#even if it's not there exactly but somewhere like that

[hoshifighting]

like what if yn is tired just arrived home from work and cheol is on the couch, legs stretched watching tv. then yn changes to little shorts n sit between his legs, yn's back on his chest. little cuddles and then his hand slowly reaches her 😼 little no's or stops from yn but ofc she actually dont want him to stop. THAN HE LOCKS HER LEGS WITH HIS LEGS AND OPEN THEM MORE AND KEEP GOING

bf!cheol taking care of you after work as you sit between his legs

WARNINGS: smut, fingering, dirty talk, body fluids (cum), a bulge pressed against reader's ass 😇

it’s been a day. work was hell, people were annoying, and honestly, the second you got home, you were ready to faceplant on your bed and not move for the next 12 business days. except you walk into the living room, and there he is—choi seungcheol. stretched out on the couch like he’s got no worries in the world, one arm lazily thrown over the backrest, legs spread. he’s flipping through channels with that casual “i’m hot and i know it” energy that makes you roll your eyes even as your chest does that stupid fluttery thing.

“hey, baby,” he calls, barely looking up, but the smile tugging at his lips is soft. inviting.

“hey,” you mumble back, kicking off your shoes and tossing your bag somewhere in the vicinity of the door because you’re too tired to care. you trudge off to change, throwing on one of those little pairs of shorts you know he likes (and, let’s be real, you also like how they make your ass look).

when you wander back into the living room, he’s still there, scrolling through Netflix now, like he’s trying to find something he hasn’t already seen ten times. you flop down between his legs, leaning back against his chest with a tired sigh, and he immediately wraps his arms around you.

“rough day?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

“you have no idea,” you mumble, closing your eyes as his warmth surrounds you.

he hums, his chin resting on your shoulder, and you feel his hands slowly start to wander. it’s innocent at first, his fingers tracing little patterns on your thighs, but then one of his hands starts sliding up.

“cheol,” you say softly, not even looking up.

“hmm?” he replies, his voice all sweet and casual, like he’s not already halfway to breaking the unspoken no-touchy rule you’ve set for nights like this.

“don’t,” you mumble, but there’s no heat behind it, and you both know it.

his hand pauses for like, half a second before continuing its journey. his fingers sneak under the hem of your shorts, brushing against the bare skin beneath. you squirm a little, your legs pressing together instinctively, but all that does is trap his hand where it is.

“you’re not stopping me,” he teases, his voice low in your ear, and you feel his smirk more than you see it.

“cheol, seriously—”

and then he moves. his legs come up, wrapping around yours and locking them in place, spreading you open in a way that makes you gasp.

“cheol!”

“what?” he says, feigning innocence as his fingers dip between your legs, finding exactly what he’s looking for. “you’re not stopping me,” he repeats, his tone teasing but firm, like he knows he’s got you right where he wants you.

your breath hitches as his fingers start to move, tracing over the thin fabric of your shorts like he’s testing how far he can push you. you let out a shaky little “stop,” but it’s half-hearted at best, and you’re pretty sure he knows it.

“stop?” he echoes, his voice dripping sweetness. “you don’t sound like you want me to stop.”

“i do,” you tease weakly, but the way your hips tilt up to meet his hand completely betrays you.

“sure you do,” he murmurs, his fingers slipping under the waistband of your shorts now, brushing against your bare skin. “you’re so convincing, baby.”

you let out a soft whimper as he finds your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to make your head fall back against his shoulder.

“cheol—”

“shh,” he soothes, his lips brushing against your ear. “just let me take care of you, okay? you’ve had a long day. you deserve this.”

your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan low in your ear, the sound shooting straight to your core. your lips hover near his ear, and you gasp when his fingers slide inside you, the wet, obscene noises filling the space between your breaths.

schlk—schlk—schlk

every slide is unrelenting, curling and hitting that spot, making tears flood your eyes. his cock is rock hard, pressing right against your ass, and you can feel him twitch through the fabric of his sweats.

“fuck, baby, squeezing my fingers like this. you missed me, hm?”

you let out a choked moan, your hips tilting to meet his thrusts, but he keeps you pinned, his legs still locking yours open.

“you’re dripping all over my hand...listen,”

your back arches further, your face finding his neck as your cheeks flush with embarassment, his free hand snakes up to cup your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers.

“you wanna cum? hm? answer me,” he taunts, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “i can feel it, the way you’re clenching. but i don’t know if you deserve it yet.”

“cheol—!”

“hmm?” he hums, adding another finger, making your walls flutter around him. “use your words, baby. beg for it. tell me how bad you need me to make you come.”

you shake your head, too stubborn to give him the satisfaction, but then he shifts his hand, his thumb pressing against your clit just right, and you unravel.

“please!” you gasp, your voice cracking as your nails dig into his scalp.

“that’s my girl,” he growls, his hips rocking against you, his cock throbbing against your ass like he’s holding back just as much as you are.

his fingers work you faster, the wet noises getting louder, more vulgar, and your moans turn into broken cries. “such a good girl,” he coos, though his tone is still dripping with teasing. “but fuck, you’re so easy to ruin, aren’t you? just a little fingering, and you’re falling apart on me.”

his words push you closer, every filthy syllable lighting you up, until your body tenses and you cum around his fingers, the schelching present until you melt on his chest.

“that’s it, my baby...make a mess for me. let me feel you.”

and you do, your nails raking down his forearm as he praises you for working so hard.

[mrsbarnesblog]

caught

masterlist

summary: after accidentally spilling soda on your shirt while hanging out with Sarah, you go to the bathroom to wash it only to be met with her brother. freshly out of the shower.

words count: 1.2k

warnings: making out, half-naked Rafe, suggestive?

The movie played on Sarah’s flat screen, with you both being lazily spread out on her bed, but you couldn’t focus. You were in her room, sipping soda and pretending to actually pay attention to the cheesy rom-com she swore was “life-changing.” But the real distraction was her brother, Rafe, who’d been lurking somewhere in the house all evening.

The tension between you and Rafe had been simmering for months. Stolen glances, fleeting touches, and a kiss that you shared not so long ago were slowly driving you insane. After the night when he kissed you after driving you back to your house and leaving with a soft ‘goodnight’, you couldn’t seem to focus on anything beside that memory.

You hadn’t told anyone—not even Sarah—because you knew how complicated it would get. Sarah’s protective streak would go into overdrive, and your other Pogue friends would probably be either pissed off or completely shoked.

You took a sip of your drink, trying to shake the thoughts from your head, when the ice-cold soda spilled over the rim of the can and onto your shirt.

“Shit.” You muttered, jerking back as the liquid seeped into the fabric.

Sarah burst out laughing, putting the movie on pause and sipping her own soda with a grin. “Oh my god, you’re a disaster. Go clean it up before you ruin my comforter!”

“In your bathroom?”

“Nah, in the one down the hall, I told you that the water doesn't work in mine. And try not to cause any more problems.” She teased, her grin wide.

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed some tissues from her ightstand and headed down the hallway. You pushed open the bathroom door without thinking, too focused on the mess.

“Holy—”

Your words caught in your throat.

Standing there was Rafe. His back was turned to you at first, a bright white towel slung low on his hips, his shoulders, and his muscular back still wet from the shower. He turned at the sound of the door, his brows raising in mild surprise.

“Didn’t know I had company.” He said, his voice lazy, like he wasn’t the one standing half-naked in front of you.

Your heart pounded. You wanted to look away, to leave, but your feet stayed rooted to the spot as your eyes hungrily slid over his perfect body, not missing a single spot and lingering on that perfect v-line. “I didn’t realize anyone was in here.” You managed, your voice shaking slightly.

Rafe’s lips curled into a smirk. “You’re staring.”

“I am not!” You shot back, though your gaze betrayed you as it flicked briefly to his chest.

He took a slow step toward you, and the air in the room seemed to thicken. “You sure about that?”

You swallowed hard, your back hitting the door as you instinctively stepped away. “Rafe, I was just—”

“Just what?” He interrupted, his tone playful but edged with something darker, something dangerous. “Sneaking a peek? It’s okay. I don’t mind if it’s you, you know that.”

“Stop.” You said, but your voice slightly trembled, and Rafe definitely didn’t miss that.

He didn’t. Instead, he leaned a hand against the door beside your head, caging you in. Face too close to you, with water drops still sliding down his damp hair right on the floor. His other hand tugged the towel around his hips a little higher, a deliberate tease, making your eyes shamelessly follow his movements.

“Relax.” He murmured, his voice low, intimate. “It’s just me.”

“Exactly.” You hissed, trying to keep your head clear and not fall for his tricks, even if Rafe’s presence alone made your knees weak and your insides flutter with anticipation. “You’re Sarah’s brother. If she finds out about this—”

“About what?” He tilted his head, his lips dangerously close to yours. “We haven’t even done anything. Yet.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with implication. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the faint scent of his soap intoxicating you. With a low chuckle, he grabbed your arm, pulling you further into the room, closer to the sink, and taking napkins from your hands. He patted your shirt to make it seem like he was actually doing something. You both knew that it was just his little game, his usual teasing demeanor around you. 

You turned your head to look at the foggy mirror above the sink, seeing your reflection and once again noticing how good he looked beside you—so big, strong, and goddamn sexy. 

“We look good together, don’t we?” Rafe murmured beside your ear, his pretending of cleaning your shirt long forgotten when your head snapped into his direction and you saw him just a few centimeters away from your face.

“Rafe, this isn’t—”

Before you could finish, his lips brushed yours, testing. It was gentle at first, like he was daring you to pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, your hands found his tense shoulders, gripping them as he kissed you deeper, his other hand sliding to your waist.

You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, as the kiss consumed you. The tension that had been building between you for months exploded all at once, leaving no room for reason. Rafe pushed you back, closer to the sink, then hooked his hands under your thighs and easily lifted you on the counter. He pushed himself in between your legs, and for a second you worried that his not-really-helping-to-hide-anything towel might just simply drop with the way how carelessly he moved in between your legs. 

You panted against his lips, too lost in his touch and scent, never wanting this moment to end. Your body was heating up from Rafe's touch and the way his lips were moving against your, making it wet and messy. You slid your nails from his shoulders down his chest, leaving long stripes and pulling a groan from his mouth onto your lips. Then the door behind you creaked open.

“Babe, why is it taking you so long—”

Sarah’s voice cut off abruptly.

You sprang apart, pushing Rafe away from you, and jumped down from the counter, your heart racing as Sarah stood frozen in the doorway, her eyes wide with horror.

“Oh. My. God.” Her voice was laced with disbelief and disgust. “Ew, Rafe! What were you doing to her?!”

You tried to step forward to explain, but Rafe’s arm slid around your waist, holding you firmly in place. 

“Sarah, I can—”

“Save it.” She snapped, throwing up a hand to stop you. Your stomach dropped thinking that she was actually angry at you. “I knew something was going on, but I didn’t need to see it! And, for the love of everything holy, Rafe, hold your towel!” She moaned in desperation, covering her eyes with one hand.

Behind you, Rafe chuckled, completely unbothered. “What can I say, sis? She’s irresistible.”

“Gross!” Sarah groaned dramatically. “Figure this out somewhere else! And don’t touch anything in here!” She stormed off, muttering under her breath.

You turned to Rafe, mortified. “This is a disaster.”

He grinned, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Worth it.”

“You’re impossible.” You muttered, though you didn’t pull away as he leaned in again, his lips ghosting over yours gently and tenderly.

“And you’re not saying no.” He whispered, the smirk on his face making your stomach flip.

You knew this wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

[clockwork-hearted]

This was the first queer movie I watched in high school. I remember finally having good, strong WiFi and exploring YouTube one night. Was using my refurbished MacBook that I begged my dad to get me so I can have something to use for school.

I don’t remember how exactly I came across this movie (honestly was probably going through some YouTube rabbit hole of “movies where guys make out” or the classic “two men kissing” search), but it was the full length movie. And it was free.

I was so excited to watch it and see what kind of guy on guy action I would get to see. But being forced to stay in the closet growing up, I couldn’t just outright watch this movie while my parents were home.

So I bookmarked it. Made sure I even saved the link somewhere. And had to wait until my parents weren’t home.

Thankfully, I ended up realizing that I was a teen that was allowed to stay up late on the weekends. So I stayed up, waited until both my parents were in their rooms, fast asleep, and then I went into my room, closed the door (couldn’t lock it though. Locking bedroom doors was an offense that would cause a scene every time for absolutely no reason), plugged my headphones in, and snuggled up and watched it.

I remember sitting upright to start it then getting tired and deciding to lay down. Ended up laying the laptop on its side just so I could keep watching haha

And I remember going through the rollercoaster of emotions seeing these two characters having a connection but being so twisted up about it. Regardless of everything they went through, I still wanted that. I still wanted someone I could kiss passionately. Someone I could go to bed with and wake up next to in our own little world. Someone I could go to the beach with and spend all day with. Someone who wanted to push me for my abilities (don’t have any but it played into my fantasies lol) and strive to be the best I could be at them.

And then reaching the end of the movie and being so happy with it. I remember crying. Crying so much that I thought I wasn’t going to be able to stop. I remember shoving my face in my pillows to try and muffle my crying.

Oh, I learned to cry silently so very quick in my home. How I learned what it meant to be even more suppressed than I already was. How I had to learn to hold back all the choking sounds my throat would utter and just let the tears flow. Silently blowing my nose into tissues so I wouldn’t wake my parents and cause a scene.

“Why are you crying? What’s happening? What did you watch? What’s going on? Etc. etc. etc.” - yeah, like I was going to come clean about my emotions and be able to talk these things out. Pht. How I wished and how I dreamed that I could. Would’ve made growing up easier. But I didn’t have those kinds of parents.

So the first night I watched this movie, it meant a lot in such little time. Movies like this really saved me as a teen.

I started doing a deep dive into any and all other queer movies I could find online for free (but that’s a story for a different time).

Tbh, I had forgotten about this gem of a movie. Made me feel a little guilty for forgetting, mostly because it really helped me continue pretending, and knowing that one day I would find someone to experience beautiful moments with. It allowed me to realize that queer media (that wasn’t porn) was out there, that I didn’t have to feel alone, and that it was only a few key strokes and google searches away.

For anyone who read through this whole thing (I know I blabbed, but I really needed to get this off my chest and my mind), thank you.

And I also hope that even though the world can feel so against you, even in spaces that are supposed to be safe, that there are people out there that know and understand you and can relate to how you feel.

I know it’s always easier said than done, but hang in there. And if it all gets to be too suffocating, please remember there are resources out there to help. But please, please, please, don’t get snuffed out. Let yourself burn as bright as you can. Because at the end of the day, you will always find Shelter- whether it’s with family members, friends, teachers, chosen/adoptive families, online communities, etc. you will find it. And you will be safe. And you will be loved.

I wish you all the very best. May this movie and many others bring you as much joy as it did to me. <3

Shelter (2007) dir. Jonah Markowitz

[dollyichi]

DUMB PETALS ᯓ★ bakugou katsuki. fluff / f ! reader in mind (just in case) / in my head i want them to be engaged / katsuki who amps up his acts of service and gifts because you’re engaged :p / not proofread

katsuki who says “huh? don’t be stupid.” when you ask for flowers but deep down he’s really pissed off cause you beat him to it.

now, he has to one up you.

you don’t get any flowers at all, it’s been a week since your request too. you begin to wonder if he just didn’t want to bother, which made you a little bit sad. his affection never changed though. you think that maybe, he just didn’t have the time to since the demand for heroes were high recently.

then one day he tells you to wear something nice and get in the car. though you’re still a little sulky, thinking about how he ignored your request (you never brought it up again). he pulls you up from the bed to change “stop acting like a brat.” he says while pulling down your top from your head acting difficult and having him dress you himself. (vocally complains, internally is satisfied).

and he drives, acting all casual, acting like normal and you didn’t know why he wanted to leave so suddenly, nor where he wanted to go.

parks somewhere, gets out, opens your door before he leads you to where he wanted you to be. and when you reach the destination your eyes widen from shock.

“here’s your dumb flowers. a whole fucking field of them.” he says acting all tough, but seeing your reaction he can’t help but say it with a soft smile.

and you look at the pretty field of your favorite flowers (which you never specified, by the way) and you’re not sure how this was even possible but he was always able to, and you’re so grateful for him.

before you know it, you’re looking at him as your lips quivered, unaware how you’re tearing up because of this.

katsuki pulls you into a warm hug while the lovely scent of its petals flew around you both. “aww well aren’t you so fucking romantic?” and he couldn’t help but chuckle while you sniffle in between words.

“yeah yeah, i love you too.” pulling you in a gentle kiss.

you took so many pictures with him in the field. he even brought a basket for you so you can pick them to bring home.

now you have to be extra careful asking for something. maybe you should just stick to giving hints again. besides, he’ll always know what you exactly want.

do not copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost my works

note : they are two wolves inside me. katsuki and his simplistic way to show his affection, and katsuki with grand gestures there is no in between and today i chose the latter

[orangeblossomsintheair]

ILLICIT AFFAIRS (3/3) | CS55

summary : You shouldn’t have said anything. You really shouldn’t have. But it’s too late now. “He sent me a dildo shaped like his cock,” you mutter under your breath, so fast you almost hope she didn’t hear you.

wc : 14k

an : This might be the end of the Illicit Affairs series! Honestly I might write another part (as I intended) but I realized it could also end here. I might work it alongside a few other fics on the back burner.

The thing about Carlos is that he doesn’t tiptoe. He doesn’t hesitate.

He’s the kind of guy who walks into your life, plops down, and acts like he’s always been there.

At first, you think he’s just passing through, like one of those tumbleweeds in old Westerns. Here for a moment, gone in another, leaving only a faint memory and maybe a little dust.

But Carlos is no tumbleweed.

He’s ivy. Creeping into the corners of your life, attaching himself with relentless charm and absolutely zero warning.

At first, it had just been sex.

Carlos calls, you pick up, and the two of you dive headfirst into whatever filthy scenario he’s cooked up for the evening.

It’s hot, it’s fun, and afterwards, you both lie there catching your breath while exchanging a few words like some half-hearted attempt at aftercare.

“Good for you?” he’ll ask, panting, his voice somehow managing to sound both teasing and sincere.

“Sure,” you say, rolling your eyes at the ceiling. “Top ten, at least.”

He laughs. Deep, warm, addictive. “I’ll aim for top five next time.”

It’s simple. Casual. Exactly what you signed up for.

Until it’s not.

Until the minutes start to stretch.

At first, it’s just an extra five. Then ten. Then before you know it, the two of you are sitting there, chatting about absolutely nothing long after the heat of the moment has faded.

Next thing you know Carlos is reaching out for the sake of company.

It’s easy to brush it off at first.

To pretend it’s harmless.

Carlos is just a guy who’s annoyingly good at making you laugh and has a voice so smooth it could probably negotiate world peace or at least a really good discount at a used car dealership.

But then, one afternoon, as you’re scrolling through your texts, you realize something horrifying:

You talk to Carlos more than you talk to your friends.

No, scratch that. You talk to Carlos more than you talk to anyone.

And it’s not just the sheer volume. It’s the content.

It’s the way his words sneak into your day, set up camp, and throw a block party. He texts you good morning before you’ve even had coffee, which is frankly criminal.

Carlos Rise and shine, baby. Did you dream about me again?

You I dreamed I hit you with my car

Carlos Hot. Was I shirtless?

You No, but you were crying. Freaked me out

Carlos Probably because I looked so good

You should block him.

You should delete his number.

You do neither, because somewhere deep down, you’re a masochist.

He doesn’t stop at morning texts either.

He sends unsolicited opinions all day, every day.

Carlos Do you think cows ever get tired of standing?

You They sit, Carlos. They sit all the time.

Carlos Yeah, but like, emotionally? What if they’re just pretending to like grass because they’re scared of change

You What would they change to, exactly? Chicken nuggets?

Carlos Maybe. Cows could be wild carnivores waiting for their moment. We don’t know what they’re capable of.

One day, while you're halfway through a bag of chips, your phone buzzes again.

Carlos Do you think birds ever judge us for not flying?

You You need therapy

Carlos So do you, but I don’t judge

You You judge me constantly 🤨

The banter becomes relentless.

Carlos If you had to pick one food to eat for the rest of your life, what would it be?

You Pasta

Carlos Predictable. You’re so basic it physically hurts

You Pretentious words from a man whose favorite snack is probably caviar

Carlos First of all, how dare you

You You’re trash

Carlos Trash that you text back btw

Then comes the random photos.

He sends you a blurry picture of his sneakers one afternoon.

Carlos Do these make me look fast? Be honest, but also lie

You Fast to embarrass yourself

Carlos Wow. Jealousy is a disease. Get well soon

Carlos Does it change anything if I say they’re limited edition

You Limited edition ugly

He sends you a picture of his dog another day, sprawled on the couch like he pays rent.

Carlos We’ve decided to boycott walkies today.

Solidarity with my guy.

You Tell him he’s lazy

Carlos He says those are bold words from someone who hasn’t hit the gym this week

You glare at the screen. It’s 7 a.m. How does he even know that?

You Your dog is illiterate. Don’t drag him into this

Carlos Rude. He’s very smart

You He licks his own butt

He becomes a fixture in your life without you even noticing.

Carlos Did you miss me while I was asleep?

One morning, you’re sipping your coffee when your phone buzzes.

You I slept better knowing you weren’t conscious

Carlos So, you’re saying you dreamt about me

You I dreamt I moved to a remote island where Wi-Fi doesn’t exist

Carlos Romantic getaway for two. Love that for us

You groan, but your fingers are already typing a response.

And somehow, without you realizing it, Carlos isn’t just a voice on the phone or a name on your screen.

He’s everywhere, weaving himself into your days with his relentless humor and absolute refusal to leave you alone.

That’s why when a day passes by without any contact, you’re tilted off balance.

The silence is unnerving.

You tell yourself it’s just one night.

One single night where Carlos doesn’t text or call, and you should be relieved.

Grateful, even, for the reprieve from his relentless antics.

But you’re not.

You spend the evening trying not to think about it.

You scroll through Instagram, open a book, binge half a season of some random series. But every few minutes, you find yourself glancing at your phone, waiting for it to light up.

It doesn’t.

The hours crawl by, and by the time you’re lying in bed, glaring at the ceiling, you’re starting to feel… itchy. Annoyed. Frustrated. And maybe just a little bit unreasonably hurt.

Then, finally, your phone buzzes.

You grab it so fast you nearly knock it off the nightstand.

Carlos Miss me?

Your stomach does a ridiculous little flip, but you type back quickly.

You Not even a little

Carlos Liar

Another message follows: a selfie of him holding the meerkat plushie you’d sent him as a joke a week ago.

Carlos He misses you too

You groan, but your cheeks ache from smiling.

Carlos By the way

Carlos I sent you a gift

You I didn’t get a package?

Carlos Wait

Carlos Call me when you get it

You shake your head, setting your phone down.

It’s probably something stupid. Knowing Carlos, it could be anything from a ridiculous gag gift to an actual penguin.

Two days later, a package arrives.

It’s sitting on your kitchen counter, deceptively normal-looking for something that Carlos sent.

You eye it warily, debating whether you should even bother opening it.

You stare at it for a good ten minutes, arms crossed, trying to decide whether you should call him first or just dump it straight into the trash.

Eventually, curiosity (and mild fear) wins out. You grab your phone and click the topmost contact.

It rings once before he picks up.

“I was wondering how long it’d take you,” Carlos says, his voice smooth and entirely too smug.

“What the hell did you send me?” you demand without preamble.

“Why don’t you open it and find out?”

“Carlos.”

“Yes?”

You groan, already regretting this decision. “I swear to God, if it’s alive-”

“It’s not alive,” he interrupts.

“Then what is it?”

“Open it.”

“No,” you snap. “Because if it’s something awful, I can’t unsee it. I’m preemptively traumatized. Just tell me what it is so I can mentally prepare.”

“That’s not how surprises work,” he replies, completely unbothered.

“It’s not a surprise if I hate it,” you point out.

“You won’t hate it.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“You might be pleasantly surprised,” he insists, and there’s a tone in his voice, something too smug, too amused, that makes your stomach churn with suspicion.

“Carlos,” you warn.

“Yes?”

“If this is some kind of prank-”

“It’s not a prank,” he says, cutting you off again. “It’s a gift. A thoughtful, meaningful, deeply personal gift.”

“Deeply personal?” you echo, narrowing your eyes at the box like it’s about to explode. “That doesn’t sound reassuring.”

“It’s just a little something to remind you of me,” he adds, which is possibly the least reassuring thing he could have said.

You exhale sharply through your nose, setting your phone down on the counter so he can see.

His face lights up on the screen, all lazy smirks and overconfidence, and you hate the way your stomach flips at the sight of him.

Grabbing a pair of scissors, you slice through the tape with the caution of someone defusing a bomb.

Carlos watches you with rapt attention, his chin resting on his hand. “Excited?”

“I’m terrified,” you deadpan, peeling back the flaps of the box.

For a moment, you just stare.

Then, you shriek. Loudly.

“Carlos, what the fuck?!”

He leans closer to the camera, his grin widening. “You like it?”

“You sent me a dildo?!” you yell, your voice an octave higher than usual.

“Not just any dildo,” he says smugly, sitting back like he’s the king of the universe.

You stare at him, then at the object in the box, and back at him again.

It looks… normal, at first glance.

But then you notice the size. The veins. The shade.

The very specific details.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, horror dawning. “It’s your… your…”

“My cock,” he supplies helpfully. “Yep.”

“Carlos!” you screech, clutching the box like it’s cursed. “You’re a lunatic!”

“True,” he says, completely unfazed. “But admit it- you’re impressed.”

“Impressed?!” you repeat, your voice pitching even higher. “What is WRONG with you?!”

“A lot,” he admits, far too cheerfully. “But you already knew that.”

“How did you even- who does this?!”

“Visionaries,” he says smoothly. “Trendsetters. People who care deeply about customer satisfaction.”

“Customer?!”

“Well, you.”

“I am not your customer!” you yell, holding the replica aloft like it’s a cursed artifact.

Carlos is unbothered. “Technically, you are. You’ve been enjoying the original product for a while now. Or, well, the sight of it.”

You choke on air. “You’re insane.”

“Insanely thoughtful,” he corrects.

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re flustered. It's very cute.”

Your jaw drops. “I am not-”

He cuts you off, grinning wider. “So, when’s the test drive?”

“Oh my God,” you mutter, setting the… thing down and burying your face in your hands. “This isn’t happening.”

“Take your time,” he says, magnanimous. “I know it’s a lot to take in.”

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he adds, like this is a completely normal conversation.

“I didn’t ask for this!”

“I know. That’s what makes it such a great surprise,” he says, his grin practically splitting his face.

“Surprise?!” you echo. “I almost had a heart attack!”

“You’ll appreciate it later,” he says confidently.

“I will not!”

“Bet you will.”

“You need therapy,” you hiss, shoving the box away like it might explode.

“And you need lube,” he counters smoothly.

“You’re deranged!”

“Efficient,” he corrects, smirking. “In case you miss me.”

“I don’t!” you lie, your face burning.

Carlos watches you, entirely too pleased with himself. “You’re keeping it, though.”

“I am absolutely not-”

“Yes, you are,” he interrupts, his tone maddeningly smug.

“I am throwing it in the trash right now!” you declare, grabbing the box and stomping toward the trash can.

He leans closer to the camera, completely unbothered. “Go ahead. I’ll wait.”

You freeze, hand hovering over the trash.

“There it is,” he says smugly. “Knew you wouldn’t.”

“You’re insufferable,” you mutter, stomping back to the counter and slamming the box down.

“And yet, here you are, calling me,” he points out.

“Because I needed to yell at you!”

“And now you’re smiling.”

“I am not smiling!” you yell, even as you turn away from the camera to hide the traitorous curl of your lips.

Carlos laughs, leaning back in his chair. “Admit it- you think it’s funny.”

“I think it’s horrifying!”

“You’re laughing on the inside.”

“I’m plotting your murder on the inside,” you snap.

“Sure, sure,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “So. Again. When are you trying it out?”

“Oh my God,” you mutter, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.”

“Liar,” he says again, his grin positively devilish.

Before you can come up with a response, he adds, “Just make sure to let me know how it compares to the real thing. For science.”

“You’re insane,” you mutter, grabbing your phone and ending the call with a vicious jab.

Seconds later, your phone buzzes with a text.

Carlos Don’t forget lube, babe. You’re gonna need it. ;)

You stare at the screen, your cheeks burning.

Carlos And batteries. Unless you want to do it the old-fashioned way. Your call.

You want to throw the phone, the box, and maybe yourself out the nearest window.

You Blocked

Carlos Bad girl.

—

Carlos has this way of getting under your skin. Not in an infuriating, "I can’t believe I’m dealing with this" kind of way, but more in the likes of "Why do I secretly enjoy this ridiculousness?"

It starts with a string of increasingly pathetic messages.

Carlos Please?

Carlos Just once?

Carlos I take that back.

Carlos Twice? Maybe even thrice

Carlos C’mon, I’ll be good

Carlos I’m literally begging here

Carlos On my knees

Carlos Pathetically btw

Carlos Do you need a photo for proof?

You roll your eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t fall out of your head.

You Carlos, we are not doing this again

Carlos You say that

Carlos But I feel like deep down you want to. You’re just being stubborn

He replies instantly, because of course he’s sitting there, waiting for your response like his life depends on it.

“Stubborn,” you deadpan, fingers hovering over your phone. “Sure. That’s definitely it.”

And then he hits you with a voice note, because apparently texts alone can’t convey his desperation.

You don’t even mean to open it, but your thumb slips, and suddenly there he is, using that tone that he knows gets to you.

"Just once," he begs, words spilling out of your speakers like some lovesick fool. "I swear I’ll make it worth your time. Please. I just wanna watch you take me again."

You know you shouldn’t.

It’s ridiculous, bordering on embarrassing.

But then you picture his face, probably flushed, probably biting his lip in that way that always gets to you, and against your better judgment, you cave.

You Fine. But just this once

Carlos I love you

Carlos You’re the best

Carlos I’m naming my firstborn after you

You Just call me

Carlos Yes ma'am 🥰

When the call connects, you're met with the sight of Carlos lounging on his couch looking very much the part of a man who's won an impossible bet.

One arm is draped lazily over the backrest, laptop balanced on his thighs.

The soft glow from the screen highlights the sharp angles of his jawline and the shadow of stubble that you know feels just as delicious as it looks.

The smirk that he wears is devastating. An expression of smug satisfaction that makes your pulse race even as you curse him for it.

His shirt clings to his broad chest, the undone buttons teasing you with a glimpse of hard lines across tanned skin.

His eyes are locked onto you.

There’s heat in them, hunger.

He’s relaxed, but you can feel the tension rolling off him, the way he’s barely holding himself back.

And you?

You’re perched on your bed, knees tucked beneath you, completely bare.

The dildo lies heavy in your hand, the silicone cool against your flushed skin.

The sheer indecency of it sends a rush of heat through you, making your thighs clench.

Carlos smirks, his hand disappearing offscreen for a moment, only to return with a slow stroke along his already hard cock.

He leans forward slightly, the movement drawing your eyes to the way his length twitches in his hand.

For someone who was shamelessly begging just minutes ago, Carlos is playing it way too cool now.

“Naked on your bed, holding a mold of my dick,” he says, his voice smooth like it’s a damn sales pitch. “I mean, come on. That’s the kind of devotion poets write sonnets about.”

You snort, rolling your eyes even as your cheeks heat up. “Oh, yeah. Shakespeare totally had this in mind when he wrote, ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day.’”

“Exactly. I’m a classic, baby. Timeless.”

“Delusional,” you counter, grabbing the bottle of lube with way more force than necessary.

His laugh is low and warm, the kind that annoyingly makes your stomach flip. “Call it what you want, but you didn’t say no to my ‘gift.’”

Your glare falters, just for a second, and he catches it immediately. Carlos thrives on cracks in your armor, and his smirk sharpens like a predator who just spotted its prey.

You glare at the bottle in your hand like it personally wronged you. "I hate you," you mutter, squeezing out a glob of lube.

Carlos's face lights up on the screen, all smug satisfaction and unearned charm. "Funny, because you're doing exactly what I asked. Almost like you want to."

"Don’t push your luck,”

He leans closer to his camera, his grin widening. "Oh, pushing my luck is my favorite hobby. You know this."

You level him with a deadpan stare. "And yet, here you are. Still single."

"Wow. Low blow. But fine, I'll allow it, because you're about to make my night."

"Make your night?" You scoff, dragging this out purely to annoy him. "I’m just trying to remember what this was called. A gag gift, right? Or was it just a waste of money?"

His jaw drops. "A gag gift? I can’t believe you’d say that. This is art."

"This is silicone," you reply flatly, holding up the toy with a disapproving shake of your head.

"Silicone art," he corrects, pointing at the screen like that changes anything. His grin sharpens. "And don’t pretend you weren’t curious the moment I sent it to you."

"You sent this to annoy me," you retort, spreading the lube over your fingers with dramatic flair. "And congratulations, it worked."

Carlos leans forward, his chin propped on his hand as he watches you, his dark eyes glittering with mischief.

"Oh, but look at you now. All lubed up and ready to go. Who's the real winner here, hmm?"

"Still me," you shoot back, though your fingers falter as you glance down at the toy.

Your grip tightens as if it’s a stress ball, and the obscene squelch it makes has you biting back a groan.

Carlos’s smirk grows. "Careful, sweetheart. You keep squeezing it like that, and I’ll think you’re practicing for something."

You let out a sharp breath through your nose, refusing to look at him. "You’re insufferable, you know that?"

He leans in even closer. "And you’re still here. Lube in hand. Ready to-"

"Don’t finish that sentence," you interrupt, finally looking up to glare at him. "I’ll block you."

Carlos snickers, leaning back like he’s won. "You’d never block me. I’m your favorite pain in the ass."

"No," you say, grabbing the toy with more force than necessary. "You're just a pain in the ass in general. Huge difference."

His brow arches as he watches you spread the lube along the length of the toy, the slick sound louder than your ego can handle. You freeze mid-motion, hyper-aware of his gaze tracking every movement.

Carlos’s grin falters for a moment, replaced by something darker, hungrier. His voice drops an octave. "Good girl."

The unexpected praise punches the air out of your lungs, and your hands falter, nearly dropping the toy.

"Keep going," he murmurs, his tone rich with satisfaction. His eyes don’t leave yours, the heat in them curling low in your stomach. "Let me see you do it."

Your pride flares, and you straighten your spine, lifting your chin as you resume your movements with exaggerated precision.

"You’re lucky I don’t throw this thing across the room," you grumble.

Carlos hums, his gaze shamelessly lingering. "You wouldn’t dare. That thing cost more than your dignity."

"Bold words for someone whose dignity died in 2016," you snap, but the banter feels more like a lifeline now, a way to distract yourself from the intensity of his gaze.

The corner of his mouth lifts, cocky and infuriating. "Touché."

You inhale sharply, your hands trembling slightly as you grip the toy.

You hate how your body reacts to him, how his voice, his laugh, his everything gets under your skin like this.

Carlos leans forward again, his smirk all-knowing. "Having fun yet?"

Your pride makes you glare at him. “Fuck you.”

His laugh is low, indulgent, the sound curling around you like smoke. "Soon, sweetheart. Very soon."

“Shut up.”

“Make me,” he fires back smoothly, his eyes gleaming with wicked intent.

His voice drops to a growl. "But you won’t, will you? You’ll do exactly what I say because you love being told what to do. Makes you wet just thinking about it, doesn’t it?"

Your lips part, but the sharp retort you’re trying to form dies as his gaze drops to your hands.

His smirk fades, replaced by a hunger so fierce it leaves you breathless.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice rich with satisfaction.

The unexpected praise sends a rush of heat straight to your core. "Keep going. Let me see you do it."

Your fingers tremble as you continue spreading lube on the length of the toy, the silicone cool against your skin.

“Fuck,” Carlos breathes, his hand tightening around his cock. “Look at you, already so obedient. Knew you’d listen.”

He shifts slightly, his voice softening. “Now, spread those legs for me. Show me how wet you are. I want to see that pretty pussy you’ve been thinking about me filling.”

Your thighs part, the cool air brushing against your slick heat as you settle back against the pillows.

His sharp inhale through the speakers sends a jolt straight to your core.

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice strained.

His hand pauses on his cock as he drinks in the sight of you, dark eyes dragging over every inch of exposed skin. "You’re so fucking perfect. Do you even realize how bad I want to bury myself in you right now?"

Your skin feels like it’s on fire, the heat spreading from your cheeks to your chest as the ache between your thighs sharpens with every passing second of his unrelenting stare.

Slowly, you drag the toy through your folds, the soft, slick sound of your arousal breaking the tense silence.

It’s obscene, the way the wetness clings, glistening on the head of the silicone.

Your arousal drips along your thighs, the skin glistening under the low light and you can feel how messy you’ve become, how utterly soaked you are.

"Oh, sweetheart," he rasps, his eyes fixed on the toy and the way it slides against your swollen folds. "That's it. Get it nice and wet for me. I want to see just how desperate you are to take it."

Your fingers tremble as you position the toy at your entrance, the blunt tip pressing against your slick heat. You hesitate, glancing up at him through the screen.

“Carlos…”

“Go on, baby,” he urges, his tone soft but insistent. “Don’t make me wait. I want to see you take it.”

You bite your lip, a soft whine escaping as you slide the tip between your folds again. His gaze darkens, his strokes faltering as he watches you hover above it.

The moment the dildo breaches the first ring of muscles, your head falls back with a moan that’s nothing short of sinful.

Carlos’s eyes burn through the screen, dark and wild, his fist sliding steadily up and down his cock as he watches you begin to move.

“Fuck, baby, look at you,” he groans, his voice rough and needy. “You’re so fucking tight. That little pussy is made for me, isn’t it?”

You whimper, your hips starting to bounce, your slick heat making it easier to slide up and down. The toy stretches you so perfectly, but it’s his words that send fire shooting through your veins.

“Yes,” you gasp, gripping the bed to keep your balance. “It’s yours, Carlos. Always yours.”

“Damn right it is,” he growls, stroking himself faster. “You'd rather have me inside you, stretching you out, making you scream my name, hm? Doesn't matter if it's a mold from my cock. Still can't compare, yeah?”

Your hips jerk at his filthy words, and you pick up the pace, grinding down harder until the toy presses right against that spot that makes you see stars.

“Say it,” he demands, his voice dripping with dominance. “Say how much you want my cock, baby. Tell me what you miss.”

“I miss you,” you cry out, each bounce making your voice tremble. “Miss the way you fill me up, how fucking deep you get- oh god, Carlos-”

“That’s my girl,” he groans, his jaw tightening as he watches the way your body moves, the slick sounds of the dildo sliding in and out of you driving him insane.

“You’d take me so good, wouldn’t you? Let me fuck you until you can’t even think, until you’re dripping all over my cock.”

“Please,” you whine, your fingers digging into the sheets as the pleasure builds, your body tightening around the toy with every bounce. “I need it. Need you to fuck me, Carlos. Need to feel you come inside me-”

“Shit,” he growls, his hips jerking up into his hand. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Feeling me stretch you open, filling you so full you’d still be dripping with me the next day.”

Your head is spinning, the combination of his words and the relentless drag of the dildo inside you sending you spiraling closer to the edge.

“You’d let me do whatever I want, wouldn’t you?” His voice is a low, dirty rasp now, his strokes frantic as he chases his release. “You’d let me bend you over, fuck you on every surface in the house, make you come over and over until you’re begging me to stop.”

You nod desperately.

“Go faster, baby” Carlos murmurs, his voice low and rough.

You whimper, obeying.

Each downward motion stretches you all over again, and the fullness makes your eyes flutter shut as a moan spills from your lips.

Carlos’s growl cuts through the speakers, low and rough. “You look so pretty fucking yourself on it like that.”

You lift yourself just enough for the toy to drag along your walls, the friction igniting sparks of pleasure that ripple through you.

When you sink back down, the stretch feels even deeper. Your thighs tremble, your pace picking up as the need builds inside you.

“Fuck,” Carlos groans. “Your tits are bouncing so perfectly. Keep going, baby, let me see them move while you ride it.”

Your breasts sway with each bounce, the motion only adding to the heat pooling low in your belly.

The way his eyes lock onto you, dark, hungry, devouring, makes your nipples pebble, the cool air only amplifying the sensation.

“You look so fucking good,” Carlos murmurs, half mindless, his strokes on his cock quickening as he watches you. “Look at how deep it’s stretching you. Look at the way your tits bounce every time you take it. Fuck, you’re so perfect.”

You can’t stop now, the pleasure too much to ignore.

Your hips grind down harder, rolling in small circles as you press yourself against the base of the toy.

Each motion sends shocks of ecstasy through you, your slick heat gripping the silicone like you never want it to leave.

“Bounce on it harder,” he says.

Your hands grip the sheets tightly as you obey, your hips lifting and dropping with more urgency.

The wet, obscene sound of the toy sliding in and out of you fills the room, mixing with your soft gasps and moans. Your breasts bounce with every movement, and you feel the weight of his gaze like a physical touch.

“Baby,” Carlos groans, his fist tightening around his cock as he watches you ride the toy. “You’re so fucking perfect. You’d ride me just like that, wouldn’t you? Taking every inch, letting me stretch you open until you can’t handle it.”

Your breath catches, your body arching as you grind down harder, the toy hitting that perfect spot deep inside you. “Carlos,” you gasp, your voice trembling. “It feels so good- so fucking full-”

“That’s it,” he growls, his strokes turning frantic as he watches you lose yourself. “Take it all, baby. Keep bouncing. I want to see you come while you’re stretched out like that.”

“Yes,” you gasp, your body trembling as you grind harder, your cries turning into broken moans. “Carlos, I’m- fuck, I’m gonna come-”

“Do it,” he growls, his eyes locked on you, his voice pure command. “Come for me, baby. I want to see it. Show me how fucking good I make you feel.”

Your body shatters at his words, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your walls clench around the toy, your cries spilling out uncontrollably as pleasure courses through you.

“Fucking hell,” Carlos groans, his own release hitting him hard as he watches you fall apart. His hand jerks wildly as he spills over himself, his groans mixing with your whimpers through the screen.

As you both come down, the air is thick and charged, your bodies still trembling from the intensity of it all. Carlos grins at you, looking like the devil himself, his chest still heaving.

“Pretty girl.”

—-

Carlos’s phone is propped up against his water bottle, the screen showing you on the other end of the line as the two of you talk over lunch.

He’s at a small café near the gym, picking at a plate of grilled chicken and rice while you sit on the terrace of a restaurant somewhere near the Monaco Marina.

He can’t tell which restaurant exactly, but it doesn’t matter. He’s too focused on the way the sunlight catches in your hair, how you’re picking at a croissant with absentminded precision.

“So, wait,” you say, mid-bite. “You’re telling me you thought you could just wing the French?”

Carlos grins, popping a spoonful into his mouth. “I did wing it. The waiter understood me perfectly.”

“Sure,” you deadpan. “Because pointing at the menu is such a skill.”

He chuckles, wiping his fingers on a napkin. “Why complicate things? A man’s gotta eat.”

You shake your head, your exasperation half-hearted at best. “You’re hopeless.”

“Worked, didn't it?” he counters smoothly, a spark of mischief in his eyes.

You roll your eyes but don’t argue, which feels like a victory.

For a moment, the conversation drifts to lighter topics.

Where you’d want to travel next, the chaos of his morning workout, and whether or not croissants count as dessert.

It’s easy, effortless, the kind of back-and-forth that feels like second nature.

But then you glance down, suddenly fidgeting with your sleeve, and Carlos picks up on the shift immediately.

“What’s that face?” he asks, leaning forward, curiosity laced in his tone.

You pause, debating, then sigh. “Can I tell my friends about this?”

Carlos blinks. “This?”

“Us,” you say, casually, but the word lands heavier than you probably realize.

He freezes for a split second, his mind stalling like a rookie stalling a car on the grid.

Us.

You don't mean it in the way that’s currently making his chest feel too tight, but it doesn’t stop the word from echoing in his head.

You take another bite of your croissant like you haven’t just derailed his entire thought process.

“Legally? No.” he says, recovering with a smirk. “You’re under NDA. You can’t even mention I exist.”

Your eyes narrow. “Carlos, no one cares that much about you.”

“Ouch,” he says, clutching his chest dramatically.

You shake your head, your expression flat. “Be serious. Is it okay or not?”

He leans back, draping an arm over his chair and studying you with an unreadable expression.

The truth is, he should say no. He should remind you how much he values his privacy, how careful he has to be.

But the thought of you talking about him, to your friends, no less, makes him feel... proud. Like he’s somehow made it onto a list of people who matter to you.

“Yeah,” he says finally, his voice casual. “Go ahead.”

“Really?”

“Why not?”

You narrow your eyes, clearly suspicious. “You’re not going to show up at my door with legal threats if I say something stupid?”

“Not unless it’s really stupid,” he teases.

Your unimpressed stare makes him grin wider. “You’re annoying,” you mutter, but your tone lacks any real bite.

“You love me though,” he counters easily.

He watches as your face softens, just for a moment, and something about it makes his heart stutter in a way he’d never admit.

“You’re impossible,” you say, shaking your head.

“And you like it,” he fires back, his voice light, though there’s a trace of sincerity underneath it.

The conversation shifts again, and by the time you glance at your watch, he’s already dreading the inevitable.

“I should go,” you say, reaching for your coffee cup.

“Busy?”

“Not really,” you admit, but you’re already sitting straighter, ready to leave.

Carlos hesitates, leaning forward slightly. “Hey.”

You pause, looking up at him expectantly.

“Call me again tomorrow,” he says, softer this time.

Your brow lifts, a flicker of curiosity crossing your face. “Why?”

He shrugs, fighting the grin threatening to take over. “I like hearing your voice.”

For a moment, you just stare at him, and he thinks maybe, just maybe, you’re about to call him out on it.

But then you roll your eyes, hiding a smile that he doesn’t miss.

“Goodbye, Carlos,” you say, shaking your head as you reach for the screen.

The call ends, and Carlos sits back in his chair, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he stares at the now-empty screen.

Us.

—-

It’s the bimonthly girlfriend meet-up, and Kika’s already locked onto you like a heat-seeking missile.

“So, there’s this guy,” you say casually, swirling your wine like this isn’t about to become the most chaotic conversation of your week.

Her brow arches, her smirk appearing like she’s just been handed premium-grade gossip.

“Oh?” she says, leaning in.

“Yes,” you reply, taking a slow sip from your glass, because wine is courage, and you need a lot of it right now.

“Tell me more,” she says, her tone deceptively sweet, like a predator coaxing its prey closer.

You hesitate. There’s no way you’re telling her the guy in question is Carlos Sainz.

That would be insane. Absolutely unhinged.

One, because it’s Carlos Sainz.

Two, because it’s Carlos fucking Sainz.

“We’ve been… hooking up,” you say vaguely, hoping to skate by with minimal detail.

Kika narrows her eyes. “Hooking up? Where? I haven’t seen you at the club scene lately, and I definitely haven’t heard from Charles about you sneaking out.”

You blink at her. “Why would Charles know- wait. Are you spying on me?”

“No,” she says breezily, waving a hand. “But Charles knows everything about you. If you were sneaking around Monaco with a guy, I’d know by now.”

Kika tilts her head, studying you. “So if it’s not a local guy…”

She pauses. Then her eyes widen. “Oh my God. Is it a long-distance thing? Is this why you’ve been all ‘mysterious vibes’ lately?”

You sigh, realizing you’re caught. “It’s phone sex, okay?”

Kika blinks. “Phone sex?”

“Yes,” you say, downing the rest of your wine in one gulp. “We’re doing… phone stuff.”

She hums, sitting back, her gaze calculating. “It’s a famous guy, isn’t it?”

“What?!” you sputter. “How did you- why would you even-”

“Ma’am, look at you.” She gestures at you like you’re an exhibit at the Louvre. “You’re gorgeous. You’re you. Why would you ever settle for phone sex unless it’s, like, some Vogue model or an A-lister who’s too busy jet-setting to see you in person?”

“That’s ridiculous,” you say, trying to laugh her off, but it sounds more like a dying animal.

Her grin turns absolutely wicked, the kind of wicked that makes you instantly regret ever letting her into your life. “Oh, so it is a famous guy. You just gave yourself away. Who is it? Spill.”

“I did not!” you protest, but it’s weak. Too weak.

Kika hums, tapping a finger on her chin as she tilts her head. “Hmm. Let me think. Is it an actor? A musician? Oh my God, is it Harry Styles? Blink once for yes.”

“Kika-”

“Wait!” She gasps, cutting you off and slapping the table. “Is it a prince? Are you pulling a Meghan Markle? Are we about to be royalty by proxy?”

“Kika!” you hiss, glaring at her as a nearby table turns to look at the commotion.

“Okay, okay, fine. I'll behave.”

“But,” she adds, holding up a finger and wagging it at you, “you can’t just stop there. I want details. Stories. Anecdotes. What have you two done other than, like, phone sex? That can’t be it, right? Kick it up a notch. Spice things up.”

Your face burns, and you take a long, slow sip of your drink, desperately trying to buy time. “We… talk.”

Kika stares at you, unimpressed. “Talk? Oh, please. You’re telling me a man calls you up just to talk?”

You shrug, feigning innocence. “Sometimes.”

Her grin turns sharper. “And the other times?”

You look away, pretending to be fascinated by the texture of the tablecloth.

“Oh no,” she says, leaning in like a predator cornering its prey. “You’re not getting out of this. What does he say? What does he do? Don’t make me guess because I will make it a thousand times worse.”

You groan, your head falling into your hands. “Why are you like this?”

“Because I care about you,” she says sweetly, patting your hand before grinning again. “Now spill. What’s the wildest thing he’s done so far? Flown you out to a private island? Sent you a love letter written in champagne? What are we working with here?”

You hesitate. You know telling her anything will only fuel her chaos, but at this point, it feels like you don’t have a choice.

“Fine,” you mumble. “He, um… he sent me a… package.”

You take a long sip of your wine, trying to ignore Kika’s razor-sharp gaze burning into the side of your face.

You shouldn’t have said anything. You really shouldn’t have.

But it’s too late now.

“He sent me a dildo shaped like his cock,” you mutter under your breath, so fast you almost hope she didn’t hear you.

Kika chokes on her wine. Full-on chokes. She’s sputtering, clutching her chest as her eyes go wide.

Meanwhile, you calmly sip your drink, staring at some random painting on the wall like it’s the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen.

“WHAT?!” she finally manages, her voice about three octaves higher than usual.

“I’m not saying it again,” you reply coolly, refusing to meet her gaze.

“He sent you a-” she starts, and then bursts into laughter so loud half the restaurant turns to look at your table.

You shoot her a glare, shushing her. “Could you not announce it to the entire world?”

“Oh my God,” she wheezes, clutching her stomach. “Mr. Mystery sent you a dildo shaped like his cock?!”

You take another sip of wine, your cheeks burning. “It was… thoughtful.”

“THOUGHTFUL?!” she howls. “He’s out here like, ‘What’s a practical gift? Ah, yes, my dick!’”

“It’s not a big deal,” you mumble into your hands, praying the floor will swallow you whole.

“Not a big- ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” She’s laughing so hard she can barely breathe.

“Kika,” you hiss, kicking her under the table.

“That’s so romantic,” she says, ignoring you entirely. “Forget flowers. Forget jewelry. Nothing says love like, ‘Here’s my dick. In case you miss me.’”

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

“Are you kidding? This is the best thing you’ve ever told me,” she says, still grinning like a lunatic.

She leans forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Do you… do you keep it on your nightstand? Like, right next to your lamp? Is it displayed like a trophy? Maybe on one of those little velvet stands?”

“Kika!” you hiss, glancing around the café as if someone might overhear this absolute chaos.

Her laughter crescendos, attracting a few curious stares from nearby tables. She waves them off with a flick of her wrist, too far gone to care.

“No, seriously, I need to know. Oh God, imagine if you lose it. Like, it’s just missing one day and you’re crawling around under your couch yelling, ‘Mr. Mystery, where’s your dick?!’”

You groan, your head dropping into your hands. “Can you be serious for one second?”

She sucks in a breath, fanning herself like she’s about to faint. “Okay, okay. Serious. Totally serious. I’m done. Promise.”

You peek at her through your fingers, skeptical. “You sure?”

She nods, biting her lip to stifle another laugh. “Totally. Except… I have one more question.”

You lean back in your chair, staring at the ceiling like it might grant you patience. “What now?”

She leans in closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Is it… accurate?”

You freeze, horrified. “I’m leaving.”

“No, wait!” she cries, grabbing your arm before you can stand. She’s laughing again, her grip on your sleeve shaking with the force of it. “Come on, I’m kidding! Mostly. But seriously. Is it accurate? Like, should we call MythBusters?”

You gape at her, flabbergasted. “Why would I answer that?”

“Because I’m dying to know!” she says, eyes gleaming.

You shake her off and reach for your bag. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re avoiding the question,” she fires back, wagging a finger at you like a smug prosecutor. “Which makes me think it’s very accurate.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re lucky I haven’t thrown this glass of wine at you.”

“Please,” she scoffs, twirling her straw. “You’d never waste good wine. Now, answer me. Did he measure it himself, or do you think there was a mold involved? Like, did he sit there in some science lab with a team of experts, being all, ‘Make sure you get the angle right!’?”

“Oh my God,” you groan, covering your face again.

The two of you quiet down as a waiter approaches your little corner.

It’s quiet for a moment—mercifully quiet.

Kika is vibrating with barely restrained laughter, and you’re praying she doesn’t lose it while he’s standing there.

The waiter sets down your plates, refills your glasses, and gives Kika a quick, confused glance because she’s shaking like a malfunctioning washing machine.

You smile at him—tight, polite, please don’t ask questions, I beg you—and he wisely scurries off.

The second he’s out of earshot, Kika slams her hands on the table, rattling the cutlery. “Let me see it.”

You nearly choke on your own saliva. “What?! No!”

“Why not?” she demands, like this is a perfectly reasonable request.

“Why not? Because we’re in a crowded restaurant, that’s why!” you hiss, clutching your purse like it’s a medieval chastity belt.

She leans forward, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “So you’re saying there’s a non-crowded situation where you’d show me?”

“That’s not what I said!”

She smirks. “Sure, but you didn’t not say it.”

“Kika, I swear to God-”

“Just one peek,” she pleads, like she’s asking for a bite of your dessert. “Under the table. No one will even notice!”

“Under the- what are you, a contraband dealer?” you whisper-yell. “This is not a shady back-alley dildo exchange!”

She grins, undeterred. “So, what does it look like? Is it… metallic?”

You freeze. “Why would it be metallic?!”

“I don’t know! Maybe it’s fancy. Maybe it’s, like, a collector’s item.”

“It’s not a lightsaber, Kika!”

She gasps, her hand flying to her chest. “Oh my God. Does it light up?!”

“No!”

“Are you sure?” she presses, narrowing her eyes. “Maybe it has LEDs. You know, for… ambiance.”

—

Kika’s obsession with the whole thing also refuses to let up. She knows, and worse, she loves knowing.

It starts small: innocent comments here and there, teasing questions she doesn’t expect you to answer.

But over time, her nosiness evolves into full-blown meddling. She’s not just curious. She’s invested.

And one day, it all comes to a head.

Kika cracks.

Or rather, her big mouth does.

“This is too good,” she hisses over the phone like she’s smuggling state secrets. “I can’t keep it to myself any longer.”

You drop your sandwich mid-bite, the mayo squelching onto the table. “What the hell do you mean you can’t keep it to yourself?”

“This secret,” she says, as if it’s physically weighing her down. “It’s eating me alive. I can’t keep it anymore.”

You groan. “Kika, we’ve talked about this. It’s not your secret to keep.”

“Which is exactly why I need to tell someone!” she snaps, like that’s a logical leap. “It’s not mine! It’s yours! I’m just... borrowing it, and now I’m returning it to the universe.”

“That’s not how secrets work,” you deadpan, rubbing your temples.

“I need to tell someone! Please, let me tell Alex,” she begs, her voice desperate, like she’s asking for kidney donation approval.

You choke. You actually choke, sputtering on your words like a broken engine. “Are you insane? Have you lost what little is left of your mind?”

“She’s so cool! She won’t tell anyone, I swear.” Kika’s tone is sunny, like she’s campaigning for Alex to win Best Confidant of the Year. “She loves secrets! She’s a vault!”

“She’s my brother’s girlfriend! My. Brother’s. Girlfriend.” You emphasize each word like you’re explaining calculus to a toddler.

“And a great secret keeper regardless of who she’s dating!” She chirps, undeterred.

“She’s dating my brother,” you hiss, as if saying it will drive the point home in her thick skull, pacing across your room like a caged animal. “Do you not see the problem here?”

“I see no problem,” she says brightly. “Alex is the Fort Knox of secrets. She’ll take this to her grave.”

“She’ll take it to my brother,” you counter, jabbing the air with your finger even though she can’t see you. “And then my brother will take it to my mom, and then my mom will take it to church, and next thing you know, I’m being exorcised for sins of the phone!”

Kika laughs, the kind of laugh that means she’s not taking you seriously at all. “Don’t be dramatic. Your mom would faint.”

“Kika!” you hiss, lowering your voice even though no one else is in the room. “If you tell her, I swear to God, I’ll... I’ll-”

“You’ll what? Call Mr. Mystery and complain about me?” Her grin is practically audible.

“Yes, and he’ll agree with me!” you snap, clutching your phone so tightly it’s a miracle it doesn’t crack. “Because this is not a group project!”

“Okay, okay!” She gasps, wheezing like she just finished a marathon. “I won’t tell her! I swear!”

You pause, narrowing your eyes even though she can’t see you. “Wait. Really?”

“No,” she says flatly, so matter-of-fact you feel your brain short-circuit. “I’m absolutely telling her. She’s going to lose her mind.”

You let out a shriek so loud your upstairs neighbor thumps on the floor in retaliation. “Kika, if you even breathe a word”

“Just picture it!” she interrupts, steamrolling over your protest. You can hear her bouncing on her bed. “I’ll text her right now. Something casual, like, ‘Hey Alex, you’re never going to believe-’”

“Fine!” you snap, throwing yourself onto the bed so hard the mattress squeaks in protest. “Fine, just tell her! But we do it in the next meet-up! I have to be present to keep your unruly mouth shut!”

Kika lets out an unholy squeal, the kind that makes dogs two blocks over start barking. You yank the phone away from your ear, grimacing.

“This is the best day of my life,” she announces, and you can practically hear her smirk.

“This is the worst day of mine,” you counter, dragging a pillow over your face and screaming into it.

“Relax,” she says breezily. You hear the telltale sound of typing. “Alex is going to eat this up. She loves a little drama.”

You lower the pillow just enough to breathe. “This isn’t drama. This is my life unraveling because you can’t keep your mouth shut.”

“Oh, please. You’re being dramatic,” she says, her tone so casual you almost throw your phone across the room. “It’s not like we're sending the story to Charles. That would be a scandal.”

You sit bolt upright. “Kika, I swear to all that is holy, if this gets back to him-”

“It won’t!” she chirps. “Unless Alex tells him. But she won’t. Probably.”

“Probably?!” Your voice cracks, and you claw at your scalp like you’re trying to yank out the stress by the roots.

“She’s trustworthy! You trust her, right?” Kika says, still typing away.

“No! I don’t trust anyone!” you shout, rolling onto your stomach and pounding your fists into the mattress. “Least of all you!”

Kika laughs so hard she starts coughing. “Oh, you’ll thank me for this one day,” she chokes out between wheezes.

“Unlikely,” you mutter.

“Anyway, gotta go! I’ll let you know if Alex is available next week,” Kika says brightly, and then the call ends before you can respond.

You stare at your phone in silence, a deep sense of dread pooling in your stomach.

Mistakes were made. By you. Specifically by trusting Kika with anything.

—

The restaurant is stupidly fancy, the kind of place where the bread basket comes with a backstory and the waiters judge you if you butter too enthusiastically.

You sit on the terrace, the Mediterranean sparkling behind you like a postcard that refuses to let you forget how expensive everything is.

Your table has a perfect view of the marina, where billionaires are essentially playing a game of “whose yacht is bigger.”

Not that you’re paying attention.

Alex and Kika are too busy ruining your life for you to focus on anything else.

Alex is halfway through her sea bass when you drop the bomb.

She freezes, her knife poised mid-cut, before her hand falls to the table.

Her fork clatters onto the porcelain plate, loud enough to make a few patrons turn their heads.

You wince, sinking lower in your chair.

Across from you, Kika sips her champagne, completely unbothered. She smirks, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

“You’re kidding,” Alex says, eyes wide with disbelief.

Kika doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh, she’s not kidding,” she says, swirling her glass lazily. “She’s dead serious.”

You squirm under Alex’s gaze, picking at your lobster ravioli like it might swallow you whole if you wish hard enough. “It’s not a big deal,” you mumble.

Alex snorts, an uncharacteristically undignified sound for someone who normally looks like she belongs on the cover of Vogue.

“Not a big deal?” she repeats, her voice rising just enough to make you glance nervously at the tables around you.

“Shut it. People are going to hear,” you hiss.

“Oh, darling,” Kika cuts in, her grin widening. “If people heard, they’d ask for more details. Probably start taking notes.”

Alex ignores her, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the table, etiquette be damned.

“You’re telling me you’ve been having phone sex with some elite celebrity and it’s ‘not a big deal?’”

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “Can we not call it that?”

“What would you prefer?” Kika asks, her eyes practically sparkling. “Verbal intimacy? Oral storytelling?”

“I hate you both,” you mutter.

Alex waves her off, laser-focused on you. “And the… gift?” she asks, voice dripping with disbelief. “Are we glossing over the fact that he sent you a dildo?”

“It was thoughtful,” Kika offers, deadpan, before taking another sip of champagne.

“Stop helping,” you snap at her.

“I mean, really,” Alex continues, ignoring the interruption. “The man is rich, probably gorgeous to somehow convince you to give him a chance, could maybe have anyone he wants- and he’s doing phone sex with you?”

You glare at her. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“You know what I mean,” she says, brushing off your sarcasm. “Why would he go through all this effort unless-” She stops, her eyes narrowing slightly like she’s just cracked the Da Vinci Code.

“Oh my God.”

“What?” you ask, already dreading whatever is coming next.

“That man is in love with you,” Alex declares, her tone final, like she’s just announced a royal decree.

You choke on air, coughing so violently that Kika reaches over to thump your back, more amused than concerned. “He is not in love with me!” you wheeze.

“He absolutely is,” Alex insists, sitting back and crossing her arms.

“That’s a huge leap,” you argue, waving your hands in front of you. “How do you get ‘in love’ from… from phone sex and-” You gesture vaguely. “Other things?”

Alex doesn’t blink. “He’s a famous athlete, right?”

“Sure,” you say, narrowing your eyes. “So?”

“So,” she says, leaning forward, “he’s settling for phone sex instead of hooking up with someone in person? That doesn’t happen unless he’s in love.”

“It’s not settling!” you argue, flailing slightly. “It’s convenient! We have an NDA; it’s low effort!”

“Low effort?” Alex raises an eyebrow. “More low effort than walking into a club and taking his pick of willing women?”

“Well… yeah!”

Kika cackles, nearly spilling her drink. “Oh, babe. You really think you’re less effort? That’s adorable.”

You glare at her, but Alex presses on, relentless. “Does he do this with anyone else?”

“How would I know that?” you snap.

“Ask him,” Alex says simply, like it’s the most obvious solution in the world.

“Absolutely not!”

“Oh, come on,” Kika says, grinning. “Just casually drop it into conversation. ‘Hey, Mr. Mystery, quick question: am I your only long-distance dirty talk partner, or is this a group activity?’”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “I’m not asking him that.”

“Why not?” Alex demands, cutting into her sea bass like this conversation isn’t actively ruining your life. “If it’s no big deal, he won’t mind. And if he does mind, well…” She trails off, her smirk infuriatingly smug.

“Then you’ll know he’s in love with you!” Kika chimes in, practically bouncing in her seat.

“Or he’ll think I’m insane,” you shoot back.

Alex shrugs, entirely unbothered. “Either way, it’s good information to have.”

You sit back in your chair, glaring at the two of them as they sip their champagne like this is the most entertaining lunch they’ve ever had.

“You two are the worst,” you mutter.

Kika raises her glass in a mock toast. “To Mr. Mystery and his poor, emotionally repressed heart.”

Alex clinks her glass against Kika’s with a soft laugh. “And to you,” she adds, “the object of his inconvenient affections.”

You consider grabbing their glasses and chucking them into the marina, but that would only prove their point.

Instead, you stab your ravioli with far more force than necessary, trying to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks.

Mistakes. So many mistakes.

—

You can’t stop thinking about it.

Carlos. In love with you.

The concept is so utterly ridiculous you actually laugh to yourself, out loud, like a complete maniac.

Because Carlos isn’t in love with you.

That’s not how this works. Carlos doesn’t do “love.” Carlos doesn’t do you.

Well, okay, he does you in certain… contexts, but that’s beside the point.

The point is, Carlos is like a human golden retriever with too much charm for his own good.

He’s nice to everyone. He flirts with everyone. He probably gives everyone those stupid lingering looks that make your knees go weak.

He doesn’t fall in love. And if he did, it sure as hell wouldn’t be with you.

But the thought won’t leave your brain. It’s set up camp there, pitching a tent and roasting marshmallows over the fire of your own self-doubt.

And then the photo happens.

It’s a normal day.

Quiet. Peaceful, even.

You’re in bed scrolling through your phone, feeling pretty good about life.

You’ve got coffee on the nightstand, a blanket wrapped around you, and a vague sense of superiority because you haven’t thought about Carlos in at least six hours.

Then his face pops up on your feed.

Carlos, golden and gorgeous, lounging on a yacht like he’s auditioning for a Bond movie. He’s shirtless, of course. Because of course he is. The sun catches in his hair, and his jawline looks so sharp it could cut glass.

You don’t even blink.

You’re too used to this by now. This is just Carlos being Carlos.

But then you see her.

The girl.

She’s pressed up against him, all long legs and glossy hair and perfect teeth. She’s laughing, her hand resting casually, possessively, on his chest like it’s hers to touch.

Your stomach does something horrifying, like it’s trying to fold in on itself.

It’s fine, you tell yourself. This is normal. Carlos is always surrounded by beautiful women. This means nothing.

But the way he’s looking at her…

You throw your phone across the bed like it just personally insulted you.

Then you lie back and stare at the ceiling, trying to convince yourself you’re not spiraling.

Spoiler alert: you’re totally spiraling.

Which is how you end up calling Kika and Alex.

Because misery loves company, and also because you’re desperate for someone to tell you you’re not crazy.

“Hello?” Kika answers, far too cheerful for your current mood.

“I need help,” you blurt out.

“What kind of help?” she asks cautiously.

“Emotional help,” you say dramatically. “I’m having an existential crisis.”

“Of course you are,” she says. “Hang on, I’m adding Alex.”

“No, don’t-”

Too late. Alex’s voice cuts in, already exasperated. “What happened now?”

“He posted a photo,” you mumble, already regretting this.

“Okay…” Alex says slowly. “And?”

“And there was a girl in it,” you say, your voice climbing an octave.

“Oh my God,” Kika groans.

Alex sighs. “Let me guess. Hot girl, hand on his chest, looking like she just stepped out of a magazine?”

“Exactly!” you exclaim, sitting up. “How do you always know?”

“Because this happens every time,” he says dryly. “It’s cliche at this point. You're a walking cliche.”

You whine. “He looked… happy.”

There’s a beat of silence before Kika asks, “Are you drunk?”

“No!”

“Okay, just checking,” she says. “Because you sound drunk. Or insane. Possibly both.”

“I’m being serious!” you say, flopping back onto the bed. “What if he actually likes her?”

“Then he’s an idiot,” Alex says without hesitation.

“You don’t even know who she is!”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says. “No one’s better than you.”

You groan. “That’s not helpful.”

“Look,” Kika cuts in, her tone gentler now. “You’ve got two options. One, you ask him about it. Two, you do what you always do and overthink yourself into oblivion.”

“Three,” Alex adds, “you block him, move to a remote island, and live off coconuts for the rest of your life.”

“I hate both of you,” you mutter.

“No, you don’t,” Kika says sweetly. “Now, are you going to talk to him or not?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “What if I ask and he laughs at me? Or worse, what if he doesn’t care?”

“Then you’ll know,” Alex says simply.

And that’s the crux of it, isn’t it?

Knowing.

Because right now, as painful as it is, not knowing still feels safer than finding out the truth.

“Thanks, guys,” you say finally.

“Anytime,” Kika says. “Now go stalk his Instagram and cry into your coffee like a normal person.”

“Bye,” you grumble, hanging up.

You stare at the ceiling for a long time after that, the ache in your chest refusing to fade.

—

So, you cut him off.

Not all at once, because that would be too obvious, and God forbid Carlos Sainz think you’re actually affected by anything he does.

No, you do it slowly, carefully, like easing out of a party you didn’t really want to attend in the first place.

At first, it’s just a delay in your replies. Not anything dramatic, just enough to make it seem like you’ve got better things to do than hang on his every word.

When he sends a text, you leave it unread for an hour. Maybe two.

(Okay, fine, sometimes you read it immediately and then stare at your phone for thirty minutes trying not to reply, but that’s beside the point.)

When you do respond, you keep it short. Curt, even. No emojis, no playful banter, just cold, functional sentences.

Carlos How’s your day going?

You Busy

Carlos Busy with what?

You Work

He doesn’t push, which is somehow worse.

You want him to notice, to ask what’s wrong, to demand answers you’re not prepared to give. But he doesn’t.

He just keeps texting you, the same way he always has, like nothing’s changed.

When he asks to call, you tell him you’re busy. Which is technically true, if “busy” includes reorganizing your spice rack and watching sad movies while eating ice cream straight out of the tub.

It’s not immediate, but it’s different.

The rhythm of your conversations shifts, the easy flow replaced by stilted exchanges that feel like wading through molasses.

The worst part is how much it hurts.

Because cutting him off isn’t supposed to hurt you. It’s supposed to make things better. Easier. Less messy.

But instead, you’re walking around like some tragic romantic hero, clutching your metaphorical wounds and waiting for someone to ask why you look so miserable.

You try to distract yourself.

You download a meditation app, but the soothing voice telling you to “release your tension” only makes you think about how Carlos used to tease you for clenching your jaw when you were stressed.

You go out with friends, laughing too loud and drinking too much, but every time your phone buzzes, you can’t stop yourself from hoping it’s him.

It usually is.

Carlos Did I do something

You Just busy

Carlos Are you mad at me

You No

You toss your phone onto the couch and stare at it like it’s personally betrayed you. He’s starting to notice, which is both validating and soul-crushing.

Because if he notices, then maybe, just maybe, he actually cares.

And if he actually cares, then maybe cutting him off isn’t the answer.

But then you remember the photo. The girl. The way he looked at her.

And you remind yourself that Carlos Sainz isn’t yours. He never was.

So you keep going.

You tell yourself it’ll get easier. That eventually, his texts will stop coming, and the ache in your chest will fade, and you’ll finally be free of whatever this is.

But for now, you’re just sad and tired and watching Pride & Prejudice for the third time this week, convincing yourself you’re Elizabeth Bennet and he’s Mr. Darcy, except there’s no grand declaration at the end.

There’s just silence.

—

It's one of those times where you answer Carlos' call so he doesn't think you're actively avoiding him.

You’re stretched out on your couch, half-listening as Carlos narrates the chaos of his day, his voice flitting between amusement and exaggerated frustration.

“…and then they tell me the setup’s wrong, again, so I had to sit there, listening to engineers argue for an hour. An hour! I’m telling you, I deserve a medal just for staying awake.”

“Tragic,” you reply, dry as ever. “Truly, you’re the unsung hero of motorsport.”

“Exactly!” he exclaims, his tone shifting as if you’ve validated some grand injustice. “Finally, someone understands.”

You hear the faint rustle of fabric, the soft creak of leather, and you know he’s probably leaning back in one of those expensive chairs he likes so much, the ones you tease him about.

It’s a scene you’ve imagined a thousand times—so familiar it borders on comforting.

“So,” he says, drawing out the word like he’s gearing up for something. “Guess where I am right now?”

“Let me think,” you say. “Some glamorous location with a ridiculous view and an overpriced minibar?”

“Close,” he says, and you can hear the grin tugging at his words. “I’m in Monaco.”

Your heart stumbles, just a little, just enough to be annoying, but you keep your voice casual. “Oh, the usual playground of the rich and famous. How very you.”

“Hey, it’s practically home,” he teases, and the warmth in his tone makes your stomach twist. “And speaking of home… aren’t you supposed to be here too? Isn’t that, like, the whole point of being Monegasque?”

You hesitate, just for a beat, but it’s long enough.

“…Wait,” he says, his voice sharpening with suspicion. “You’re not here, are you?”

“I’m in Italy,” you admit, aiming for breezy and landing somewhere closer to forced.

There’s a pause, the kind of silence that feels heavier than it should. “Italy?” he repeats, his voice carefully light, like he’s trying not to make something of it. “What are you doing there?”

“Just am,” you say, shrugging even though he can’t see it.

“Right,” he says slowly, and you can feel the weight of his thoughts pressing through the line.

He doesn’t push it, though, because Carlos is a lot of things, but he’s not the kind of person who asks questions he’s not ready to hear the answers to.

He shifts the conversation after that, steering it back to safer waters.

He tells you about a restaurant he tried, about the ridiculous amount of traffic on his way to the track.

You laugh in the right places, make snarky comments when it’s expected, and for a while, it feels almost normal.

But it’s not.

The photo lingers in the back of your mind like a ghost. Her hand on his chest, his easy grin, the effortless way they fit together.

You thought you could handle it. Thought you could keep things light and easy, pretend that the photo didn’t bother you, that you hadn’t spent an embarrassing amount of time dissecting every pixel like it held some kind of secret truth.

But now, sitting here, listening to him ramble on about his day like everything’s fine, you’re not so sure.

“Hey,” he says suddenly, breaking the flow of his own story. His voice is quieter now, more thoughtful. “You’ve been kind of… off lately. Is everything okay?”

Your breath catches, just for a second.

“I’m fine,” you say quickly, too quickly.

There’s a pause, just long enough for you to know he doesn’t believe you.

But he doesn’t call you on it. He just hums softly, like he’s letting you have this one.

The conversation winds down after that. He says something about an early meeting, and you use it as an excuse to end the call.

—

Carlos has a suspicion you’re avoiding him.

Or maybe, just maybe, Charles Leclerc has turned into some kind of shadowy mastermind, meticulously coordinating Carlos’s travel schedule just so he can keep you two apart.

It’s ridiculous, sure, but how else do you explain it?

When Carlos is in Monaco, you’re in Italy. When he’s in Italy, you’re in Mallorca. When he’s in Mallorca, you’ve suddenly jetted off to Switzerland, of all places.

It’s like you’ve taken on the role of “Where in the World Is Carmen Sandiego?” with unsettling precision, a game he didn’t even know he was playing until now.

At first, he tried to laugh it off.

Told himself it was just bad timing, a string of coincidences that would eventually break in his favor.

But now? Now it feels deliberate. Calculated. And the worst part is, he knows you. Knows you well enough to feel the subtle shift in the air between you, like a storm quietly gathering on the horizon.

He’s tried to tell himself he’s overthinking it.

That you’ve just been busy, that your life doesn’t revolve around him and his schedule.

But the excuses are starting to ring hollow, even to his own ears.

The delayed responses to his texts. The way your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes when he finally does manage to catch you available for a call.

And now, sitting alone in his Monaco apartment, his phone resting on the coffee table in front of him like a lifeline you’ve left dangling just out of reach, Carlos can’t shake the weight that’s settled in his chest.

You’re pulling away.

The realization hits him like a punch to the gut, sudden and brutal.

He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, his hands running through his hair as he stares at the floor.

His heart feels heavy, tangled up in a mess of confusion and hurt and something he doesn’t want to name.

Why? That’s the question that keeps circling back.

Why are you doing this? Why now, when he feels like he’s finally starting to understand just how much you mean to him?

His mind races, replaying every interaction, every conversation, searching for the moment he might’ve pushed you away without realizing it.

Did he say something? Did he not say enough?

“Dios,” he mutters under his breath, his voice thick with frustration.

He doesn’t want to think it, doesn’t want to believe it, but the thought won’t leave him alone: maybe you’ve finally gotten tired of him.

The idea makes his chest ache, a dull, hollow pain that spreads until it feels like it’s consuming him.

He doesn’t want to lose you, doesn’t want to let go of the quiet moments, the shared laughs, the way you make him feel like he can just be for once.

But what can he do? He can’t force you to stay, can’t make you want him if you don’t.

He picks up his phone, his thumb hovering over your name in his messages and sends a message before he chickens out.

Carlos Where are you right now?

You Still hoping for that coffee date, huh?

Carlos Always

You …Paris

Carlos frowns at his phone, and you can almost hear the mental gears grinding in his head. Paris. Of course, it’s Paris. Because why wouldn’t it be?

Carlos Okay, I’m going there.

Your phone buzzes immediately, the boldness of his response catching you off guard.

You What?

You ARE YOU SERIOUS???

Carlos Yes.

You Carlos, you can’t just drop everything and fly to Paris.

Carlos Watch me.

You stare at your phone, torn between laughing and rolling your eyes. This is insane. You text him back, unsure if you want to be mad or amused.

You This is insane.

Carlos No, it’s determination.

You It’s bordering on stalker behavior.

Carlos Then stop running from me.

You I’m not running!

Carlos You’re in a different country every time I blink. Sounds like running.

You It’s called having a life.

Carlos A life that conveniently never overlaps with mine. Carlos Got it.

You Carlos, I swear to God if you actually come here

He doesn’t reply. The silence settles in, and you think that’s the end of it. Carlos is too sensible to drop everything and fly to Paris, right? Right?

Wrong.

Three hours later, you’re in your hotel room, scrolling through your phone while you regret the third croissant you scarfed down earlier, when you hear a knock at the door.

You frown, setting your phone down. You weren’t expecting anyone.

Another knock, this time more insistent.

Curious, you peek through the peephole. And there he is.

Carlos Sainz.

Standing in the hallway, casually leaning against the doorframe, holding a bouquet of flowers like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Your jaw drops.

You swing the door open before you can think better of it. “What are you doing here?”

Carlos shrugs, flowers in hand. “You said Paris.”

“That wasn’t an invitation!” you hiss, your eyes darting up and down the hallway as if expecting paparazzi to jump out from behind the elevator.

“Seemed like one to me,” he says, unfazed, like he’s the most logical person in the universe. “Besides, I brought flowers. That makes it okay.”

You stand there, staring at him, completely caught between laughing and slamming the door in his face. “This is… I don’t even have words.”

“‘Thank you’ works,” he suggests, stepping past you as if he has every right to be there, dropping onto the armchair with the ease of someone who’s been invited to stay.

“Excuse me-” you splutter, still holding the flowers, but too stunned to do anything with them.

Carlos stretches his legs out in front of him like he’s planning to stay a while. “Nice room. Cozy.”

“You can’t just-” You gesture wildly at him, still holding the flowers like they’re some kind of shield. “Carlos, this is insane!”

“What’s insane,” Carlos says, his voice slicing through the heavy silence, “is how hard you’ve been avoiding me.”

The words hit you like a sharp slap, cutting through the thin armor you’ve been clinging to.

You wince, his accusation landing squarely on the truth you’ve been trying so desperately to bury.

“I’m not avoiding you,” you say, but even as the words leave your mouth, they feel hollow.

A poor, pathetic attempt to cover up the obvious.

His eyes narrow. “Yes, you are,” he replies, his voice edged with a kind of raw frustration you’ve never heard from him before. “You’ve been avoiding me, pulling away like I’ve done something-”

He leans forward, his knuckles white from how hard he’s clenching them. “Did I do something? Tell me, please.”

You shake your head quickly, your chest tightening. “No, Carlos, you didn’t-”

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice cracks, rising just enough to make you flinch. There’s a tremor in his tone, something that tells you this isn’t just frustration- it’s pain.

Your mind races, heart pounding against your ribcage like it’s trying to escape. You can’t look at him.

You can’t meet his eyes because you know what you’ll see there: vulnerability. A rawness you’re too afraid to face.

“I told you, I’m not avoiding you,” you say again, but your voice wavers. The lie cracks as it leaves your lips.

Carlos exhales sharply, a bitter, humorless laugh escaping him. “Really? That’s what you’re going with? You’re not avoiding me? Because from where I’m standing, it sure as hell feels like you are.”

His voice lowers, softer now but no less piercing. “You’ve been ignoring my calls, dodging my texts. You won’t even look at me right now.”

He pauses, his voice dropping even further, his words so quiet they’re barely a whisper. “It’s like you’re disappearing right in front of me.”

“I’ve been busy,” you mumble weakly, knowing even as you say it how ridiculous it sounds.

“Busy,” he repeats, dragging the word out like it physically pains him to say it. “Right. Busy. Of course. That’s your excuse? That’s all you’ve got?”

You open your mouth to respond, but he steamrolls ahead, his voice rising in disbelief. “Do you think I’m stupid? Is that it? Like I haven’t noticed you pulling some kind of secret agent disappearing act every time I’m within a five-mile radius?”

“I’m not-”

“Oh, please!” he cuts you off, throwing his hands up dramatically. “When I was in Monaco, you were in Italy. When I was in Italy, you were in Mallorca. When I was in Mallorca, you went to Paris. I thought you cared about the planet!”

“I had a reason!” you defend weakly.

“Oh, sure. Let me guess. You were ‘busy.’” He uses air quotes this time, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Busy doing what? Hiding in the catacombs so I wouldn’t find you?”

“Carlos-”

“No, seriously! Are you Carmen Sandiego? Did you take on a secret job as an international spy and forget to tell me? Because at this point, that’s the only explanation that makes any sense!”

You can’t help it.

A small, nervous laugh escapes you, but it’s swallowed by the look he gives you, a mix of exasperation and something rawer, something vulnerable that wipes the humor from your face instantly.

“I’m serious,” he says, his voice quieter now, though no less intense. “Why are you doing this? What happened? Did I do something?”

“No!” you blurt out, the word rushing out of you like a reflex. “You didn’t do anything-”

“Then what?” he demands, stepping closer, his brows furrowed. “Why does it feel like every time I try to get close to you, you’re already halfway out the door? What is it? Did I say something? Did I forget something important? Did I-”

“Stop!” you snap, your voice louder than you intended, cutting him off mid-spiral. “You didn’t do anything, okay? It’s me!”

He freezes, his hands hovering in the air like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “What do you mean, it’s you?”

You take a deep, shaky breath, your heart pounding in your chest. “I can’t do this anymore, Carlos. I can’t keep pretending like this, like we, don’t mean more to me than it should.”

His brows knit together, confusion flashing across his face. “What are you talking about? What does that even mean?”

“It means I’m in love with you, okay?” you blurt out, the words tumbling out of you before you can stop them.

Your hands fly to your face, your voice shaking as you add, “Not as a joke. Not as a friend. Not in some ‘haha, Carlos is cute, what if’ kind of way. I’m in love with you, and it’s ruining me, and now I’ve said it, and- oh my God- I’m going to vomit-”

“Wait, what?” Carlos interrupts, his voice a mix of shock and something dangerously close to hope.

“You heard me!” you snap, your hands still covering your face as you pace in frantic little circles. “I’m in love with you, and now I’ve ruined everything, and you’re going to freak out and leave, and then I’ll have to fake my death and move to Antarctica and befriend a penguin colony-”

“Will you stop?” he cuts in, grabbing your arm to stop your pacing. “Just- stop for a second, okay?”

You yank your arm back instinctively, shaking your head. “No, I can’t stop! Because if I stop, I’m going to have to look at you, and if I look at you, I’m going to see the exact moment you decide this is too much, and you walk out of my life forever, and I’m not emotionally equipped for that-”

“Would you listen to me?” he shouts, his voice startling you into silence.

His hands fall to his sides, his eyes locking on yours with a desperate kind of intensity. “I’m not walking out of your life, okay? I’m not going anywhere. Jesus, do you really think so little of me?”

Your lip wobbles, your voice breaking. “You don’t get it. You’ll leave.”

He lets out a laugh. Sharp, exasperated, and a little unhinged. “I’m in love with you, you absolute idiot.”

You freeze. Your brain is refusing to process what he just said. “What?”

“I said I’m in love with you,” he repeats, louder this time, as if yelling the words will hammer them into your skull.

“Have been since the first night, I think. Do you honestly believe I’d fly halfway across the world, lose sleep, and spam you with dog pictures because I don’t love you?”

You stare at him, mouth agape. “You- what?”

“Yes!” he throws his hands up, pacing like he’s been holding this in for years and it’s physically painful to let it out. “God, how do you not see it? I thought I was being so obvious!”

Your brain is scrambling for any coherent thought, but instead, all you manage is: “Then who was that girl?”

Carlos blinks at you, mid-rant. “What girl?”

You fumble for your phone like you’ve been waiting for this exact moment to catch him red-handed.

Opening Instagram with trembling fingers, you shove the screen in his face, pointing at the offending photo. “This girl. The one on the yacht!”

He squints at the screen, then back at you, his brow furrowing.

“That’s my cousin, Marina.”

Your heart stops. “What?”

“My cousin,” he says again, slower this time, as though you might be hard of hearing. “She’s married to a guy named Tomás. I was literally holding her bag while she FaceTimed her kids.”

You gape at him, the ground beneath you threatening to swallow you whole. “Oh.”

Carlos stares at you, his mouth falling open. Then it clicks. “Oh my God. Is this why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“I wasn’t-”

“You were ghosting me because you thought I was on a yacht with my cousin?” he demands, his voice climbing into incredulous territory.

“It looked bad!” you squeak, the heat in your face making it impossible to look him in the eye. “I didn’t know she was your cousin! She was all- touchy!”

“She was showing me pictures of her dog!” he cries, like he can’t believe he’s having this conversation.

You clutch your head, feeling both humiliated and mildly hysterical. “I’m an idiot. I’m the biggest idiot alive.”

“No arguments there,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair, then fixing you with a look that’s somewhere between amused and exasperated. “You honestly thought I’d just…what? Post my side chick on Instagram for you to see?”

“I didn’t know what to think!” you snap, burying your face in your hands. “I panicked, okay? My brain spiraled!”

Carlos lets out a disbelieving laugh, pacing a tight circle like he’s trying to figure out how he got here. “So instead of asking me, you just…decided to ignore me? For weeks?”

“I said I panicked!” you groan, peeking at him through your fingers, mortified.

He stares at you for a beat, then pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath in Spanish. “You’re lucky I love you, you know that?”

Your heart lurches, but you’re still too mortified to fully process it. “You can’t possibly still love me after this.”

“Oh, I can,” he says dryly, crossing his arms. “But I’m definitely telling Marina about this. She’s going to think it’s hilarious.”

“No!” you cry, lunging forward and grabbing his arm. “Carlos, I swear to God, if you tell your cousin-”

He grins, all smug amusement now, his earlier frustration melting away. “I’ll think about keeping it a secret. On one condition.”

“What condition?” you ask warily.

“You stop ghosting me,” he says simply, his voice softening as his eyes meet yours. “And maybe…start trusting me a little more?”

You let out a shaky breath, the weight of your own stupidity pressing down on you. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, looking at the floor. “I really messed this up.”

“Yeah, you did,” he agrees, but there’s no bite to his words. He tilts your chin up so you have no choice but to look at him. “But you can make it up to me. Dinner tomorrow?”

You nod, a small, embarrassed smile tugging at your lips. “Okay.”

“And for the record,” he adds, smirking, “if you ever ghost me again, I’m showing up with a mariachi band.”

You groan, shoving him lightly as he laughs, but you can’t help the warmth spreading through your chest. Somehow, against all odds, he’s still yours.

---

@lilorose25 @widow-cevans @mderby03 @zyklion @papichulomacy @irisesinthegarden @leclercdream @moonvr @ilovemeni @iamdedsthingz @shwnirwin @softhecreator @claimingharrystigertattoo @5sospenguinqueen @wadupppdylan-blog @waytooobsessedwithlife @weekendlusting

[vantedaes]

cry, cry, cry

pairing: nanami kento x f!reader tags: porn with little plot, dacryphilia (or an attempt at it at least) soft dom nanami, slight breathplay, fingering, alcohol use, body fluids mentions, unprotected sex, manhandling, slight objectivization, passing out, hair pulling, pussy spanking, slight breeding kink, reader does not talk but because of the context no because she can't. NO PROOFREAD. an: English is not my first language, there might be mistakes that would be addressed,,, someday, for now I just want this to be posted it has been sitting on my drafts like forever. Inspired by this tiktok of my lovely bbh

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT +18 ONLY!!!

!Husband Kento was not a stranger to being enraged when working overtime, however, he didn't make a habit of taking that rage home, where his lovely wife was waiting for him. Unfortunately for him, today was one of those days he couldn´t stop the bubbling wrath when returning home after insufferable overtime hours cleaning everyone´s messes.

Of course, he had sent you a text beforehand letting you know that it was for the best to allow him time to cool down before talking to him, and thankfully you've been supporting and understanding as ever telling him that he shouldn´t worry and that a glass of his favorite bourbon was already served in his study.

You knew exactly that your lovely husband had an especially rough day, you could tell by the sound of the door opening an abrasive almost like the FBI was breaking into your house, you could hear from your shared room the loud slamming of the door, so strong it made you flinch, your cat scaping your blanket running into hiding somewhere in the closet.

Closing your book you put it on your nightstand and heard how the heavy steps of your husband made their way to your home, you could listen to the rustling of his clothing and another slam of what you could guess was his suitcase, oh, he was real upset, Not long after that you hear him opening the door of his study. Standing up you got out of your shared room, you didn't want to bother him at all knowing he had to blow some steam, so you just went to the drawing room to assess the situation, with soft steps you saw how his coat was thrown under the hanger and his suitcase a few steps from the coat, open, revealing what you could only assume was red numbers and some other reports he had to deal with, you did your best to accommodate everything in its place hearing your husband going slamming things in his office.

You knew it was better to just go to sleep and wait for him to come to bed whenever he felt like it, but, you were also curious, you´d never seen him this upset, so after getting his things together you made your way silently to his study, almost on tiptoes, the door was wide open which made your little espionage easier. Only the light of his desk was on, you leaned in the doorframe like a child trying not to get busted when they know were being naughty, your breath caught into your throat when you saw him, his back to you pouring even more of the bourbon and gulping it in just one quick motion, his muscles evidently tense making him look even bigger, menacing even, his big hands gripping the glass and the movement of his throat working that burning alcohol down like it was nothing.

And dear lord, you could feel your pajama shorts getting soaked.

Your skin burned like it had caught on fire, you weren't unfamiliar with how insanely hot and attractive your husband was, but this was different, this was the first time you'd seen him, this, this enraged, his whole demeanor changing in a drastic form that you've never experimented and your eyes were glazing for just the sight, your fingers itching to help you relieve some of that tension desire building in the pit of your stomach. Your husband then sits on his chair, his strong tights expanding, and his crotch more prominent, his hair like a full mess, golden locks falling into his gorgeous face that was contorted into a hostile expression that only made you press your tights even closer to each other, you could feel yourself trembling with a raw need that was taking over every grain of your sanity.

But then in a swift motion, after struggling to take off his tie he simply opted for tearing the damn thing apart, the buttons of his shirt flying to different parts of the room, allowing his massive chest to breathe and with that sinful sight you couldn't help but gasp. Still, in reality, it was more like a pitiful whimper that was capable of getting your very angry husband´s attention to you.

The moment your eyes connected with his dark eyes you didn´t move an inch, something like fear and excitement creeping into you, like a fear of a beast that found the most helpless prey on its own lair, which was accurately what was happening.

Your husband stood up and gulped the whisky quickly, licking his lips as he addressed you.

"C´me here" His voice was raspy, like going through your whole body, it made you quiver even more, made your whole being more intoxicated.

Slowly you approached him, his eyes never leaving you for a second, and you were used to Kento´s eyes on you, his attentive and longing gaze every time he looked at you, but the way he was looking at you now was something else, like drinking the sight of you, like devouring your whole image, resembling a madman that has been starved. When you got close enough you stopped, just a few centimeters separating you, he smirked cockily his lips glazed with the bourbon, and your nostrils were filled with the scent of his cologne mixed with alcohol it roamed through your figure and you find yourself inhaling it, fueling even more the heat that was about to explode inside your body. Your husband looked amused at how you were paralyzed in front of him like you were asking permission to touch him, your own husband, it was ridiculous, and yet it was what his good girl knew had to do.

"Look at you, shamelessly spying on me when I perfectly told you to give me space" His hand gripped your chin with a strength that made you part your lips in surprise "Now that you got what you wanted...you´re all shaky, angel"

You wanted to answer sure, it wasn´t your nature to stay quiet, you were always quick with a comeback but just like in a trance, you were just mute and so fucking needy, he, your husband, was not a man who loses his calm like ever, one year of marriage and you've never seen him this deranged.

He could hardly blame you for how your body reacted, you yourself didn't know you could find him even hotter.

Quivering, you tried to speak "I—"

And without any kind of warning, he grabbed your waist with a strength that made you gasp in surprise, the sound of shattering glass stealing your attention for a quick second —he really threw his glass on the floor—, but as soon as you felt your frame pressed tightly at the body of Kento your mind went to a fucking blank again, contemplating how his normally hazel color eyes were totally pitch black. His arm was like an iron band around your waist and your hands posed on his big chest trying to hold onto something, his closeness making you quiver like a leaf and you could just read in his expression how much he liked all of your wretched reactions.

"Shh...it´s alright angel" he whispered hotly upon your lips "I already know what you want"

Before you could process any of his words he took you and bent you over his desk, your hips pressed against the edge of it and all of the stuff on top of it falling down, the bottle of whiskey spilling over the wood surface where your face was now pressed against wetting your cheek and lips, you were never a fan of whiskey —or any strong alcohol really—, but right now you welcomed it eagerly with your mouth hanging open when you felt the hot and rough hands of your husband stripping you off your pajama shorts, your cunt being met with the breeze of the room, soaked, you felt how your juices were already trailing your tights. You moaned pitifully, your hole clenching into nothing.

Nanami laughed in a vibrato that made your knees buckle, "Look at that, so fucking wet..." his fingers trailed your dampness pressing over your wet swollen lips gathering all the liquid before entering your entrance in a quick movement, you let out a high pitched moan at the sudden intermission "That´s right angel, you will take it"

He kept moving his fingers inside your cunt quickly while his other hand kept your head firmly pressed into his desk, the whisky fusing with your saliva as you kept loudly moaning, your body going into shambles quickly, Nanami was like a feral beast fucking you with his fingers letting out the hottest low grunts that were making your orgasm approach in a tidal wave in just mere seconds of his fingers inside you.

"Yes yes yes" you chanted in ecstasy, your legs fully trembling as your orgasm hit you with an intensity that would almost make you fall if it wasn't for the firm hand of your husband keeping you still on the surface of his desk, a loud moaning of his name leaving your mouth.

"made a mess of my fingers angel, so needy you came so fast" his fingers leaving your leaky entrance and trailing through your cunt greedily. you were panting with the aftermath of your orgasm, the whiskey now soaking the whole table and part of your hair "Filthy, filthy girl, looking like a used whore after just taking my fingers"

He roamed a chuckle, then you heard him sucking his fingers nastily, sounding richly across the room, and in a quick moment he slapped your pussy making you scream your already shaky legs buckling and almost falling to the floor only to be grabbed by your wrists and manhandled to your position on the table.

Another smack on your pussy made you yelp, "Come on now, don't act like this cunt doesn't like it rough" You felt him pressing against your ass, fully clothed, and yet you felt the big bulge twitching against your bare cunt, soaking his pants, it was unbearable to have his cock still on his pants when you wanted it so so so bad.

However, you could only mutter pathetic whimpers, so clouded and drunk on his cock that wasn't even inside you. "Stay put" Your husband demanded and you immediately went still, excitement filling your body as you heard him unfast his belt followed by his zipper and a delicious groan as his cock was fully out

You couldn't quite see but you knew he didn't take off his pants by the way you could feel the fabric on your tights and fuck, you could come just right there again.

"I believe you know I have no intend of going soft with you tonight," He remarked while tracing his cock on your swollen lips, his precum fusing with your juices "Oh, but look at you angel... so fucked up looking like you could die if I don't give you this cock"

"I—" A slap to your asscheek cut you off to a pathetic moan, and soon you felt the hard body of your husband pressing on your back to whisper in your ear.

"I don´t want to hear anything that is not those pathetic little moans you made" His hot breath against your neck had you shivering, with his hard cock nestled between your folds you could do nothing but behave, tears escaping your eyes betraying how much you wanted it, how much you need it, Nanami trailed your neck inhaling your scent like he needed it more than air, getting drunk on it and leaving wet open mouth kisses on your boiling hot skin. Despite the twitching of his cock against your folds he did nothing more than tease your skin with his hot breath on your most sensible zones, driving you into absolute madness, your hole clenching, hungry, and desperate.

His hands gripping your waist tightly, you were sure tomorrow it'll have a mark. "Nothing more than a slut for this cock hm?" he teased leaving your back, standing again he took your jaw turning your face to him, when you looked at his handsome face his eyes looked like a deep endless void of how black and dilated they were, not a trace of his usual hazel like eyes, he looked at you with ravenousness, his eyes darting through your face that was now covered in tears

His cock twitched at the sight of your whipping face, you started sobbing, your lips trembling in a way of begging him to fuck you.

"Oh fuck" He moaned leaving your jaw to tug on your hair and grabbing the base of his cock he finally directed his tip to your needy entrance, you moaned even more between tears feeling how the length of your husband's cock stretched you.

Fuuuuck, your husband was big and, oh, he did not intend to go soft with you, remember? So you should have expected when his full-length slammed into your cunt in a strong thrust, making you cry loud, your hands grabbing the edge of the table, you could feel his cock molding your insides, his veins popping through your walls and if you were already not intoxicated you surely were now.

Nanami moaned feeling your pussy tightening around him like you want to cut him off, he pulled your hair into his fist harder and looking straight at your eyes he hissed, "Put your fucking hands were they where"

Looking at him with big tearful eyes you clasped your hands together behind your back, your whole stability now depending on how your husband had your hair pulled into his fist. "Such an obedient girl... Now keep sobbing like a dumb slut while I feed you this cock"

And with that, you could only hiccup pathetically, Nanami's thrusts were erratic and fast, kissing every bit of your insides, he looked at you with a deranged look, enjoying how you were drooling and crying while taking his cock so harshly, he fucking loved it, having you go all fucking stupid on his big cock and have you reduced to a needy little thing.

"Yes, fuck—that's right, so fucking tight around me" his sloppy thrust was making you dizzy on how deep he was reaching into you, your orgasm already in the making ready to burst with the warning of being even bigger than the last one and your husband knew it completely, that smirk of his adorning his lips, with that your second orgasm erupt shaking your whole body, your husband groaned pulling on your hair harder making you stare at him while you creamed his cock and your eyes rolled, tears trailing down your face to your throat disappearing on your breasts, your husband's depraved eyes look at it and soon you had him turning you around without leaving your sloppy hole to now have you laying down the desk in a more comfortably position

A position that allowed you to look upon your very disheveled husband, through your teary and hazy eyes you could see and drink at the sight of Nanami just fucking into you like a mad man, like a fucking wild animal, his hands now gripping your jaw playing with it like you were a useless doll, his fingers entering your hot mouth pressing on your tongue while he kept pounding that fat cock into you, you whimper so cockdrunk you were about to pass out feeling his hard cock kiss your cervix every time, he was ruthless in the way he was fucking you and you were obsessed with it.

"Fuck, I'm going to fill you up so fucking good" he left your jaw and slapped your tits before rubbing your clit in a maniac rhythm that pull you out of your drowsy state and soon you were filling up another orgasm approaching, "come for me sweetheart, I know you can, fuck—do it"

His thrusts were, even more, sloppier, erratic, and quick you felt like you were about to explode, it was way too much, you were pushing the limits of your oversensitive body, but oh, how you loved it especially when you felt his hard cock stiffen even more inside you and warm cum filling your insides and soon you were cumming a third time, this time even more intense than the previous ones and your whole body shudder at the immense pleasure and the fullness of the cum inside you, your husband moans in the background of your nirvana, it was as you where losing your hold on reality and soon everything went blank.

!Husband Kento was heavily panting rolling off the immense orgasm he had, only to find his lovely wife passed out on his desk, and even though his first response was to get worried that he indeed had been too rough with you, but, the happiness on your —very fucked up— face told him everything he needed to know.

Taking his dick out of you he put himself together and took your limp body in his arms to carry you into the bathroom, somewhere along the way you regained consciousness, your pretty confused eyes looked at him and soon your cheeks turned red "Hello beautiful, I'm going to take care of you now"

Simply he assured you with a smile and a kiss to your damped forehead, you smelled like sweat and whiskey.

"..." You looked like you wanted to speak and Nanami could only chuckle affectionately at your uncertainty.

"You can speak now angel"

[littlepaperboatyo]

so for me it's important to start with a better understanding of infinity, because we use that word a lot with space. infinity was a word invented before we understood how big math can get, and with math changing its meaning has changed. the purpose of as a word is to say "so big you can't even imagine," not "a number which has no end." when we mention there is no edge of the universe we are not wrong, but we also are not communicating well. we do not know of an edge, and there certainly is not a hard edge, but there is an end somewhere out there.

it's as though we are a single electron bouncing around our sun, the nucleas, in a cloud in the sky. what we are in is so big and we are so small and we cannot place where we are in it. clouds do not have edges, but they do have borders. and as we know the universe is expanding, things are becoming more spread out from their point of origin in the big bang.

as the universe gets too spread out and we approach the entropic heat death of the universe black holes will eat other black holes and get bigger and at the same time stronger, sucking all of existence back in. conveniently the universe will already be pretty cooked at this point so the black holes won't have much digesting to do. eventually they will have gathered everything, back into one spot as small as everything can possibly fit into, and it will be too much for any black hole to contain. and it will explode. and it will all begin again, new, but built with the same star stuff.

and it will happen again.

and again.

and again.

for infinity.

and there is an infinite amount of star stuff, and an infinite amount of empty space, and an infinite amount of time, and an infinite amount of ways the universe can happen. but there are smaller and larger infinities, because there are many numbers too large for us to possibly conceive of, and those are that with which the universe sings. but i choose to believe that the infinite amount of time is the biggest infinity. i choose to believe we have done this all before exactly like this, and many times more slightly different, and we will do it all again. and perhaps the universe is trying to understand something, and we are helping somehow that we do not know. and we will never know, and it will never know, because we are simply an electron blinking in and out of existence in a cloud, all on the outward breath.

Fellow science assholes and science enthusiast assholes: Hit me with your favorite wildly unguarded speculations about what conditions were like before the Big Bang. Bonus points if the crankery includes dubious math; we love reading about dubious math.

[scented-morker]

୨୧ Whoops 𓂃 ♥︎

idol!riki x idol!reader, fem!reader, secret relationship, riki is a little too used to taking care of you… 950 words ft. Mark Lee cameo 🫶

Award show season in the kpop industry was one of the most fun parts of your job.

You spent hours preparing stages and dance breaks with your group, trying on beautiful dress after beautiful dress, and of course texting your boyfriend Riki for spoilers on his stages.

You: Pleaseeeeee 🙏 I’ll send you a picture of my red carpet dress if you tell me

Riki: you should probably do that anyway 🤭 Jungwon said last show I stared too much but I was just so shocked, you looked so pretty

You: YOU WERE SHOCKED??? DO I NOT NORMALLY LOOK PRETTY???

Riki: Ok crazy I DID NOT SAY THAT

You: blocked.

You were joking around, but you knew exactly what he was talking about. You had noticed him staring when you walked past his group and hadn’t been able to stop your blush even after his leader had smacked him to knock it off.

Your own leader had made up an excuse to yank you back to the makeup artist in an attempt to offset your red face.

Fans absolutely caught the whole thing on camera, and you two were viral for a week.

That was the non fun part of award season— trying to pretend you weren’t completely smitten with the beautiful boy on stage.

Everytime Riki performed you wanted to jump out of your seat and scream your head off.

You were dating the world’s most talented boy and couldn’t even show it… especially since your company had made you go through extra media training to avoid it happening again.

As much as you hated keeping it a secret, you hated to see your boyfriend getting hate even more, so you focused on controlling yourself around the cameras.

When the camera panned to your group during the Enhypen performance on New Years Eve, you calmly smiled and nodded your head to the beat of XO. Your leader gave you a discreet high five as soon as the screen refocused on the boys, and you glowed with pride.

Riki had done well for the most part as well, managing to look like he really liked the song you were performing and not like he was losing his mind over your leather outfit.

Everything was going perfectly smooth until the very end of the show.

You were crammed onto the stage with what seemed like every single idol that has ever debuted.

You bow as you once again bump into one of your seniors, glad when they give you a quick hug and wave off your apology.

It’s almost midnight, and you look around the stage in an attempt to find the rest of your group who you haven’t seen in at least five minutes.

You laugh to yourself when you spot your boyfriend immediately, his head peeking over the rest of the crowd due to his sheer height.

He spots you and raises an eyebrow at you in question, but you don’t even attempt to explain your panicked look, knowing the interaction would get caught and analyzed hundreds of times.

Instead you start walking towards his general direction, making sure to look just enough to the side that people won’t think you’re approaching him.

You hope your group is somewhere near his, thinking your age and popularity were similar enough for the directors to place you beside each other.

There’s music playing over the speakers as you continue looking around for someone you recognize. Idols start dancing around in excitement, and you’re once again jostled as you make your way through the crowd.

A particularly excited Mark Lee accidentally backs up into you, bumping you what feels like halfway across the stage, and you’re fully expecting to hit the ground from the impact.

You internally groan at the videos that are surely going to be everywhere in a few hours, and you try to make sure you don’t accidentally flash anyone when you fall.

But instead of hitting the ground how you were expecting, you find yourself against a familiar body with an arm around your waist.

A gasp leaves your mouth at the feeling, and you don’t even need to turn around to know Riki is behind you.

You quickly untangle yourself from him, turning and bowing deeply to him.

“Thank you for catching me.”

He mirrors your body language, lifting his head to peer into your eyes, his own soft and full of concern.

“Are you okay?”

You nod quickly, standing back up and knowing you’re screwed.

A quick glance behind him shows Jungwon with wide eyes and Heeseung losing his mind laughing at the two of you being horrible relationship hiders.

You bow to them as well, although you make a mental note to yell at Heeseung the next time you see him.

Mark Lee chooses that moment to come up to you with a red face and sheepish smile as he apologizes profusely and Haechan laughs behind him.

You accept it quickly, wanting to get out of the area and horrible situation as soon as possible.

You’re grateful when your leader finally approaches you, looking between you, Mark, and Riki with terrified eyes.

“I’ll explain later.” You whisper as she grabs your arm and the two of you quickly exit towards the other part of the stage.

When you wake up the next day it’s to multiple texts from your manager, two calls from your boyfriend, and a Dispatch article featuring the photo of Riki holding you against him in the middle of the stage.

Whoops.

[childrenofcain-if]

After knowing that C and MC were in the same high school, I'm rooting even more for them. I'm also guessing C's confusing feelings for us in their route is them liking us since school? That's so freaking cute 🥰🥺

Can I ask for a scenario where they have a group project with other people and one of them gets very flirty with MC? Will C let that slide, I wonder 🫤

the diner sat on the corner of a street that tried its hardest to look charming but failed, the neon sign buzzing faintly against the rain-streaked window.

it was one of those places that seemed plucked from a movie set: vinyl booths, chrome napkin dispensers, and a jukebox in the corner that hadn’t worked since the last century. the smell of grease hung heavy in the atmosphere, mixing with the faint sweetness of syrup from the breakfast specials they served all day.

you sat in the booth, tapping your pen against the edge of your notebook, watching the door with mild dread. when C walked in, you knew the meeting was about to get infinitely more complicated.

C spotted you immediately, their sharp chalcedony green eyes narrowing like they’d been assigned a particularly irritating math problem. they weren’t dressed for the rain, but their aldervale prep blazer was immaculate, not a drop of water on it, as though the universe had conspired to shield them from the rain outside. although, you guessed it was most probably because of the black umbrella that they were carrying.

C slid into the booth across from you without a word, placing a pristine leather notebook on the table. their pen—silver, of course—clicked once. twice. a quick rhythm that made your teeth itch.

“you’re late,” you said.

“i’m exactly on time,” C replied, their voice clipped like the word ‘time’ had too many syllables and they were doing you a favor by saying it quickly.

your two other group members—darcy and lowe—arrived moments later, looking both nervous and excited, as though they’d stumbled into the VIP lounge of a club they didn’t belong to.

darcy, her backpack practically bursting with highlighters, was vibrating with energy. lowe looked more like they’d been dragged here against their will, though their eyes lit up when they spotted the milkshake menu.

you exchanged pleasantries, ordered drinks, and got down to business.

the topic was seattle, your city, and you were supposed to collectively dissect and analyze for the sake of some interdisciplinary project that combined geography, economics, and, for reasons you still didn’t understand, poetry.

“seattle,” you began, flipping open your notebook, “has many layers to it. you have the tech billionaires building spaceships on one side and grunge bands writing songs about the end of the world on the other. i think we should focus on how those contradictions make it unique.”

“that’s pretty reductive,” C cut in, not bothering to look up from their notebook. “seattle’s economy is primarily driven by tech, aviation, and trade. if we’re going to present a meaningful analysis, we should focus on its economic impact on washington state as a whole.”

darcy and lowe exchanged nervous glances. you clenched your jaw.

“not everything has to be about numbers, lacroix,” you said. “people care about stories, not spreadsheets. we can talk about the economy, sure, but we should start with what makes the city feel alive. the art, the culture—”

“and completely ignore the practical context?” C’s gaze lifted then, their expression somewhere between exasperation and boredom. “that’s like writing about a chess game and leaving out the strategy. completely pointless.”

“it’s not exactly pointless if it makes people care,” you shot back.

the argument spiraled from there, gaining momentum like a runaway train. darcy and lowe sat frozen, their eyes darting between you like spectators at a particularly intense boxing match.

“maybe we should, uh, toss a coin?” darcy offered weakly, her voice barely audible over your bickering.

C smirked, pulling a coin from their pocket as though they’d been waiting for this moment to occur this whole time. you selected tails and they flipped it, caught it, and slapped it onto the back of their hand.

“heads,” they announced, triumphant.

you groaned. “of course.”

“don’t be a sore loser, starkid,” C said, their tone practically dripping with smugness. “we’ll just have to do it my way this time.”

“fine,” you muttered, slumping back against the booth.

the tension eased slightly as the waitress arrived with your food—burgers, fries, and milkshakes that lowe declared were ‘the best in the neighbourhood’ despite never having tried any others.

you talked about school, about the upcoming math test and the cafeteria food which had reduced in quality after some new kitchen staff got employed. darcy was surprisingly funny, and lowe had a good bank of knowledge on obscure sports trivia.

C, however, remained quiet. they ate slowly, like each bite was a boring task to be completed. their posture was rigid, their eyes rarely leaving their plate.

it wasn’t until the conversation turned to favorite places in washington that you noticed something shift. darcy was talking about summers spent hiking in olympic national park, her voice full of nostalgia. lowe mentioned a family road trip to mount rainier.

“so, lacroix,” you said, turning towards the grumpy brunette. “penny for your thoughts?”

they blinked, clearly startled that you’d addressed them directly. “i... i’ve never been to any of those places.”

the table fell silent. even darcy looked surprised.

“seriously?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

they shrugged, their gaze fixed on the condensation dripping down the water glass. “i haven’t lived in washington as long as you all have. besides, i’m not exactly the adventurous type. i just… don’t see the point of, you know, wandering around aimlessly. it’s not like the city’s going anywhere.”

darcy, being the idealist she was, tried to lift the mood. “well, maybe you should visit some of those places one day! olympic’s amazing—especially the hoh rainforest.”

C didn’t respond. they just nodded, their lips pressed into a thin line.

for a moment, you felt something almost like sympathy. C, the untouchable perfectionist, didn’t seem know how to belong in places like this—in diners that smelled like burnt coffee, in conversations that meandered without purpose. they were as out of place here as a chessboard at a football game.

you then frowned, something tugging at the edges of your chest. you remembered hearing something once—maybe in passing, maybe during some rare moment of C opening up in class—that their parents had divorced when they were ten. that they’d moved to seattle from rochester, new york, with their mother, who worked long hours and didn’t have time for much else.

you didn’t know why you said it. maybe it was the way their voice had dipped, the way their composure seemed dulled. but the words came anyway. “maybe we could all go somewhere. for the project, i mean.”

C’s head snapped up, their green eyes narrowing like they were trying to decipher a riddle. for a moment, you thought they were going to say something cruel—an insult that’d have you getting angry again. but then their gaze softened, just a fraction.

“why?” they asked, the word almost inaudible.

you shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. “i don’t know. it might help. plus, you can’t live like a hermit forever while you’re at washington.”

they stared at you for what felt like a long time, their expression unreadable. then, to your surprise, they nodded. wordlessly, awkwardly.

you thought you saw something flicker across their face then—something like a smile, small and fleeting, gone almost as quickly as it came.

for the rest of the meeting, C avoided your gaze. and as you all filed out of the diner, the rain starting up again in soft patters against the window, you found yourself wondering why you’d even offered.

but the truth was, you already knew. sometimes, your heart reached out before your brain could catch up. and for reasons you didn’t fully understand at the moment, it had reached for them.

the day began under a gauzy layer of mist that hung low over seattle. the clouds seemed reluctant to rise and the air carried a faint, damp chill.

lowe’s BMW 5 smelled faintly of peppermint gum and an air freshener that promised ‘ocean breeze’ but delivered something closer to what you’d find at a more eccentric section of bath & body works.

you sat on the passenger seat, your elbow resting against the door, the window cracked open to let in the air. darcy and C were in the backseat, the former preoccupied with her camera, snapping pictures of the dashboard, the sky, and the brunette beside her, who looked like they were already regretting agreeing to this trip.

the car wove its way through the city, past coffee shops with hand-painted signs and streets lined with rain-slicked trees.

lowe, ever the conversationalist, started talking about the destination—a landmark tucked away in one of seattle’s greener corners. but at some point, the conversation shifted, becoming less about the destination and more about you.

“y’know,” lowe said, their voice taking on a teasing lilt as they glanced at you, “i’m really happy we’re doing this. i was always curious about how it’d be to hang out with you outside of school”

you blinked, caught off guard. “um, thanks? that’s nice of you to say.” you gave them a polite smile, the kind you might offer a friendly cashier.

C, sitting stiffly in the backseat, was less amused. they had been glaring at the back of lowe’s head for the past ten minutes, their jaw tight, their arms crossed. every tap of lowe’s fingers, every casual joke, seemed to grate on them like nails on a chalkboard.

darcy, oblivious, was busy snapping pictures with her camera, capturing the rain-slick streets and the way the trees blurred as the car sped past. she hummed under her breath, the shutter clicking steadily, her energy so light and cheerful it was almost its own soundtrack.

finally, C, who had been silent up until now, shifted in their seat with a sharp huff.

“lowe,” they spoke up, their tone clipped, “maybe focus on the road instead of hitting on that idiot right in front of us.”

you squawked in indignation at being called an ‘idiot,’ not exactly getting what else they were implying.

meanwhile, lowe startled, their hands tightening on the steering wheel. “what? i wasn’t—” they caught C’s glare in the rearview mirror and quickly relented. “right. sorry. road. eyes on the road.”

you glanced back at C, confused by the sudden shift in the mood. their jaw was tight, their arms crossed over their chest, and they avoided your gaze entirely. you thought about asking what their problem was but decided against it. the day was too early, and you didn’t want to start bickering already.

the destination turned out to be kerry park. you stepped out of the car and stretched, looking around with a grin. your group followed suit and, after taking your backpacks, trudged up the steep streets of queen anne.

the park was small, unassuming—just a sliver of land carved into the hill, a place where the city stretched out beneath you like a quilt stitched together by architects, lovers of symmetry, and disarray alike.

from here, seattle wasn’t a city so much as a panorama, framed by the wide arms of the sound and the occasional, fleeting glimpses of mount rainier, pale and insubstantial like the ghost of a mountain in the distance.

the rain hadn’t yet started, though the air smelled of wet concrete and petrichor, gave you an indication that it wouldn’t hold off for long.

darcy had already pulled her camera out, its strap slung around her neck as she wandered a few feet ahead, her voice rising and falling as she described the perfect angles for her shots. lowe was by your side, gesturing dramatically at the view as if they were a tour guide instead of a co-conspirator.

C, who had followed at a distance and was now leaning against a nearby rail, their arms crossed and their face set in a scowl.

“lacroix,” you called over your shoulder, your tone light, inviting. “you should come and look around with us. it’s cool.”

they raised an eyebrow, their expression unimpressed. “thrilling, i’m sure.”

lowe shot them a weird look but said nothing, their attention soon snapping to follow darcy on her photoshoots.

you turned fully to face C. “you don’t have to be so grumpy, you know.”

“i’m not grumpy,” they snapped grumpily.

you sighed, letting it go for now. instead, you wandered over to the railing where they stood, resting your elbows on the cool metal as you gazed out at the view.

“this place means a lot to me,” you began, glancing at C. they didn’t respond, but they didn’t walk away either, so you took that as permission to continue.

“when i was little, my dad used to bring me here. we’d spend hours looking at the birds. he had this old, beat-up field guide he carried everywhere. i still remember the smell of it—old paper and leather. he’d flip through it so fast, trying to identify every bird we saw. i think he liked the challenge of it.”

C’s features softened, almost imperceptibly, as they listened.

“there was this one time,” you said, your voice growing warm with the memory, “we saw a bald eagle perched on one of the trees. it was so close, you could see the feathers on its chest ruffling in the wind. my dad was so excited, he nearly dropped his binoculars in a muddy puddle.”

you laughed. C smiled. it was not their usual arrogant smirk, but something too genuine to be described without it being an understatement.

even darcy noticed as she was snapping pictures of passers-by under the railing where you and C were leaning against.

from behind her camera, she whispered, “i think i just saw a miracle,” before snapping a picture.

in the photo, you were looking up at the sky, your face alight with wonder. and beside you, C was looking at you—not the sky, not the birds, but you. their expression was so unguarded, so tender, it made darcy pause, her finger hovering over the shutter button.

“and it’s not just the view or the birds,” you continued, your voice picking up momentum as you spoke. “there’s this whole history to it. did you know the park was named after albert sperry kerry? he was this big real estate guy in the early 1900s. probably bulldozed a lot of land to make a fortune. but this place? this tiny slice of the city? he gave it back. said he wanted people to have a place to breathe, to see things differently.”

you glanced over at C, expecting the usual sardonic remark, but they were watching you with an expression you didn’t expect—soft, almost eager, like they could never get tired of you talking about things like these.

“i guess i just like thinking about that,” you said, your voice trailing off as you turned back to the horizon. “how even someone who takes and takes can give something so beautiful.”

for a long moment, neither of you spoke. then, quietly, C said, “you really are a nerd, aren’t you?”

you laughed, the sound bright and unexpected, and while you didn’t have C laughing alongside you, you had a distinct feeling that they were too distracted by a certain someone to do so.

lunch was a quiet affair. you all sat on a damp wooden bench overlooking the trees. you plopped down beside C without a second thought, your shoulder brushing theirs as you unwrapped your sandwich.

C stiffened, their gaze flicking to you in surprise.

“you don’t mind, do you?” you asked, already halfway through your first bite.

they shook their head, though they looked puzzled, as if trying to understand why you’d willingly sit next to them when lowe was right there, still buzzing with laughter after a joke darcy shared with them.

“thanks for listening to me earlier,” you said softly.

C cleared their throat, their voice rough when they replied, “no problem.”

you still gave them a smile despite their (apparent) surly mood before turning back to your sandwich.

C looked down at their own food, their expression unreadable, but there was a faint hint of pink dusting the tip of their ears.

maybe, C concluded, the whole practical aspects of the project could take a backseat for now. it seemed like they didn’t mind focusing on the people of the city after all—or maybe it was just this infuriatingly intelligent seattle native that they couldn’t stop smiling for.

you wondered if the extreme makeover crew ever came to take darcy’s house as an inspiration for a lot of their renovations. it was a gleaming two-storey in a neighborhood where the lawns were manicured to within an inch of their lives and the houses all had names like “birchwood” or “côte d’azur.”

her parents were insanely successful real estate agents and it showed in every detail, from the perfectly symmetrical hydrangeas flanking the front door to the wrought-iron chandelier hanging in the entryway.

her room was a microcosm of the house itself: spacious and spotless. honestly, it made you want to take your shoes off just to avoid dirtying the carpet.

the walls were painted a muted teal, lined with shelves holding an army of books and a smattering of knick-knacks from trips abroad. there was a citrus-like scent around, and her plush white comforter made her bed look like a stratocumulus cloud.

you all sat cross-legged on her floor, laptops and papers spread out in a semi-circle as you planned out your presentation. ‘soren’ by beabadoobee was playing from darcy’s bluetooth speaker and the conversation was punctuated with bursts of laughter—mostly lowe’s loud, carefree chuckles and darcy’s softer, chiming giggles.

C, true to form, sat slightly apart, their long legs folded under them, their expression guarded but not unkind. they were listening more than talking, as always, their gaze darting between everyone like they were trying to keep up without wanting to look too interested.

“okay, but what if we start with the history of seattle, like the gold rush and all that, and then connect it to how the city evolved into this tech hub?” you suggested, glancing at C for approval.

the green-eyed brunette nodded once, their expression unreadable. “that works. it gives us a narrative to build on.”

lowe sidled up to you with an encouraging smile. “you’re always full of good ideas. i swear we’re going to ace this project at this rate.”

you laughed lightly, not catching the undertone. “it’s a group effort, lowe.”

“yeah, lowe,” darcy said, rolling her eyes in an annoyed manner from her spot near the window. “you’re really laying it on thick.”

you tried to smile it off but you couldn’t help but notice that she seemed almost... angry at lowe about something. the latter, on the other hand, was not meeting her eyes at all.

as if that wasn’t weird enough, you caught C stiffening out of the corner of your eye, their fingers tightening around their pen.

the awkwardness simmered quietly for a while, manifesting only in the way C’s responses grew shorter, their gaze darting less toward the group and more toward the window, where the rain streaked against the glass.

it wasn’t until lowe leaned closer to you, their voice dropping just enough to feel pointed, that the tension finally broke. “y’know, if you ever want to grab coffee or something after all this, i know a great place near pike place. it’s got this cozy corner that’d be perfect for—”

“i’m getting some water,” C announced abruptly, standing so quickly their chair scraped loudly against the floor.

the room fell silent for a beat as C walked away, their footsteps echoing down the hall. darcy glanced at you, then at lowe, and then back at you.

“you should go talk to them,” she said softly.

“what?” you asked, surprised.

“just... go,” she urged, nodding toward the door. “i think they need to hear from you.”

you hesitated, your gaze flicking between the door and the others. but there was something in the way darcy looked at you, a quiet insistence that made you realise the urgency she was feeling. besides, with the way she turned her attention to lowe with a scathing glare, you did not want to get in between whatever they had going on.

so you stood, mumbling something about being right back, and headed for the kitchen.

you found C by the sink, their back to you, their hands braced against the counter. the faucet was running, though the glass they were holding was still empty.

“hey,” you said tentatively, stepping into the room.

they didn’t turn around. “what do you want?”

“i just... wanted to check on you,” you said, your voice faltering. “you looked kind of... i don’t know, upset?”

C finally turned, their chalcedony green gaze indecipherable and cagey. “i’m fine. you can go back to lowe now. you two were having such a great time.”

their tone was harsh, and it made you blink in surprise.

“what are you talking about?” you asked, genuinely confused.

C rolled their eyes, the motion exaggerated, almost theatrical. “don’t play dumb. it was obvious you two were flirting.”

you sighed, caught between disbelief and frustration. “we weren’t flirting. that’s probably just how lowe is. they were just being friendly.”

C let out a short, humorless laugh, the sound more of a bark. “you’re an absolute dunderhead if you believe that. lowe wasn’t just flirting for fun—they meant it.”

you felt heat rising to your face, your irritation bubbling over. “okay, first of all, stop insulting me. and second, would you please stop ruining everything with your assumptions.”

C flinched, just barely, but it was enough to make you pause. their voice dropped, colder now. “maybe i should’ve asked the teacher to switch groups. if my presence bothers you that much—”

“maybe you should have,” you shot back, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “then maybe we wouldn’t have to deal with you being a burden all the time.”

for a moment, the kitchen was deathly silent except for the faint patter of rain against the window. C’s face twisted, not with anger but with something closer to hurt, and you immediately regretted what you’d said.

“okay,” they said quietly, their voice flat. “i’ll let myself out then.”

before you could say anything, before you could take it back, they were already walking up to the front door and reaching for their umbrella, their movements mechanical as they stepped toward the door. the rain outside had picked up, a relentless downpour that blurred the edges of the world.

you wanted to say something, to fix the fracture you’d caused, but the words wouldn’t come out on time.

C stepped into the rain without hesitation, the door clicking shut behind them. you stood frozen, the echo of their retreating footsteps mingling with the sound of the storm.

your fists clenched and unclenched at your sides as you stared at the front door. you wanted to curse. to rewind the last five minutes and unsay every single word.

you ran a hand through your hair, muttering something unintelligible under your breath as you paced. your foot caught on the corner of the coffee table, and in your aggravation, you stumbled forward, knocking over the pile of photographs darcy had laid out so carefully.

“great,” you muttered, crouching down to gather the scattered pictures.

they were glossy and vibrant, capturing moments from your trip to kerry park just two days ago. you hadn’t paid much attention to them before, but now, as you picked up photo after photo, a pattern began to emerge.

in nearly every image, C was looking at you.

your fingers froze on a picture where their smile was so open, so completely unlike their usual self, that it felt almost like intruding on a scene you weren’t supposed to see. their dimples were unmistakable, softening the sharpness of their features in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

in another photo, they were standing slightly behind you, their chalcedony green eyes focused entirely on you as you pointed out something in the distance, completely oblivious to their adoring attention.

for a moment, you just sat there on the floor, staring at the pictures, the edges of the glossy paper dampening under your trembling fingers. then, as if pulled by an invisible string, you stood.

darcy had made her way to the living room and said something as you made for the door, but her words were lost to the roaring in your ears.

the rain hit you like a wall as you stepped outside, cold and relentless, soaking through your clothes in seconds. but you didn’t care. your feet moved on instinct, splashing through puddles as you ran down the street. it was a foolish thing to do, running in a storm like this, but every step felt like it was carrying you closer to something you couldn’t name but desperately needed to reach.

you didn’t know which way C went exactly, but you had a feeling.

and then, through the curtain of rain, you saw them.

C was standing under their umbrella, their posture stiff as they glanced down the street. the soft glow of their phone screen illuminated their face, but they weren’t scrolling or texting. they were waiting for an uber, probably. or maybe just waiting for the storm to pass.

you skidded to a stop, breathless and drenched. when they turned and spotted you, their eyes widened incredulously like you’d just teleported there.

“what the hell are you doing?” they demanded, their voice rising over the rain as they speed-walked up to you, umbrella in hand. they immediately held it over both of you, shielding you from the worst of the downpour. “have you finally lost your mind? you’re going to catch a cold!”

you were out of breath, your chest heaving as the water dripped from your lashes, but you didn’t care. “i’m sorry.”

C blinked, their mouth opening slightly as if they were going to argue, but you kept going. “i’m sorry for what i said. i didn’t mean it. you’re not a burden, C. i’ve never ever thought of you like that. the truth is—”

your words caught in your throat, the weight of them almost too much. but you forced them out. “the truth is, i’ve had a great time doing this project with you. i really didn’t mean any of it—about switching groups, about ruining things, you being a burden. i’m glad we got paired together, even if you drive me completely insane sometimes.”

“are you done?” they asked gruffly, though their tone lacked its usual edge.

you nodded sheepishly, your heart hammering against your ribs.

they sighed, lowering their gaze for a moment before meeting yours again. “i had a great time too. you... you made me see the city in a way i never had before. you made me appreciate it. i...” they sighed, “i was being too stubborn and i shouldn’t have given you a hard time with everything. and... i don’t mind your company, even if you’re way too dense sometimes to see what’s in front of you the whole time.”

the sincerity in their voice made your breath catch. right now, all you could do was stare at them and bask in the warmth they made you feel.

you admired the way their dark brown hair curled slightly at the edges, damp and clinging to their skin. the way the rain caught in their lashes, making their chalcedony green eyes glow as though a thousand hues were shifting like sunlight through sea glass. the way their fair skin seemed to glow faintly in the dim light, the sharpness of their cheekbones, the curve of their lips, soft and slightly parted.

they shifted under your gaze, their cheeks suddenly flushing pink.

“what?” they snapped. “why are you ogling me?”

but you didn’t answer. at least not with words.

before you could second-guess yourself, you stepped forward, leaning in until your lips brushed against theirs in a kiss that felt as inevitable as the rain falling around you.

C froze, their eyes wide in shock and disbelief before they pulled back, their fingers flying to their lips.

“i’m so sorry,” you blurted out, the heat rising to your face as you realized what you’d just done. your heart was sinking in absolute shame. “i—”

but before you could finish, C let the umbrella drop to the ground with a soft clatter. rain cascaded over both of you as they grabbed your face with trembling hands as they surged forward, their lips crashing against yours in a kiss that left no room for doubt.

the world seemed to fall away in that moment, leaving only the two of you, your hands tangling in the fabric of their rain-soaked sweater as their fingers threaded themselves in your wet hair. it was cold, sure, but their kiss was warm, searing, as if it had been waiting to catch sparks all along.

your clothes were drenched and your hair was practically plastered to your face, but it didn’t matter. nothing else mattered.

it wasn’t until the honk of a car horn shattered the moment that you finally broke apart, both of you panting as you turned to see the waiting uber that C had previously booked.

C’s face turned crimson as they also turned to look at the car, their expression mortified and exasperated at the same time.

“putain,” they muttered under their breath before grabbing your arm and their umbrella. they then shut it quickly and tugged you toward the vehicle.

the uber driver, to his credit, said nothing as you both slid into the backseat, though the faint twitch of his lips and the knowing look he gave you two in the rearview mirror didn’t go unnoticed.

“could this day get any more embarrassing?” C asked as they crossed their arms over their chest, staring determinedly out the window.

“uh huh,” you mumbled, still in a daze from what just happened.

“that was my first kiss, you know,” C muttered.

you turned to them, still not registering their words. “you’re so gorgeous.”

C scowled, their blush deepening. “shut up, you dolt. you’re not even listening to me.”

but when their hand crept over to cover yours, you couldn’t stop the goofy smile that spread across your face.

[notashadowbutawave]

finally talked my wife into watching 8x06 "confessions" with me and WOW there's quite a lot going on in this breakup scene in buck's apartment (and the infamous glee scene for that matter) that I haven't seen discussed much on this website (though maybe I'm just not finding it?) like this show is always yelling the themes in your face but...

first of all I think it's somewhat intentional that Buck is being written as kind of regressing. So far in the show, he's gotten his confidence in romantic relationships by fulfilling the role with the person that he thinks he should fulfill. with Abby, Buck had just learned about serious adult romantic relationships and how they work and was trying to Be A Partner in a complete speed run. But he learned that no amount of devotion is a substitute for functionality. with Taylor, he was trying to Be A Functional Partner - and he learned that being a partner Has To involve trust, and that trust comes from somewhere else other than just our actions - it has to come from our hearts.

Tommy is the first person he's ever dated where he doesn't know what the next steps are and that's because this isn't something he has a blueprint for - being a Partner and a Functional Partner for somebody who sees right through him and sees exactly what he's trying to do, to make Tommy never leave. Abby was completely clueless (sorry I really dislike Abby) and Taylor didn't realize that an adult man could behave so badly without utter malice in his heart. Both of them kind of make the mistake of being vulnerable to Buck's charms.

Tommy is of course vulnerable to Buck's charms but Buck is more transparently himself with Tommy as well - and what Tommy sees, then, is a person who is deeply insecure and may be trending in the right direction but ultimately still thinks there's a lever he can pull to make Tommy stay and never leave him. He doesn't know that he's not done cooking yet because every new thing he learns about the world or others makes him feel brand fucking new.

So yes, the glee scene:

Josh was absolutely gagged that Tommy was Abby's ex fiance

Buck's first instinct is to see the situation from Abby's side and go into protective mode which is adorably loyal to be fair but also like ; get a grip

I actually love Josh's framing of "you care about this person and if you want a future in a queer relationship you need to learn that we don't all come to this the same way"

Did they need a cultural reference? No. Were they going to self referentially congratulate Ryan Murphy for inflicting it on the world? Yes.

And regarding the breakup itself:

What is wrong with this fandom's sense of humor that I haven't seen a gif of "I'm the himbo" ??? Like yes babe u sure are come here

Buck is really working so hard in this scene to make sure Tommy knows that he's serious. He's like... this freaked me out but I've decided I'm cool with it. She changed my life but not like you !!!

Like bless his heart, Buck thought he was really doing the right thing by telling Tommy about Abby BEFORE ASKING HIM TO MOVE IN WITH HIM. like MY CARDS ARE ON THE TABLE??? SEE??? LOVE ME FOREVER !! it's adorable and it's also cringe as fuck.

I think the real sin of the writing here is making Buck so completely clueless that this is the wrong move. Like he's kind of an idiot (Eddie Diaz's words not mine) but moving in with someone after dating them for six months in your 30s is WILD behavior and I don't think even Evan Buckley would fail to realize that this is a bit much in this moment.

But idk being in love makes one do stupid things? I did all of my messy bitch relationship shit before I turned 30 but I guess it is buck we are talking about

I completely understand why Tommy reacts the way he does in this scene and bless Lou Ferrigno Jr for acting it with such nuance, much more depth than the scene frankly deserves. What a heartbreaker. Like you see him tense up at Buck's request

"I'm not saying let's get married or engaged, even though we would have the right, thanks to the brave people who came before, including you." such an insane thing to say to your boyfriend. Whoever approved this script was trying to take me out like with a gun.

You then see the absolute grief in Tommy's eyes like oh god this kid is killing me. He's so sweet. He's so cute. He doesn't get it. I love him. He doesn't get it.

As an aside, Eddie being stalked in the juice bar by the hot priest was absolutely incredible.

I didn't hate this episode but wow the writing does suck shit, however I fully believe it makes sense for them to break up here and get back together in the future ??? because Buck DOES have some shit to figure out. Like moving in with someone is a lot of fucking intimacy REALLY fast and baby boy sometimes you NEED to pump the brakes a little ESPECIALLY when you think someone might be THE ONE and you just figured out you like guys six months ago.

I get it and yeah the writing is tragic and the inclusion of Abby in general is just unhinged and unnecessary but like I don't hate the broad strokes here. how else does the blorbo learn if not by ritual torture by the writers. Lou is too good to not have back though. My god what a treasure.

end bucktommy endgame truther transmission

[transmascaraa]

bf!kinich headcanons!

simple life.

bf!kinich x gn!reader

author's note: hi i'm back with something new after a month or smth anyway i hope you guys have been doing well^^ (this one is basically about how you two live and i'm excited to write for kinich lmao i hope he's not ooc)

"you like it, no?"

-(this man managed to become my favorite char after 3 years of scara)

-he's literally ideal like not only is he literally gorgeous, but he's also so fucking kind-hearted regardless of the fact that people see him as scary

-he's nonchalant but at he same time not at all

-anyways that wasn't the point

-he always wakes up before you somehow and if he has a commission early in the morning, he'll probably just kiss you goodbye and leave in silence

-but if he doesn't have any commissions early then enjoy the morning with him

-his good morning kisses are usually on your forehead, but you're sometimes lucky to get a kiss on the lips from him(he's such a good gentle kisser trust me)

-HE DOES THE COOKING IN THE HOUSE. NO EXCUSES. AND COOKS THE BEST FOOD EVER. (he's latino in my mind and i literally can't imagine him not cooking for his s/o)

-you can clean if you want but he's always cooking the best food ever and he loves doing it especially since he gets to see your happy face afterwards and your compliments for his cooking

-you two probably have a little garden near your house where he grows vegetables and you plant flowers all around as decorations

-if he ever comes home injured you're quick to patch him up and scold him about taking some random dangerous commission

-he says he won't do it again and that he knows exactly what you mean but it just keeps happening unfortunately

-i forgot to mention ajaw in your guys' relationship. well shit.

-he ruins any situation you have with him so that's the reason he's in timeout 90% of the time dw (the 10% is just arguing with eachother until kinich throws him to the sky)

-i believe he has ptsd in some way so nightmares might not be uncommon for him

-the worst this about it is that he would never tell you. never ever. he thinks it's not fair that you comfort him but he can't repay you in any way

-so even if you reassure him it's okay because he also comforts you, he always finds an excuse like "but i'm not good with words, my comfort isn't as valuable as your's."

-next up, he's probably not into pda

-sure you can hold hands and add a kiss here and there but it's nothing too much

-if you're into it, he'll try to make it up to you but it won't really work out too well so you can try to find a balance with him which will be easy for you both

-his love language is probably quality time with some additional physical touch and gift giving

-he has such gentle hands probably because he plays a lot of games(gamer kinich is undeniable)

-usually likes when you play with him because he finds it as something that builds your relationship further

-but if you just feel like watching him play that's alright as well like literally just sit on his lap while he plays some random game and you can fall asleep there because SOMEHOW he's pretty calm when he loses and doesn't exactly "rage" and just whispers "fuck/shit" or something

-he brings you trinkets from his commissions definitely especially when it's from somewhere far

-even the simplest things

-he'll make a bouquet out of random flowers and plants he found on the way and tie them together with some strong grass or something

-at night, when the both of you have nothing to do for the rest of the day, there's a few things you could do with him

-he could give you a massage, you could watch him play, you could play with him, he could simply cuddle with you, or watch a movie with you, or take a walk outside together, hang out with mualani and/or kachina, basically anything

-when he isn't with you he listens to the playlist he made to remind him of you

-loves when you send him videos of like cats and then say "us" because he finds it cute(he hearts every msg)

-very good at teasing but he doesn't do it often for whatever reason

-also doesn't really get jealous since he trusts you

-but he knows when you need him to protect you since you're like a rare emerald in his eyes

-doesn't break promises because he takes them really seriously

-if you suggest getting a pet(let's say it's a yumkasaurus in this situation) he would agree immediately

-he'll first of all explain to you everything you need to know about them and what they do, what they need and like

-and if you're okay with it in the end, then you can expect a yumkasaur as a present on your anniversary, birthday, or some holiday you celebrate

-he makes your birthday really special but ofc often forgets his own so when you surprise him it takes a second for him to understand the situation and then says you didn't have to

-finally, going to sleep with him is also perfect

-cuddles most likely, and if you prefer, he can play something simple like minecraft or stardew valley etc in bed next to you until you can finally fall asleep

-in simple words he's the perfect bf if his personality is what you're looking for :p

-(bonus for the people who also hc him as latino or simply spanish-speaking, he would definitely help you learn spanish if you don't already speak it. and if you also speak some other language he would love to try and learn it.)

~~~~~

DAMN this was long

probably because it was a random rush of motivation all of a sudden

i wish this happened more often smh i hope you all enjoyed anyway lol

| @mariaace <3

[improbable-outset]

📄 𝐀 𝐙𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞’𝐬 𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐀𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬

Jayce Talis x gn!Reader

𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.6k

𝐂𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐖: very slow burn, flirting, unresolved romantic tension, open ending, Zaun and Piltover dynamics, light angst

𝐀/𝐍: Ok I know I said no more tumblr, but I had to share this…if it reaches the Arcane audience, cool. If it doesn’t…ah well at least my moots see this

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: As a Zaunite inventor, you don’t trust uninvited visitors in your sanctuary, especially from Piltover Councillors. But Jayce Talis isn’t like most people. Persistent, curious, and infuriatingly charming, he keeps showing up to your workshop, refusing to back down. And neither are you…

An earthy tang hit the back of your throat as you swept the concrete floor, each stroke of your broom sending swirls of dust in the air. The dust particles caught the setting sunlight spilling through the open doorway, casting a golden glow inside your workshop.

It wasn’t a huge space, but it was yours— clattered with shelves of spare parts, half finished projects, and various tools.

The main door stood propped open, letting in the faded sunlight and occasional cool breeze.

The wind slowly brushed past you as you continued to sweep, the sound of the wind charm that hung outside of your property tinkered in the air. Its delicate sound was a contrast to the mechanical hum that usually filled the space.

Your routine was as steady as the machines you built. Each day was just as predictable as the last. Sweep the dust, sort out spare parts, tinker with inventions that no one would use— or buy.

Most of your work came from the Chem-barons, commissions for complex weapons or gear that promised devastation in the right hands.

They didn’t visit often, but their demands could keep you busy for days. Then, when the work was done, the stillness returned.

No one came unless they needed something done, and you prefer it that way. The fewer interruptions, the fewer chances for someone to stick their nose where it didn’t belong.

And everyone seemed to respect that.

You paused mid-sweep, the broom still in your hand, as you felt a prickle run up the back of your neck.

The air in the Undercity was always thick with pollution and smoke, but now it felt heavier— like the weight of a storm waiting to break.

The usual hum of your machinery seemed muted, and even the wind chime faltered, the tinkering notes faded into the background.

You told yourself to ignore it, brush it off like it was nothing more than a stray thought. But then you heard it again— a faint shuffle, just outside.

It sounded too deliberate to be from the wind, and too hesitant to be a usual runner.

A figure emerged from the shadows of the alleyway, stepping into the dim light of your workshop. It didn’t take long to figure out who it was— his attire was too clean for this side of the bridge.

He moved with purpose, pausing a few metres before your doorway like he’d stumble upon something precious.

You didn’t flinch, broom still in your hand, watching. You’d learn that speaking first was usually a mistake— it only gave the other person the upper hand.

The man looked at you, his stare caught somewhere between admiration and the detached curiosity of someone staring at an animal behind glass.

His height and physique could naturally draw attention. But even without that, his clothes did most of the talking.

The gold trim on his suit caught what little light filtered through the smog. His boots polished to a shine and echoed softly in the quiet streets— just loud enough to announce his arrival.

“You lost, Talis?” you asked, finally breaking the silence.

Your property wasn’t exactly on the map, it was tucked away in the maze of the alleys. Only locals could navigate these paths.

That’s why seeing someone from Piltover standing outside your doorstep caught you off guard.

His name had the desired effect, setting alarm bells in him. His posture stiffened, his expression flickered with surprise with his eyes darting back to yours. “You…know who I am?”

You leaned your broom against the wall and crossed your arms.

“Everyone in Zaun knows the Golden Boy from Piltover.” Your tone was flat, like you were stating a fact. “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested. Exit’s that way.”

“I’m not selling anything,” he said quickly, his hands coming up in a half-hearted gesture of surrender. “I just came to see your work.”

“My work? Why?”

Jayce Talis— a name rang out in both Piltover and Zaun. His face was everywhere— on posters, merchandise, and in carefully curated photos plastered across every surface in the city.

You always knew the pictures were crafted to perfection. They had to be. The Man of Progress couldn’t afford a single flaw.

Still, seeing him in person was…something else. You hated to admit it, even to yourself, but the pictures didn’t exaggerate much.

His hair was slick back just enough to look effortlessly polished. His thick brows and light stubble framed his features that were far too symmetrical to your liking.

And then there was his outfit— his crisp white jacket with gold pieces tailored so perfectly it felt like a statement itself.

It wasn’t overly tight, but it clung in the right places, hinting at broad shoulders and accentuating a physique that made heads turn. Each time he shifted, the fabric pulled slightly against his muscles, as if barely keeping itself together.

Even his eyes seemed to sparkle more up close in the low light, a reflection of his boundless confidence and a sign that he didn’t belong here. Not in your space.

“I’ve heard words about you going around and I was curious.”

“So what? You’re gonna give me a gold star? Show off my work at the Piltover parties?”

“No, no. I mean—” he hesitated, the words fumbling for footing. “People say you’re brilliant, and I wanted to see for myself.”

Brilliant. Of course. You’ve heard that compliment being tossed around before, along with other sweet talks from people trying to butter you up before hitting you with some impossible demand.

But he wasn’t fumbling entirely, there was still a smooth air about him. One that came naturally to someone that’s used to speaking to a room full of people hanging onto every word.

Even so, there was something different up close. Was he trying too hard? Nervousness beneath his charm?

“You think I’m gonna perform for you.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly, his voice dipping lower to a more soothing note.

You narrowed your eyes, holding back a scoff. So he thought a change in his tone would win you over? Clearly, he hadn’t met enough people like you.

But the real question still nagged at the back of your mind. How had he found you? It still baffled you. Your workshop wasn’t the kind of place you could just stumble across— it was hidden by design

So how had Jayce Talis done it? Had he bribed someone for directions? Pulled strings with someone that owed him a favour?

Or had he stubbornly worked his way through the Undercity on his own, pretending to look harmless?

You tilted your head slightly, studying him. He looked glaringly out of place. And yet, he stood there, looking like he genuinely cared about your answer.

Not that it mattered. You learned not to trust a nice tone or an earnest expression.

Before you could tell him to get lost, his eyes flickered past you. He stepped forward, just slightly, but enough for the air between you to shift.

“Is that…a chem-powered stabiliser?” Jayce asked, pointing past you.

You froze, following his gaze to the machinery perched on the workbench. He even had the cheeks to step closer and peered through the doorway to get a better look.

“I’ve never seen one so compact before. How did you—”

“Don’t touch that!” you snapped, stepping in to block out his view. “These aren’t for you to admire.”

He pulled his hand back immediately, fingered curling to his palm, but his eyes were still glued to the device.

“Is this some sort of new hobby? Charity work for the poor Zaunite researchers? You think you could waltz into the Undercity, slap a few compliments, and go back feeling good about yourself?”

You see him deflate a little, genuinely taken back by your words. For the first time, you saw his brows furrow as your words seemed to sting. “That’s not why I’m here, I just—”

“Then why are you here? I don’t need your approval, councillor.”

The title landed a sharp jab, but instead of retreating completely, Jayce straightened his posture.

“Fine, fine— I’m going.” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “But your work is incredible, even if you hate me for saying it.”

His expression softened, his gaze flickered between the stabiliser and you. For a moment, he looked like a wounded animal, retreating quietly but with a trace of stubborn determination in his eyes.

“Don’t come back, Talis.” you called sharply, already turning your back to head inside.

“Can’t make any promises.” he smiled faintly, disappearing back into the shadows of the alleyway.

~

The muted hiss of the soldering iron filled the quiet. Your hands worked with precision, the glow from the tool casting flickering light across the delicate gears in front of you.

It had been almost a week since Jayce’s unsolicited visit, and you haven’t had a single visitor after that. Days like this weren’t unusual— visitors were rare, and you were accustomed to that.

Despite the chaos of the Undercity, it always felt distant here, muted by the walls and your deliberate isolation. Your workshop was designed to block out the clamour of the outside world.

The only sounds were the occasional clink of metal and the crackle of circuitry.

You adjusted your position, leaning closer to your work, and ran your tongue over your slightly chapped lips as you steadied the gear. The solder melted, releasing a soft wisp of smoke that carried a sharp metallic scent.

With the rare visitors and social interactions, your tools were the only thing keeping you company. They didn’t have any demand explaining or carrying expectations. They only required patience and precision.

The silence gave you room to think— sometimes too much room. After days without a single visit, you felt the weight of it begin to press on you. It wasn’t something you dared to admit to anyone— not even yourself— but you felt the toll of it.

The lack of noise sharpened your senses, as if your ears were always straining to fill the void. You heard every creek of the floorboards beneath your feet, every shift of machinery in the room, every distant echo from across the streets.

Sometimes you could even hear the faint thrum of your pulse in your ear.

And that’s why you heard them before you even saw him.

Boots.

Not the mismatched kinds that the locals wore. These sounded like it came from a clean sole that didn’t stick to the streets. A confidence that you didn’t hear often.

You paused mid-solder and tilted your head slightly, listening carefully. The sound grew louder, sharper, and irritably more familiar. It was the same stride you heard a few days ago.

Placing the iron down, you turned towards the doorway. A shadow lingered in the dim light before a figure emerged.

And there he was, flesh and blood.

Again.

“Still not lost this time,” he announced.

He carried the same easy warmth, light but steady, that seemed to sweep into the room and disturb the peace you cultivated.

Except now, it was more infuriating than the last. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

“Didn’t I tell you not to come back?” you asked, glancing at him briefly.

“You did,” he admitted, unfazed. “I have a habit of not listening.”

Your gaze dropped briefly to his boots, taking in the faint sheen leather material that hadn’t been scuffed by Zaun’s grime.

“You really got some nerves, Talis.”

Of course he hadn’t learned. Why were you even surprised? Of course he thought he was entitled to walk back in here, as if the first time wasn’t enough.

“What do you want, Talis?” Your voice was a blade against steel. “You don’t belong here.”

“What, and you do?” He arched his brow, as though he caught you in a contradiction. “Doesn’t seem like you get a lot of visitors.”

“I like it that way.”

Usually, your words were enough to send someone packing. Your cold indifference was a shield, and most people didn’t push past. But Jayce didn’t flinch.

Instead, his expression softened, giving you a steady gaze. There was no mockery. Just…patience.

You didn’t know what to make of that, like his warmth stonewalled your annoyance. You stared, half expecting him to make some sort of patronising comment. But he didn’t.

It dawned on you that he really wasn’t going to give this up.

You opened your mouth and closed them again, struggling to find the words before you finally hear yourself speak again.

“You might as well come in since you came all the way down here…again.”

The words left your mouth before your brain could catch up. Part of you wished you could snatch your words back, but it was too late now.

Jayce had already stepped closer, his broad shadow loomed across the threshold. His boots scraped against the uneven floor. His steps felt measured, like he was testing how far he could go without setting you off.

The workshop always felt just the right size when you were alone— a perfect balance between cramped and cozy. But now it suddenly felt stifling. The creek of the floorboard under his weight and his shuffling steps sounded amplified in the quiet. His height alone made the walls feel closer.

Even his presence had some volume.

The glow lamps casted a soft light around the room. The workshop area had a few overhead lamps with exposed bulbs that threw harsh lighting over the workbenches, drawing attention to every imperfection.

“You know,” he started, his voice carrying a light teasing to it, “most people are at least a little polite to unexpected guests.”

“You’re in Zaun. Niceties get you robbed,” you shot back.

“Good thing I’m not carrying anything worth stealing.”

“Those boots say otherwise, Councillor.”

You didn’t wait for his resort, turning to glance around your workshop. To an outsider, the area probably looked like a disaster— grease stains on the wall, loose screws and scraps of metal littered the workbenches, and half finished work lay abandoned in various states of progress.

But to you, it’s an organised chaos. Everything had its place. You could locate a specific bolt buried under a pile of blueprints in seconds.

If anyone even dared to call it a mess, it wouldn’t bother you. Their opinions didn’t matter.

However, you’d never have a Piltovern in here. Not until tonight.

You didn’t have to look at him to imagine the look of disdain he must feel. A poorly lit workshop that reeked of oil and soldered metal wasn’t part of his orderly world.

Surely the grime and chaos would send him scurrying back to his prestigious lab in Piltover.

But when you turned to face him, the look in his face stopped you short.

Jayce leaned casually against one of the shelves, carefully avoiding anything breakable. His eyes scanned the room like he’d just stumbled upon a treasure trove. The faint glow of the lamps reflected in his eyes.

It only made you stiffer. Was this real awe, or just another layer to whatever act he was putting on?

People didn’t come here to admire your work. They came with demands and offers, often laced with ulterior motives.

His sincerity didn’t fit. It was foreign and dangerous. You weren’t used to it and you weren’t sure if you wanted to be.

And you certainly didn’t trust it.

“You made this?” he asked, picking up the small contraption with surprise care. The device whirred softly in his hand. Despite the scrubby appearance, the mechanism was fine and intricate, every piece deliberately placed.

You frowned, folding your arms across your chest. “Do you always just reach for anything that fascinates you?”

“Sorry I just—” he set the device down, as if it burned his skin. “I guess I got too curious.”

His sheepish tone irritated you more. It was easier to deal with people that were openly arrogant.

He turned his attention past you to the wall-mounted shelves stacked with material. Tools hung from hooks in neat rows, their placement a product of necessity rather than decoration.

Space was limited, so you had to think vertically, every inch of the walls serving a purpose.

Jayce stepped closer, his movement slower and more mindful. His gaze was glued to the tools, taking them in as though each one was a masterpiece.

“These tools look amazing, I’ve never seen anything like them before.”

“Well, I’d hope not. Because I made them.”

“You made them all yourself?”

“Most of them.”

The words came out clipped, but his reaction wasn’t what you expected. If he was fazed by your snarky attitude, he didn’t show it. Maybe he braced himself this time, expecting your hostility, or maybe he found it amusing.

“How long…how long did it take you?” he asked softly.

“Depends on how complex it is.”

“It’s incredible,” he said. “People back in the Academy spend months trying to get this kind of precision…and even they don’t come close”

For a moment you faltered, your eyes twitched at his words. His praise sounded genuine, and you knew it. And that’s what nerved you.

Compliments always came with strings attached.

You quickly deflected. “Flattery won’t work. I’m not one of your lapdogs.”

“Good, I don’t want lapdogs,” he replied, his grin disarming. “I like inventors who can outthink me.”

The casual delivery of his words struck you unexpectedly, leaving a hairline fracture in the armour you’ve built around yourself. It was a small blip in your radar. You didn’t know why you trusted him enough to stretch the conversation this far.

For now, you allowed the unfamiliar feeling to linger, watching as he wandered through your sanctuary.

Jayce’s gaze combed through the shelves and your unfinished project with childlike wonder. At this point, you truly couldn’t decide if this was an act of not.

People didn’t come in here to admire your work— they came to collect it. Usually they would mutter a few pointers about what needed tweaking, toss their payment on the nearest bench, and leave without so much of a second glance.

You were used to that rhythm— content with it.

But, now you weren’t sure.

Having someone appreciate your work felt foreign, and the way he handled your creation with care left an uncomfortable knot in your chest.

You silently cursed yourself for noticing the subtle curve of his smile when he discovered something particularly interesting.

It was only his second time here and for some reason you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. He was already threatening to throw you off balance.

~

A week hadn’t past before you heard his footsteps again, cutting through the tinkering of the wind chimes, as familiar as the beat of your own pulse.

“Is this going to be a routine now?” you asked, arching your brow inquisitively.

He stepped closer, his voice almost teasing. “As long as you allow it.”

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead you turned, stepping back into the workshop without looking back. You knew he’d follow; given his last visit. Though you never made it easy for him.

But despite the lack of warmth in your welcoming, the air between you was different now. No hostility, no tension. But no comfort either.

It didn’t take long for Jayce to settle into the rhythm that grated your nerves in the worst way— calm and unhurried. It wasn’t just that he was an inventor, too. It was how he saw things with such fresh eyes, as if the clutter was all just a puzzle for him to piece together.

But there was still an odd feeling that tugged at the back of your mind.

Piltover men didn’t linger; they demanded, bargained, gloated. Then left without looking back. They didn’t come back three times, and they certainly didn’t waste their time applauding your work like it came from some exhibition.

It made you bristle. Not because he was here, but because you couldn’t figure out why.

You’ve already cycled through the possibilities, and none of them made sense. If he was scouting for talent for Piltover, why not send an envoy? If he wanted to commission something from you, surely an assistant could’ve handled it. And why three separate visits, at irregular intervals?

Your thoughts spiralled tighter, refusing to pinpoint and answer that fit. Then, a thought you didn’t dare to acknowledge emerged.

It couldn’t be that, could it? The possibility— absurd, offensive, ridiculous— settled in your mind like a splinter.

Your throat tightened, a heat rising up your neck. You shouldn’t entertain it. But the only way to gain some clarity was to confront him about it.

“You’ve been sulking around my workshop for the third time now…” your voice came out sharper than intended, but you didn’t regret it.

You let him linger around in your threshold once already, and this time, you were determined to figure out what he wanted.

“Yes..” his tone was annoyingly steady. “I just wanted to see your work.”

“Please. I know men like you. You act interested, then expect me to fall into your lap.” You stepped closer, crossing your arms over your chest. The next words edged with frustration. “If that’s what you’re here for, you can save both of us the time and get lost.”

The word tasted bitter, even when you said them. You weren’t sure why you mind went to that possibility. But it felt like the only way to shatter the weird tension that you were feeling when he was around.

Jayce froze. And then his face grew flustered at your words, like you’ve just crossed a line he hadn’t even considered.

“Is that really what you think of me?” he asked softly, before his voice gained conviction. “I don’t care about…that. I wouldn’t be that selfish. I wanted to see what you’ve built because it’s nothing I’ve ever seen before. I don’t have an ulterior motive, I swear.”

You wanted to snap back, to call him out on what you assumed was an elaborate excuse, but you couldn’t find the words. You felt embarrassment cross your form.

The moment of stillness filled the space, the absurdity of your accusation sinking in. A Councilman slinking into a Zaun for…something improper. You almost wanted to laugh at yourself.

He’d never once cross a boundary. His posture was careful and his steps were measured. His gaze on you was momentary, but it never strayed too far from your workbench.

“Hmph…you’re persistent I’ll give you that.” You muttered, your voice far quieter now. “Most people don’t make it past the first visit.”

The corner of his lips quirked up to a bashful smile. “So I’m not most people?”

Your lips twitched before you quickly smothered it, fixing him a look. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Golden Boy.”

Despite the harshness in your tone, you felt the lingering awkwardness pressing at the edge. Your accusations made your skin prickle with self-consciousness.

You couldn’t look him in the eye anymore, not that you ever tried before. But now it felt different.

Jayce, on the other hand, redirected his attention back on your workbench. He offered a few offhanded comments, his tone deliberately casual. You could tell he was trying to smooth out the tension, though you barely registered his words.

Just a few weeks ago, you’ve done everything in your power to push him away. Sharp words, cold stares, anything to make him leave and never come back. All proven futile.

But now, you weren’t sure if you wanted to ruin…whatever it was between the two of you.

Having someone like him around brought a spark of something you hadn’t realised you missed.

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eyes. His broad shoulders seemed almost out of place in your cramped workshop— like an elephant in a china shop. But his presence didn’t feel intrusive now.

His eyes scanned over your blueprints and half-finished projects with genuine interest. There was a strange sense of pride that washed over you, one you tried to ignore.

Knowing that someone like him valued your craftsmanship, took the time out of his day to see your work, was almost unsettling. And you didn’t want to think too hard about why.

“This joint,” his voice cut through your reverie, drawing you back to the present, “it might seize under pressure. Have you considered a pivot here?”

You blinked, following the direction of his finger on the diagram. “It works fine as it is.”

“I’m sure it does, but it could work even better.”

He wasn’t backing down. His voice wasn’t condescending or dismissive. But something else that made you tense, and you didn’t want to acknowledge it.

He continued to offer feedback and suggest adjustments, but you weren’t fully listening. His words were slipping through your focus, weaving around you. You were too distracted but his voice. The way he said things. The way his presence seemed to fill the room.

You felt your heart stutter, and you realised you hadn’t heard a word from him for the past minute. All you could focus on was how close he was, making your skin feel tight, his hands moving over the blueprint.

“You know,” you said, leaning back slightly, “you’re kind of cute when you ramble.”

“What?”

“I said you’re cute,” you repeated, shifting your weight and hoping he hadn’t noticed the flush creeping to your face. “You’re not deaf, are you?”

“I— uh— I’ve never had anybody describe me as ‘cute’ before.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

“You know, I’m a councillor. You are aware of what that status means, right?”

“Being a councillor doesn’t spare you from being cute. Or are you implying that councillors are above compliments?

Jayce rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, letting out a chuckle to conceal something deeper— maybe nerves, perhaps. “I guess it’s a change from the more…superficial compliments I get.”

“Superficial?”

“I get a lot of ‘handsome’ and ‘charming’ and all the usual words.“

“That’s because they’re boring.”

A small shift seemed to pass over him— maybe he hadn’t expected that response. His gaze lingered before he looked away, as if your words had an effect on him more than he let on.

You hadn’t known Jayce for long— not personally, at least. But the more you were around him, the more you realised he wasn’t as unreadable as you first thought.

You’ve seen glimpses of him, like fitting together different parts of him that made him who he was.

The defeated look he wore when you first shut him out of your workshop. The awe that lit up his face when he stepped inside and took in your projects for the first time. The stunned silence after your accusation, as if the words had thrown him off balance.

And how he was flustered— caught completely off guard. His mouth twitched into a hesitant smile, and he quickly covered it with his palm, as though trying to shield it from you.

This was your favourite expression by far.

Something about watching him internally stumble, seeing him stripped off his usual poise struck a chord in you. It wasn’t just satisfaction— but something softer. As if you weren’t the only one out of your depth for once.

After a few heartbeats, Jayce cleared his throat, breaking the momentary silence like pebble tossed in water.

“Well, I should probably let you get back to it,” he said.

His usual confidence faltered as he turned to the door, muttering something along the lines of “cute” under his breath. The door opened to reveal the darkness of the night, with the flickering glows of the street lights.

You rolled your eyes and suppressed a grin as he stepped outside. “Don’t get used to the hospitality, Talis.”

He glanced back with a smirk, a mix of shyness and mischievous. “Wouldn’t dream of it…”

Then he was gone, disappeared into the night, leaving you alone again with your tools.

[ka1rin]

Blue Lock Romantic Tropes

isagi, kaiser, sae, rin, reo, nagi x reader (separate)

word count: 1.1k , genre: romance / fluff

note: this story is about what romantic trope would suit these Blue Lock characters. I hope you guys love this!

Isagi Yoichi — Childhood Friends

Yoichi Isagi had always been head over heels for her—though he didn’t realize it until it was almost too late. She’d been his best friend for as long as he could remember. She was the one who stayed after practice to kick a ball around when no one else would, the one who always seemed to know exactly what to say after a tough game.

But lately, everything felt different. He couldn’t stop noticing the way her hair caught the sunlight or the way her laughter softened the edges of a bad day. He wasn’t sure when it started, but he knew one thing for certain: she wasn’t just his best friend anymore.

They walked home together like always, her voice filling the air with stories about her day. Isagi barely heard a word. His mind was somewhere else, lost in thoughts he didn’t have the courage to say out loud.

When they reached her street, she stopped and turned to face him. “You’re quieter than usual. What’s up?”

He hesitated, his fingers tightening around the strap of his bag. “Do you ever think about the future?”

Her brow furrowed. “Sure. Why?”

“I mean… us,” he said softly, forcing himself to meet her gaze. “Do you ever think about where we’ll end up?”

Her eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. “What are you trying to say, Yoichi?”

“I think—no, I know—I want you in my future,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not just as my best friend, but as… something more.”

Michael Kaiser — Enemies to Lovers

Michael Kaiser had never believed in losing. In his mind, every match, every argument, every moment in life was a game to be won. That’s why she infuriated him so much. She wasn’t interested in playing by his rules.

From the moment they met, she challenged him—both on and off the field. She had a knack for seeing through his façade, stripping away the charm he used so effortlessly on everyone else. At first, he hated it. Then he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

One evening, after yet another clash on the pitch, he found her sitting alone in the stands. The moonlight caught the curve of her profile, making her look softer than he was used to seeing.

“You’re staring,” she said without looking up.

“Maybe I’m trying to figure you out,” he replied, sliding onto the bench beside her.

“You won’t,” she said, finally meeting his gaze. “You’re not as good at reading people as you think.”

Kaiser smirked, leaning back on his elbows. “And you’re not as immune to me as you pretend to be.”

Her lips twitched, but she said nothing.

For the first time, Kaiser felt like this wasn’t a game he could win—or one he wanted to.

Sae Itoshi — Second Chance

Sae Itoshi had always been good at letting go. Whether it was friends, family, or teammates, he had a way of detaching himself from people, of moving forward without looking back.

But she was different.

She’d been his calm in the storm, the person who grounded him when the pressure of his career threatened to swallow him whole. He hadn’t realized how much he relied on her until the day he walked away, convincing himself it was for the best.

Now, years later, she stood before him at the airport, looking as composed as ever. His pulse quickened at the sight of her, and for the first time in a long while, Sae felt unsure of himself.

“You’ve changed,” she said softly, studying him like she was trying to figure out a puzzle.

“Not enough,” he admitted, his voice steady but quiet.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she glanced away. “Then why are you here?”

“Because I couldn’t stay away,” he confessed. “Because letting you go was the biggest mistake I ever made.”

Rin Itoshi — Sun and Moon

Rin Itoshi didn’t believe in distractions. He’d built his life around focus and discipline, shutting out anything that might interfere with his pursuit of perfection.

Then she came along.

She was everything he wasn’t—bright, cheerful, and completely unafraid to push her way into his life. At first, Rin had found her presence irritating, but over time, he started to notice the small things: the way she always brought him water during practice, the way her laughter filled the empty spaces of his world.

One afternoon, as they sat in the park, she turned to him with a mischievous grin. “You should smile more, you know. It’s not illegal.”

He frowned, looking away. “Why does it matter?”

“Because it suits you,” she said simply, leaning back against the bench.

Rin’s chest tightened at her words. He didn’t know how to explain that smiling felt foreign to him—except when she was around.

Reo Mikage — Unrequited Love

Reo Mikage had always been drawn to her. She was different from everyone else in his life, uninterested in his money or his status. She treated him like an equal, never hesitating to call him out when he deserved it.

He’d fallen for her quietly, keeping his feelings to himself out of fear that she’d never see him the way he saw her. Still, he stayed by her side, always there when she needed him, hoping one day she might look at him differently.

One evening, as they sat together in a quiet café, she broke the silence. “Reo, why are you always here for me?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… you’ve never asked for anything in return,” she said, her voice softer than usual. “Why?”

Reo hesitated, his heart pounding. “Because you’re important to me. That’s all.”

Her gaze lingered on him, and for the first time, he thought he saw something shift in her eyes.

Nagi Seishiro — Forced Proximity

Seishiro Nagi didn’t like effort. He preferred simplicity, staying in his comfort zone, and avoiding anything that felt like too much work.

So when she moved into his apartment as his new roommate, he wasn’t thrilled. She was loud, messy, and always finding ways to drag him into her whirlwind of energy. At first, he counted the days until she’d leave. But as time passed, he started to notice the way her laughter brightened the dull moments, the way she always made sure he had dinner even if she didn’t cook for herself.

One night, as they sat on the floor eating instant ramen, she looked over at him and smiled. “You’re not so bad to live with, you know.”

Nagi shrugged, his usual indifference masking the warmth spreading through his chest. “You’re okay too, I guess.”

She laughed, nudging his shoulder. “Wow, such high praise.”

He glanced at her, his voice softer than usual. “I mean it. I don’t mind you being here.”

Her laughter faded, and she looked at him with an expression he couldn’t quite place. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time, Nagi felt like that was exactly what he wanted to hear.

[kathlare]

belonging in her world

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: In the dazzling world of the Golden Globes, Lando finds himself far outside his comfort zone, struggling with the clash between his life as a Formula 1 driver and Amelie’s star-studded universe.

Wordcount: 1.9 k

Warnings: just fluff

request over here!

January 5th, 2025 - Beverly Hills, CA

The ballroom at The Beverly Hilton shimmered with elegance and a sense of anticipation, the kind of air you could only find at an event like the Golden Globes. The room was buzzing with energy as Hollywood’s biggest names mingled at their tables, champagne glasses clinking and laughter spilling into the air. Lando Norris, seated at the Wicked table, felt wildly out of place.

He adjusted the perfectly tailored black tuxedo he’d borrowed from his stylist, fidgeting in his chair as he glanced around the room. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to the spotlight—being a Formula 1 driver meant he was no stranger to cameras, press, and attention. But this? This was an entirely different universe.

His eyes darted to the large screens scattered around the room, currently showing live footage of the red carpet. Amelie was out there somewhere, dazzling everyone with her megawatt smile and undeniable charm.

He’d only caught a brief glimpse of her before she left for the carpet. She’d floated into the hotel room, kissed him quickly on the lips, and whispered, “You’ll be fine, Lan. Just sit tight, smile, and don’t let anyone scare you.”

Easy for her to say. This was her world, not his.

Lando glanced around the table. Beside him sat Chandler Kinney, who was chatting animatedly with Jeff Goldblum across the table. Both of them had been lovely so far, making polite conversation with Lando and even cracking a few jokes to ease his nerves. But he still felt like an outsider.

Every so often, someone would glance in his direction, probably wondering what a Formula 1 driver was doing at an awards show. He’d heard a couple of whispers, "That’s Lando Norris, Amelie’s boyfriend, right?”, which didn’t exactly help his nerves.

Still, he stayed put, sipping from his champagne flute and stealing glances at the live feed of the carpet. And there she was.

The camera panned to Amelie, and Lando’s heart skipped a beat. She looked stunning, the hot pink gown glittering under the lights, her blonde hair swept into a sleek style that framed her face perfectly. She was laughing at something the interviewer had said, her voice carrying through the speakers faintly enough for Lando to catch.

—She’s amazing, isn’t she?— Chandler’s voice broke through his thoughts.

Lando turned to her, a sheepish grin on his face. —Yeah. She’s… she’s incredible.—

—You nervous?— Cynthia asked, her tone warm and understanding.

—A bit,— Lando admitted, running a hand through his curls. —This isn’t exactly my scene.—

Cynthia chuckled. —Don’t worry. Once she’s here, you won’t even notice anyone else.—

Lando nodded, his eyes drifting back to the screen as Amelie wrapped up her interview and started making her way inside. A wave of relief washed over him. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could sit here pretending to be calm.

As the ballroom doors opened, Lando spotted Amelie entering the room. The moment she stepped inside, it was as if the air shifted. Heads turned, conversations paused, and there she was—radiant, poised, and completely in her element. Lando couldn’t take his eyes off her, the hot pink gown shimmering with every movement. She carried herself with a confidence that left him in awe, but what made his chest tighten was the warmth in her smile when her gaze found his across the room.

She waved subtly at the table, her golden clutch glinting under the lights, and started weaving her way through the crowd. Except, she didn’t get very far.

The first person to stop her was an older man Lando vaguely recognized from a movie he’d seen years ago. Amelie greeted him with an easy familiarity, laughing at something he said as they exchanged pleasantries. Then came a pair of women Lando couldn’t name, who each hugged Amelie warmly and fawned over her gown.

Lando watched her, his hands fidgeting with the stem of his champagne flute. She seemed so at ease, so natural. And why wouldn’t she be? She’d grown up in this world. For her, this was just another night.

Then came Timothée Chalamet. Lando stiffened slightly as the actor approached Amelie, greeting her with the kind of enthusiasm only close friends shared. Timothée pulled her into a hug, and Lando could hear her laugh from across the room.

—Relax,— Chandler said beside him, smirking. —That’s Timmy. They’re good friends.—

—I know,— Lando muttered, trying to mask his unease.

And then, as if to add another layer of surrealism to the moment, Kylie Jenner appeared at Timothée’s side. The two women embraced, their conversation flowing seamlessly. Amelie fit in so effortlessly with everyone around her, and Lando couldn’t help but feel the weight of the divide between their worlds.

As if sensing his discomfort from across the room, Amelie’s eyes flicked toward him. She caught his gaze and, with a small but unmistakable gesture, beckoned him over.

Lando hesitated for a split second, but then he stood, smoothing out his tuxedo as he made his way toward her. His heart raced with every step, and he could feel the weight of a thousand eyes on him.

When he reached her, Amelie turned to him with a smile that immediately eased some of his tension. She slipped her arm around his waist, pulling him close.

—There you are,— she said softly, her voice like a balm to his nerves. She looked up at him, her eyes warm and steady. —Lan, you remember Timmy, don’t you? And this is Kylie.—

Timothée extended a hand with a grin that Lando couldn’t quite read. It was somewhere between friendly and teasing. —Lando, mate! It’s been a minute. Last time we crossed paths was in… 2019? Some Monaco party, wasn’t it?—

—Yeah, that sounds right,— Lando replied, shaking Timothée’s hand. He felt the slightest bit awkward, but Timothée’s easygoing nature helped.

—You’re doing well for yourself, huh?— Timothée added with a grin, his eyes flicking to Amelie.

Lando felt his cheeks heat up but managed a small laugh. —Yeah, can’t complain.—

Amelie squeezed his waist slightly, grounding him. —Lan’s a champion in his own right,— she interjected, her tone light but firm. —Don’t let his modesty fool you, Timmy. He’s incredible.—

Timothée chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. —No doubt. I mean, I’d be nervous racing at those speeds, but I guess that’s why you’re the pro.—

—And I’d be terrified trying to remember lines in front of a camera,— Lando shot back, loosening up a little. —So, respect where it’s due.—

Kylie, who had been quiet so far, finally spoke, her voice smooth and polite. —It must be wild, though, being in completely different industries. How do you guys make it work?—

Amelie smiled, her expression unreadable but polite. —We make it work because we want to. Simple as that.— She glanced up at Lando with a soft look. —And because Lan’s the most patient, supportive person I’ve ever known.—

Lando felt his heart flip at her words. He leaned down slightly, his lips brushing her temple. —Don’t give me all the credit, Ames. You’re pretty amazing yourself.—

Timothée smirked, clearly enjoying the exchange. —Alright, alright, stop making the rest of us look bad.—

Amelie laughed, her hand lightly resting on Lando’s chest. —You’re doing fine, Tim. Don’t worry.—

Kylie smiled, though Lando thought he caught a flicker of something less friendly in her eyes. —Well, it’s nice to see you happy, Amelie. You deserve it.—

—Thank you, Kylie,— Amelie replied, her tone polite but cool. She turned her attention back to Timothée. —Are you sitting with Dune tonight?—

—Yeah, yeah. Same table as Denis and Zendaya. We’re over there,— Timothée said, gesturing toward a table near the front. —But I’ll catch up with you later. We need to do a proper reunion.—

—Absolutely,— Amelie said with a smile. She turned to Lando. —Lan, shall we?—

Lando nodded, more than ready to return to their table. As they walked away, Amelie slipped her hand into his, her fingers lacing with his in a way that made his anxiety melt away.

When they got back to the Wicked table, Amelie leaned into him, her voice low. —You okay?—

—Yeah,— he said, smiling down at her. —I just… I feel a bit out of place, you know?—

She squeezed his hand. —You’re not out of place, Lan. You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. With me.—

The way she said it, with such quiet certainty, made his chest tighten. He pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her temple. —Thanks, Ames. That means a lot.—

The award show continued to unfold around them with a dazzling mix of opulence and charm, but Lando felt more at ease now. Amelie’s hand stayed in his, a grounding touch that reminded him he wasn’t just a spectator in her world—he was part of it. She’d made that abundantly clear, and he silently vowed to carry himself with the same quiet confidence she radiated.

The Wicked table was lively, filled with laughter and chatter as the cast and crew celebrated their film’s success. Amelie leaned into Lando, her head briefly resting on his shoulder as they shared a private moment amidst the chaos.

—You’re doing great, you know,— she murmured, her voice barely audible above the hum of the room.

Lando chuckled softly. —Am I? Because I feel like a kid at his mum’s work party.—

Amelie laughed, the sound soft and melodious. —Trust me, you’re doing better than half the people here. Besides,— she turned her head to look up at him, her eyes sparkling mischievously, —you look damn good in that tux.—

Lando smirked, though the heat rising in his cheeks betrayed him. —Oh, do I?— he teased, his voice dropping slightly as he leaned closer. —You don’t look so bad yourself, Ames. Though that gown should probably come with a warning label.—

Amelie laughed, her fingers brushing against his jaw as she whispered, —Careful, Lan. Keep talking like that, and I’ll make it very clear how much I love you in front of every A-lister in this room.—

He swallowed hard, his cheeks burning. —Don’t test me. I’m barely surviving as it is.—

Her eyes sparkled with mischief, but she let him off the hook, sitting back and resting her hand on his thigh under the table. The simple gesture steadied him, even as the buzz of the room continued around them.

As the ceremony drew closer to starting, more celebrities filtered into the ballroom, filling the remaining tables. Amelie seemed to know almost everyone, exchanging quick waves, smiles, and greetings as people passed by. Lando admired how effortlessly she moved in this world, her poise and charm shining in a way that made him feel both proud and a little awestruck.

When the lights dimmed slightly, signaling the beginning of the ceremony, Amelie leaned closer to him. —This is the part where we pretend to listen but really just hope the champagne keeps flowing.—

Lando chuckled, his nerves finally giving way to the ease he always felt around her. —I think I can manage that.—

As the show began, the room quieted, the host taking the stage to deliver the night’s opening monologue. Lando couldn’t help but glance at Amelie every few moments, the glow of the stage lights casting her in an almost ethereal light. She caught him staring at one point, her lips curving into a sly smile.

—See something you like?— she whispered.

—Always,— he whispered back, his voice low and filled with affection.

Her fingers gave his a small squeeze, and she leaned into him, resting her head briefly against his shoulder. Lando felt the weight of the moment, the realization that despite his anxieties, she had chosen him to stand beside her in this world.

As the ceremony continued, he settled into his seat, letting himself be fully present. It wasn’t his scene, but for her, he’d show up every time. Because as much as the night revolved around Hollywood glitz and glamour, for Lando, it was all about her—the woman who had somehow made him feel like he belonged, no matter where they were.

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

liked by elysiadayman, landonorris, and others

ameliedayman: 🫧 @goldenglobes in 1966 @givenchy 🫧 i am so deeply proud of our Wicked family! and so profoundly grateful to have included in this historic and beautiful celebration of incredible art. thank you so so much for having me.

View all 5,483 comments

landonorris: You are the most breathtaking thing in the whole goddamn room. → ameliedayman: @landonorris Stop before I start crying, Lan. 🙄 Also, YOU in a tux? Distracting. Truly unfair.

fan1direction: AMELIE IN GIVENCHY???? SHE’S A 60s MOVIE STAR IN HER ICON ERA 😭😭😭 → wickedstan22: @fan1direction She didn’t walk the carpet, she owned it.

chandlerkinneyfanclub: Chandler and Amelie hugging?? Besties of the century, your honor. 🥹💚 → wizardofozz: @chandlerkinneyfanclub Their friendship >> any love story. No one fight me on this.

chandlerkinney: That dress is a serve! Absolute queen. Proud of you always. → ameliedayman: @chandlerkinney You’re the real star of the night—thank you for letting me squeeze you like a koala during the standing ovation. 😂

gridbanter101: Lando was a simp then, and he’s a simp now. Nothing has changed.

michelleyeoh: You were the heart of the table, Amelie. What a night! → ameliedayman: @michelleyeoh you are a LEGEND. It was an honor to sit beside you!

amelieismylife: The fact that Lando is still visibly in awe of her after all this time is goals. 🥹 → f1fangirlz: Their dynamic is so pure. She roasts him, he simps for her, and they make it WORK.

amelie_supremacy: Kit and Amelie’s selfie is everything. Who gave these two the right to be so chaotic backstage? 😂

landonumberonefan: Lando, bro, how did you pull this? The woman is literally divine. We need to know.

f1grid_gossip: Okay, but why does Lando look at her like she personally hung the stars in the sky? I’m not crying; YOU ARE. → landofan: @f1grid_gossip I know this isn’t about him, but man is DOWN BAD. 🫠

[strange-anni]

Yeah, I hink so too! The Introjects are not exactly the person they were before due to various reasons but still carry their resemblance and act like the person who introjected them understood them. That can be vastly different from who they actually were. Especially if the person introjecting them was an 8 year old child.

I'm also considering what it might mean if they carry specific functions. Like Joyce who may have gotten the role of being a mother for Will and possibly also should look out for a better father for Will. So in S2 we had the competition of who could be the best father which Hopper won in the end. Then Joyce and Hopper got together in S3 only for Hopper to die so Joyce in S4 had to go to get him back. That would make it very interesting what S5 will have in store for us in regards to Joyce and Hopper.

Here is another traveler from Outer Space

Yeah, lots of spaceships with lots of significance I think. They are able to reach places and get people into space but also get them out of space back to earth or even into spaces with lots of buried memories. I think these ships are meant as a way of travel between the worlds.

Thank you so much for sharing all these two pages! Very interesting to read about. I think this also indicates that travel isn't always save and this Dimension X Brenners father is talking about could be the future? Or the present day in our current timeline I think.

And yeah I can see the similarities between what happened to Brenners father on the USS Eldridge and the real life conspiracy theory. Electromagnetic fields to make the ship invisible, then it gets transported somewhere else and the crew gets killed (by Demogorgeons) or altered like in the real like with the real conspiracy theory.

Guy... birthdaygate is absolutely real but... my god this is DARK...

SO.

Lonnie "made" Jonathan kill a rabbit on his birthday.

Will told us the MF (father) "made" him kill.

On Will's birthday (which was forgotten about... repressed memories...) EL has flashbacks to a massacre, and believes she was the cause of it!

Owens TOLD US that the anniversary of an event can bring back traumatic memories.

SO... why does El likely have Will's memories? It's his own birthday...

[burningembers91]

Gunpowder and Lace - The Salesman x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Follow up piece to:

Freak of Nature On Display A Game of Cat and Mouse Crime of Passion Rare

Synopsis: Determined to level the playing field, you take The Salesman to places he's never been

A/N: I honestly don't know who i become when i write for this man, this piece is unhinged and i regret nothing. I also know this character never has his real name revealed, but for the purposes of the storyline, I had to make one up.

This fic is also inspired by the insanity that is this gif:

He was desperate to be back in control. That night in the restaurant had taken him by surprise, had left his mind reeling. You’d left him lying there on the floor like yesterday’s trash, saying goodbye without a second glance back at him. You’d humiliated him, left him to clean himself up and hastily pay the bill before he was found naked on the floor, shaking from pleasure and rage. No one had treated him like this before, no had ever been this bold before. The women he’d played with in the past, they’d always been scared him; but not you. You seemed to enjoy this torture, seemed to enjoy being pushed. He was sure the meal would break you, but it only seemed to make you stronger.

He was so desperate to regain control that he almost didn’t notice that he was losing it entirely. He’d never invited anyone to his home before, and the day after your meal together he turned up at your apartment to bring you over. He’d tried to convince himself that it would be easier to have you under his control if he had you somewhere he was familiar with, but he was fooling himself. He’d given up sitting out on the park bench now, his desire to be with you far outweighing his desire to watch you like a predator watches its prey. You no longer went to the coffee shop either, instead marking your student’s work at his home. He had tried to convince himself that it was another way to keep you in line, to keep you away from a world where you could wonder away from him at any time. But you seemed to enjoy being in his home, stretched out on his sofa as your worked, acting as if he didn’t exist. He wanted to be angry with you, but he couldn’t. He wondered if he was somehow broken. The aloofness he had once possessed was gone around you. He found himself seeking your attention, trying to distract you while you worked. But you never rose to the bait, never gave him the satisfaction he so desperately craved. One evening, as you worked late into the night on a presentation, he’d grown tired of waiting for you.

“I’m busy,” you told him, when he came searching for your touch. Your words felt like a slap, a punch in his gut that left him floored. “You’re getting awfully mouthy with me,” he snapped back. He could feel himself losing him cool; why weren’t you scared of him? Why were you so unfazed by him? Was he losing his touch? Perhaps he wasn’t enough for you anymore. That last thought scared him, and he wasn’t used to being scared. He ended up on his knees in front of you, his tongue lapping desperate circles around the sensitive nub of your clit. The moans he elicited from you were heavenly, his fingers working your soft, tight core. Your thighs tightened around his face as you came, your cries of pleasure echoing off his expansive walls. He was sure he’d got your attention, was sure you wouldn’t be able to resist him, but you went right back to your work, leaving him on his knees like a dog.

You knew exactly what you were doing, of course. You didn’t like acting so cold towards him, but you were tired of knowing nothing about him when he knew so much about you. You were intrigued, if a little shocked, when he invited you into his home but could find nothing that would give you any clue as to who this man was. You could feel your lust turning into something more, but you didn’t even know his name, and it was beginning to drive you crazy. You decided to try and beat him at his own game, to try and push him like he pushed you. You hadn’t entirely forgiven him for the steak incident; you’d been sick for days after, but something kept you coming back. You recognised the feelings you were beginning to have for him, but you couldn’t fully allow yourself to break down the walls. All relationships needed an equal amount of giving and taking though, and it was time he learned that.

“Tell me your name,” you whispered one night, your nails dragging down his chest and torso as he writhed against his mattress. You’d bested him again, beaten him at his own game. What had started as a desire to show you that he was still in charge, had ended up with him handcuffed to his bed while you delivered the most delicious punishments. Your tongue, lips and teeth explored his body, your silk negligee brushing against his flushed skin. The mix of silk, soft kisses and sharp teeth were agonisingly blissful, and he found himself slipping further and further into your grip. “Just tell me your name,” you repeated, “and I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

What was it that he wanted though? This whole thing had started as a game for him, just another girl he could use to entertain himself until he ultimately got bored of you. But somewhere along the line, it had gone horribly wrong. He wasn’t bored of you, far from it. He craved your attention, your validation. Your hands skimmed his lower stomach, purposely avoiding his stiff, leaking cock. He whimpered, a sound he’d never made before, and he knew in that instant he was done for.

“Let’s try something else then, shall we?” You smiled. You’d get him to tell you his name, consequences be damned. You knew that once he’d recovered, once he’d regained his usual controlling façade that you’d pay for this. You didn’t mind though; you’d take whatever punishment he dolled out if he would just tell you his name.

You knew he kept a gun in his bedside table, had seen the flsh of the black metal as he opened it one night. You’d grown up clay pigeon shooting as a child and teen, and a handgun couldn’t be that different from a rifle, could it? You’d removed the bullets while he’d been in the bathroom, setting the gun back carefully in its place. He didn’t need know you’d taken them out, but you couldn’t help but feel that accidentally firing it might spoil the fun a little.

Pulling the drawer open, you carefully removed the gun, the weapon heavy and cold in your hand. You saw his eyes light up, heard the guttural growl fall from his lips as he pulled at his restraints. His chest rose and fell heavily, his body shaking with anticipation. He was enjoying this.

You dragged the barrel of the gun slowly up his leg, his stomach, and across his chest. “Open your mouth,” you instructed. He did as he was told, so eager. You slid the gun slowly into his mouth, relishing in the pathetic little whimpers that fell from him. Your free hand trailed back down his stomach, before coming to a stop at the base of his cock. A single nail dragged up its length, your eyes never leaving his as he squirmed against your touch. “Tell me,” you repeated, tutting when he shook his head. Your hand gripped the base of him, working his shaft slowly and deliberately, watching his reaction as he neared the brink. Just when you felt him start to shake, just before he reached the edge of ecstasy, you pulled you hand away.

He screamed something at you, but you couldn’t tell what it was; the gun muffled his voice. “It’s just your name,” you sighed, “that’s all I want. Give me what I want, and I’ll let you punish me for my disobedience.” Your hand began to stroke him once more, your thumb circling the top of his cock as he pulled against the handcuffs.

He couldn’t take it much more, the desire to fall apart for you was overwhelming, bordering on painful. He’d tell you his bank account details if you asked, anything to get you to give him what he needed. “Park Jin-Tae!” he cried, his words muffled by the cold metal in this mouth. “What was that?” you smiled, removing the gun enough so he could speak clearly. “Park Jin-Tae,” he repeated. “My name is Park Jin-Tae.” “Good boy,” you winked. He’d told you what you wanted to know; you wouldn’t tease him any longer. You placed the gun back on the bedside table, lowering your mouth to his aching cock. You’d barely placed your lips around him before he emitted a strangled cry, losing himself completely as he spilled his seed down your throat.

He’d given you a piece of himself, a part of him that he had kept hidden from the world for longer than he could remember. As you unhandcuffed him and kissed him tenderly on his lips, he so badly wanted to be angry with you. But as he looked into your eyes, his chest ached in the most beautiful way possible. His heart raced, his stomach flipped, he craved your touch, your skin against his. He knew in that moment he’d lost the game. He wasn’t in control anymore, you were. Maybe you had been the whole time. He’d spent his entire life feeling nothing for anyone, treating people as toys he could play with and throw away. But from the moment he met you, his body had ached for you, every atom of his being craved you. He was a fool to think he’d ever been in charge.

“Park Jin-Tae,” you smiled, kneeling before him with your hands behind your back. “I’ll let you punish me now.” You looked so beautiful, so perfect. As he slipped the handcuffs onto your wrists, bending your delicate body over his knee, he brought his hand down against the skin of your ass hard. Your cry of pleasure was irresistible, but tonight he’d make you shed tears.

Yes, he would punish you. Punish you for making him fall in love.