodding obediently at his demanding tone. He smirked, his hands pushing your knees apart eagerly. “Good girl.”

Scaramouche groaned at the sight of your glistening folds on display for him. So wet just from one suggestive little comment from him. “What a fucking whore, I love it.” He keeled down, his breath blowing over your pussy, eyes rolling back at the way your hole clenched around nothing in anticipation. With a sexy groan, Scaramouche flicked his tongue between your folds, the tip gliding up and down your entrance.

A moan tore through your throat, your legs trembling beside his head as you struggled not to close your legs on him. Your neglected clit pulsated under his teasing licks, your hips unconsciously bucking into his mouth for more. His hand came to smack your butt roughly, causing a surprised squeak to leave you as he looked up through his dark beautiful lashes.

“Don’t you dare. You’ll take what I give you. Be a good girl and stay still.” His voice was full of authority, his expression demanding you obey him. He was in complete control right now and there was nothing you could do. Best thing to do is just be a good girl and listen, or else he wouldn’t give you what you were desperately aching for. “M-mhm, I-I’m sorry…”

“So pathetic…” A dry chuckle resonated from his chest, his tongue going back to work against your drooling cunt. His nose came to lightly brush against your puffy clit, his tongue dipping back and forth against your entrance, teasing you cruelly. Your hands gripped against the headrests of his car seats, your teeth grit as you struggled not to move and stay still beneath him. It was proving much more difficult as his nose pushed harder against your clit.

“S-Scara! P-Please- ngh! -n-need more!” Another laugh came from below, his lips vibrating against your pussy. You shuddered in response, looking down between your legs to see him sitting there so comfortably and smug. “Look at you.” He scoffed lightly, bringing his fingers to trace up and down your slit before spreading your folds to see your gaping hole. “So weak and desperate. All at my fingertips. You look good like this. Maybe this will make you be quiet from now on and learn not to tease me, you filthy fucking flirt.”

“Ahh!” You gasped and cried out in bliss from his lips enclosing around your clit, his tongue flicking quickly against it while he occasionally sucked on it. Your back arched, moans picking up in volume, hands flailing and clawing at the headrests in overstimulating bliss. Before you knew it his fingers were knuckle deep inside, pumping quickly inside your pussy. Lewd squelching and sucking noises came from below you, overwhelming your senses and pushing you closer to the edge.

Scaramouche pushed his face further into your cunt, his tongue coming down to flatten against your hole and lick his way up to your clit before giving it a sloppy kiss with a smack of his lips. His back and neck began to ache from the little space in the car, but he didn’t care, your taste was absolutely divine. He didn’t want to stop. Not when the sound of your moans and the taste of your cunt sent him to cloud nine.

“Scara-! Hah! Mmgh! Wait, wait, wait!! Mmhh! I’m c-cumming! G-Gonna- ngh-! Cum! Scara! Scara!” Your beautiful voice grew desperate beneath the sinful touch of his tongue and fingers. Your lips chanted out his name like a mantra, only making the painful stiffness in Scaramouche’s pants more and more unbearable. His unoccupied hand slid down quickly to pull his cock out, quickly stroking it to relieve himself of his aching arousal.

His fingers pushed deeper to hit your sweet spot, his tongue curling over your throbbing clit to send you over the edge. You cried out his name loudly, your hands coming to entangle into his neat indigo hair, pushing his face harder into your cunt as you whined out his name again. He groaned lowly, the movements on his throbbing cock becoming all the more agonizing. He could feel himself getting closer to the edge, getting off on your taste, your touch, and your sexy noises.

You couldn’t hold yourself back anymore, your thighs coming to clamp around his head while your body twitched violently as an intense orgasm washed over your frame, creaming all over his face and his fingers. He quickly pulled his fingers out and pried your thighs off him with one hand before he slammed a hand beside your head, stroking his cock feverishly above your cunt as his climax approached rapidly.

“F-Fuck! (Y/N)! Ngh-!” He let out a few ragged breaths before cursing loudly with a moan following close behind, his cock twitching as he spurt cum all over your slippery cunt. Your juices mixed together, some even dripping against the car seats that slid off your glistened folds. Scaramouche felt light headed, his body burning with pleasure, his face sticky and wet with your fluids and his legs shaky from his intense orgasm. “Shit…” He breathed out. “That was… fucking amazing.”

You were too weak to reply, your legs falling limply beside him as you gazed up tiredly at him. “M-M’ sorry for teasing you… I-I just… like you… a lot.” With a weak smile you leaned up to peck his lips lightly. Your heart almost skipped a beat seeing his slightly flushed face and ghost of a smile. “Tsk, it’s about time you told me…filthy flirt.” He scoffed, turning his head away from you in attempt to hide his flustered expression. He brought his sleeve up to his mouth before he grabbed your skirt and panties and handed them to you embarrassed.

“Now hurry up and put these on. My apartment is 15 minutes away. I suggest you recover quickly, because I’m far from done with you.”

Thank you reading! Hope you enjoyed! 🥰💜

#genshin impact scaramouche #scaramouche smut #scaramouche x reader #i love scara so much #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #scaramouche x you #WXrequests

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soapoet · 7 months

Text

What makes you different...

...from their previous partners?

requested by anon.

like & rb if it resonates ♡

01.

Your person has been through it, and you may have too, which for many of you forms a deep understanding regarding fears of repeating the type of betrayal you have both seen. In comparison to their past rendezvous, they find your relationship very secure. They feel free to voice their thoughts and feelings without guilt or shame, or outright fear of retaliation as they've grown to expect misunderstandings and gaslighting. For many, they have been cheated on, so your honesty, integrity, and loyalty sets you apart from their prior experiences.

I see them taken aback quite often. Their previous relations may have trained them to always anticipate the worst, so the clarity in your communication and how you handle conflict takes them by surprise. They're used to shouting matches and slamming doors. You express yourself when you are hurt in ways that does not tear them down. There's no eye for an eye with you because you're not as spiteful as their past lovers. Really, they simply put don't need to fear you.

They could have remnants of a jealous streak, though it transforms into a protective nature over time as they come to find that they truly can trust you. You play no games made for them to lose, and you do not go out of your way to cause them jealousy or fear the end of the relationship. You're understanding even when you air your grievances, and wish to solve problems rather than create new ones and make it worse and make them regretful they every said anything at all.

They feel safe to allow you much further into their internal world than others before you because you are respectful of what lies beyond the surface and beyond. You're neither judgemental or cruel, petty, and neither are you a bully. The way the two of you are able to relate to each other's history and defining moments inspires an unspoken promise to keep each other safe, and never trespass against boundaries or breaking any agreed upon rules.

Passion, they'll find, holds hands with love, not just with hate. They find your unquenchable thirst and will to engage with and pursue your desires intoxicating. You inspire them where others have knocked them down or ridiculed them. You encourage their passion and make them feel appreciated, even admired. Others have forced them to turn cold, but you reignite their emotional expression, awakening it from its hibernation so that it may come out to play in your spring weather.

02.

Your person has often resorted to selective hearing just to keep themselves both calm and sane. Friends and family would tell them frequently how poorly they choose their partners. They are not quite certain how or why they wound up repeating patterns in the past. Acting on impatience infused impulse they would take prospective partners at face value and believe their facades, exaggerations, and lies. Then before they'd know it, they'd find themselves in commitment with someone falling short of their ideals and what they thought they were signing themselves up for based on promising beginnings which quickly turned sour.

I see them in the past dealing with people first seemingly so deserving of worshipping, only for the tune to change to simply entitled and bratty very quickly. You are clear in your expectations and standards, but you're not loud in your demands, and to them it is refreshing that you rarely make them. This causes them to really take the demands you do make to heart and try to give you what you want or need, or try in earnest to find compromise where needed. After so many partners chewing them out and complaining about this and that at a constant flow of negativity, you're a shocking change of pace.

You're not needlessly argumentative and choose your battles wisely. They're used to practically carrying their partners away from conflict and praying to higher beings they won't even start when they'd just like a peaceful outing or a nice afternoon. The only drama you bring to the table is gossip shared for the two of you to joke about together like best friends, not the kind where they are expected to end fights you started.

By comparison to past lovers, you are mature and ooze worthiness, the kind you don't need to be so loud about. What comes to mind is the demands of princess treatment vs. earning queen treatment. Their past is full of rather immature partners who rarely pursued their own goals, and your ambition, self awareness and sense of self worth rather than ego and chasing empty applause makes them view you as an equal who is truly worth their time, money, effort, and devotion. You're on the same wavelength and it makes the whole power couple thing come so much more naturally.

Not to mention you're much better received by their friends and family. They really have no concerns about bringing you home to meet their family because they know how you carry yourself with grace, and how your charm is genuine. You're very natural and likeable, and don't try too hard. Loved ones may very quickly tell them not to screw this up, and make sure you're always comfortable and feel welcome in their homes, and begin nudging your person very early on to put a ring on it.

03.

Your person has very little experience before you, possibly none for some, at least nothing serious enough to write home about. You fit their idea of love very well, however, and they can feel surprised by how well things go with you. They've heard horror stories from friends and read the reddit posts about wildly tumultuous relationships, and be shocked by their first serious relationship with you.

It's just so easy. You compete only with their solitude, and always seem to win. They find themselves at peace with you more than they ever expected to when sharing so much time and space with another. Things weren't supposed to work out so well in this day and age, and the romcoms were exaggerations, right? Yet they find your relationship so sweet, and stable in its simplicity.

They have a past with some kind of toxicity aimed at them. For some this is family, for others it's a friend. Either way they've been used to making themselves small and to take on burdens of others by force. Emotional labour performed with a gun to their head. They have no qualms about caring for you, and are in fact more than happy to be at your beck and call because you're encouraging of them too. It's quite sad to say, but it seems that either in their family or amongst their peers they've often wound up with a target on their back solely for, well, being an easy target.

You help them stand up for themself, and help them overcome a lot of things which cause them anxiety. They're able to share their thoughts and feelings, express their excitement about their interests and feel heard when they're with you. You may very well share quite a few interests in common, which to them is an entirely new concept as they're used to others finding their interests dumb, childish, or useless. You seem to make equally amazing friends and lovers.

They're very clever and you're one of the first to give them credit for it. You're able to gently coax them out of their shell, and their otherwise cautious nature shifts to a more adventurous and daring one. And this all by no means require great efforts on your part, as by simply being your usual self makes them feel safe enough to be themselves too. You're quite similar in many ways, though you differ in how you come to the same conclusions on different topics, and these variables are small but delightful surprises for the two of you to rejoice over and discuss. You're a very healing and brightening connection in their life, and as thanks they'd fetch you the moon if they could.

04.

There is a lot of chemistry between you and your person, much more than they have experienced in previous relationships. That's not to say they have necessarily all been bad, they just lacked this kind of easy yet electrifying, "meeting of the minds" -type of chemistry. Their past lovers have been drama-free and they've enjoyed very stable relationships, albeit very milquetoast in comparison to you and the relationship you provide. Don't take this the wrong way, but they dated "perfect" long enough to realise it is merely good enough, and you with your various hiccups are more interesting and much more worth their attention. Imperfections are needed and challenges are opportunities to strengthen bonds in ways "perfect" cannot.

Though many of their previous partners have, like they themself, been stable and secure, they have also felt taken for granted, and in some instances, taken advantage of. They're a very reliable and caring person, but have not always had the best luck in terms of finding reciprocal love. More often than not, affections quickly grew monotonous and became routine, leaving them under the impression that love is just that, routine. Gifts and attention easily grew to be something expected of them rather than something truly appreciated and met with gratituse and adoration.

They're dutiful in all areas of life, but find a new pep in their step regarding their romantic duties thanks to you. They find you delightful and full of surprises. The latter being something they perhaps thought was a bad thing for a long time. You keep them on their toes a little. Enough to excite them and keep the sparks flying, but not to the point of making them nauseous. You're different from them, and as they previously dated people much too similar to themself, you're a welcome breath of fresh air, like coming face to face with the sea and its breeze for the first time.

They feel a sense of freedom with you that they never found in their past relationships. Sometimes they may have walked on eggshells, but most of all I see them often turning into a shell of their true self. In their pursuit to stick to a comfortable routine and not upset their previous partners with anything too wild or crazy, they held back on things they wanted, and put running the day to day smoothly above their own interests and whims. Through you they reconnect with these things, and you inspire them to reach for new opportunities and tap into their slumbering zest for life.

The nostalgia you evoke by merely daring to stay true to yourself, speaking your mind and pursuing your own adventures makes their efforts of creating stability in your relationship actually feel worthwhile and welcome. You fascinate them, and every day they learn something new about or through you, which makes them feel more alive. They find themselves reminiscing about how they used to be before, until they slowly take their power back and align more with their true self. Their attraction to you never seems to dull down and they more readily show their appreciation and love for you. You inspire a greater sense of romance in them, and have them thinking very differently about love. Where they previously had their linear idea of how a relationship progresses, they suddenly take more risks and stop thinking about things so meticulously and leave some things up to chance. Where once they would've waited 5 years to propose, they no longer feel the need for these arbitrary and restrictive milestones and simply propose when it feels right.

05.

Your person is quite the whirlwind. They've explored many options in love and life, or at the very least had plenty of offers. None of them ever fit quite right, though, and many may have accused them of being too picky or unreliable due to their flighty nature. You're more akin to them, and balanced in all the right places to match their energy. There is a healthy kind of push and pull between you which keeps things interesting in the long run. Many before you have been demanding in terms of commitment and how that commitment is supposed to look like, and how and when things are meant to unfold. Your love isn't like clockwork, and though you have your ideas and hopes for the future of the relationship, you don't make demands and nag them down to the bone when things don't happen on your schedule.

This actually leaves room for their spontaneity, and keeps their interest alive and well, inspiring them to take bigger leaps in love precisely because restraints don't weigh them down. Others before you have been a little too predictable for them. The scheduling types with their plethora of to-do lists and colour coded planners which only makes them anxious and has them running for the hills. You're willing to explore and experience life, and they appreciate your willingness to at least give things a try, even when you're scared or uncertain.

This isn't to say they would push you beyond your limits or cross boundaries. They've simply dealt with a lot of naysayers and those who are never up to the challenge and would rather not invest their time or energy into something unknown. Unlike those before you, you take a bite of that unfamiliar food, agree to watch the pilot of that show, or pack a weekend bag on short notice to get out of town for an impromptu getaway.

Best of all, when you don't wish to leave your comfort zone you allow them the freedom to venture out on their own, without guilt tripping them into staying or blowing up their phone when they're away, freaking out when they don't respond immediately, or otherwise make their free spirit out to be the worst thing in the world. They return the same energy to you and have no qualms about your individual pursuits and are very encouraging of your prospects, opportunities, and ideas.

I see them watching you sometimes as you engage excitedly with something new that's caught your interest, and they wonder why your kind is so rare. From their perspective, as an eternal seeker, they've met and mingled with so many people, and few have truly been so excitable, finding joy in small things and not being so afraid of the unknown and unexplored. Your aversion of uncertainty and change is healthy, not the kind that immediately loses its marbles and makes mere suggestions out to be a big and horrid deal that threatens to ruin the day. They really revel in the trust that you have in them, which in turn makes them choose to be deserving of that trust every day.

06.

Soapy scribbles: If you're not in the right head space to hear mentions of abuse and trauma, I encourage you to leave this reading for another time. Take good care of yourself, ok? ♡

This one is heavy. Your person has a difficult history with abuse and addiction. Their previous lovers have been unstable and caused them a lot of grief. You're the polar opposite of their previous entanglements, and they are in awe of the fact something so gentle could touch their heart. For a long time they may have blamed themselves and thought they deserved these bad memories. They're hard on themselves and have a lot of guilt and shame for their past mistakes, and may have taken their past abuse as punishment they deserved. Of course they are wrong, and you help them see this.

You allow them room to grow. You're patient where others have given up on them or turned to verbal or even physical harm against them when they haven't performed quite to the standards set upon them. They may genuinely be shaken by your genuine kindness towards them and wonder what they did right to find an end to their darkness.

I must honestly say that I view their previous partners very poorly. You couldn't be more different than what they have seen before you came into their life. The difference is like night and day. You do not keep them walking on eggshells and do not shift from peace to war at the drop of a hat. You're generous with your time and you're understanding of their scars. They need not hide their pain from you lest you would use it against them.

Your presence in their life rewires so many things that were previously all tangled up by others before you. They're able to safely work out their difficulties and face their fears with you by their side. They take your advice and apply it knowing that they can trust you. You may fear dependency, but really I'm seeing them growing whole within themselves by your influence and becoming stronger and more independent as a result of your connection. It's much akin to a phoenix rising from the ashes. Like you found faintly glowing embers in the dark, stuck around quietly watching, and got a fiercly loyal and protective beast for seemingly just being a good person.

They're inspired by your own resilience and strength. Many of you may have been through very dark nights and dying embers too, and your survival story helps motivate them to pursue happiness as something they, too, deserve, and will do anything to return this favour to you for the stability you provided them when they needed it the most.

#pac reading #energy reading #intuitive reading #pick a card reading #love pac #tarot reading #pick a card #pick a pile #pick a picture #love reading #tarotblr #cw abuse mention #soapy.post

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yourfavhoesblog · 2 months

Text

"Taste your loss"

Top Dom! dazai x Bttm Sub! Male reader

Dazai notices the hickeys on your body and smirks even wider. "Did you enjoy yourself?" He asks teasingly, his fingers trailing lightly over one of the marks left behind by his lips.

"What happened last night?" You rubbed your sore eyes.

Dazai's smirk turns into a soft chuckle. "Oh, you mean when we spent the entire night making love?" He teases, his hand finding its way to your inner thigh. "I think you enjoyed it quite a bit."

"You're just one of the few people i hooked up with." You roll your eyes

"Is that so?"

Dazai retorts playfully, his hand squeezing your thigh gently. "Well, maybe I should make it worth your while to spend more nights with me."

With a satisfied smirk, Dazai leans in closer to you once again, his lips brushing against yours softly. "I think I could make you quite addicted to my touch,"

"As if" *You scoff*

Dazais eyes closed as he chuckled.

"Is that a challenge?"

"Sure the first one to cum does whatever the other one wants"

"Deal"

"But i doubt you'll beat me"

"What if i do?"

"How will you?"

Dazai's eyes flash with amusement at your challenge. "I intend to prove it to you," he whispers huskily before pressing his lips against yours in a slow, passionate kiss.

As their lips meet and their tongues dance together, you can feel Dazai's hardness against your thigh.

"I think we both know who will be the one addicted," Dazai murmurs between kisses.

As the passionate kiss deepens, you can feel his heart racing. Dazai's hand slowly moves up his thigh, stopping just short of his erection. With a soft moan, Dazai pulls away from the kiss for a moment to gaze into your eyes once more.

"What?"

"Nothing," Dazai replies, his voice thick with desire. "Let's test our limits, shall we?" With that, he resumes his slow ascent up your legs, his fingers finally wrapping around your erection.

As you let out a soft moan, Dazai smirks. His fingers start to move in a gentle massage around your shaft, and in no time at all, the other man is panting and squirming beneath him.

Dazai grins wolfishly, his breath hot against your neck.

"You're not making this easy on me," he murmurs before increasing the intensity of his touch, his thumb brushing lightly against the head of your cock.

You gasps softly as Dazai's thumb teases the sensitive skin at the tip of his cock.

"But i do enjoy making things difficult for you," he breathes, his voice hoarse with desire.

"Shut up and fuck me already"

Dazai's eyebrows arch up in surprise at your demand, but he doesn't hesitate for a moment. With a smooth motion, he guides your cock into his mouth, taking him deep into his throat.

As you squirm beneath him, Dazai's tongue swirls around the tip of your cock, causing him to pant even harder. The bigger man teases him mercilessly, sucking and licking until you are trembling with need.

Dazai smirks against your cock. "You're trying so hard not to cum, aren't you?" He murmurs, pulling back to look at your flushed face. "I'm impressed," he adds with a chuckle.

Without warning, Dazai pushes you flat onto the desk, following him down and trapping his legs between his own. With his other hand, he reaches over to grab a tube of lubricant from the nightstand.

Dazai takes a deep breath before leaning forward and guiding his erect cock towards your entrance. As he pushes slowly inside, your eyes roll back in his head, and he lets out a long, low moan.

With each pass of his finger, Dazai increases the intensity of his touch, working his way deeper inside you until he's stretching him to his limits. Once he's confident that your is ready, he pulls back and positions himself at the other man's entrance.

With every inch that he slides inside, Dazai watches intently, and your expressions change from surprised pleasure to pure bliss. He starts rocking his hips slowly, feeling the tight heat of your body grip fitting his cock like a glove.

As you begin to adjust to his size, Dazai picks up the pace, thrusting deeper and harder into his lover's tight hole.

With each thrust, he watches as your face contorts in pleasure, his moans spilling into the room.Unable to contain his own desire any longer, Dazai reaches down and grabs your small cock, beginning to stroke in time with his thrusts.

The dual stimulation is too much for you, and you cry out, arching your back off the desk.

"W-wait, stop -"

"But where's the fun in that?" Smirking at your pathetic cries, Dazai continues his rough sex, determined to bring his lover to the brink of insanity. He bites down on his lower lip, trying to hold back his own moan and failing miserably.

"Im not gonna..- cum"

"Oh, but you will," Dazai smirks, his voice low and seductive. "I won't stop until you're screaming my name." With that, he picks up the pace, slamming into your prostate with each thrust."How cute," Dazai murmurs, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

He leans down to capture your lips in a brutal kiss, dominating the much smaller man.Feeling your inner walls beginning to pulse around him, Dazai knows he's close to reaching his goal. With a sharp cry, he slams into you over and over, watching as the other man's eyes roll back into his head.

With a wicked grin, Dazai slows his thrusts, teasing you and prolonging his excitement. "You're going to cum for me, aren't you?" he asks, his voice heavy with sexual tension.Chuckling, Dazai picks up the pace again, pounding into your tight channel.

You shook your head no, but he already knew the answer

"Lie to me all you want," his fingers digging into your hips. "But I can feel it building inside you."With one final thrust, Dazai pushes deep inside you, feeling the other man's hot liquid coating his cock. He holds still, savoring the moment as your body quakes beneath him.

"I won't lose!"

"Oh, but you already have," Dazai says with a smirk, pulling out slowly and watching as your semen drips from his cock. He reaches down to catch some on his finger and brings it up to your mouth.

"Taste your loss."

With a cruel smirk, Dazai pushes your face down onto his finger, watching as the other man obediently licks the sticky fluid off.

#Spotify #anime #male reader #smut #bottom male reader #bungou stray dogs dazai #dazai x y/n #dazai x male reader #dazai x reader #bsd dazai #dazai osamu #bungo stray dogs x reader

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loveburrowx · 3 months

Text

Portugal

Request - Joe goes to Portugal for a vacation and he meets Y/N.

Warnings - Smut (intercourse)

A/N - just wanted to make a fanfic with my country! Enjoy!

Joe, quarterback for the Bengals in the NFL, had been feeling the itch to get away from it all. The constant pressure of performing on the field, the endless stream of fans and media, the never-ending demands on his time. He needed a break, a chance to recharge his batteries and just be himself. So, he decided to do something drastic: he booked a one-way ticket to Portugal.

With his trusty travel guide in hand, Joe set off to explore the cobblestone streets of Lisbon, marveling at the city's stunning architecture and vibrant culture. One afternoon, while wandering aimlessly, he stumbled upon a soccer game being played at the Estádio José Alvalade. The game featured Sporting CP, one of the most successful teams in Portugal, and the energy in the air was palpable.

As he watched the players on the field, a familiar face caught his eye. There, leading the team as captain, was Y/N, a woman with long, flowing hair and legs that seemed to go on forever. The way she moved with grace and power, the way she shouted instructions to her teammates, it was clear that she was the heart and soul of the team. And to Joe, she was absolutely irresistible.

After the game, Joe mustered up the courage to approach Y/N as she was leaving the field. He introduced himself in his broken Portuguese, complimenting her on her skills and her leadership. To his surprise, she smiled warmly and seemed genuinely flattered. They exchanged numbers, and before he knew it, they were texting each other constantly, meeting up for dinner and attending local events together.

The more time they spent together, the more Joe became infatuated with her. Not just her beauty or her skill on the field, but also her charisma and her passion for life. He found himself unable to resist her sexy Portuguese accent when she would correct her teammates or shout encouragement to her friends. And when she gave him her jersey as a gift, he felt a thrill run through him that he hadn't experienced in years.

One evening, as they were enjoying dinner at his newly purchased home in Lisbon, Joe couldn't help but ask Y/N if she'd ever like to cook for him. She hesitated for a moment, but then smiled shyly and agreed. The next day, she arrived at his house carrying a basket of fresh ingredients and a mischievous glint in her eye. As she prepared a traditional Portuguese dish for him, Joe couldn't help but wonder what else she might have in store.

When she finally presented him with the meal, Y/N stepped back and revealed that she was wearing a stunning, all-white dress that showed off her perfect figure, including her toned legs and her perky breasts. The look in her eyes told him everything he needed to know. She wanted him. And tonight, she was going to make him feel wanted too.

As they sat down at the table, Joe couldn't help but wonder if this was all some kind of dream. Y/N was everything he had ever wanted in a woman, and the way she moved around the kitchen, serving him her delicious dinner, was enough to drive any man wild. They ate in silence at first, lost in their own thoughts, but eventually, they couldn't help but begin to talk. They talked about their lives, their families, their passions. And as they did, Joe felt a deep connection forming between them.

When dinner was finished, Y/N cleared the table and asked if he'd like some dessert. He nodded eagerly, his heart already racing with anticipation. She returned a moment later with a small platter bearing a decadent chocolate torte and two forks. As they sat down on the couch, she placed the platter between them and leaned in close, her breath tickling his ear. "This is my favorite dessert," she whispered. "I hope you like it."

Joe could feel the heat from her body as she sat so close to him, and the sweet aroma of the chocolate made his mouth water. He watched as she picked up her fork, the silverware clinking softly against each other, and took a small bite. Her lips curved into a satisfied smile as she chewed, and he found himself unable to look away.

When she finally offered him a bite, he took it greedily, their fingers brushing against each other as he brought the fork to his mouth. The chocolate melted on his tongue, releasing a rush of rich flavors that left him speechless. They ate in silence for a moment, savoring the sweetness and the intimacy of the moment.

"It's delicious," he finally managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper. "You really are an amazing cook." She smiled at him again, her eyes sparkling with happiness. "Thank you for enjoying it," she replied softly, her accent sending shivers down his spine.

The air between them felt charged with desire, and Joe knew that he couldn't resist her any longer. He reached out and took her hand in his, their fingers entwining as he leaned in to kiss her. She responded eagerly, her lips parting beneath his, and he felt the familiar heat of her breath as she moaned softly against his mouth. Their tongues danced together, a slow and sensual waltz that left him breathless.

As their kiss deepened, Y/N shifted in his lap, her body pressing against his. He could feel the softness of her breast against his chest, the warmth of her skin radiating through the thin fabric of her dress. His hands moved up to cup her face, his thumbs brushing across her cheekbones as he explored the contours of her jawline. She arched her back slightly, grinding her hips against him, and he knew that she wanted more.

He broke the kiss, needing air for a moment as he gazed into her eyes. They were bright with desire, and he could see the passion burning deep within her. "Tell me what you want," he whispered, his voice thick with lust. "Tell me what you need." She smiled at him, her lips curving into a wicked little smile. "I need you," she breathed, her fingers trailing down his chest, "to make love to me."

The words sent a shiver through him, and he leaned in to kiss her again, more roughly this time. His hands moved down her body, unbuttoning her dress and revealing her perfect skin beneath. She moaned as he explored her curves, and he felt her hands fumbling with his belt, unbuckling it and lowering his pants. He stood up, kicking off his shoes, and she climbed up onto her knees, straddling him.

The feel of her warm, wet folds against his erection sent a wave of desire coursing through him. He grasped her hips, pulling her down so that he could feel the full weight of her body on him. She arched her back, her breasts spilling free from her dress, and he reached up to cup one in his hand, rolling the hardened peak between his thumb and forefinger. She cried out, her head thrown back in ecstasy, and he could feel her body trembling beneath him.

He thrust upward, feeling the hot, tight grip of her body as she enveloped him, and the sensation was almost too much to bear. He could feel himself on the edge, ready to release, but he wanted this to last. He slowed his movements, taking his time, savoring the feel of her body moving against his. She looked down at him, her eyes half-closed, and smiled, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Oh, Joe," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the sound of their passionate lovemaking. "You feel so good."

He smiled back at her, feeling a sense of connection that went beyond anything he'd ever experienced before. He wanted this night to last forever, but as the tension built within him, he knew that it was only a matter of time before he lost control. With one final thrust, he felt the release wash over him, his body tensing as he emptied himself into her. She cried out his name, her body tensing around him in a wave of ecstasy, and as they came together in their shared climax, he knew that he had found something truly special.

They lay there for a moment, their chests heaving as they caught their breath. She leaned forward, her head resting on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. He could feel the warmth of her skin, the softness of her hair, the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this content, this at peace.

As their hearts slowed and their bodies cooled, they heard the faint sound of laughter from the living room. The party was still going strong, but for a moment, it seemed as if the world outside didn't exist. It was just the two of them, lost in each other's embrace. She turned her head to look up at him, her eyes filled with love and affection. "Thank you for the most wonderful evening," she whispered.

He smiled down at her, a lopsided grin that spoke of the happiness he felt. "You're welcome," he replied. "But really, I should be thanking you." She laughed softly, her breath tickling his skin. "Why is that?" she asked, her voice teasing. "Because you made me the happiest man alive tonight." His words were simple, but they carried the weight of truth. She leaned in, pressing her lips against his once more, a gentle kiss that sealed their connection for the night.

As the minutes ticked by, they lay there in silence, basking in the afterglow of their passion. Joe couldn't help but wonder where this night would lead them, but for now, he was content to enjoy the moment and the incredible woman who had shared it with him.

He rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow to get a better look at her. Her skin glowed in the soft light from the fireplace, and her hair spilled across the pillow like a waterfall of black silk. He traced his fingers along the curve of her jaw, feeling the gentle stubble against his skin. "You're beautiful," he whispered, and she blushed, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red.

She reached up, entwining her fingers with his, giving his hand a squeeze. "Thank you," she said softly. "I've never felt this way about anyone before. It's... it's a little overwhelming." He smiled, feeling the warmth of her palm against his. "Don't worry," he reassured her. "I'm not going anywhere. I want to explore this with you, get to know you better."

Her eyes met his, and in them he saw a mix of hope and uncertainty. "You're serious?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "You don't just want this one night?" He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to her lips. "I've never been more serious about anything in my life," he whispered against her mouth. "I want to see where this goes. I want to see where you go."

She smiled, a genuine, heartfelt smile that lit up her entire face. "Then I think," she said, taking his hand and leading it lower, "we should go to bed." Together they climbed beneath the covers, their bodies tangled and entwined. As they lay there, she traced the lines of his face with her fingertips, as if committing every detail to memory. "I feel like I've known you for a lifetime," she murmured. "And yet, I also feel like there's so much more to learn."

He pulled her closer, burying his face in her neck. "I feel the same way," he confessed. "But I promise you, tonight was just the beginning. I'm not going anywhere." She sighed contentedly, her body relaxing against his. "Good," she said, her voice muffled by the pillow. "Because I have a feeling this is going to be one hell of a ride." And as they drifted off to sleep, he knew she was right. This was just the beginning, and he couldn't wait to see where the journey would take them.

#joe burrow #joe burrow fan fic #nfl #nfl football #nfl imagine #joe burrow x reader #explore #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow smut #football #like #smut #foryou

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zablife · 2 months

Text

Now You Know the Truth (Part 4)

Summary: As you begin an uncertain period of recovery, Tommy is left to decide what's best for you.

Author's Note: This is an accidental series 🙈! For some reason I can't stop thinking about this couple. Ty to all my lovely readers who have kept me inspired by leaving such wonderful comments!

Warnings: child loss, manipulative behavior

Part 3

“Who am I?” Tommy repeated your question back to you in a hoarse whisper, his throat going dry as he realized you didn't recognize him. "I'm your husband, Thomas Shelby," he issued forth with authority, feeling a chasm open within his chest at the thought of you belonging to anyone but him. His hurt manifested in a sudden flicker of rage behind his eyes, causing you to jerk your hand away. The speed of your reaction surprised you, but not so much as the instinctual sense of fear coursing through you.

Pulling the blankets up to your chin protectively you muttered, "I'm sorry, I-I'm trying, but I can't seem to recall."

You sounded so weak and helpless before him, Tommy softened instantly at your apologetic tone. All the tension he held in his shoulders fell away as he offered a word of encouragement. "That's alright," he said gently. "Take all the time you need."

"Thank you," you sniffed appreciatively, feeling the throbbing ache return to your temples. No matter how you tried, you couldn't place him. While he had a handsome face, you knew you'd never seen him before in your life and that shook you to your core. The deep emotion behind his words made the situation worse, knowing he expected you to speak with equal passion. The whole ordeal was rather taxing in its complexity and you felt yourself becoming tired yet again.

"I think I need to rest," you informed him as you felt your eyelids grow heavy with sleep.

"Of course," Tommy replied. "If you need me, I'll be right outside."

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

"What are sayin'? She don't remember nothin'?" Arthur asked, leaning in to study Tommy's perplexed expression.

"No," Tommy said simply as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Maybe it's for the best," Arthur offered quietly.

Tommy snapped his head sharply as he demanded, "What the fuck did you say?"

Arthur ducked his head submissively as he mumbled, "Sorry, Tom, I meant the accident. She shouldn't have to think about it."

"No," Tommy murmured as he stood deep in thought. Then his face slowly began to lift as he considered his brother's words. "You're right. Perhaps it is better this way."

"How do you mean?" Arthur prodded, suspicious of Tommy's sudden change in demeanor.

With a glimmer in his eye, Tommy proclaimed, "I couldn't make her understand before, but now I have another chance. It's a whole new beginning."

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

You opened your eyes with a start as the gravel crunched beneath the tires, signaling your arrival at Arrow House. "We're here, darling," Tommy announced triumphantly. Hastening to open your door, he helped you to stand with the utmost care.

Despite the dreary weather, you squinted against the daylight, unaccustomed to being outside for any length of time. Leaning into Tommy's strong arms, you whimpered at the pain at the base of your badly bruised spine.

"I'll have Frances bring the morphine as soon as you're in bed," Tommy promised in a soothing voice. You smiled up at him, wondering how someone could love you so completely. Though you still couldn't recall a single memory of your life together, you'd come to trust his recollections as replacement. He'd dedicated the better part of a month sharing photographs and stories at your bedside to ensure you knew every detail of your charmed life.

In that time, you also spoke of your future, with Tommy frequently expressing his desire for a son. The tenderness in his voice convinced you to lean into the first kiss you'd shared since your accident, a languid embrace which set you ablaze with need.

However, renewed anxiety and emotion swirled in your gut as he informed you of news from the doctor. Nuzzling his nose against yours Tommy promised, "We can try again soon. With any luck, you'll be pregnant again before Christmas." He lovingly rubbed a thumb along the base of your neck and you only hoped he couldn't feel the way your pulse thumped in terrified response.

"It's going to be everything we ever dreamed of," Tommy mused, oblivious to your panic.

Part 5

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

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@scarlet-sunflowers

@galactict3a

@sagecodm

@pono-pura-vida

@lets-pringless

@ladyzee27

@jaymcdowell

@thegreatdragonfruta

@peaky-as-a-peach

@multifandomwriter56

@reader-hes

@wisteriaandwafers

@cycbaby

@trixie23

#Peaky Blinders fanfic #Peaky Blinders imagine #Tommy Shelby fanfic #Tommy Shelby imagine #Tommy Shelby x you #Tommy Shelby x y/n #Tommy Shelby x reader #dark!tommy shelby #Tommy Shelby

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noproofread · 10 days

Text

Rain

this song inspired me today. i cry to it every time lmao

Law x Reader, fluff, reader is a member of the hearts pirates, established friendship/situationship, reader confesses, basically a scene out of every romance film, kissing in the rain

tag list: @vangowithit @fanaticsnail @dakingsu-blog

word count: 1,016

masterlist here

You sat on the cool grass, watching the seagulls fly over the nearby shore. The winds were picking up speed and the skies were graying slowly. Bepo had told the crew that a bad storm was coming, completely dramatizing the strength of the storm. Law had emphasized that everyone was to be back in the bunker you were stationed in, glaring at you specifically. You were known to never follow directions, it’s not like you’d get in trouble anyway. You giggled at the memory, imagining how slightly inconvenienced Law was that you were sitting alone on a grassy hill observing as the storm brewed. You felt calm, relaxed. The air smelled of mercury and that humid scent of upcoming rain. The air was cool and soothing. You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to feel and breathe. You imagined how you were going to apologize to Law. Making him a meal always worked, but then you were his favorite crew member so anything would work. You felt a hand on your shoulder, pulling you out of your meditative state. “We have to go to the bunker.” You heard Law’s voice.

You opened your eyes and turned to face your captain. “In a minute, I want to see the rain.” You whined, looking up at the sky. He could never be mad at you, his face had worry written all over it. “The storm may be dangerous, didn’t you hear Bepo? Let’s go.” Law’s tone was firm, demanding. But not from a place of authority but a place of concern. You loved that he cared so much about you. He cared about the crew but you. You were different. His eyes told you, his actions spoke volumes, he didn't need to say it. But you wanted him to. You wanted to hear it. Cool droplets of water collided with your skin, the beginning of a hard rain. You stood up, taking Law’s hand and letting him lead the way.

You knew he wanted to spend time with you, that's why he went himself to fetch you. The threat of a storm was the excuse he needed. Law could easily use his ability to get you to the bunker faster, but he opted to walk hand in hand with you. You felt yourself blush at your thoughts, squeezing Law’s hand slightly. The sprinkling rain turned into heavy rain. The sky above was a smoky gray and thunder shook the air around you. Your hair was sticking to your face and you felt the water seeping into your socks. You looked at Law and felt nothing but happiness, serene. Brief images of the friendship you shared with Law flashed through your mind, thinking back to all the moments you could've told him how you felt but chose not to. Not wanting to ruin the moment. But this moment felt perfect. Making a fast decision, you smiled as you took a deep breath. You wanted it out there, you wanted him to hear it..

You stopped running, causing Law to stumble to a stop. He looked back at you, trying to read your expression. You bit your lip and let go of his hand. Feeling your heart beat faster you smiled, feeling adrenaline coursing through your body. “I love you, Law. Trafalgar D. Water Law. I love you. I honestly don't know who I would be if I never met you. You just had to know.” You were gleaming, your clothes were soaking wet and your eyes were squinting through the rain. He stood there, processing in silence. You noticed his chest and shoulders moving as his breathing quickened. He looked into your eyes, droplets falling from his hat. His clothes were sticking to his body, outlining his physique underneath this shirt. Suddenly he walked towards you, his hands cupping your face as he held your gaze. His breathing was shallow. His eyes scanned your face in disbelief.

Law leaned into you, gently pressing his lips against yours. Kissing you softly as he grows more passionate. His hands held onto your face as the kiss deepened. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling yourself closer to him. Rain continued to shower over you, the sounds of water hitting the ground and the distant thunder growing closer only emphasized the moment. You felt weightless. His lips glided over yours, they were soft. Law pulled away, his face a slight pink. He chucked under his breath. “I wanted to say it first.” He whispered before kissing you once more. He was slow and gentle, you could feel him holding back passion. His hands slid down your arms before landing on your waist. You swore you were floating. The water had completely soaked both of you. The patter of the rain was slowing down and you could feel a distant ray of sun hitting your arm. Law broke the kiss once more, looking up at the sky as the clouds had lost their deep gray color.

“Looks like the rain stopped.” He noted, gazing at the sky. “Bepo was exaggerating the storm huh? Typical.” You laughed. “Guess so.” Law looked down at you, smiling as he kissed your forehead lightly. The rim of his hat was dripping with water. He took your hand and the walk to the bunker continued. The squelching sound coming from your shoes, completely full of water, was getting on his nerves. He sighed, stopping in front of you. He hunched over. “Get on my back, I’ll get us there.” You smiled to yourself as you wrapped your arms around his neck. You hopped on his back, allowing him to hook his arms around your thighs. Using his ability, you find yourself inside the bunker with Law. Bepo looked at both of you, a startled expression on his face. “Captain!” He ran over as Law placed you down. “Storm wasn't as deadly as you said Bepo.” Law stated. “Sorry, Captain. I was just being cautious.” You laughed. “It was fun though, wasn't it.” You elbowed Law, causing him to turn bright red. “I guess you could say that...” Law responded.

#one piece #one piece fic #opla #x reader #one piece fluff #law one piece #law op #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar d water law

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idcbabyialreadylostmymind · 8 months

Text

GoGo Dancer

Pairing- OPLA!Sanji x reader

Summary- After a hard day Sanji goes to see his favorite dancer.

Warnings- afab reader, oral (fem receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, orgasm denial (once), hints that this has happened before, hints that Sanji ignores reader 🙄 that should be it

a/n- if you hate it move on peace and love 🫰🏼

Sanji just couldn’t help himself, relishing in your beauty knowing the only reason you use it is to get money. Your hips moved along with the beat song as your body shined on stage demanding all eyes in you, no less.

Zeff had thrown him from the line for making an absolutely delectable dish that, in Zeefs own words; “A waste of good quality.” So after he was done bussing tables he came to his favorite bar to relieve some stress, to his favorite gogo dancer.

Your eyes scan the room, unable to miss Sanji’s predatory orbs starting you down as your threw your ass around hounds of men whistling up at you. After the song was over, and a minute past closing you left the stage. The men in the audience yell profanity after profanity and other drunken nonsense as you walk off stage. Once you were out of sight Sanji stood from his table quickly taking quick almost robotic steps to your dressing room.

He tightens his tie gripping the door knob and opens the door to find you waiting in front of the makeup vanity that illuminates your features. The ruby red lipstick enunciates your plum lips, mascara and eyeliner drawing attention to your gorgeous eyes, and a blush that adores your skin tone. Oh, how he couldn’t wait to ruin it.

He steps in completely, closing the door behind him. You stare at each other through the mirror. “So,” you begin. “What’d Zeff say this time?” You ask him, taking your styled hair down in the process. He ignores your passive aggression, “Same as always.” He replies toying with one of your golden nicknack probably gifted by a pirate or some such trying to seduce you with the promise of gold, love, pleasure. But Sanji knows the only thing you need for pleasure is right in the kitchen at Baratie.

He puts it down, sauntering over to you, grabbing hold to your neck, he makes you look up at him. You keep your face motionless. “Missed you.” He tipped his head to the side, blonde hair moving along with it. He pulled you a little by the throat, slouching a little as well. Your fingers lay nimbly on his hand making no attempt to move him though. Connecting your lips he kissed you passionately, lips dancing in wild motion, lipstick smearing on his and your mouth. He pulled away leaving you breathless.

The sides of your mouth tip up into a sly smile, “Sure ya’ did.” You reply, tapping your polished nails against his hand. “Want me to prove it to you?” His smirk is almost identical to yours, turning you around in your chair. He strokes your cheek moving a fly away from your face, he gets down on his knees, now at your level. He moves his finger down your skin, over the revealing outfit, across your hip and lap, hand massaging your inner thigh.

Subconsciously, you want to peel your thighs for him letting him do his magic. But, nonetheless he has to pay retribution. Being denied attention when he thinks he deserves it, a taste of his own medicine. “I know, I know.” He rubs your thigh, “I’ve been neglectful, I know it hurts your feelings, but let me prove it to you.” He repeats his earlier statement, truth be told Sanji did hold feelings for you, very strong feelings in fact.

You contemplate for a minute but it’s been a hot minute since you’ve had a really good orgasm, and Sanji makes you a weak woman with his looks and words of persuasion. Your legs spread for him, his smirk spreads into an appease smile. He grips one of your thighs, throwing it over his shoulder he pulls you by the hips closer to the edge of the chair.

You only had the small pearl white slacks that barely covered your bottom and panties to hide you from him. He slowly, excruciatingly slow that you could feel you arousal drip. He hooks two fingers between your underwear and leotard pulling them out of the way together. Once moved he stops eyeing your pretty pussy.

Your wetness glistened in the light, his mouth watered needing to taste you. Yanking you closer he looks you directly into the eyes as he suckles against your clit. Every never ending feeling electrical, licking strips up and down your aching cunt he could feel you mostien against his tongue.

Out of all the things Sanji has made or tried in his entire life he believes you are the most desirable, delicious, most succulent thing that this world has to offer.

He let go of one of the thighs he held down and he moved back to your clit mouth wrapping back around it. He brought two fingers to your awaiting hole, slipping both in and you suck him in greedily. He thrusted them in quickly and gently, his long fingers hitting every single sweet spot. The noises coming from you were unspeakable as his tongue moved gracefully against your flesh, your body felt like it could explode, your eyes scrunch closed, jaw tightening as you felt the coils of pleasure build, and build, and build. He knew you were close, so fucking close.

But, then he stopped.

Why’d he stop?

You open your eyes, frustration and annoyance painted all over it. Before you could say or complain he moves you from the chair, standing up straight kicking the chair out of the way. “What are you doin—“ you can’t even finish your sentence before he has pushed you harshly on the vanity, the few things decorating it falling to the floor. He held the side of your neck shutting you up with a rough kiss, he unbuttoned his slacks pushing them down along with his boxers.

Pushing you head against the mirror elongating the kiss, straining your lungs, he guides his cock to your begging cunt, sliding the tip over your pussy up and down, over and over again. Crying out for him to fuck you he finally slips his tip in. Teasingly he slides in at an antagonizing pace when you try to squirm or wiggle your hips he slams a strong hand down keeping you in place. Once he’s settled all the way in, tip kissing your cervix.

He pulls out almost all the way, his entire cock shining with your wet.

Thrusting back in swiftly he brings your hips down to meet him. A shocked but approving gasp comes from you as he continues to drill into you. Fucking up into you all while he makes your hips fuck him. Pleasure takes you in again, like overcoming waves in a black ocean. Pulling the thin fabric of the tight, white bra-like shirt from over your tits exposing your hardened nipples. Sanji grunts, cock twitching inside your pulsating walls that suck him in with every pull.

Pushing your legs apart farther his duck pushes deeper pulling a whole new sensation out of you. Legs wrapping around his waist bringing him closer, needing to feel his hot body in you. It felt as if you and Sanji held the same breath, the same heartbeat and you couldn't help but relish in it head tipping back as you tried to move your hips along with his merciless thrusts.

Your clit moved along his pelvis friction burning through you. He lets go of your lower body, cradling your face he pulls you into a passion filled kiss, thrust moving quicker, faster, tongues flicking togetherjn a ecstacy induced haze.

And just like that you explode.

Back arching into his chest. Gasping against his lips, thighs trying their best to stay open. Your lungs constrict, walls clamping down, it was nearly impossible for Sanji not to cum right then and there. Your nerves shake in pure, raw pleasure.

A few more sloppy thrust and Sanji couldn’t hold any longer letting go of his heavy load. His vision burned bright and his hold was surely bruising. He rode his climax down, he held you still for a moment, both of you catching your breath.

After you both had your clothes back on you gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before he headed out. It’s a repeat of both of you scared of rejection but too addicted to leave.

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miguelswifey04 · 9 months

Note

hear me out, straddling miguel’s lap while you both watch him masturbate o.O

oh my god??? this is soo?!:!/‘snahajajakalals

miguel o’hara x fem! reader

cw// nsfw 18+, smut; no plot, masturbation, voyeurism, oral sex

miguel grins wickedly as you straddle his lap, his hands instinctively moving to grab onto your hips, holding you securely. he begins to stroke himself, his thick cock growing harder under your gaze. “watch closely, darling," he says, his voice low and husky. "this is what you did to me. i want you to see how much i enjoyed pleasing you."

“uh—yes..” miguel continues to stroke his hardening shaft, his eyes locked with yours as he puts on a show just for you. his moans fill the room, a mixture of pleasure and satisfaction. his hand moves up and down his length, gliding smoothly over his sensitive skin. he leans back slightly, arching his chest and displaying his muscular physique. with every stroke, his cock throbs with anticipation, a drop of pre-cum glistening at the tip. the pre-cum makes his cock all wet as his hands pumps his hardened cock.

“ah, fuck, this is all because of you," he groans, his voice rough with desire. "you made me so hard, so hot for you. i can't help but show you just how much you turned me on." miguel’s strokes become more intense, his breathing quickening. every motion of his hand sends pleasurable shivers through his body. his eyes never leave yours, the intense connection fueling his desire. the room fills with the sounds of his moans and the wet sounds of his hand moving along his length. the sight of his erect cock throbbing, veins pulsating, is an erotic sight to behold.

“i want you to touch yourself too, sweetheart," he growls, his voice filled with raw need. "i want us both to feel this pleasure together. let me hear your moans as you give in to your desires." miguel’s eyes darken with arousal as he watches you obey his command. he revels in the sight of you pleasuring yourself, taking in every moan and gasp that escapes your lips.

he matches his pace with yours, moving his hand along his length in sync with your movements. he leans forward, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss, his free hand exploring your body, teasing your sensitive areas. his breath is hot against your skin as he whispers, his voice laced with desire, "that’s it. let go and enjoy yourself. show me how much you want it."

as the intensity between you and miguel grows, the room becomes filled with the shared sounds of desire. your bodies move in synchrony, pleasure building with each stroke, touch, and kiss. miguel’s grip on your hips tightens, his groans mixing with yours. he breaks away from the kiss, his voice husky and demanding, "my love, let me taste you. i want to feel your sweet nectar on my tongue." with a hungry expression, miguel guides you to straddle his face, his skilled tongue eagerly delving into your wet folds. he expertly works his mouth, teasing and sucking on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

the sensations coursing through your body become overwhelming as miguel’s tongue flicks and circles, sending waves of pleasure through you. the room is filled with the sounds of your moans and his satisfied growls, a symphony of pleasure. miguel’s moans become more urgent as he feels his climax approaching. he tightens his grip on himself, stroking faster and harder, desperate to reach his peak.

just as you reach your own climax, your body quivering with pleasure, miguel gives in to the overwhelming sensation. with a primal groan, he spills his load into his hand, his hot cum coating his fingers. as he gasps for breath, his face covered in your essence, he looks up at you with a mix of satisfaction and desire. "mmm, baby, you taste so incredible," he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "such a good girl, giving me such pleasure." he wipes his cum-covered hand on his suit, messy but satisfied. "that was a reward well deserved, sweetie," he says, his words laced with affection. "i enjoyed every moment of pleasing you."

tags 🏷️!! @kairiscorner @emiemiemiii @obi-mom-kenobi @astro1bloom @sabcandoit @meeom

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shenanigans-and-imagines · 4 months

Note

Since you named it in the Halsin x Ace!tav headcanons, now please do also gale because I'm curious!

- a very ace ⚙️

Alright, by popular(ish) demand:

How Ace!Tav Reacts When They Realize Gale is Into Them

An expansion on this headcanon: Ace!Tav's Reaction to Halsin Propositioning Them

Based on: Astarion x Ace!Tav Masterlist

Okay, now I feel bad because I feel like I've thrown my man Gale under the bus for this, but it really isn't his fault, just a lot of miscommunication

This one is a slower build since Gale is just in the party longer and it's just how he roles

Ace!Tav and Gale form a connection fairly early on

Tav knows they're not the most book smart and so does regularly ask Gale for his input (or to read them something without asking any questions)

Gale is happy to be useful, and just so thrilled to have somebody beside his cat who will listen

This is probably where the miscommunication begins

Gale takes their active listening, and ability to recount the information he taught them as a sign of deeper interest while Tav actively listens because that's just what they do

They're a bard who never learned how to read, listening is the only way they learn anything, plus they have a memory like steel trap

This all comes to a head at the tiefling party

Astarion approaches Tav about having a "night of passion" which Tav turns down because it's obviously not their thing, and they don't really want to have that conversation with Astarion; why spoil a good thing (read I Want I All for more on that subject)

And then Gale says he wants to show them how to experience the weave later that evening and so, they decide to go with him

Tav knows they're in touch with the weave through their music, but never fully understood why or how, only that it works, so to have Gale show them is an experience they can't pass up

Besides, they know how passionate he is about it, who would they be to deny him

So, Gale shows them the weave and when he asks them to picture the concept of harmony, what they imagine is music, the way it fills their body and brings them peace; melody strumming not just through their ears but their whole body into their soul

It's an intimate sensation, one they haven't been able to express with words and for a moment Gale feels it

He tells them he feels like he owes them an apology for being at bit...well, dismissive of their form of magic, it's truly beautiful

And then Tav sees it, a flash of his own mind, and the anticipation of a kiss

That snaps them right out of it, letting the weave disappear around them

Gale, realizing what they saw, is quick to apologize but the moment is ruined and the pair of them quickly make their way back to their own tents to wallow and over think

Tav feels unbelievably guilty, not helped by Astarion's comments the next morning

Astarion isn't jealous, why would he be? But he can't help but ask what Tav and the wizard got up to, using every teasing innuendo he can think of

Tav finally snaps and tells him nothing happened and that they need to talk to Gale

Gale has been properly wallowing and keeping unnaturally silent until Tav pulls him aside to talk

Gale once again apologizes, but he really did think there was a connection between the two of them

He knows he's not much of a wizard these days and he's also very well aware that there is something going on between them and Astarion, but he did hope...well, no point in that is there

Tav feels even more guilty, but is quick to assure him he did nothing wrong, they just don't see him that way

In truth, what they really want, in the deepest part of their hearts, is to be his friend; to be honest, they don't have that many

Gale tells them, "Somehow I doubt that. I can't imagine you being lonely"

Tav only gives him a sad smile, saying "what can I say, I contain multitudes"

Gale sees it then, that they are, in fact, lonely and for a moment sees it in himself; that maybe his feelings he started to develop really do come from that same place of loneliness

Tav watches him carefully asking, "have I hurt you terribly?"

Gale shakes his head, "just a bit bruised, nothing that won't heal. Admittedly, I think it's more my ego than my heart"

He assures them that he does value their friendship, he just might need a minute to recover

He also tells them that whoever they do give their heart to better know how valuable it truly is

It does take Gale a little time to come back to himself, but eventually he's able to become a true friend to Tav with none of the remaining awkwardness

He also makes a point to assure Astarion of the same thing after he senses the vampire glare one too many daggers into his back

As much fun as it is to tease Astarion, he doesn't want to have to sleep with one eye open, if he can help it

#gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #gale x tav #gale x ace!tav #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x ace!tav #asexual!tav #bard!tav #gale dekarios x tav #gale of waterdeep x tav #astarion x reader #asexual!reader #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x evie #gale x evie

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hanjisungs-bigtittyg0thgf · 5 months

Text

soooooo after a delightful conversation with @bahng-chrizz about who in ateez and stray kids would cum untouched from eating you out, i made myself extremely unwell. so have this ig. also pls send in mtls and ask nasty questions, i’m a puddle rn and wanna think about it 😮‍💨 anyways have this byeeeeeeeee

changbin just REALLY loves going down on you. like. so much. eating pussy is his favorite pastime. if he’s not working on a song, his head is between your legs. so naturally, when you get a little too enthusiastic and demand to sit on his face, he is far too eager to comply. 50% of the time he doesn’t even make it to undress before he’s hoisting you over him and trapping you by wrapping his ridiculously-beefy arms around your thighs. and 100% of the time, he cums - usually in his pants - before you ever get the chance to touch him.

hyunjin is a SLUT (affectionate). he’s walking sex. he’s a tease. he knows what he’s doing to you every time he flashes the tiniest amount of skin or just barely touches you. he’s not exactly a brat but he lets you treat him like he is because he likes it a little rough. so when your “punishment” is to tie him down and ride his tongue, he’s in heaven. it doesn’t take long before he’s moaning into your pussy, alerting you to his orgasm just as you’re about to tip over the edge yourself.

jisung is just so needy. really, it’s not you demanding you sit on his face, it’s him. he LIVES for your cunt. doesn’t matter what he’s doing to you, he just desperately needs to be touching you at all times, making you feel good. knowing he’s pleasing you gets him off. so he all but begs and tells you that you don’t even have to do anything except allow him to work, and before you know it, both of you are trembling.

felix is truly the best boy. he’s always so good and extremely reactive. his body is so sensitive to your touch. sometimes he hates how easy it is to work him up because he can never last. everything gets to him, even if it’s only slightly erotic. so after he’s collected his jaw off the floor at your request, he complies and sets off to make you cum. you can tell he’s turned on by his low groans and the way his fingers dig into your thighs but you don’t realize just how turned on he is until he makes a choked sound and begins squirming as he spills all over his belly.

seonghwa, like hyunjin, is walking sex. but he’s timid and easily excitable, like felix, and tends to indulge you, no matter what you ask. he’s quick to agree when you ask to sit on his face and before long, he’s guiding your hips back and forth because he knows how much you like when his nose bumps your clit. seeing you fall apart because of his tongue - and nose - has him suddenly whimpering as he soils his boxers.

san isn’t as frenzied as others you’ve been with but he’s certainly passionate about pleasing you. he also loves when you use him. he’s told you before how hot it is to him and he regularly lays back and lets you fuck yourself while he enjoys the view. you notice him bucking his hips into the air moments before you come undone yourself and just as you reach back to help him along, he lets go across his stomach, the visual finishing you off as well.

mingi is the awestruck type. to him, you’re a goddess and sex with you is a religious experience. you even taste heavenly. this regularly drives him mad and he simply must take his time to fully appreciate your taste. he often loses himself in your pleasure and every time you find yourself seated on his face, teetering on the edge of ecstasy, he does it again. the moment you explode on his tongue, he can’t contain himself. the only orgasms that are better than those are the ones where he’s buried deep inside you and you’re reacting the same way he reacts to you - like he’s a god.

wooyoung is the brattiest boy. he regularly challenges you and only offers a shit-eating grin in response. it often lands him in hot water, not that he really cares. but sometimes, when he’s feeling like a good boy - read: he doesn’t think he can handle being punished so retracts all his previous actions and statements - he gives you his all and starts to get lost in you. he devours you and begs for more with a simple pleading expression and when you seem to give in, he cums almost as hard as if you’d been sucking the life out of him.

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gavisuntiedboot · 11 months

Text

Just Pretend (Gavi x reader)

Part 8

Warnings: ANGST! Idk if it's actually that angsty but I made myself sad. Very very brief mentions of kind of hurting yourself but not really? I actually can't remember what I wrote so if I miss something that needs a warning pls lmk

Word Count: 16.0k (fun fact: if you've read the whole series, you've read 105 pages single space)

A/N: y'all it's literally almost 1 am but I need to start this before I get crucified by the cult following I have created with this series. GIF credit @gavidaily

"You... are considering leaving Barca?"

Xavi looked at you with one brow raised. The same girl that had been fighting for her position at the club just 6 weeks prior was now thinking of quitting her job?

"You know Miss y/l/n, we are about to lose Antonio, and with how hard we push our players, we need to retain the largest amount of medical talent possible. You know that we think extremely highly of you and your ability, which is why you were selected specifically for this role. What can we do to make the job here at Barça more compelling than that of other clubs?”

You took a deep breath. You knew this question was coming. You had worked jobs and been in negotiations before. It would be a lot more expensive for them to hire someone new than to just give in to what they predicted would be a demanded increase in pay.

You looked at your lap, sighing with the weight of the feelings you had carried for God knows how long. It had sat on your subconscious, but was now bubbling to the surface, too powerful to be stopped. “Honestly, mister, I don’t think there’s anything that can be done.”

There’s a funny thing about women letting go. Some people call it the severance theory. Men are heavily guided by their emotions, contrary to popular belief. In a fit of rage they are capable of anything: screaming, blows - any number of crimes of passion. So when an extreme emotion overcomes them, be it sadness or anger or fear, they can end a relationship suddenly. Once they return to a base state of logic, that’s when the crawling back and groveling begins. Because they come to realize that her absence is a stronger pain than whatever drove him away. They exist in binary states: zeroes and ones. Either hatred or love. They don’t understand gradients or in-betweens. They don’t understand that there is another person who must also decide to return to the relationship.

Women on the other hand are much more resilient. It’s why we find the most gorgeous muses with the slimiest excuses for boyfriends. A woman will fall in love not with what she sees, but rather what she hears. What she is told. All the flowery, lovely promises about a glowning future, that’s what she clings to in the midst of a gray and bleak present. The soft whispers of “I love you” and “I don’t know how I would live without you” act as bandages, plugging the gaping wounds left by his actions. But her resolve slips the longer those promises go unfulfilled. The longer those holes go unfilled. She begins to see the truth of her situation, and realizes that the road she’s skipped down is a dead end. She imagines once again. She thinks of all the possible ways that he could change and be the man she wants. She searches for glimpses of it in his words, his movement, his aura. She does the silliest, most foolish thing a woman can do: she hopes. She holds on until not even her delusions can be a comfort. She realizes that there is no way for her to be happy with this man. That’s when she finally leaves. There’s no groveling, no tears, no remorse. It’s a clean severance of dead weight. She’s empty, and it lightens her being enough for her to walk away. There is no way to save it. The bridge has been burned and she was gone forever.

The funny part was, this didn’t just apply to men. That’s the thing about emptiness: it consumes everything. Loneliness is a black hole that swallows every ray of light that it encounters. That was your life recently. No light and no joy - not even sadness. You couldn’t feel anything strongly anymore. You picked up little habits to try and feel. You heated your food to scalding temperatures just to feel the heat on your lips. Your showers were icy, the pinpricks distracting you from the desire to cry. You no longer felt strong anger or desire or really anything. The color was slowly draining from your life, grays and sepias replacing the once vibrant existence around you. The beauty around you had mangled into gnarly trees and threatening uncertainty as you foolishly waited for the sun to peak through. But it had abandoned you. The sun had taken its rays and warmth elsewhere, almost mocking you as you shivered in the dirt. So maybe it was time to crate your own light: burn down the forest and start anew.

“Nothing? La, that can’t be true Doctora.”

Your eyes shot up at the title. There was, in fact, one feeling that you still sensed: pain. You could still feel physically pain, and inflicted it on yourself often just to experience an emotion. But nothing could compare to the sharp stabs and dull aches that lived in your heart. It was hard to look at Gavi without feeling like you wanted to fall on your knees. Realizing that you were in love was not beautiful or romantic. It was torturous, like snakes and thorns taking home in your throat. Reality was the salt in the wound; the knowledge that you two were destined to fail before you had began was a pill too big to swallow, suffocating you instead.

“If I can be honest, mister, I don’t feel like I belong here at Barça. I’ve been here for six months and I still don’t feel like part of the team. Maybe it’s just not a good environment or fit for me. That’s not something that can be fixed with just a salary increase. I just can’t tell if this is the place for me.”

Xavi looked at you, bringing his elbows to rest on the table and interlocking his fingers. He wanted to adamantly refuse, but there was truth to what you said. It was evident that there was a disconnect between you and the general environment of the team. You were close to some of the younger players, but had difficulty gaining the trust and respect of the older crowd and the medical staff. Your ideas for treatment were too modern - too far removed from what everyone else was used to. Hell, you were upsetting one of his players, and that was the opposite of your job as the support staff. But he would by lying if he said you weren't effective. The plan for Dembele that you had first presented got the striker back on the field weeks earlier than any other predictions. Your diligent maintenance had prevented players from getting injured as often, keeping the ones you were closest to on a strict exercise regimen, ensuring their continuous improvement. He cared for his players and his club. And if you were the miracle cure to keeping them healthy and playing, then he was going to keep you there, even if he had to tie you to the columns of Camp Nou.

"There must be something we can do to keep you. You're very familiar with the players and the equipment, as well as the workflow, and you're very good at your work. Hell, Gavi hasn't even had a cough since you started here, and he's quite accident-prone. Please let me know what I can possibly do to keep you with us."

"I really am not being shy or sneaky. I really have no demands. When then team heads to the UK for the game against Man U, I will visit the Chelsea facility and meet the staff. If I like what I see, I'll be moving there. I'm just... not happy here anymore."

There it was. The confession you had not even made to yourself. You were at the club of your dreams, living everything that your younger self had always wanted, and you just could not be happy. This was a disappointment that was hard to describe. Everyone always talks about shooting for the moon, but no one talks about what happens when you actually make it there. You work hard and your dreams become a reality: you're on the moon! But the moon is so, so far from Earth. And when you're cold and lonely and looking down on all of the people that could be loving you, then the moon doesn't seem so worth it anymore. When you realize the moon is just a rock, then what hope do you have left?

Thinking back, you recalled all the people that you pushed away to further your career goals. You think of the family gatherings and events that you missed to study and work. You think of all the friends you have lost touch with because they were never a priority. They were never smart or driven enough to keep up with you, and so they were left in the dust. You had a few, but none you could confidently say would pick up a call from you at 2am if you needed help. Boyfriends were even worse. Since your heartbreak in college, men had fallen to the wayside. You justified it to yourself, saying that you just needed to be successful, and you would attract someone at your level. Someone who wanted an equal. But here you were: alone, depressed, and thinking of running away from what you once thought was your life's purpose.

Before Xavi could respond, a loud thud from the hallway distracted the two of you, followed by shouts that chilled your blood.

"Gavi!"

You were out of your seat in seconds. There was no force that could stop you, feet and hands moving on their own accord as you entered the hall and laid eyes on the body on the floor. There was no air in your lungs or your larynx to make a sound, let alone scream.

Why was Gavi on the floor?

Your hearing was shot, like you were underwater. The faces of those surrounding were panicked, and all eyes were on you, shouts and points and calls for action flying straight over your head.

Why was Gavi on the floor?

Your stomach was twisting itself into elaborate knots, coiling tighter while pushing the bile further up your throat. Your eyes went in and out of focus, willing the scene in front of you to disappear. You blinked hard hoping for the image to change when your eyes opened again.

Why was Gavi on the floor?

"Doctora, please look at Pablo - he collapsed suddenly and we need to make sure he doesn't have a head injury. Move!" It was Antonio's hands on your shoulders and shouts that finally got you to move from your frozen position.

Kneeling over, Gavi looked even worse. His skin was pale, and he was crumpled like an aluminum can - limbs everywhere, like his life force had just abandoned him. You had to remove Gavi from the situation and pretend he was a practice dummy at school. You had to pretend he was plastic and rubber, because that's the only way you could go through head injury protocols with a calm mind. He couldn't be Pablo, because if he was, then the thought would have to fester in your head: Pablo was hurt when you had been distant. He was hurt because you had been distant. Worst case scenario, he could disappear from your life now, all because you hadn't been able to handle the proximity like a normal person. Your thoughts were spiraling now, painting scenarios of death and disease and making it even harder for you to stop the tremble in your hands.

But you had decided that his cold heap of flesh before you wasn't Gavi. It couldn't be. It wasn't even a person. You recited the head injury checklist under your breath: consciousness, breathing, vision, vomiting. Placing a hand on Gavi's neck, you felt a pulse, stopping you from performing CPR. The last thing you needed to do was unnecessarily crack a rib. You shook him several times, and received no response.

"Shine a light in his eyes!" "Shake him harder!" "Should we pour water on him? Get some water!" "You're not yelling his name loudly enough!"

You ignored the shouts of the peanut gallery, repeating the list like a mantra in your head. You would have time later to be angry at the staff for their utter uselessness in the situation, but right now, you just needed to keep going. Blood was pounding in your ears as you opened one of his eyelids. Consciousness, breathing, vision, vomiting. It snapped back into place, and Pablo's face was now in view. Other than his pale complexion, he looked perfectly at peace. His face was identical to the night you had spent sleeping next to him - sleeping atop him. His breathing was deep, as if he had spontaneously fallen asleep in the middle of the hallway. He was beautiful. And for the first time in days, it had allowed you to be filled with a warmth somewhat foreign to you now. Pablo was in your arms and beautiful, and you could not imagine how you were meant to go on with life seeing him every day and being denied this privilege. You didn't allow yourself to dwell on the thought. Breathing? Yes. Consciousness? No. That needed to be remedied.

"Pablo, if you can wake up now, it would be really helpful. Otherwise I'm going to have to cause you a lot of pain."

You waited for a response, but none came. You sighed deeply, moving your hands from the supple skin of his cheeks downwards, gripping the hem of his shirt and pulling it upwards, exposing the expanse of his chest. You made out the sounds of taunting and whistles, but they were promptly silenced by staff who reminded the crowd that this was not an appropriate moment for jokes. Forming a fist, you placed your knuckles on the center of Pablo's chest, pushing down and rubbing. Hard. His eyes shot open within seconds, and he threw your hand off, howling in pain. His breathing was shallow and panicked, vision erratic as teammates, coaches, and other staff all yelled questions and instructions at him.

"Everybody shut up! Let me do my job."

That was the voice he needed to hear. As the yells settled to murmurs, his breathing slowed and he began to see more clearly. His eyes fully focused on you, and it soothed the ache in his chest. His heart was racing faster than he had ever felt, causing Pablo to grab onto your shoulders to ground himself.

"Pablo, can you hear me?"

You were here. You were real. He could still hold you and feel you. He nodded slowly, not trusting himself to speak. The nausea that he had felt before he blacked out still lingered, and the last thing he wanted to do was projectile vomit on you. He flinched slightly at the feeling of your hand returning to his face, but settled quickly, listening hard to your instructions. There was nothing easier than focusing on the sound of your voice.

"Look at me." You said, shining a light in Gavi's eyes, checking for any hemorrhaging or internal bleeding. What a silly request, he thought to himself, squinting under the brightness. How could he look anywhere else when you were in the room? How could he ever tear his eyes from you? How could he waste a single second of you before him, especially with the prospect of you leaving at the end of the month looming?

"No bleeding. Are you experiencing any double vision?"

A headshake no. You instructed someone behind you to grab a bottle of water, and then turned back to Pablo.

"Good. What is your name?"

Gavi swallowed thickly, and took a deep breath before speaking. "My name is Pablo Gavi."

"Good. And who am I?"

"Ah don't worry, Doctora. Even with amnesia, I could never forget you." There was that stabbing feeling in your chest again. That feeling that accompanied Pablo's sweet words and kind eyes. The cold shard of reality that reminded you that he would fade away into an Instagram mutual in a matter of months.

"Alright, Gavi. No internal bleeding and no memory loss. We need to go through more of the concussion protocols and make sure you're okay, but we can do this in my office. Are you okay to stand?"

After a curt nod, you helped Pablo stand, and began walking with him towards your office. You informed Xavi of the next steps, and he told you to do whatever necessary to make sure his 'golden angry bird' was okay. But of course, you could never know a day of peace, as each one must be filled with the noise pollution that was Ferran's voice.

"If the door isn't open, just know that Pablito isn't moaning in pain." A round of snickers was heard from both players and staff. But before they had time to add on to the nasty comment, you swiveled around to face the group. You were seething with anger, and one very important realization came to the center of your mind.

You had nothing left to lose.

It was Pablo Torre who was closest to you, and he was the person that received the start of your wrath.

"What the hell are you laughing at? The fact that your teammate could have serious head trauma? Or at the fact that, with Gavi potentially out of commission, they might take you off the bench long enough for you to remember what grass feels like?"

He was silent instantly, eyes wide. He had never received words this harsh from anyone at the club. Or anyone not on Twitter. You turned to two more assistant physios, Luca and Gabriel, who stood next to him, still muttering to one another in hushed tones.

"And you two! Do you want to know why everyone has to rush and get me whenever someone hits their head? Because out of everyone here, I'm the only one that knows proper concussion protocols and how to identify trauma. I have more medical knowledge in my fingernail than in both of your heads combined. I have to take him to my office because you two are incompetent at your jobs! And instead of doing anything useful, this is how you occupy your time: slacking, cigarette breaks, speculating who I'm sleeping with, and doing absolutely jack shit when a player gets injured. So keep giggling like school girls. I can't wait to see you both giggling on the street corner while begging for spare change."

You held Gavi harshly, storming off to your office. Your speed and the bounce was making him nauseous, but he knew better than to speak in this moment. His chest had swelled with pride. He was patiently waiting for the day that you would put the guys in their place. None of them were bad people - it had just been a while since most of them interacted with a woman they didn't want to sleep with. Gavi loved that you were capable of defending yourself, but could not ignore the part of him that wanted to be the one to defend you.

Call it a toxic trait if you want, but Pablo had always taken pride in his ability to intimidate. He had eventually come to terms with the fact that he was done growing at a sweet 5'7, despite his desire to break at least 5'9 (because his friend Hanna at La Masia told him that was the shortest a girl would go for. Looking back, taking this information from a 5'10 female footballer was probably not the best idea he's ever had). It had taken a while, but after weeks of daily affirmations in the mirror about how short Messi was, he held his chin higher. Once he started receiving praise from fellow players, coaches, and media, Pablo gained more confidence in the fact that he could be part of the next generation of great Barcelona football. This allowed him to go up against any player with no worries or fear, winning headers against people with a foot of height on him. Pablo began building his upper body in the gym as well, compensating with strength. A broad and reckless teenager, there was almost no one he wasn't ready to take on.

He sensed that same quality in you as well: a desire to prove yourself, no matter the cost. But he didn't want you to. He never wanted to see you scowl or have to hear you yell (despite it being semi-hot). Pablo wanted to be your knight, whose sole purpose in life was making sure that you never experienced feelings but joy and pleasure. He wanted others to go through him before daring to speak to you. Because how could every person just have access to the beauty that is you? To the radiant soul and shimmering aura that fills the room? How could he be content with you shouldering the burdens of living in this world? Even if he never got to have you romantically, Pablo wanted to shield you from every harm in the world. And not a day went by when he didn't feel it.

This was one of those moments. He wished he was able to verbally berate Ferran for the garbage he spewed on a regular basis, but he could do nothing except let himself be dragged by you through the halls of the sports center until they reached your office, where he was promptly flung towards the exam table. He watched as you brought him your small office trash can, setting it beside the bed. He was brought back to your first month at Barca, when he had challenged you and been proven wrong. There was a confidence in yourself and your abilities that had dissipated from then to now. Pablo smiled stupidly as he remembered the excruciating pain and discomfort of trying not to throw up in front of the pretty physio. If only he had known then that it was nothing compared to the pain of holding back these feelings.

"Lay down on the bed. Look up at the ceiling. If you need to vomit, do it in there." You instructed curtly before moving to sit at your computer. Short nails clicked harshly against the raised keyboard, keys slamming down rapidly, sound reverberating around the room. Gavi wanted so desperately to flip over, lay on his stomach and stare at you. Just to see the curves of your face and the way your eyes reflected the light. But he looked up at the ceiling like you asked, more worried about pushing you further away than watching you type. He took several deep breaths. This didn’t feel like the last time he was concussed. Last time, he had felt his brain rattle against his skull, waves of nausea starting immediately. His head ad throbbed, spots forming on his vision. His jaw was clenched, and he could’ve sworn there was a crack down the center of his cranium, blood oozing out of it onto the practice pitch.

He remembered that day so vividly despite the head trauma. He had been livid, Ferran dragging him to a new and inexperienced physio. Gavi had interpreted it as sabotage to that Ferran could get the left wing back. And then he saw you. Angry that he was he wasn’t receiving treatment by the best, he couldn’t say he was upset to look at you. You were a stunning kind of beauty, young and lively and clad in cool gray scrubs. But you were three years older than him, wildly advanced and talented, and he couldn’t swallow his pride - especially not with this nausea. He could not swallow the fact that you looked so damn familiar. He had seen you somewhere before: those eyes had looked at him with that same distress and concern. But he could not place it for the life of him.

Pablo thought back to how sweet you had been to him that day. How you had encouraged him to take pride in himself and be confident in the fact that he deserved all the success he had seen. He was so overwhelmed that day. His brain was absolute porridge, and he was doing his best for it not to pour out of his ears, all while his cheeks burned under your gaze. He was too preoccupied by his desire to muster one ounce of hatred to replace the overwhelming admiration in his brain that he could not determine where the hell he had seen you before.

And now here he was, once again staring at the ceiling, head throbbing, and the thought came to him again: why did you look familiar? Despite having known you for half a year now, the feeling that there was history had not left him. It wasn't that you had a common face. There was something about the way you looked at him, with a knowing and sadness, that touched a part of his soul. Like you knew things he had never even admitted to himself. While he thought that was just your way of being, he was coming to realize that look was one reserved specifically for Pablo. Now he wasn't nauseous, and focused on the rhythmic sounds of keys being slammed. He poised himself to ask a question, but not the one gnawing at his brain.

"What're you typing so excitedly? Hopefully not your resignation."

You looked up in time to watch Pablo's chest heave with the breathy (and very fake) laugh that he forced out. Your fingers rested against the keyboard, pausing your aggressive typing. How did Gavi know about your plans to leave? Had he been listening at the door? How long had he been standing there before-

"Is that why you fainted in the hallway? Because I'm leaving the club?"

"So you've already decided that you're leaving? You aren't even going to wait until you see whatever shithole you've been offered a spot at?"

There was an emotion that made Gavi's voice wobble, and you couldn't pin it exactly, but it sounded akin to betrayal. You finished the last sentence of your email, the swooshing sound indicating the message had been sent. Pablo bit his lip and stared hard at the fluorescent light. He didn't want you to see the distress in his face, but he couldn't help it. He hated how the dynamic between the two of you had been so warm, so close to the spark he desperately sought, just to go back to how icy your interactions began.

You pulled up a stool to sit next to him, and grabbed a pair of gloves as you approached. You noticed the slight quiver of his lip, and turned away to put your gloves on. The deep sadness in his eyes, the way his body tensed, the voice like a hurt child - was this all because of you?

"I was doing what I should've done my first week working here: I sent an email to HR about Ferran's nasty comments. Barca can't have a sexual harassment scandal right about now, especially not during the transfer window. And if they fire me, then they..." Your voice trailed off, throat closing up. It was still hard for you to process the possibility.

"If they fire me, then that's one less decision that I have to make."

You ran a gloved hand across his crown, feeling for any bumps or lacerations because of his fall. You felt worse the longer you continued the exam, the feeling that this was your fault sinking in. You had pushed Pablo away wordlessly after brining him in so close. But the majority of your brain screamed back at you how selfish it would be to drag Pablo into your black hole, ruining his career so that he could run after a girl who didn't even feel. If the sun in its greatness could not warm you, then how could ask this of Pablo?

"Now we need to talk about your fall in the hallway. It's quite obvious that you fainted but-"

"Were ever going to tell me? Or were you just going to freeze me out until you left the country?"

Gavi propped himself up on his elbows, eyes meeting you directly. You didn't know what to say. You couldn't tell him how you felt, especially not now. Not right before you disappeared.

"Have you ever fainted like that before? What have you eaten to day?" You asked, moving to throw away your gloves. "If you're having frequent spells of losing consciousness, then we need to have your blood iron tes-"

"Are you being serious right now, y/n? You're on the verge of quitting your dream job, packing up and leaving the country, and isolating yourself from everyone who cares about you, and you're asking about my blood iron? No."

Pablo stood, getting off the table faster than someone with a head injury should. He walked towards you, anger evident.

"No. You don't get to change the subject and talk about my iron. Or sit and try and diagnose me with anything. You know that I'm perfectly healthy. Want to know why I fainted? I'll tell you, Doctora."

Gavi was right in front of your face now, heavy breath fanning against your skin. You swallowed thickly, breathing just as heavy as you met his blazing stare. For the first time in weeks, your eyes started to moisten. Why was this scolding from Pablo going to bring you to tears?

"Because from the moment I laid eyes on you, I felt like I knew you. I don't know if I saw you on the street or in a dream, but a part of my brain recognized you, and since then I've been in pain. Pain that you can't even help me with. Nobody can. It's so hard to watch everyone take advantage of you all the fucking time. It tears me apart constantly. But it let me get closer to you. You let me get closer. And I tried so hard to keep it at bay, to be the friend that you need."

Pablo was now cupping your face, holding it like it was the only thing that would tether him to the earth. He rested his head against yours, and suddenly it was too much. All the feelings that had escaped you for so long were coming back all at once, stacking on top of each other and smothering you. Your eyes welled with tears, and you wished the ground would swallow you whole to escape Gavi's piercing eyes looking straight through you.

"But you have to know that I don't just see you as a friend, Doctora. You have to know, even if you don't feel the same way, that I am -"

"We met before I got my job here. That's why you recognize me."

Gavi let go of your face, taking a step back. He looked at you with confusion and hurt. You both knew what he was about to say, and he couldn't understand why you wouldn't just let him get it off his chest. And as selfish as it was, you just couldn't take it. Pablo deserved better - someone that would lift him up, not hold him back. And if he said it, if it was out in the open, then you would never be able to put his needs first.

"The week of my interview, I went to pick up Angelika from the club. Angel went to get her from the VIP section and he left me in charge of keeping an eye on you."

"You... were watching me while I was drunk?" Pablo's brain was processing a thousand things at once. You had met him and remembered him? What had he said while drunk to make you hide that fact from him?

"Why didn't you say anything before?"

There were so many ways to answer this question that you didn't know where to begin. How could you explain to Gavi that you had been so captured by his beauty that night that it had thrown you off your axis, making you wonder if you had died and this was the angel sent to guide you to the pearly gates? How could you describe the intense pull Pablo had over you, tugging at your soul, urging you to stay with him? How were you to say the way your heart broke on his behalf, wanting to hold him in your arms and protect him from everything that made him feel less than the most special person alive? All you had wanted was to kiss him, to pull him in, to never let him go. But none of the words materialized. Because to you, the cruelest thing you could do to Pablo was keep pulling him into you. He was pure light, and you couldn't bear the burden of being the one to extinguish it.

"It was an insignificant moment in a club. Nothing worth mentioning. I didn't even remember until Pedri reminded me when I started."

There it was. The sentence that made Gavi crack. You watched the hurt seep into his features, and a heavy air filled the room. Brows coming together, he looked at you expectantly, waiting, praying, that you would take it back.

"Meeting me was ... insignificant?"

Eyes locked, there was nothing you could say that would erase this moment. You swallowed the lump in your throat, playing with your fingers. You spun the ring you wore around your finger, trying to occupy your mind with anything other than the thought that you were the human embodiment of garbage.

The silence remained, growing thicker with each passing second. It enveloped the both of you, tendrils wrapping around and ripping the two of you apart, fraying whatever string of fate had brought you together.

"You think it was just a coincidence, meeting me in the club weeks before we become coworkers? Friends? Something... beyond that...and you think that coincidence was so forgettable that it wasn't even worth mentioning?"

There it was. The cold front that you put up, the one that pushed everyone away, no matter how hot their love for you burned. You were the ice princess, destined to go through life cold and untouchable and alone.

"Some people you just meet, Pablo. It doesn't mean they're meant to be together. I needed to get my friend out of the club and I just ran into Angel. He left me in charge of you so that you wouldn't do anything stupid or childish while drunk. I was in a club babysitting an 18 year old kid who was pouring his heart out to me while wasted. I didn't say anything to save you from the embarrassment."

That was the straw that broke Gavi's heart. He stormed towards the door, unable to look at you any longer. Had he really been lead on; allowed to believe that you were his friend, or at the least respected him, when this entire time you just saw him as a little kid. His last line to you was spoken so softly you almost didn't hear it over the deafening slam of the door.

"They're going to love you in England."

"Your English is very good for someone educated in Spain."

You looked up at Steve, flashing a practiced professional smile that showed no indication of offense at the objectively offensive statement.

"Thank you, Dr. Hughes. I did complete my baccalaureate degree in the United States, but I'm glad the last two years in Barcelona have not damaged my language."

Now it was his turn to laugh uncomfortably as he lead you through the garish blue halls of Stamford bridge. The entire plane ride you had told yourself that this could be the fresh start you needed. This could be the opportunity to turn your life around, and so you should approach it with fresh eyes and an open mind. But the walls were hurting your eyes, the blue and white making you think of Martin in his kit. You were lead into the trophy room, which was a lot smaller than you were used to.

"Here you can see some of the club's shining moments. We have had an... interesting season this year, but you know that performance fluctuates between seasons. We hope to be back on top again very soon, especially with an entirely new medical team coming on board."

You scanned the shelves and glass cases, admiring the look of trophies you were familiar with, and ones you had never seen before.

"An entire new medical staff? No one is staying on?" You asked, confused. What kind of club replaced everyone all at the same time? Usually at least one person remained to pass the torch, to maintain familiarity. It set warning bells off in your head.

“Ah, well, many of our staff members were quite loyal to Dr. Henry, you know he was here for 17 years after all. So they all followed him out. But we are excited to usher in a new wave of sparkling young medical talent!”

You swallowed hard, still feeling from the information. You still hadn’t finished your degree, and yet you were being offered a head position at what was supposed to be a huge and well-respected club. You couldn’t help but think of the blaugrana.

Something flitted in your chest, a feeling that surrounded you whenever you walked into the camp. The feeling of family, like you were home. The coldness of Steve’s answer didn’t spark anything close to that feeling. Not every workplace needed to be a part of your heart, a new family. These days. You had no idea what your family was supposed to be, or if you had one at all. Your brain begged you to ask what the environment was like, how close the staff was, what created such a high level of loyalty that they would all follow this man wherever he went, abandoning club and home. But you couldn’t bring yourself to do it, asking instead,

“Do you only display the most recent. Champions League trophy?”

More laughter from Steve, but of the fakest nature. “Yes we have one on this side, one on the other. They’re … ehem, all of our UCL trophies are displayed here.” Your cheeks warmed with subtle embarrassment. You knew nothing about this room or this club, and if you were honest with yourself, you had no desire to. You missed Barca. But you had to give this club its chance – an honest shot to be your new home.

The two of you continued through the halls as Steve showed you all the medical equipment and facilities that would be at your disposal should you accept. At the end, he led you to the players’ lounge, offering you a seat. The blue had given you a baby migraine, and you were incredibly grateful for the ability to sit and rest. You refused the gracious offers for food, sipping on a bottle of water to dull the throbbing against your skull. You searched the room for something, something familiar – a face, a number, to make you feel like everything was going to work out in the end. But it never appeared, the bright colors and foreign faces more of a discomfort than anything else.

"Make yourself comfortable, Doctor. Let me get some of the players that you'll be working with, and you can hear from them what the environment is like."

You nodded sweetly, sitting up straight with ankles crossed in the way Princess Diaries taught you to. As the footsteps faded slowly into the distance, a sigh passed between your lips. What were you doing? Despite the lecture given to yourself on the uncomfortable plane ride over (Chelsea would only pay for economy), it had all gone out the window. Your gut was in knots, and you couldn't shake the feeling that you were doing something wrong.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and the screen lit up in your hand to read "One Football: FC Barcelona vs Manchester United - Starting lineup now available." The notification had been pressed before you registered what was going on. Your eyes scanned the list just to land on one name. Your mind went back to the last conversation the two of you shared. The most venomous words had slipped past your lips, and you had finally done it: you pushed the last person who cared for you away. The sentiment was harsh. How could anyone ever recover a relationship after shattering it so completely? Despite how much much it hurt to grip the broken shards so tightly, you held on nonetheless, packing Gavi's hoodie in your bag, the '6' embroidered into the pocket cutting open a gaping wound in your heart, and yet you enjoyed its presence there.

"Doctora, I'm pleased to introduce Kepa and Christian. They have been with the club for a while, and they would be happy to answer all your questions."

"A scoreless first half here at Old Trafford as both Barcelona and Man U return to the locker rooms for half time. As we saw Pedri went down in those final minutes of the half, and we've received a report that he is out for the rest of the match. His injury status is unknown, but if the magician is out of commission, this could be a very easy steal for United."

The sounds of fists slamming against lockers was loud enough to be heard all the way home in Spain. Pedri Potter, the star, the leader of Barca's new era, was now in icing his right hamstring in some medical examination room, while the rest of the team scrambled to figure out a scenario in which they would win without him in a mere 15 minutes. Gavi bounced his leg anxiously, eager to see his friend and make sure he was okay.

"Listen up boys. We can win this game without Pedri. The score is now 1-0 to Man U, and all we need to do it score once to tie. Then we are back home, our turf and our fans. Robert, Rapha, your goal is to put the ball in the net. I don't care what you have to do. The middle, you need to get the ball in a good position for these two. That means Gavi, you'll be- Gavi pay attention!"

Head snapping up, Pablo's eyes met Xavi's directly. He knew he should be paying attention - this was the first of several games that needed to be won until they reached a trophy. He needed to be on his A-game, and yet, his mind was drifting. He wished it was just concern over Pedri capturing his attention. But in the corners of his mind, your voice lingered. "Babysitting... insignificant... embarrassment." All words you had used when talking about him as he was on the verge of pouring his entire soul out onto the linoleum for you. He didn't understand the anger that flowed through him. It was a sense of ... incompleteness. If you had let him finish, let him say the words that he didn't fully understand, then he would have been okay. He would have watched as you kicked his beating heart against the wall, telling him that you could never feel that way towards him. He would have been okay: relieved. But you had left him dangling off the edge of a cliff, with no relief in being pulled to safety nor mercy in being allowed to fall.

Xavi gave his instructions to the midfield and the defensive line, going over the weak points that needed to be addressed.

"Pedri is most likely out for the next eight weeks, missing both the next match and the SuperCopa, so this is your opportunity to adjust to playing in high-stress situations without him."

Gavi's head raised fully at this. Eight weeks? It has been forever since someone was out for that long. Since the beginning of the season... since you had joined the team. A pinch in Pablo's chest. His brain repeated over and over that the best thing to do was let you go. To let you be your own person, grow and be independent, saving himself the heartache because the one girl he wanted was the one he couldn't have. Yet his heart held on with an iron grip. It refused to release you, reminding him of every sweet moment shared in cars and offices and bedrooms. It was quick to forget the pain of being perceived as a child. Pablo's heart begged him to wait for you, because it was incapable of letting go of a devotion so intense. His heart ached for you, longing for the day he be deemed worthy enough to love you wholly and completely.

"Eight weeks is insane - we have never gone that long with our midfield handicapped. Is there no way to speed up recovery? Who gave the estimate?" Robert asked, wiping the sweat off his brow.

"Luca is the only one from the medical staff who is here right now. He is the one who made the determination. Of course, the rest of the staff will be free to reevaluate when we return home. But Luca will be the one continuing with the course of treatment, and so we will go with his estimate."

"What? Where is y/n?" The question came from Alejandro, followed by hushed agreement. Even if you were not the first point of contact for all the players, you were a team staple, becoming as familiar to them as the crest embroidered on their uniforms. The older players had watched as you performed medical miracles on their teammates that rivaled what Jesus did for the blind, allowing the team to prosper all season. 15 points at the top of the table, and at least half had your name on them. The youngers had felt your impact directly, following your instructions like gospel. They knew how much care you showed to every single one of them, from the starters to the bench warmers. Your hands had put them back together. A touch of you lingered in all the success achieved, and your absence felt closer to abandonment than anything else.

"You should ask Pablito - he would be the first one to notice that his girlfriend wasn't on the flight." Ferran's voice: the closest human equivalent to nails on a chalkboard. After everything that had taken place, it was a wonder he still had the energy to be an ass.

"Maybe you should ask Ferran about his HR investigation, which is a main reason that she's touring the Chelsea facility fight now. Hey, maybe you'll see her this summer when you get sold there. They're always looking for people to keep the bench warm while the important players are on the field." Gavi spoke calmly and evenly, like he was stating pure fact. He stood, leaving the room to avoid the round of questioning that was about to occur regarding HR and the doctora's new home.

The click of Pablo's cleats echoed loudly in the hallway a she approached the medical room, where Luca was fumbling with bandage and his laptop, while Pedri waited on the exam table like a fish at the market. His head turned at the sound of Gavi's approach, and he gave a weak smile to the younger player.

"I finally pushed it too far. Great timing, eh Hermano? It's only a Champion's League, a SuperCopa, and a potential classico that I'll miss. Nothing significant."

Gavi could do nothing but let out a slight laugh, cupping Pedri on the back of the neck. His heart hurt for his friend. This is what every player dreamed of: playing for cups, winning with the team of their dreams. And Pedri was going to miss all of it because they had relied on him to heavily, asked him to bridge too many gaps.

"Please don't say that word to me ever again. Luca, how's it looking? Eight weeks seems a little excessive for a sprain." Gavi knew that Luca was doing something wrong. Or stupid. Or, the most likely option, both. When Ansu had sprained his hamstring, he was back on the field in 28 days under your care. Alejandro had a minor tear in his meniscus, and yet still he was faster than the speed of sound 6 weeks later. Now there was no you. No melodic voice explaining muscle strain and stride length and tissue recovery. Just a stupid, lanky Spaniard in free Barca merch putting "leg hurts" into Web MD and seeing what he can diagnose with this time.

"Why don't you let the medical professionals do their job, Gavi, and you go back to putting your head in front of peoples' feet."

Looking to quickly diffuse the situation, Pedri turned to his friend, wanting to stop looking at the man who might end his football career with a wrong move and an 'oops'.

"I'll just let y/n look at it when I get back home. She'll fix me up in no time. That is, if you give me one of your spots on her schedule."

"Yeah, that's if she even comes back to work."

Pedri looked at the younger boy with confusion. It had been several weeks since he had seen Gavi with his favorite physio. Initially, he thought the crush had faded - that Pablo had found another pretty thing to maintain his interest, and you had fallen to the wayside with the other failed football loves. But Pablo was so clearly unhappy. He was more irritable, spending more and more time on his phone while avoiding the group all together. He sat silently in Pedri's passenger seat, screen illuminating his face but remaining silent.

[Doctora]: Good morning Pablo - running late. Will bring you an apology smoothie

[Doctora]: im going to need you to send me a video of you tying your shoes as proof

[Doctora]: i'll tell you when i see u tomorrow

Gavi had spent two weeks going back over every message you had ever sent him. He watched the way your tone changed from proper and professional to something lighter, more friendly and familiar. Over and over your voice played in his head.

"Pablo."

Pride be damned. He missed you. As he stood behind his teammates, whispers about the staff still whirling around the tunnel, it dawned on him. Barca, the club of his dreams, the fantasy of his childhood, would never - could never - be complete again if you left.

"And we're back in Old Trafford for the second half of this UCL match between the Historic FC Barcelona, and the red devils of Manchester United."

"That's incredible that you went to school there! I'm a ride or die for their basketball team, so you already have my respect."

You flashed Christian a smile - a real one, the first genuine display of joy you've been able to muster in a while. Both of the players had shown a genuine interest in getting to know you, trying to sell you on the idea of joining the club. Kepa had gushed over how much he loved living in London, citing his experiences as a fellow Spaniard.

"You're around so many Spanish speakers at the club, you hardly miss home."

Christian, the more injury-prone of the two, talked about his experiences with the medical team, and the close relationships he had built there. All of the medical team had become family to him in some way or the other. It calmed your previous anxieties. Maybe it was just a fear of change keeping you tethered to Barca, and all you needed was time to adjust.

"I think you'd get along really well with the other players, of course, the ones that opt-in to working with you."

This statement from Christian caught the attention of both you and Steve, who rushed over before you could ask for clarification. Opt-in? How could you opt-in to medical treatment?

"Miss, I think that Kepa and Christian have both done a wonderful job of providing just a small taste of what it means to be part of the Chelsea family. We don't want to keep them from afternoon training."

You said your thanks and goodbyes, but before they left Kepa turned to you, as if suddenly struck with a lightening bolt of realization.

"You're the Barca physio that works with Gavi, right?" He asked in Spanish. "He mentioned a girl physio during international training."

Another knot in your stomach at the mere mention of his name. "Yeah that would be me."

Kepa's face shifted, brows downturned and lips pursed. "Let me give you my contact information, in case you have any more questions." This line was in English, spoken more in Steve's direction than in yours. He approached, taking the phone from your hands and switching back to Spanish.

"Don't leave Barca. Gavi talked about you a lot during the break. They respect and value you a lot there - don't throw that away." He handed the phone back to you as you tried to contain your expression, suppressing the shock you felt from displaying itself on your features. What could Pablo have said that would make this man go out of his way to prevent you from joining this club? What had been so compelling that Kepa worked against his own best interest?

It was now just you and Steve in the room, and you turned to him, his skin flushed, to ask about Christian's little slip.

"There was something mentioned about players opting out of treatment?"

"Ah, just a small clause in your contract. Just says that players can choose not to be treated by club medical staff and find their own if they feel uncomfortable. It's all there in the paperwork somewhere. You can call my assistant if you read over it again and have more questions. Now, I know that you need to go soon, but I wouldn't be able to let you go without meeting one of our new signings. Someone else who knows what it's like to decide to make the shift from La Liga here to the old PL. Come with me."

You rose from your seat, migraine returning from the stress onset. What was being kept from you? Obviously you hadn't read your employment offer close enough. You walked through the passages somewhat mindlessly, following Steve with your body as your mind drifted elsewhere. What was being hidden from you?

"Joao, nice to see you again! This is Doctor y/l/n, and we're trying to convince her to make the same switch from Spain to London."

All of your medical education had told you that the masticator and other jaw muscles were voluntary; that they could be controlled and moved when you wanted. Not today. Your jaw went slack, and it refused to shut as you stared at the Portuguese beauty before you. There was no way. How had you missed the news of his move. How unprofessional was it to say 'pinch me' during what was essentially an interview.

"Nice to meet you, Doctora. I'm quite relieved that I don't have to speak in English - apparently my accent is not as good as I thought."

Joao Felix was shaking your hand. You had yet to say anything or even shut your mouth. Joao Felix was shaking your hand. You laughed lightly at his statement, muscles moving independently of the pudding that was your brain currently. Joao Felix was shaking your hand.

"I'm sorry, it's so nice to meet you, I'm just a little overwhelmed. You're one of my favorite players in football right now. I've been following you since your debut. Oh my God."

It was Joao's turn to laugh, a light and glorious sound. You had made him laugh. You wished someone was recording so you could send the video to Angeliika. And your mom. They would both go into cardiac arrest. His skin turned slightly pink as he scratched the back of his head, flattered by the admiration of someone so accomplished (and, as he would later reflect, gorgeous). Despite not understanding a lick of Spanish, Steve knew he had made a winning move by introducing you to Joao. The two of you leaned into each other as you spoke, and he motioned towards the field, inviting you to a stroll around the turf to chat.

All of your pride and prejudice fantasies were being realized in this moment. You were taking a polite stroll around the grounds with a man that you had salivated over while watching football on TV. A golden boy and future champion. He was something incredible. Witty and charismatic and easy to talk to. Everyone says not to meet your heroes, and yet here you were, floating several inches above the ground beside Joao.

"So, what club are you moving from? Can't be something in Madrid - I would remember you."

Lord, this was too much. You gave a silent thanks to the heavens, all the good karma you had accumulated throughout your life manifesting on this day.

"Oh no, not a Madrid club. Just a small Catalan club called Barca. Heard of it?" You teased as Joao stopped in his tracks. It was his turn to go wide-eyed and slack jawed.

"You're the Barca girl physio? I have heard of you! One of the physios at Atleti is your classmate. He said you're crazy smart."

How were you staying alive when all the blood in your body was in your face? How had so many people in the football space heard your name with you blissfully unaware. The smile on your face was not just due to the compliment. Maybe there were people ready to be there for you, and you just needed to reach arm out to them.

The conversation came to a close as you watched other groups come onto the field, preparations being made for upcoming matches. You thanked Joao for his time, once again involuntarily gushing about how surreal this experience was.

"Ah, there's really no need. The pleasure was all mine. I hope that I'll get to see more of you, Doctora, no matter what decision you end up making." Stretching his arm out, pulling you in for a hug. He enveloped you, arms wrapped tightly around your frame in a way that was borderline inappropriate for a goodbye. He smelled heavenly, the warmth radiating from his body akin to a fireplace. This was the stuff of dreams and imagination.

And yet, Joao was not the name on your mind. He way he smelled was beautiful and yet unfamiliar. Your thoughts traveled back to the last hug like this you had shared with someone. To the scent of One Million and powdery deodorant, mixed with something that couldn't be bottled. To the feeling of strong arms sitting lower on your waist. To brown hair and brown eyes and a brown leather couch. To white shirts and white bedsheets. To the soft voice and smooth voice that called for you.

"Doctora."

Logic be damned. You missed Pablo. And then the empty expanse of your soul filled with a feeling of dread. You had made a mistake. So many mistakes. Pushing away Pablo, lying to your friends about how much you needed them. Considering another job. Nothing in the the blue and white had given you even 1% of the feelings you experienced walking into Camp Nou every day. But you would never be able to go back if Gavi was angry with you. Ferran was cattle waiting to be sold. Gavi was a contender this year's golden boy, a powerhouse on the field, a bright star for both club and country. You reached into your bag, staring at his name in your phone. But your fingers shook too violently to press the call button. You remembered the hurt on his features, the way he couldn't even look at you as he passed in the halls. You weren't ready to see [Call Declined] appear on your screen. Instead you rested your phone on your lap, reaching in to retrieve your Chelsea contract.

Obviously, your eagerness to run away from your current life had blurred your vision. On page 22 of 31, there is was in what appeared to be a smaller font than the rest of the agreement.

"Under FIFA and British Football regulation, players may refuse treatment from club-appointed medical staff for any reason, including but not limited to feelings of fear, discomfort, lack of safety, and lack of confidence. Providers will be compensated on a fee-for-service basis, where compensation is scaled based on the number of players consistently treated. Should more than 40% of players request alternative treatment, the club may terminate the contract with the provider before the term of the contract has elapsed."

Your eyes widened, brows knitted together in confusion and borderline disgust. Women in medicine were already at a disadvantage, and that increased tenfold for women in sports medicine. Should the players feel uncomfortable with you because of your sex or age, you could spontaneously be out of a job after picking up and moving your whole life?!

Before you could pick up the phone and tell Steve that he would need to find someone else to fill this cursed position, a buzzing came from your bag. Who was calling your work phone?

"Hello?"

"Good evening Doctora y/l/n, hope that your visit at Chelsea went well." Andreas was Xavi's secretary, and he was the closest thing you would ever get to the cast of The Devil Wears Prada. He was rather cold in the way that he spoke, but never rude. Well dressed and straight to the point - commanding of respect.

"Went very well, Andreas. I got to meet-"

"Mister Xavi has asked for your presence on the flight back to Barcelona to discuss your future with the club. It is of the utmost importance that this meeting occur as soon as possible. So you need to be in Heathrow by tonight at 11pm for check in with the rest of the team."

"But my flight back to Barcelona is tomorrow and I-"

"You'll be fully reimbursed for the cost of changing your travel. We are leaving from Terminal 2. Have a wonderful evening."

Just like that, you were wondering how fast you could pack everything and leave in the next 6 hours when your personal phone buzzed in your lap.

[Pablo]: I know u said u need space but

[Pablo]: i rlly need to talk to u

[Pablo]: can i meet you somewhere?

Heart racing, you typed back as fast as you could with trembling fingers, telling him that you would be so happy to meet him, giving him the address of a café near your hotel. You didn't want him to see what your salary could actually afford (since Chelsea didn't cover your travel accommodations). You let out a sigh of relief. He wanted to see you. He wanted to speak with you. He wasn't completely lost.

Packing had been fast - you had only brought the essentials to London to avoid paying a bag fee on the budget airline you had traveled. Fixing yourself in the mirror, you let out a deep sigh. What were you even going to say to Pablo? Begging for forgiveness seemed the most logical choice. You practiced your apology in the mirror, and yet froze every time. How would you respond when he asked you why? Why it had been so easy for you to push him away, to strike him down, to make him feel so utterly unimportant to you and your life? You didn't know how you would respond.

Feelings of the heart are often the easiest to articulate. They're not like emotions. Emotions are straight forward: happiness, anger, sadness, jealousy. Things that were caused by one identifiable source, and could be expressed easily with words and actions. But the matters that went beyond feeling, those were the most difficult to understand, let alone communicate. Despite his form, it wasn't lust that drew you into Pablo. Those thoughts had made you breathe heavy and push your thighs together. The glimpses of Pablo's bare form were painted on the edge of your mind, soft skin and hard muscle, inviting you in for a touch, a taste. It was an exciting idea, but not the one that riled you up the most.

No, it was something different. It was a scene that had plagued your mind for weeks upon end, always causing you to wake in a cold sweat with a tightness in your chest, breaths labored. You pictured yourself laying on Pablo's bare chest, drawing circles on his skin as his heart beat rhythmically for you to listen to. As you drifted off, he would place a kiss on the top of your head, running a soothing hand down your spine. It wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer into him, as he whispered softly.

"Mine."

It was a magnetic pull that Pablo had, a force of nature that you were unable to escape. It could be described as nothing other than desire, like you would make the world stop spinning until the two of you were united. There was a higher force tying you to Pablo, and etched in your bones was a knowledge that you would never be able to leave him. But the sentiments died on your tongue before they could ever take to the air, never to fall on the ears of a certain Spaniard.

As your heels clicked against the city pavement, a sense of calm washed over you. He had reached out to you. There was an olive branch being extended. He was ready to hear what you had to say. Yet upon entering the small space, a different voice called out your name.

"Pedri?"

It was impossible to hide the disappointment in your voice. You had built up the confidence to come here solely based on the premise that Gavi wanted to see you. Your ego had deflated, back to feeling like utter garbage for the way you had treated the person who, in reality, was your closest friend. Before the self pity could fully sink its claws in, you noticed the full-leg brace that Pedri was sporting.

"I'm sorry that I used Pablo's phone to text you - didn't have your personal number, and it would be a little... salt-in-the-wound-ish to ask him for it right now. Especially since you asked him not to speak to you."

"I never said that!" You exclaimed a little more enthusiastically than intended, causing a couple people to glance in your direction. Pedri escorted you to a table in the corner, offering to go and get you a coffee to fight the chill of a London January.

"No please. It's completely fine. You shouldn't be standing with a torn muscle anyways."

Pedri looked at you inquisitively. He had not seen you in a while, especially with you and Gavi not on speaking terms. He had missed the quips and sarcastic comments he was able to catch during training. He missed the feeling of safety whenever you cared for himself or others on the field, as he knew that you were to be trusted with their bodies. He missed the fire you sparked in Pablo, leading to unparalleled passion and unprecedented performances. The air of natural confidence that you spoke with is what brought the smile to his face. Not hesitation or wobble in your voice. No need to consult a dozen others. Medically, you knew your shit.

"A tear? Luca told me it was only excessive strain on my hamstrings."

A scoff and an eye roll that widened Pedri's smile. "I wouldn't let Luca perform medicine on a Barbie. That's the wrong kind of brace if it's a sprain. It's immobilizing. You need something with compression - a thigh sleeve most likely. Have you been icing it?"

"How could you leave Barca when your successors are idiots like Luca?" His arms folded across the table in front of him as the realization spread across your features. You were acting like his physio on impulse.

"How did you know I was thinking about leaving?"

"Everybody knows. No one could focus on today's second half because of it. When I went down everyone was scrambling to find you and call you. Everyone, myself included, was waiting for you to run across the field, bag in those magic hands ready to come and give me a new leg. But then you weren't there. And I was just praying that Luca didn't schedule me for an amputation."

A shy smile and a breathy laugh. You met his kind eyes, piercing though you. It was surprising when you felt the wetness on your cheeks, registering you were crying only after the tears had rolled down to your chin. He brought his chair in closer, holding your hand, and you held on for dear life. Your tears were falling in earnest now, fat and fast enough to hit the table as you used Pedri as a lifeline.

"Come back to Barca."

"I can't Pedri. I've... I've just made such a mess of everything."

"You're talking about Pablo."

"I'm talking about everything. I have a player that actively hates me and is looking for every opportunity to get me fired. Everyone on the team thinks that I'm sleeping with Pablo. And Pablo - I can't even explain how much I messed up. I told him to stay away from me. To give me space. I don't want space." You rested your forehead against the cool wood of the table. "I just want him to talk to me. When you sent me that message I was so excited. I thought he was ready to forgive me."

"Don't worry for a second about Ferran. We heard about the complaint to HR and I'd be happy to speak on your behalf about the dogshit he says to you. Everyone with a brain knows you're not sleeping with Pablo - they all have so much respect for the work that you do. Dembele came to me after the match and told me to contact you. He said your first assignment for Barca was to work on his leg recovery, and it was the best treatment he's ever had." You raised your head, tears turning your eyes red and puffy as they stained your cheeks.

"This may be selfish of me to say, but I would do anything to have you stay at the club and work with me. I can't miss all of these cup games because the physios don't know what's going on. This is everything I have ever wanted in my life. And if you're the person that can help me get there, then nothing, especially not Ferran and the other airheads at the club, are going to hold me back."

He moved to grab your other hand as well, looking you straight in the eyes. There was not one indication that he was exaggerating his sentiments. He wanted to win more than he wanted to breathe.

"And Pablo? Don't worry about him."

"How can I not worry, Pedri. I was so cruel to him. He'll never speak to me again."

"Doctora, don't you know that there's no one on this earth he holds in higher regard?"

The terminal was surprisingly quite busy upon your arrival. It seemed that everyone was catching an international red-eye, causing you to stumble through crowds with your small bag and exhausted demeanor. You approached the airport staff, utterly lost in trying to find the meeting place. It was 10:56pm, and you didn't have the money to be missing the company-sponsored return flight.

"Excuse me, I'm with the F.C Barcelona team. Where can I check in for my flight?"

"I don't remember them becoming a unisex team.'' Your expression remained neutral as the staff member chuckled at his own joke. You didn't have time to give a lecture on the dangers of misogyny. "I need to see your Barca ID."

"I don't have my team ID badge, but if you let me speak to-"

"Don't you women have something better to do than try and fuck a footballer? Lord, you even have a suitcase and everything. I suggest that you go home and stop with these little charades - it's embarrassing."

You stood speechless as the man walked away, stationing himself in a different area of the terminal. Behind you, screams were heard coming from the door, followed by flashes of light in rapid succession.

"Gavi I love you!"

"Pedri Pedri! You're my idol!"

"Xavi have my babies!"

Your attention shifted to the security guarding the entrance as the Barca squad filtered through the doors, all dressed in coordinated pale yellow. You speed walked towards them, pace catching the attention of one of the guards.

"Miss, you need to maintain space."

Gavi turned to look at the person that was causing a disturbance. Usually it was a child who had gotten a little too excited to see their favorite players, and often the soft spot in his heart compelled him to give them a picture or signature. It was hard to have your dreams crushed as a child by a celebrity that didn't care, and he was determined not to be that type of person. That's when his eyes locked with a pair oh so familiar to him. He stood in place, frozen as his teammates narrowly avoided bumping into him and causing an awful domino effect. It felt like forever since he last looked at you this way: like you were the only person in the room.

"Ah, Doctora y/n, glad Andreas was able to coordinate with you. Sir, she's with us." Xavi's word was law, as usual, and you were allowed to pass through with the rest of the group, ushered to a more private area of the terminal, the screams of fans echoing behind you.

Pablo watched as you stood alongside the coach, chattering away about God knows what. Eric and Pedri were beside him, making conversation about the new additions introduced in the FIFA update.

"Did you know she was going to be here?" Gavi asked, interrupting Pedri's rant about how expensive different skins and expansions were. He had been desperate to see you, thinking of all the ways he might reconcile once he saw you again. But not now. He wasn't ready to face you - not ready to be told 'no' again. For the first time in years, a cold vein of fear ran through him. Was this it? Were you handing in your resignation, coming to Spain only to collect your things before moving to the gray fogginess of the Premier League?

"Yeah. We had a little chat earlier." Say what you want about the IQ of footballers, but Pedri was incredibly intelligent. He himself had given up a career in medicine to explore football greatness. This meant he was smart enough to have deleted the messages that he sent from Pablo's phone before he did his 78th re-read of all your text messages. He was also smart enough to figure out that Gavi had wanted you practically since he laid eyes on you. Contrary to what many may think, Gavi didn't really look at girls. He was usually absorbed in conversation with a friend, whether in person or virtually, and was not prone to looking at every pretty girl that crossed his path. He was hard to please and even harder to impress. So when he started seeking you out more often, mentioning you during random drives, he knew that Pablito was infatuated.

It was several months, however, before Pedri realized the extent of Pablo's affection towards you. It had been during the international break, when Pedri sat and played FIFA with Nico, the only worthy opponent among La Roja. Pablo was half watching the game, half staring at the illuminated screen when he stood suddenly. Pedri watched from the corner of his eye as Gavi stepped out onto the balcony in shorts and his training shirt in the bitter chill of December. When the match had ended (3-1 to him of course), he followed the younger outside, and found him with his phone pointed towards the horizon. The sun in its retirement had painted the sky the most vibrant shades of oranges and pinks, bleeding into a royal purple. The hazy, circular glow kept the sky warm, and the colors stretched out over the wide expanse of the city, painting everything in the golden light of dusk. That's when Pedri heard the shutter click.

"Since when do you take pictures of the sunset?" He was teasing again. It was always fun to rile up his fiery teammate.

"I'm sending them to the doctora. It's so pretty, I want her to see it."

"Isn't she in Barcelona right now? She's probably looking at the same sunset."

"But it's just so beautiful from this high up." Gavi said, eyes still transfixed on his phone as he searched for the most worthy flick to send you. "I just want to send her something beautiful. I want to send her every beautiful thing in the world."

Yes, Pedri was a smart man. Smart enough to see that Pablo's feelings to you were stronger than he had ever experienced for another. Probably the strongest he had ever experienced at all. He was smart enough to approach Alejandro and Ansu, while Gavi chewed on his lip at the prospect of speaking to you, to organize the seating during the flight home.

"Don't get too comfortable, Doctora. You'll be joining me upfront for a chat after takeoff." You laughed politely at Xavi as he boarded the plane. You gathered your things, acutely aware of Ferran's gaze on you while you bent over.

"Have a good time at Chelsea? Try and ruin any lives while there?" He asked, voice laced with annoyance. HR had approached him about your complaint, informing him that they would be asking other players and staff about comments made at your expense. While he could keep his friends quiet, he had done too much to piss off Gavi, leaving him vulnerable to everyone in his camp. His only hope was to get you to leave before the investigation had concluded.

"I would prefer we didn't speak about non-professional matters. Thank you, Ferran." You said, smiling so sweetly he felt his teeth throb. You boarded the plane last with the rest of the staff, Luca rushing past you like he would be left behind if he wasn't seated soon. Glancing down at your ticket, you read out your seat number. Row 6, seat G. Walking onto the aircraft, you were stunned by the beauty of the first class cabin. It was furnished completely with plush leather, with every two or three seats getting their own dividers from the rest of the passengers. You walked to row 6, and made your way across the aisle to the right side of the plane where your seat was meant to be. In row 6, seat F, sat Pablo. He looked up at the aisle at the sound of shuffling, and the two of you just stared at one another, wordlessly communicating a shared hurt. All you wanted was to pull him in and say how sorry you were. You just didn't know if he'd be ready to accept.

"Um, I think I'm in the seat next to you." You told him sheepishly. He moved from his place, allowing you to sit next to him by the window.

"I thought the staff usually sits together." He said, trying to prevent it from sounding like a complaint, because it truly wasn't. He wondered what force of fate had allowed your seat to be placed next to his. Little did he know that fate was from the Canary Islands. You sat next to him, adjusting your seat and the belt, before bouncing your leg nervously. The speed increased when you felt the vibration of the engine, watching the plane move from its parked space onto the runway. You wanted to say something - anything - but your throat was dry and the words failed you. You didn't know what to say to ensure that you would be forgiven. That was probably the scariest part: knowing that the forgiveness may never come.

"Are you afraid of flying?"

You turned your head at the question. Gavi's eyes were fixated on your sweatpants-clad thigh as it bounced at incredible speeds. There were many things you were scared of in that moment, but the plane didn't help quell any of them. You were going to be stuck next to Pablo for the next two hours at the least. The anxiety of not knowing how he felt towards you gnawed at your skin, eating you alive. You nodded your head, because in all honesty, it was the same fear, wasn't it? Flying, falling - all terrifying prospects.

Gavi put one airpod in, extending the other to you. It was a peace offering, the olive branch you had waited for. You accepted it graciously, muttering a quiet thank you as you slotted it into place. Your body turned back towards the window, 'Sky full of stars' playing softly in the right half of your brain. As the plane continued to move slowly down the runway, you felt a hand rest atop yours, bringing your bouncing leg to a halt. The skin on skin sent shockwaves through you, electricity running up and down your arm. His hand moved sideways, sliding under yours to lift, and then proceeding to interlock your fingers. The warmth of Pablo's hand, the strength of his grip. The slight squeeze as the plane began picking up speed. Despite lacking the confidence to look at him directly, you peaked at your joined hands. Pablo was here. And through the presses of his fingers and the soothing motion of his thumb, he reminded you that Pablo would always be here, so long as you would have him.

"y/n, Mister Xavi would like to see you now."

You hadn't even realized your hand was still laced with Pablo's until one of the assistant coaches came to collect you. Gavi had drifted off into a light sleep, waking as he felt the cold hit his once warm palm. He grabbed your wrist as you tried to follow the assistant coach.

"Don't leave." He said, voice dry and raspy. You weren't sure if he meant now or the club. You moved your hand to join it with the one on your wrist, giving a gentle squeeze of reassurance, as he had done for you.

"Don't worry. I'll be right back."

This was your first time on a plane that had a lounge. The coaching staff was spread across all four sofas, drinking champagne and discussing the efforts from this trip. Xavi sat at a table, an empty seat across from him.

"Doctora, welcome back from Chelsea. Did you enjoy your visit?" He asked, offering your a flute that you politely declined.

"It was wonderful. The staffand players were all great. I'm grateful for the opportunity."

Xavi raised an eyebrow at the diplomatic answer. You were not giving him much of an indication as to your decision. He reached into his bag and extracted a medical file, sliding it over to you.

"As I'm sure you saw on TV and online, Pedri suffered quite a severe injury during the Man U match. Pedri is a key component of our midfield, and Luca has estimated eight to ten weeks for his recovery. I'd like you to take a look at his medical examination report and recommend a course of treatment."

You took the papers in your hand, looking at Xavi cautiously. What was the purpose of this exercise?

"Well, I've already told Pedri that his brace was incorrect, and gave him the specifications for a sleeve to buy once we return home. The eight to ten weeks metric is based on the healing with this immobilization boot. Using the correct compression sleeves and ice, as well as rest, Pedri should be back on in 4 weeks. Five if you want to be safe. That would mean his first appearance back would be the SuperCopa semifinals."

Xavi laughed to himself, collecting the files and returning them to their place. He pulled out another sheet of documents, the words "Adjusted Contract" in bold at the top.

"Doctora y/l/n, it has become increasingly evident as I watch you practice and treat our players that you are a generational talent in sports medicine. You have a deep understanding of the body that few others, both in the club and outside, can fully grasp. At Barca, we strive to do everything in our power to keep generational talents in Camp Nou. I would like you to consider remaining at the club until the summer, when contract renegotiations occur. This would allow you to see out a season that you have contributed so greatly to."

"Why the new contract now then?"

"Just a few clause adjustments. Firstly, we have increased your compensation to absorb your living costs. Those will now be covered by the club. The other change is on this page here. It states that your main focus must be on starters, injured prioritized before healthy. So, if you choose to accept, Pedri would be the top priority as an injured starter. You would dedicate all the necessary time to his treatment."

You scanned the document, and it was just as he said. No other nonsense, just the clauses on compensation and prioritization.

"This is all so flattering sir, but..." Your voice trailed off, shy to speak in front of a legend and the man holding your future in his hands.

"What can we do to make this deal irrefutable?"

"The contract is perfect sir. What I would need is a promise from you. Chelsea's base compensation was higher, but the compensation was based on the number of services the medical staff provides. I could be fired at any moment if not enough players were comfortable being treated by me. I felt, or well rather I didn't feel the sense of loyalty, of family, that I get as Barca. And so I would need a promise from you."

"Name your demand."

"When the summer comes and my contract needs to be renegotiated, keep me on the team. Don't try and pawn me off to someone else. This is my team, my club, my family. So you have to promise me that I have a future here, or else I'll save the heartbreak and leave now."

Xavi placed a pen on the table, bringing his chair forward to be as close as possible to you. "Doctora, you are an incredible and frankly priceless asset to us. We were able to hand select you from the best of the best new physios in Spain. Our successes, any trophies and titles, we owe them in part to you. Help me finish the season with a strong and healthy squad, and I swear to you on my life that you will have a place at Barca until the day you die." He stretched out his hand, and you took a deep breath, meeting the shake midway. It felt weird, signing your contract again, but for more money. You definitely didn't expect to be in this position before you've even graduated, but it brought a pride to your soul. Xavi saw something in you. A generational talent. Somebody believed in what you could do.

You returned to your seat and found that it was Gavi's turn to bounce his leg. You sat down, and he followed you with his eyes. After a moment of silence, he spoke.

"Did you enjoy your trip?"

"Very much so. I got to meet Joao Felix."

Gavi's face turned to you, catching the beaming smile that broke out across your face.

"Yeah? You like him in person, or was he a disappointment?"

"He was less... dreamy than I had anticipated. But still sweet nonetheless. It was a cool experience."

Gavi responded with a hum, turning his music back on and looking away from you. His other airpod sat on the tray table, right where you left it.

"Pablo," it was your turn to rest a hand on his bouncing leg, "we have to talk."

Pablo turned to you, eyes sad and lip between his teeth. "Do we? I feel like you've said everything there is to say." He knew he was being difficult. He knew he was being petty. But Pablo could not let himself get hurt again, especially not in front of the entire team. If he was going to mourn your departure, it was going to be in the comfort of his own guest bed, the one piece of furniture he could sleep on for 7 continuous hours because it held no memories of you. It was your turn to find his fingers and slot them between your own.

"I didn't mean it. Any of it. I have so many reasons why I didn't mention meeting you, Pablo, but I'm just not brave enough to tell you yet. It wasn't because it wasn't important. It could never be. You are one of the most important people in my life. You're one of the only people I have left. Please don't push me away."

His eyes met yours, and he knew there was no way he could remain angry. It was you, after all. The person that made Pablo believe in the possibility of a soulmate. The one that Gavi thought of whenever songs about incredible love came up on his playlist. You were it. He gripped your hand tighter.

"Going to be hard to support you from several countries away, but I will try my best."

"You don't have to. I'm staying."

Gavi's eyes widened, face lighting up like a kid who had just been gifted an entire candy store. "You're staying?"

"Mhm. Barca is my home. My family. No matter how bad it gets, I could never leave this place behind." It felt as though you spoke those words right into his soul, breathing life back into his very being. You were staying. Your voice, your laugh, your energy - all of it would be at Camp Nou, waiting on the sidelines as he fought tooth and nail to capture your attention. "And plus, Pedri and Xavi basically begged me to come back so Luca doesn't have to treat him."

Gavi let a laugh fill his lungs and spill from his throat, maybe a little louder than necessary on a midnight flight. But he was feeling genuine joy course through his veins. He was a man on death row with a second chance at life. He removed his hand from your grip, bringing to above you and resting it across your shoulders. Professionalism be damned. He just wanted to be close to you right now.

"Xavi was more convincing than Joao? I bet that would be a blow to his ego if he found out." It was comfortable, sitting with Pablo in this way. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to be this close to him. You pushed up the hand rest so that the two of you could get even closer. Professionalism be damned. They wouldn't fire you while Pedri was still limping.

"Oh yeah. Portugal boy is cute, but Xavi in 2010? That was my first love. I could never refuse a request from him." More giggles from Gavi. You wished you would bottle this moment, eager to make his happiness perpetual. He was human sunshine, and he deserved every light and happy and beautiful moment life could offer.

"The spiky hair? Really?"

"Shut up!" Coupled with a smack to the chest. You rested your head on his shoulder, exhaustion of the day and its stressors finally catching up to you. "Every man looks hotter when carrying a trophy."

Gavi let out a light laugh, turning to hide his blush. Yet another motivation to lift as many cups as possible this season. He offered you his other airpod again, which you accepted, inserting it as a soft melody filled your ears. Your eyelids were heavy, and you were drifting in and out of consciousness.

"One day, we'll need to talk about it properly, you know." Pablo said from above you, voice soft and serious.

You nodded your head, letting out a quiet "Mhm" in a agreement. You knew it was an inevitable conversation. You would have to eventually face the music, let Gavi free himself from whatever feelings were sitting on his chest. But you couldn't do it now. Not with your future up in the air. Not with your feelings for Gavi still a massive tangle of emotions.

"Not tonight." You said to him softly, as he turned his head to meet your eyes.

"No, not tonight."

Your eyes finally closed and you began drifting off. Pablo's arm remained wrapped around you as he leaned in closer, basically cuddling you on this plane. Thank the lord for blessing the engineers with enough foresight to install dividers. As you breathed rhythmically against his chest, he pressed his nose into your hair, breathing deeply. Why was everything about you so intoxicating?

In the haze of your sleep, you heard Pablo speaking to you. You listened intently, hoping to catch these special words that he only released to your sleeping form.

"Doctora, I would wait for you forever. Even when you hit rock bottom, I'll be there, waiting for you with a ladder. You will always have me, no matter what."

~~~~~~~

A/N: Guys I did it!!! My longest part to date! I am so flipping tired. It's 4am. I don't remember a time before I started writing this part. Anyways, we are chugging along y'all! Only two parts left in the main story!! I surpassed my 15k word goal. Maybe next part is 18k? I think the next part is going to be my favorite. I haven't decided if I want the big boom pow event to be in part 9 or 10. We will see. Again, apologies for the long time between updates, but semi-decent writing takes time. As usual, please leave thoughts, feedback, predictions, etc. in the replies - I love reading all of them so much!!! If you notice any easter eggs/ small details, feel free to point them out!!! There are so many and I love when y'all get them. IDK when part 9 is coming out but when it's done y'all will be the first to know. Ok love y'all byeeeee.

Also please comment if you want to be added to the taglist ok bye

*~*Taglist*~*

@l0verl4ne @vibinwkay @anastasia-nova @mxgvmiii @mads-grace4 @bubblebeep69 @katluckybear @scuderiabarca @alwaysclassyeagle @simpingmyassoff @grlwithprblms @lqvesoph @pink-manz @graziemille @xxenia14 @nngkay @icedlattewithextracaramel @gyusrose @vip-access @julianalvarez9 @lavie3nrose @ge0rg1ewaa @i8yul @lovefordilfs271 @remuslupinluver @thattaylorswiftobsessedbitch @chaotic-taco-collector-blog @kaismybabe @notanenthucutlet @fullsun9890 @venomwh0re @renaissancewhxre @gaviandgrizisgirl @altgojo @urmomdotcom5678 @eliseline @invidia-of-alhambra @pixwls @stell4rrrs @80sloverry @car1no-xx @mrsgavira @888bear @kylianmbappee @ivyhrry @gaviypedrisbride @grlwithprblms @dessxoxsworld @user6373738

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