#reach out to me! talk to me about anything
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dollyhyuckii · 3 days ago
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+1 new post from dollyhyuckii ၇୧ㅤㅤ
(강화하다) — DOWN BAD ENHYPEN ۟ ׅ ͡ ୨ৎ
౨ৎ in which … enhypen is down bad for you
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── 𝑬𝑵𝑯𝒀𝑷𝑬𝑵 (강화) ꒰ 𝒈. headcanons, suggestive, fluff (fluff for the maknae line) ౨ৎ 𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺: not proofread, pet names- baby, doll, pretty, beautiful and princess ˖ ་. 𝑾𝑪: 250-300 𝑭𝑶𝑹 𝑬𝑨𝑪𝑯 𝑴𝑬𝑴𝑩𝑬𝑹٫ 𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑴𝑨𝑹𝒀~ enhypen being down bad for you
秋のメモ… ︵ ︵ ིྀ got this idea from all the tiktoks ive been seeing, like and reblogs are greatly appreciated!
── 𝑫𝑶𝑳𝑳𝒀𝑯𝒀𝑼𝑪𝑲𝑰𝑰'𝑺 𝑫𝑰𝑨𝑹𝒀 ౨ৎ
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ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི 、LEE HEESEUNG
heeseung wasn’t subtle, not in the way his eyes kept finding you across the room, or the way his lips curved into that soft, almost helpless smile every time you looked at him. he wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore..
you were sitting on the couch, focused on on your phone, completely unaware of the way he was practically melting into the chair he’d claimed as his spot for the evening. his cheek was propped against his fist, eyes lazily tracing the shape of your face.
“baby” he muttered, voice low but enough to catch your attention
you hummed, barely glancing up “yeah?”
“you’re so pretty” he blurted, the words coming out with a mix of sincerity and disbelief, like he was still trying to process how someone like you was siting here with him.
your lips twitched into a smile, but you didn’t give him the reaction he clearly wanted. “is this your new thing now?, staring at me and saying whatever’s on your mind?”
he laughed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “can you blame me baby?, you look so good all the time, it’s distracting”
this time, you looked at him fully, arching a brow “distracting?, you’re the one who has nothing to do but sit there and admire me”
“and what’s wrong with that?” he tilted his head, his smirk turning into something softer “i could do this all day baby”
he wasn’t kidding, heeseung’s gaze was so heavy with affection, it almost made your stomach flutter, almost.
“down bad much?” you teased, setting your phone aside
“for you?” he didn’t hesitate, his voice steady and warm “always baby”
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ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི 、𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚
jay leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching you like he was waiting for the right moment to pound on you at any second. the kitchen was quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge, and you were oblivious to his intense stares as you reached for a glass of water.
“princess” he drawled, his voice low and thick like honey, cutting through the silence
you turned your head, eyes meeting his “hm?”
he lips curled into a smirk m, his dark eyes trailing down your figure. “you look so beautiful princess.., you did this on purpose beautiful?”
you blinked, caught of guard. “what are you talking about?, im literally only in sweats”
jay pushed of the counter, closing the distance between you in slow steps, he towered over you now, his head tilting slightly as his gaze dropped to your lips
“that doesn’t matter.” he said, his voice dropping lower. “you make anything look good princess”
your pulse quickened, but you refused to let him see it. “your being ridiculous”
“am i?” he leaned down, his face so close you could feel the warmth of his breath “or do you like it when i can’t keep my eyes off of you?”
your fingers tightened around the glass, but you kept your expression neutral. “you’re imagining things jay”
he chuckled softly, his hand brushing against yours as he took the glass from you and set it on the counter. ��am i imagining how much you like it when i get close to you like this beautiful”
your silence gave you away, and the smirk on his face only grew
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ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི 、SIM JAEHYUN
jake swore he wasn’t staring. okay maybe he was but could you blame him? you were sitting on the edge of the bed, tying your hair back, and somehow the simple act had him completely mesmerized.
your focus was elsewhere, completely oblivious to the way his jaw was slack, his fingers frozen halfway through scrolling on his phone. you looked over your shoulder and caught his gaze, raising a brow.
“baby what?” you asked, a small smile tugging at your lips.
jake blinked, as if snapping out of a trance. “nothing.”
“doesn’t look like nothing” you teased, standing to stretch. your shirt lifted slightly, revealing a sliver of skin, and jake audibly exhaled.
“baby” he groaned, dragging a hand through his hair. “you’re killing me pretty.”
you tilted your head, playing innocent. “i’m literally just standing here.”
“exactly” he said, tossing his phone aside and sitting up on the bed. “you don’t even have to try baby, and I’m losing my mind”
you crossed your arms, giving him a challenging look. “sounds like a you problem.”
jake laughed softly, but his eyes were dark as they roamed over you. “oh, it’s definitely my problem” he muttered, pulling you by the wrist so you stumbled into his lap.
“jake..”
“don’t act so surprised,” he murmured, brushing your hair back to look at you fully. “you know what you do to me, baby. and you know i’ll never get enough of you.”
his smile was sweet, but the look in his eyes was anything but.
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ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི 、PARK SUNGHOON
sunghoon stared at his phone, the faint glow of the screen illuminating his face in the dim light of his room. it had only been two days since he’d seen you, but it felt like weeks. he groaned, tossing the phone onto the bed before running a hand through his hair.
this was ridiculous. you weren’t that far away, but for some reason, the thought of spending another day without seeing you made him restless.
his phone buzzed with a notification, and his heart jumped. it was a simple text from you: “what are you up to baby?”
without thinking, he typed back,”missing you”
your reply came quickly, “it’s been two days, hoon”
he sighed, leaning back against the headboard. two days too long. he typed again, his thumbs moving faster than his thoughts. “come over doll”
you sent a laughing emoji, followed by, “you’re really that down bad for me?”
he didn’t even hesitate, “yes”
it didn’t take long before his phone rang. he answered immediately, your voice warm and teasing on the other end. “sunghoon, you saw me two days ago”
“i know doll” he said, his tone soft but insistent. “but two days feels like forever. just… let me see you, princess. i’ll drive over if o have to”
you laughed, but he could hear the affection in your tone. “fine, but you owe me”
sunghoon grinned, already grabbing his keys. “anything you want doll, just hurry”
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ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི 、KIM SUNOO
you weren’t expecting to see sunoo standing outside your workplace, but there he was, leaning against the hood of his car with the brightest smile you’d seen all week. his hair fell perfectly into place, and he looked so effortlessly pretty that your heart skipped a beat.
“sunoo?” you called as you approached, confused but smiling. “what are you doing here baby?”
he pushed off the car and opened his arms dramatically. “picking up my favorite person of course”
you laughed, stopping in front of him. “you know i could’ve taken the bus, you didn’t have to come all the way here”
“i did though beautiful” he said, his tone soft as his arms dropped to his sides. “i missed you baby”
your heart melted instantly. “it’s been what, eight hours?”
“eight very long hours” he countered, pouting slightly. “do you know how hard it is to go a whole day without seeing my beautiful girl?”
you rolled your eyes playfully, but the warmth in your chest gave you away. “you’re so dramatic”
“maybe” he admitted with a grin, reaching out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “but i just couldn’t wait until tonight baby, so here i am.”
you shook your head, but the smile on your face only grew more. “what would you have done if i said i already had plans?”
“crash them” he said without missing a beat, opening the car door for you. “because wherever you are is where i want to be baby.”
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ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི 、YANG JUNGWON
jungwon followed you through the store, hands tucked into his pockets as he watched you browse through the store windows. you stopped in front of a display of necklaces, your eyes lighting up as you picked up a delicate silver one with a tiny star pendant.
“this is so pretty,” you murmured, turning it in your hands to admire it.
jungwon smiled softly, leaning slightly closer. “you should get it baby”
you hesitated, glancing at the price tag before setting it back down with a sigh. “it’s cute, but i don’t really need it”
he frowned, the sight of your smile tugging at his heart. but he didn’t push it, he knew you too well. “ready to go then baby?” he asked casually.
“yeah” you gave the necklace one last look before turning toward the exit.
as soon as you walked ahead, jungwon slipped back into the display, grabbing the necklace without hesitation. he made his way to the register, keeping one eye on you to make sure you didn’t notice.
later that evening, you found a small box on your nightstand. confused, you picked it up and opened it, gasping when you saw the necklace inside.
“jungwon” you called, stepping into the living room.
he looked up from the couch, innocence all over his “yes?”
“you bought it?”
he smiled, shrugging. “you really wanted it didn’t you baby?”
your chest warmed as you walked over, wrapping your arms around him. “you’re too sweet, you know that?”
“only for you, baby”
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ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི 、NISHIMURA RIKI
niki wasn’t sure how he ended up here, sitting cross legged on your bedroom floor, completely ignoring the video game controller in his hands as he watched you work on your homework at your desk.
you weren’t doing anything extraordinary, just scribbling notes in your messy handwriting, but somehow you had all of his attention. he didn’t even notice he was smiling until you turned around and caught him staring.
“niki what?” you asked raising a brow.
he blinked, quickly trying to play it cool. “nothing”
“doesn’t look like it” you teased, spinning your chair to face him.
niki huffed, setting the controller aside. “you’re just… cute okay?”
your cheeks flushed and you tilted your head. “cute? i’m literally just doing homework”
“yeah, but you make it look cute” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
you couldn’t help but laugh at his shy confession. “you’re so weird sometimes you know that?”
“maybe” he shot back, a playful smirk forming on his lips. “but you like it baby”
you rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. “sure,sure now stop staring and go back to your game”
“can’t” he said, leaning back on his hands. “i’d rather watch you”
your heart fluttered at his words, and you threw a pillow at him to hide your flustered expression.
niki just laughed, catching the pillow with ease. “you’re not getting rid of me that easily baby”
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©dollyhyuckii ꒰ do not rewrite, copy, repost, or translate any of my works without permission ۟ ׅ ͡ ୨ৎ
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jobean12-blog · 2 days ago
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Birds of a Feather
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader (friends to lovers)
Word Count: 2.5K
Summary: You have to attend a close relative's wedding and there's no one better to bring than your best friend, Bucky.
Author's Note: Seeing so much of happy Seb lately-and looking so good-made me want to write something sexy and fluffy so here we are. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thanks Daisy!🥰
Warnings: soft and sweet, tense and flirty, Bucky is the best in every way!
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‘Come on up. Room 322.’
His thumbs hang limply over the phone screen, his brain going blank.
When he sent the text ten seconds earlier to let you know he’s arrived he figured you would meet him down in the lobby or at the hall.
Meeting you in the hotel room is a problem he anticipated when he gave himself a pep talk before leaving.
“She’s your best friend. Don’t do anything stupid…like go to the hotel room.”
His fingers finally start to move over the letters. ‘I can meet you down here…’
But maybe you need help with something?
He deletes the text, now typing, ‘is there anyone with you?,’ but that just sounds weird and possessive.
‘I can see you typing,’ you text. ‘Just come up. I need help.’
With a laugh, he deletes everything again and types simply, ‘be right there doll.’
His long legs carry him quickly to the elevator and when he presses the button for the third floor he takes a deep breath, his pulse climbing it’s way up his throat.
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The door to your room is propped open with the dead bolt, but he knocks anyway.
“Come in Buck!”
Pushing it open just enough to peek his head in, he calls out, “I could be anyone, and you just invite me in without checking!”
“You just texted me you were coming up,” you sing from the bathroom, quickly continuing before he can say more, “and most of the people on his floor are friends or relatives here for the wedding.”
“Well, I’m glad to know you take your safety as seriously as I do,” he shouts back.
Your voice gets louder as you walk into the bedroom. “With you around I never have to worr…”
You stop for a breath when you see him, but your next words are lost to the blank void of his brain as he takes in your dress and how you look in it. To put it simply- stunning.
“Bucky?”
He startles, having no idea how long he’d been silent.
“Yeah doll…that’s…I’m here.”
When he finally drags his eyes to your face, you’re fighting a smile. “I asked if you could help me?”
“Oh, right. Sure. With what exactly?”
He cringes but steps closer.
“My dress?”
You turn around to show him the fabric at the back that hangs open, a tiny zipper dangling down at your lower back.
Trying to suppress a groan, but not being entirely successful he swallows hard. “That zipper looks very tiny.”
“It is,” you agree. “I realize I should have asked someone with smaller hands to help me out, but everyone is running around with their own nonsense so here we are.”
He approaches with a casual, “sure, of course doll.”
But then he does something without fully realizing it until the shiver runs along your back: he drags a knuckle down the curve of your spine.
You turn and look at him over your shoulder.
He just blinks and looks down to grab the zipper, mumbling about how small it is.
It’s quiet as he carefully pulls the zipper up and when he reaches the top he lets it fall and gently runs a finger along the top of the dress as he moves around to look at you.
“All set,” he whispers.
You smile and clear your throat before giving him an appreciative once over.
“You look hot.”
“Thanks doll. You…” and he struggles when his voice comes out a bit strangled, “you look breathtaking.”
You reach up and touch his bow tie, pulling at the neatly tied ends as you tell him, “I was hoping you’d arrive a flustered mess over how to tie this so I could do it for you.”
With a grin, he reaches up and tugs the end, untying it in a smooth pull.
“Figure you should do something in return after I battled that zipper,” he teases.
Still smiling, you take a hold of the tie, tugging it to align the ends evenly around his neck. “I didn’t get the impression it was such a hardship.”
His answering smirk is so telling you have to stifle a laugh.
“Are you feeling ready for this? I know these big events aren’t your favorite.”
“I’ll manage just fine doll, thanks. Besides, I’ve got the most beautiful date in the whole place.”
With your focus still on his bow tie he takes the opportunity to openly stare. When you smile at his sweet words he’s mesmerized by the way your soft lips part and his eyes stay glued to your mouth.
You look up to meet his gaze and he quickly lifts his eyes, a light pink sweeping across his cheeks.
You blink away and he looks down at your hands, noting the very little progress you’ve made.
“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”
“Well…yes. I’m sure I can…”
“You’ve never done this before, have you?”
“You might be right!,” you quip, “but I’m no quitter.”
He’d be happy to stand there all night.
You finally step back, surveying your work, and frown. “I’m going to be honest, not sure I made it look as good as you did.”
He looks down and undoes the mess and you glower as he handily fixies it.
“Wow, no need to gloat you butthead.”
He lets out a full-bodied laugh, eyes crinkled, and nose scrunched, and you enjoy the sight before he explains, “I’ve done it a million times. I’m always the one in the tux when we go undercover.”
“That’s because you’re the one that looks the best.”
“Thanks doll,” he answers quietly.
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“There are so many people here,” you whisper as you lead him through the crowd in the hall.
He let’s out a low whistle, nodding in agreement and aking in the décor.
You greet people as you walk, introducing Bucky to those that don’t already know him. Their eyes follow you, curiosity piqued in their expression as they wonder who he is to you.
You wonder the same. Your favorite person in the world. Your best friend…and so much more?
You take his elbow and guide him forward toward the outside set up where the ceremony will take place. On the way you find your grandmother and introduce him.
Since he can’t take his eyes off you he notices the subtle shift in your demeanor, the softening of your face and the adoration in your eyes.
He expects a gentle handshake but instead gets pulled in for a hug.
“Oh darling, isn’t he a sight,” you grandma says, patting Bucky’s cheek. “And you,” she says, turning her eyes your way. “Gorgeous.”
“Thanks grandma,” you beam.
A woman whizzes by, catching your eye and pointing to her watch.
“Looks like it’s time,” you announce.
Bucky holds out one arm for your grandma and the other for you.
“And a gentleman too,” your grandma gushes as she loops her arm through his. “Definitely a keeper.”
“You can keep grandma company,” you say as you approach the chairs.
“Of course, doll,” he says and leans in to kiss your cheek before helping your grandma into her seat.
“I’ll see you after the ceremony.” You gather your dress and turn to head back inside to meet the wedding party. “Miss me,” you call over your shoulder with a playful smile.
He stares as you walk away, quietly admitting, “I already do.”
Slight nerves take over when you hear the music start but the moment you walk out into the crowd your eyes zero in on Bucky. And what do you know? He’s looking right back at you…and he doesn’t take his eyes off you the whole ceremony.
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After the ceremony it takes forever to work your way through the crowd to him, and in between catching up with friends and family or directing someone somewhere, you catch glimpses of him smiling and laughing with your grandma and happily keeping her company.
When you finally do reach him, your grandma has been safely escorted to her seat and now a woman hangs off his arm- Jessica. You know her, an old family friend, and you like her well enough, but you step up behind them right as she asks Bucky if she can steal him for the first dance, and your stomach drops.
You jerk to a stop. He hasn’t seen you. He should accept. You’ll hate it, but you’re not in any position to protest.
But then Bucky says only a gentle, “sorry, no can do. Tonight, I’ve only got one dance partner.”
Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest, and you step closer, swallowing down the emotion.
“Hey you two!”
Bucky turns, extracting his arm from Jessica and setting a warm palm at your lower back.
“And here she is. My favorite dancing partner.”
Jessica leans around from his other side and says hello.
“Thanks for coming,” you tell her.
“Oh my god, of course. I wouldn’t miss it. And I was just meeting your friend, James, here.”
She emphasizes the word friend and at her usage of his real name you have to hold back a giggle.
“Isn’t he wonderful,” you hum, sliding your hand up his bicep. “He’s been keeping my grandmother company this whole time.”
She swoons and smiles at Bucky before turning back to you.
“He is. I just wasn’t expecting you to have a date. You’re usually always flying solo at these family events.”
You feel the smile slipping from your face and an uncomfortable laugh escapes.
The simple answer never comes to you, and you feel caught like a deer in the headlights.
“Actually, that’s only because I was away for work,” Bucky steps in smoothly. “I hate to miss any chance to be her date, but my schedule can be pretty demanding sometimes.”
“Oh, you’re so sweet,” Jessica says. “Work is important of course.”
“Yeah,” he answers, “but not as important as her. So, from now I won’t be missing another event.”
Jessica’s face does a thing. It’s a barely restrained, ‘oh okay, I see.’
Bucky’s smile remains but it doesn’t look entirely natural anymore but when he looks at you, every emotion on his face is genuine.
“Ready to find our seats doll face,” he asks you.
“Sure,” you reply.
“Well, it was nice to meet you Jennifer. Enjoy the party.”
With a firm hand, he leads you away. You allow yourself to be guided up the grassy path and indoors to where a band plays. Bucky grabs you two flutes of champagne off a passing tray and hands you one.
“That was swoony,” you tell him then take a sip.
“All I did was grab it from a tray doll. Time to raise your bar a bit.”
Laughing, you smack his beefy shoulder with your free hand. “Not that! The way you gently let Jennifer have it back there.”
He takes a sip, eyes on you. “She deserved worse, but I didn’t want to start trouble.”
With your brow raised you match his mischievous grin then you take his glass and set it down on one of the small tables, leading him to the dance floor.
He looks confused at first but when your hands slide up his chest and around his neck he circles his arms around your waist.
He relaxes against you, hands warm and strong on your lower back and you rest your cheek to his shoulder.
“You’re always so comfy.”
“Thank you.”
“And you always look out for me.”
He presses a kiss to your temple.
“Of course, doll.”
“You’re my favorite person in the Universe.”
He doesn’t respond at first, not for five or ten or thirty seconds. You keep waiting for the feeling of rejection in his silence but instead it feels like an agreement and finally his words confirm it.
“Mine too, doll.”
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Your quiet slow dance is the last moment alone you have for the next few hours because what follows is a whirlwind of a reception.
And the whole time he can’t take his eyes off you.
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“Think I’m ready to get out of here,” you say as you slump against his side.
He carefully holds you up as he stands and reaches to take your hand.
“Come on doll face. I’ll take you home.”
When you reach your apartment door your feet are aching, and your legs are tired. You retrieve your key from the hidden pocket in your small purse and slide it into the doorknob.
“I’m going to need you to unzip me,” you say, gesturing casually to your dress.
His silence makes you slowly turn around to face him and when you meet his eyes they’re heavy with heat and desire.
“Bucky?”
“Turn back around,” he says gruffly.
You do as your told and feel his exhaled puff of air against your bare shoulder before he takes your wrists in this hands and places your palms flat against the door. His metal fingers slide down one arm then trace the curve of your shoulder, while his other toys with the small zipper.
He starts to pull it down, so slowly, you feel every brush of his skin against yours and it sends a tremble across your body. For every new inch of your skin that he exposes his breath quickens. You can feel the heat of him so close and your fingers press into the hard wood of the door.
Once the fabric hangs loosely at the sides he stops and slips his hands inside to your waist and turns you back to face him.
“You’re so soft,” he murmurs. “I…”
You drag your fingers along his temple and down his jaw. Your finger falls to his bottom lip, tracing it’s outline.
You can see it in his eyes, the understanding that everything between you is easy and you don’t have to try. It’s too good.
Your gaze drops to his lips again and your mouth goes soft. “Kiss me Bucky.”
The words are just barely out of your mouth and he’s already leaning in, lips on yours, warm and urgent, his hands rising to cup your face. Your instincts send tight, possessive fists to the lapels of his jacket and you melt completely into the domination and tenderness in his touch.
With a quiet groan he tilts his head, deepening the contact into a decadent slide, sending a hungry hand down your body once again and grabbing your ass to press all your softness against the hard planes of his body.
He catches your bottom lip between his teeth, drags slowly away, and you chase the contact, but he stops you, pressing his thumb over your lips.
He stares for what feels like forever, then kisses you again, lingering before he murmurs, “you’re so beautiful,” into the sensitive skin below your ear, and then repeats it quietly into your neck.
“Are you going to stay the night?” you ask breathless.
“If you’ll have m…”
“Yes. Yes Bucky.”
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fgumi · 2 days ago
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⋆.ೃ࿔*:・ LOSER IN A HOT MAN'S BODY
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ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 { PAIRING; non-idol!heeseung x reader, GENRE; fluff, school!au, headcanon, WC; 2.8k, A/N; i love losers that love that girlfriends entirely too much but, at the same time, not enough. TAGS; @en-dream @heeheesang @httpenhoon @r1kification @seungheartyou, @starfallia @sugarikiz @hoondolls @bamguetismee @jnysaln @cixrosie @wensurr @heartheejake @m1kkso }
(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ part two is up!
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loser!heeseung was never the first one to get chosen for anything. well, he did get chosen first for musicals and solos! he had a beautiful voice and there was no denying that. but, for anything else? nope. it wasn't until you transferred over to his high school that he got picked willingly (and not because you guys were the only two left). you approached him in gym class after your teacher said to partner up for conditioning. "hey! i'm y/n. do you think we could be partners today?"
heeseung just blinked at you and then turned to see if someone was behind him. when he verified you were talking to him, he turned back to see you with a bemused look, a slight crease forming right between your brows. "you are talking to me, right?" he asked nervously.
a wry smile formed on your lips as you nodded. "there’s no one else around."
heeseung couldn't believe it. someone who wasn't a part of the theatre department was talking to him! so, he agreed with only a moment's hesitation. by the time sit-ups came around, heeseung knew about your basic interests and one secret: you were big on anime. you explained to him, during his sad attempts at pushups, that you loved anime but remained closeted because the boys at your last school made it weird. heeseung was careful not to let his excitement show; he didn't wanna scare you off before he really got to know you. eventually, after all the hellish exercises your teacher put you through, heeseung shyly asked you why you wanted to be partners.
"you looked like the type that doesn't judge people for struggling," you replied after drinking your water. you wiped the droplets of water that trickled down your neck and then offered heeseung some. "i don't have cooties. promise."
he gave you a faint, unsure smile, his hand reaching out slowly, half expecting you to pull it back and say psych! but you didn’t. you just patiently waited for him to take it. honestly, he just looked like a spooked deer to you, and you couldn’t help but find it endearing. after class was over and it was time for lunch, heeseung deflated. it was nice talking to you while it lasted.
“heeseung! wait up!”
he turned to you with round eyes, watching you rush over, a backpack draped over your right shoulder. you were freshly showered, water still dripping off the ends of your hair. you looked... happy? you slowed to a stop right in front of him.
“do you mind if we eat together?”
you wanted to eat with him? a cool girl like you wants to eat with a certified loser like him?
“it’s okay if you already have plans! i think i can find somewhere else to sit.”
no! you jumped a little. heeseung retracted into himself, rubbing the back of his neck. he’s never had someone ask to eat with him. he just sort of sat with his theatre classmates—not even friends. they all thought he was weird. you gave him a puzzled look.
“are you sure? you don’t have to pity me just because i’m new,” you pouted. gosh, was it just him or did everyone find you adorable?
“i’m sure. i was just hesitant since i’m not known for being, you know, popular.”
rolling your eyes, you clapped a hand on his shoulder. “as if that actually matters.” you tugged him along, linking your arm with his. thank goodness you were busy looking for the cafeteria because heeseung was struggling to keep the blush off of his face. as much as heeseung didn’t want to get his hopes up, he hoped that you guys would become real friends.
loser!heeseung loved his hobbies. he could talk about them for hours; they were his passion. he loved playing maple story, league of legends, team fight tactics, going to the renaissance fair, studying the metrics of trot (this one was a little too niche to really talk about though). none of these passions were greater than his passion for you. this man was dedicated to learning everything there was to know about you now that you were friends. you teased him about how stalkerish he sounded. almost immediately, he apologized.
the way his shoulders shrunk and eyes drooped down, you were definitely the asshole. when he stopped talking, you panicked. so, you didn’t think. you kissed his cheek. you blinked. he blinked. you blinked at each other. you know that ouran high school host club scene where tamaki realized haruhi is a girl and she complimented him? you’d bet your whole house that’s how red you were because you could feel the heat radiating off your face.
heeseung’s mind was still white noise. any sounds that were supposed to reach his ears were muffled, like he was underwater. was he underwater? was he dragged down into the depths of the styx river only to be lost forever? was he dreaming to cope with the harsh reality of his death? was he—
“heeseung?” you meekly called. “i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have done that without your consent. that was—”
he must’ve called upon achilles’s guidance and invincibility because he didn’t know where he got this courage otherwise. what courage you may ask? well, the courage that planted heeseung’s lips on yours.
your lips were so soft. they tasted like strawberries. he wondered if strawberries were your favorite fruit. he could kiss you forever. oh crap, he was kissing you.
anxiety crept up his spine, invading his every nerve; it was telling him he had to pull away or else you’d leave him forever. except, when he started moving away, he noticed you followed, reluctant to end the kiss. your eyes were closed too. he could’ve sworn they were open from shock.
heeseung could feel his back creaking in protest at the odd angle; he would’ve fallen over if it weren’t for you clutching the front of his shirt. huh? oh! maybe, you liked the kiss! you liked the kiss, like he did! oh, but now he couldn’t breathe. what should he do? he didn’t want the kiss to end.
he pressed back, holding out until the last possible moment. but you pulled away first, gasping for air. a blush dusted your cheeks and heeseung could guess that he was red too—probably not as pretty of a shade as yours though.
“s-sorry,” he stammered as you caught your breath. “i don’t know why i—”
you shut him up with another kiss (but this one was too short for heeseung’s newfound thirst for kissing you). when you pulled away, his big eyes tugged at your heart. they looked so sad that you moved away. it made you giggle—this whole situation. for someone that was trying to learn everything about you, he sure did miss your huge crush on him.
loser!heeseung didn’t know how he got so fortunate. was he a luck domain cleric in real life? he felt like he was rolling nat 20s continuously. he managed to ask you out (though, he was stuttering the whole time and nearly tripped on top of you—it was a whole affair that he’d rather forget) and be dating you 3 years later? he was one lucky man. and, some might say even luckier as time went on.
you got more confident once you guys got to college and, thus, you got hotter. you found your sense of self and your fashion reflected it. heeseung wasn’t doing so bad either. he found people that he got along with and could proudly (read: shyly) call friends. he found beomgyu in the league discord server that the university had and jeongin in d&d club! he’d meet up with them every once in awhile whenever they all felt like they needed to touch grass. of course, his friends knew you came first. you were heeseung’s everything. what they couldn’t wrap around their heads was how heeseung was your everything.
“you’ve been dating for 3 years!? no way, man.” “are you secretly rich? the son of some big conglomerate?” “all offense, she’s hot and you’re… not.”
heeseung didn’t let that bother him. his friends were idiots that had never felt the touch of a woman. plus, you trained him better (you told him to stop talking about himself like he was your pet, but he refused). you loved him so much without any strings attached. you were patient with him and listened to him ramble about how league kept nerfing his favorite character with every update. you never tried to change him and you told him it’s because you fell in love with him for how he was. but, there came a day when he wished you did. he happened to overhear a conversation between you and your friends.
“girl, there’s no way you’ve been with heeseung for 3 years and he hasn’t picked up a single thing about fashion from you.” “the face cards are mismatched, ma. you’re up here and he’s not even on this plane.” “don’t you ever get embarrassed whenever you guys go out? i mean, he dresses like he’s stuck in his mom’s basement.” “i hope he compensates in other ways because he’s not doing it where i can see.” “how are you okay with someone that much skinnier than you? doesn’t your body dysmorphia get triggered?”
you stopped talking to those girls after that. however, it didn’t stop heeseung from getting hurt by it. it was true, in heeseung’s eyes. you deserved much better than what he was giving you. how is it that you loved him even though he looked the exact same as he did 3 years ago? there were so many hot guys around and you never so much as turned your head to glance. there was nothing to support his insecurity about being hot enough or being enough in general. nonetheless, that horrid conversation sparked something in heeseung.
“baby, i’m heading to the gym. i’ll be back later to cook us dinner, okay?” if your brows raised any further, they’d merge into your hairline. “the gym?” heeseung nodded firmly. “gotta start working out to combat all the ramen i eat.”
“hee, you haven’t gained weight since we started dating, despite you eating my leftovers and your food. you don’t need to combat anything,” you laughed. when you saw heeseung was still tying the laces on his shoes, you let it go, thinking nothing of it. you kissed him and reminded him to stay hydrated.
thus began heeseung’s gym journey. it was difficult. muscle barely stuck even though he was eating well over 3000 calories. but, he could see his body getting toned, more cut, so he was happy. maybe people would stop looking at the two of you like you were wrong.
his wishful thinking remained at that. despite getting noticeably more fit, people still talked. they talked about his fashion, his haircut, and his hygiene (he thought this one was unfair considering he always did skincare with you and loved doing your nightly routines).
so, on the day you told him you were going thrifting, he asked to tag along. you were taken aback. heeseung never came with you; he didn’t see the point when he had perfectly good clothes at home. but you let him come along. you thought he’d just peruse with you or be there to make sure you paid with the card he gave you (he made a lot of money from his internship and begged you to use it for anything you wanted), but he didn’t. he asked a lot of questions.
“do you think this would look good on me?” “do these go together?” “are these good quality?”
you were excited. going thrifting was one of your favorite hobbies and to see heeseung taking such an interest in it was thrilling. you gave your opinions, always with a disclaimer that fashion is up to preference. he nodded along, processing your words. by the end of your thrifting trip, heeseung went home with a bundle of clothes to wear. the next day, he’d wake up earlier than normal to try and piece his new clothes together. he knew he wasn’t good at it. his friends let him know without reservations. hell, your friends let him know with their skeptical looks. it wasn’t until he talked to sunghoon in the gym that he got some actual constructive criticism.
“you’re taking an interest in fashion?”
“nothing crazy,” heeseung muttered, kicking the dust on the floor. “i just hate the comments y/n gets whenever her friends think i’m not listening.”
sunghoon looked at his gym buddy in pity. “look, man. if everything you’ve told me about your relationship is true, i don’t think y/n cares what you wear. she hasn’t in 3 years. what makes you think it’ll change all of a sudden?”
nothing. he didn’t doubt you. he just got sick at the thought of you having to listen to all those criticisms. so, sunghoon helped him. he showed him his pinterest moodboard and made heeseung swear to never tell anyone that’s how he chooses what to wear. after that informative session, heeseung got to work. he used your instagram feed as a reference, wanting to match your aesthetic, and created a moodboard inspired by it. using his pinterest board, he went thrifting by himself. he recalled the countless videos he watched while sorting through the clothes. cotton, not polyester. depending on the stain, you can get it out. tailoring is always an option when you find something that is a little too big!
he was very serious about his transformation. he even digitally scrapbooked the pictures of him in different clothes so he could be like cher in clueless. since then, his fashion started improving. your morning routines together changed ever so slightly with you telling him to spin for you. his heart warmed with every compliment you gave him.
“who is this diva?” “i feel very underdressed. i’m changing.” “are you getting dressed by law roach?” “you’ve been taking dress to impress a little seriously these days.”
heeseung’s confidence soared. now, he wasn’t ashamed to go out with you. your friends weren’t ashamed to be seen with him either. they even went as far as to compliment him! score! he’d gotten brownie points with your friends.
“finally, he’s dressing like a boyfriend fit to be with you, y/n.”
oh, that made you pull the brakes real fast. it completely escaped your mind how much your friends dissed your boyfriend (because you brushed them off as stupid comments). come to think of it, heeseung always did manage to miss the moments where they talked about him, but only by a minute or two. what if… what if he did hear those comments?
curious and worried, you asked him during your nightly routines. “hee, did… did you start dressing up for any particular reason?”
uh oh. heeseung hated lying to you; it physically pained him. so, he confessed. “i heard what your friends think of me and i didn’t want you to have to keep hearing them say things like that.”
“oh, baby, i’m so sorry you heard that,” you cooed. “i didn’t tell you because not even an atom of me agrees with them. i love you as you are, uni tees, basketball shorts and all.”
heeseung put down the moisturizer and looked down. “i know… i just wanted people to stop thinking we’re wrong for each other.”
you frowned and pulled him into a hug. “well, we know we’re perfect for each other. i’ve known it from the moment you started talking about the metrics of trot. i remember just nodding along and thinking how beautiful you were.”
heeseung blushed at your words. you always knew how to make him feel better.
“you don’t have to dress up for anyone but yourself, okay?”
he shook his head with a small smile. “i like matching with you. it’s fun.”
“well, i guess we really gotta dress to impress then,” you grinned, kissing his cheek.
with that, heeseung was reassured. no more pressure. he could just dress however he wanted (which was however you were dressing). but, his glow up didn’t stop there. no, he thought about a haircut. he wanted something that would shut your friends up forever. so, after scrolling forever on tiktok, he found that he liked a mullet with some face-framing pieces. he went and got it done at sunghoon’s trusted barbershop and came out a new man. he immediately sent you a picture, to which you responded, “don’t go anywhere. no errands. no grabbing food. come home. now.”
safe to say, you loved his new haircut. he loved his new haircut. he loved it even more when his friends and your friends couldn’t manage words. good. stay that way.
loser!heeseung was still a loser but, at least, he was in a hot man’s body with his very very attractive girlfriend. he still played league. he still larped. he still took the renaissance fair very seriously. he still loved you more than anything in the world. he was still your loser.
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disclaimer: this, in no way, reflects the idol. this is purely fiction. ✧ comments and reblogs are appreciated! ✧ give my other works a read too!
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orangeblossomsintheair · 2 days ago
Text
ILLICIT AFFAIRS (3/3) | CS55
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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
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gospelica · 3 days ago
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There isn’t a shred of doubt in your mind: Sukuna knows how to emulate an ego death with the way he fucks. 
You’re used to the rough ploys, the sick dirty talk and mind-numbing orgasms that leave you half-blind. You know how good it gets, how addicted he is to ruining you. You know his end goal is always your mindlessness, each fuck an attempt to strip you of even your own name. 
What you didn’t know is how good he can make overstimulation hurt.
It was a spur of the moment thing, a bet between you gone awry when you insisted he couldn’t beat his record of pulling five orgasms from you in one night. He said he could double it, you laughed in his face— now he’s laughing in yours. 
It’s a low laugh that comes from his stomach as he bottoms out inside of you yet again. You may just be hypersensitive, but you swear you can feel the vibrations of his laugh in your pussy, it makes you whine, a sweet song he’s all-too used to. 
Number nine is approaching— you feel it in the shaking heat of your stomach and the rolling nausea that rolls over you, you’re so cumdrunk you feel sick. Sukuna’s pace stays relentless, drilling into you with a fervour that seems almost inhumane— he’s driven by the sight of you unravelling beneath him. Sweat soaks the sheets beneath you, tears stain your cheeks, Sukuna groans. 
“Come on, whore, obey my orders. Come for me.”
Your mind is so blurred you can’t tell when your orgasm starts and when it ends, a blinding moment of pleasure is all the indication of time you have. Sukuna grins, predatory like a shark set on the smell of blood. You cry, choked sobs stuck in your throat dislodge with each thrust onto Sukuna’s cock. He stretches you open, moulds you into the perfect fit for him— as if holy hands carved you from a model of his being. 
“Please,” the moment you’re sane enough to speak again, or at least try to, you’re begging for an ounce of the king’s mercy. “Pleasepleaseplease, fuck… I cant take it anymore.”
Sukuna slows, rolls his hips into yours slow enough to give you a second to breathe. He may be a sadist, but he’s lenient when it comes to you. You take the moment to look at his body. Torso toned, tattooed, and scarred in beautiful ways you could stare at until your last breath. The flex of his muscles as he moves, stretching you out, is a drug within itself. God, he’s ruined you from the inside out. 
A sudden snap of his hips into yours and you nearly scream. He’s still rock hard, and you’ve lost count of the times he’s fucked his cum into you— you take it as a testament of his need. When Sukuna thrusts into you again, his balls hitting your ass with the weight he puts into fucking you as deep as he can, you reach out and push a sweaty palm against his chest. 
“Stop,” you grit your teeth. “You’re going to kill me, I’m so fucking sensitive.”
Another slow roll of his hips, Sukuna tests the waters. He leans in, his chest against yours in a mix of laboured breaths and sticking sweat, and laughs. 
“Say the safe word.”
His dick pulses inside of you, his release near. You could tap out, let go of the all-encompassing pleasure you feel and nurse your sore thighs with a warm bath. But part of you knows you’ll grieve the fit of his cock inside you the second he pulls out and kisses you better. Ten orgasms at the hand of a man who’s done a lot worse than fuck someone into a coma— he’s not the man to push, he asks again. 
“Safe word.”
“Fuck you.”
“What I fuckin’ thought.”
A flip switches and, although you hadn’t known it possible, Sukuna moves faster than ever before. His hands pawing at your tits, cock slipping in and out of you in a frenzied pace that grounds you as much as it wrecks you. Deep strokes of his cock inside you are enough to bring hot new tears to surface, pooling in your eyes as you forget how to breathe, think, do anything other than feel his presence inside of you.
It’s everything about him, his size and weight and the smell of blood and death that sticks to his skin and permeates the air around you. It’s the dedication, his fingers circling your clit in dedicated service to your pleasure, the searing heat of his cock near-breeding you stupid. It’s the way his breath quickens, and you can see his muscles tense and, despite your mind being halfway to heaven, you know he’s on the brink of cumming. 
It’s the release you share, when he folds over on top of you, crushing you under his weight as he finishes. His hips thrusting as deep as he can get inside of you, sounds of sweet ecstasy leaving his mouth and staining your skin with goosebumps as you fall over the edge one last time. 
Number ten, blinding— you see stars and galaxies. You could be convinced you were floating if not for the weight of Sukuna on top of you. Your body spasms and jerks in response to his ministrations, a masochistic ache for more settling in your stomach as you choke on your breath. 
There’s a moment of silence as Sukuna buries his head in the crook of your neck, just a second to catch his breath. He could fall asleep right here inside of you if it weren’t for the pressing matter of aftercare, you could too. You’re so stuck on the mindless string of orgasms you’ve just had that when Sukuna pulls out of you, you nearly cry with sensitivity. 
You can't form the right words, lost in a place less real than this. He leans down, presses a kiss to your lips softer than anything you’d imagine possible from the King of Curses, and then ducks his head down further to kiss the pussy he just fucked numb. 
A cock of his head, chest still heaving with exertion. 
“Cmon,” a hand extended to you, “bath. Y’need it.”
“Fuck you.”
“Maybe later.”
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slurmpinheimer · 3 days ago
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from @cyber-harpie !! spit that shit homie!! I thought this deserved to be seen because it brings up a lot interesting points—and I do agree with this, though it got me thinking again. I would like to add a few things to my initial statement because analysis and talking about Kim is fun;
(WARNING: MAJOR KIM-RELATED YAPPAGE BELOW)
I’ve watched several play throughs where (especially at the beginning of the game/if they have low psyche) people aren’t sure of Kim, or even go so far as to call him annoying, a buzzkill, or an asshole. At first I found myself getting really defensive about this. Obviously not to the point that I made any hate comments or anything, that would be silly— But just in my head, automatically dismissing it because I love him and didn’t want to hear it. I couldn’t imagine anyone disliking him, instead of thinking deeper and considering *why* people might come to these conclusions.
I believe the bits we get from Esprit and Empathy support my initial point that Harry is the perfect narrative device to meet Kim through. If I remember correctly, Kim was written specifically to find Harry funny, and Harry’s skills let us see that. and that’s IF you succeed the checks, or if you’re dedicated enough to save scum to see other possibilities/go through Fayde to see what other options might have held.
Like, before I learned about the end of the Homosexual Underground thought line, I certainly had my suspicions. I definitely thought Kim was at least queer-coded and headcanoned him as gay, but that thought trail is behind a legendary Composure check that I spent like 10 full minutes save-scumming. I had low motorics on my first run, and I only tried so hard because I had been spoiled and knew that it gave a thought called “Homosexual Underground” and needed to see where that led with my own eyes.
That’s just one example too—There’s several times that Kim Lore is behind hard checks (Ace’s High/Low, that tidbit about him smoking weed lol) or things he just refuses to elaborate on without specific circumstances. Plus there’s all the stuff that you can learn when you play a different quest line. I’ve had several people tell me that going through a fascist ends up with Kim actually being pretty open about things you don’t learn about in other questlines. I don’t even know all the details of that yet because I’ve been so busy doing the other quests and achievements that I haven’t finished a fascist run yet.
My thought process with all this is that without seeing Kim through the lens Harry, who works with him almost constantly for a week straight in a situation where deep and meaningful conversation is not just encouraged but *needed* to build a repertoire and ultimately solve the case—Not to mention the patience and care Kim treats Harry’s situation with—I can see how someone would look at Kim from the outside and find him to be… (anguish at typing out this word) …mid.
So yeah. On the surface level; Kim is a cop. He can be condescending and uptight, sometimes leading into lecturing people (something he himself admits). He plays his cards close to his chest, with both his moralist beliefs and even more so his sympathies for the rebellion—Which can make him look a bit like a fence sitter. He can be emotionally unavailable towards himself and others, making him hard to read and sometimes appear cold.
But past that, he is a beautifully crafted, deep character, and the perfect foil to the chaos that is Harry. He is the man that reaches out to shake your hand even though you ghosted him two days prior. He will pat you and give you a handkerchief when you throw up. He can be the man that sticks up for you time and time again, not just because he needs to in order to solve the case, but because if you really try, he believes you’re a good detective at heart. Past suicidal rants and nervous breakdowns, he encourages you to keep going.
He has been beaten down, ground and polished to a smooth finish by mutiple facets of oppression—from his glasses, to his race, his sexuality, all fundamental parts of himself that he cannot change. From years of working in a high-pressure, volatile work environment with low pay and little benefits other than the small satisfaction of completing a case, only to dive headfirst into the next one.
He pushed aside his lofty dreams of the skies to be down with the rest of us in the dirt and mud, trudging, struggling through life until we all inevitably burn away the fuel reserves and are nothing but smoke, a memory in the mind of fire.
Beyond that carefully constructed exterior, past his wall of professionalism (and habit of using his notebook as a shield) hides a goofy nerd, a lover of crosswords and cars, of silly radio stations, and a deep appreciation for beautifully bearded muscular men. He is an expert user of sarcasm and master of cryptic jokes, some even philosophical or political in nature. At his core, he wants to make things better for the people around him. He wants to believe he can make a difference, no matter how long it takes or how small the change is. Even if working for the RCM destroys him before he can see it come to fruition.
He is wonderful. He is amazing. He’s probably my favorite character all of fiction, and I don’t think there will ever be a day in my life that I stop loving him. That’s pookie you’re talking about. I’ll always have space in my heart for him.
He will live on as long as we do, as real as The Man From Hjemdall is to Roy because Disco Elysium *made* him real, handcrafting him, giving him life between margins and pixels. And that is worth everything.
Kim Kitsuragi is a fascinating character because there's not that much fun or interesting or compelling about him. And yet somehow over the course of playing Disco Elysium the game rewires your fucking brain around him. He's the middest man you've ever seen in both appearance and personality but at some point he says something kind to you or something critical of you and you feel like you just got hit by a truck and you need his approval like you need oxygen and like how tf did this happen. what are you
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endearng · 2 days ago
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Pairing: earlyseasons!Spencer Reid x hotchner!fem!reader Summary: You pull away from Spencer because of your jealousy. You go back to him after a few drinks in. WC: 9k A/N: fluff! pining! idiots/friends to lovers! alcohol consumption; spencer is a bit mean; reader doesn't communicate; hotch is a little older to have a daughter around spencer's age (do not come at me this is fiction). If I missed anything, please let me know! I had so much fun writing this one and it's now one of my favorites <3 masterlist
The jet was quiet as you and the BAU team made your way back from Los Angeles after successfully finding Lila Archer's stalker. The case had been a bit draining, after all, you've only been working with the FBI for a couple of months, and seeing dead bodies and all those other displays of violence was something you were still trying to get used to. Despite your sensitive nature, being Aaron Hotchner's daughter meant that you had mastered the art of a poker face through the years, not that it meant that your inner feelings were any less important. This is how you found yourself sitting all alone in a corner of the jet as everyone minded their own business. On any other day, you'd be sitting next to Dr. Spencer Reid, talking about whatever it was that could get your mind off the case you had just wrapped up. Spencer and you were friends, some would even say the best of friends, but you didn't mind about naming things — what mattered the most is that you got to be yourself around him and you didn't bother hiding behind the Hotchner glare, as he once put it.
Despite being unknown territory for you, after all, feelings and all that were protected by a deeply analytic and practical mind, you knew what you were feeling. Well, you were analyzing your reactions to check what had actually happened — and the thing is, you couldn't admit, not even to yourself, what that sinking feeling in your chest when you watched Spencer saying goodbye to Lila was. Amid your analysis, Spencer quietly approached you, silently motioning to the seat next to you. You nodded, shutting every single thought of him. Or at least, trying.
"Hi."
Hotch glare. "Hi, Reid."
Spencer felt nervous. He had never been on the receiving end of your… wrath before, so it was unknown territory and he didn't know how to act. His racing heart and clammy palms weren't helping him, either. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Listen, um, you... can... can we talk?" The stammering. Way to go, Spencer.
Glancing at him, ignoring the skip in your heartbeat, you nodded. "Yeah. Is everything alright?" A firm, secure tone. You mentally patted yourself on the back.
"You're a little distant... and—and I got a bit worried. Did... Did something happen?" He wanted to kick himself. What kind of person can't hold a serious conversation without stuttering like an idiot? Get a grip, Reid.
"No, Reid. Everything is alright. I'm just... thinking." You said.
Bullshit. You both knew that. Spencer, on the other hand, didn't know why it was bullshit. But he knew it was.
"Are you sure?" He asked, leaning towards you, almost invading your personal space and he shut his eyes before delivering the next question, "Is... I haven't done anything to upset you? Right?"
You took a second to answer him, willing your voice to stay still and the knot in your throat to go away. "No. It's nothing you've done. It's just... it's on me." You gave him a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes — that's when he knew something was definitely wrong.
He nodded, but he was still worried by your sudden change of behavior, especially towards him. It was like he was anyone else, again. And, God, he didn't want that. "What is it, then? You can talk to me, you know. We're best friends."
Best friends.
The words felt bitter on his tongue. The sound of them broke your heart all over again.
Best friends. "Right. Yeah. I know." You said, quietly, and it felt a little lifeless to him. He clenched his hand, fighting the urge to touch you, to ask you what was truly bothering you. "Thanks for offering."
Spencer felt conflicted. If he didn't say anything and didn't push you to speak, you would probably bury whatever it was that you were feeling and it would lead him into being even more worried about you. If he did, you would probably snap at him because of his undesired, bothersome insistence. "It's nothing." He said, defeatedly. "Can you just... Do you promise it's not me?"
Your heart ached and you smiled at him, a tiny, faint, barely there smile. He was so adorable, sometimes. "I'm just upset over something else. Don’t worry. You didn't do anything wrong." You finished, trying to convince yourself that he had not, indeed, done something wrong.
And he didn't. He didn't. You and Spencer, despite your proximity and sometimes incredibly ambiguous relationship, hadn't said anything about deeper feelings towards one another. You let yourself admire him, lovingly, from afar, and were happy with the snippets of attention you had from him when you two had some free time. You two were regulars in the coffee shop near his apartment and, by now, the local librarian, Mrs. Jones, could probably fake your signature from how often you two went there to borrow books. She would watch you two behind the bookshelves, whispering excitedly and curiously to each other about whatever suggestions you were getting from each other. As you missed Spencer's longing glances to read a summary, Mrs. Jones smiled to herself, both at how adorable you two were and how oblivious you were. In museums, you would sit down after some time walking around to his explanations of art and historical movements that impacted the expression of a certain age — you pretended to not know a few things, just so he could speak his heart away and not be interrupted by your own contributions.
You kept silent to make him happy.
Which was exactly what was happening now.
Spencer knew, for sure, that you were hiding something from him. But he also knew that he had no right to force it out. He fidgeted awkwardly, not knowing what to do with his hands, his heart still clenching. “But, but... you’d come to me if you needed help, right?”
You nodded, unable to speak. You knew you were wrong, omitting things from him. Just as the guilt was starting to weigh in your heart, Derek passed by you two with a magazine in his hands, throwing it at Spencer, exclaiming, "My man!"
You looked down, already knowing what it was. Spencer was a mess beside you: blushing, stuttering, avoiding your and Derek's gaze and throwing the magazine as far as he could, like it had burned him. Your reaction was a subtle twitch of your lips, not in amusement, but in need to disguise the pang in your heart. You both spent the rest of the flight sitting in silence, simply being in each other's orbit. You, guiltily. Spencer, worriedly.
Your reaction — or lack of — was staggering to Spencer. He thought you two were getting somewhere, despite your closed off nature and demeanor, he thought he was finally cracking you up. Everyday was torture, seeing you walk through the bullpen's glass doors with your professional clothes and your composed figure. It was torture to see you walk around so prettily and serious, holding his bare heart in your hands, and not even realizing it. By now, he lived and thrived on those rare opportunities you had to spend time together as he became more and more covered in you.
As the jet landed and Spencer walked out to talk to Derek, you pettily made sure to step on Lila Archer's face when leaving the jet in sheer frustration.
Back to the bullpen, you had gone to the restroom to splash some water on your face in order to calm your nerves and to tell yourself that it was only a matter of time until things got back to normal — until you got back to normal. Glancing at your reflection in the mirror, you wondered if Spencer could tell that there was something wrong with you, if you had let any of your feelings slip during your short conversation. The version of you that stared back was as impassible as you ever were. As you made your way to your desk in the dimly lit sea of desks, you caught Spencer and Derek talking, both having their backs to you.
Sighing, you just left the headquarters, not wanting to know what they were discussing, or rather, knowing what they were discussing, but unwilling to stay, even if it would quench your curiosity as to what Spencer had been thinking.
Maybe you didn't want to know the answer.
The days went by, cases coming left and right, flights making you almost dizzy — not that you would admit, but you were terrified of heights. Between those and your training, you barely had time to think about Spencer and the entire Lila occasion. You spent your days busy with work, studies and physical training in order to keep your mind away from that, but as you lay awake at night, the memories would come back to haunt you relentlessly to the point you had recurring dreams of them. Together, as you watched from the sidelines. You kept to yourself, slipping further and further away from Spencer.
Reid, on the other hand, felt your absence more than anyone. You took a rain check on all the invitations he made, even when he invited you to movie night, when he would definitely choose a Russian movie because you mentioned once how you liked how the language sounds. There wasn't any more donuts on his desk as he arrived in the morning (he would always joke that you and your father secretly lived in the headquarters and that someday he would see Haley bringing your groceries to the secret house), and there was no one for him to throw his paper airplanes, small flashcards with the Russian phonological alphabet, at. The change in your behavior was absurdly clear to everyone: you barely called or texted him anymore, you didn't look his way when someone told a joke to check if he thought it was funny... He was sulking, to say the least. Upon questioning you, you blamed your lack of free time and as he was going to question you further, you said in a teasing tone that not everyone was like him and that the FBI was actually making you go through all the training phases.
Finally, during the end of a particularly frustrating workday, he finally snapped, grabbing your arm before you could enter the elevator. It was only you and him in the otherwise empty hallway. "Ok. What's been going on? And don't," he said, closing his eyes, "don't dance around the subject. Don't say it's the Academy. Don't say you have to work. Don't. Please, be honest with me."
The exasperation in his eyes and in his tone almost broke the wall that hid your true feelings, but as you glanced at him, you figured you couldn't do it. Be honest? What for? To hear that you're nothing more than his best friend? Losing said friend was not an option, not to you, at least. But you also knew that you weren't treating him right, that keeping him out was not at all fair to him, that leaving him in the dark was as hurtful as it would be to lose him.
Breathing deeply, you answered with the same stoic expression you wore every single damn day. "I told you, Reid. People go through different, busier times in their lives." The lie tasted like acid.
Spencer clenched his teeth, frustration and confusion beginning to override some of his social anxieties. “That! That!” He asked through clenched teeth, his gaze intense.
"That what?" You asked, puzzled.
"You... you stopped calling me 'Spence'—not that you did it often, you did it more when we were all alone, and it... it sucks! It sucks because I don't know what happened or what I did that was so wrong to make you stop liking me!"
Come on, just say something! Get angry, get sad, get something!, his mind screamed.
"I never stopped liking you," you said, looking away from him. His words hit a particular spot that you were totally willing to discover later, but the mere thought that he knew that you liked him more than as a friend made you shiver.
"That's not the point! Or—or rather, it is! Because if you didn't stop liking me, why would you act like you did?" He asked, his tone rising a bit.
"Calm down."
"Calm down? I will not calm down!" He almost yelled. His eyes widened slightly, disbelief clear in his features and tone, not to mention the frustration. "Just. Please.” He said, closing his eyes, willing himself to tone it down, not that it worked... “Tell me what you're thinking, what happened to you! For once! Any normal person would react and stop acting like an emotionless robot!"
You gaped like a fish out of water, taking a small step back, his words digging a hole in your heart. Upon hearing his own words and noticing you distancing yourself from him, all the anger vanished from his body. The widened eyes were a sign of realization of what he had said to you. During the early months of friendship, you had confided in him that you struggled with portraying emotion like others normally did. Maybe it had something to do with growing up with a father who did it so perfectly when he was out of the house. When he wasn't actively playing the ‘dad’ part, Aaron Hotchner would wear an unreadable mask like it was his armor, his defense from the outer world, but as soon as he got home, he was back to his main role. You would watch him with his coworkers and mimic him perfectly to make him laugh. At some point, making fun of and imitating his demeanor had become some serious form of self-defense for you. Spencer, then, joked that you were making your way to the perfect job, but then he had gotten serious and told you that it wasn't a flaw. That it wasn't a problem that you kept deeply to yourself sometimes — that it was okay to be yourself around him. You had felt safe by his side since then.
But now, what did those words mean? Were they lies?
He breathed out your name, softly, "I... I... I'm sorry."
"Just drop it," you replied, pushing the elevator button. Your dismissive tone and your action of leaving made Spencer feel utterly desolate, like he had done the wrongest thing in the world and perhaps he had, but he just wanted you to let him in. For once, he wanted to have the answers from your lips, not spend any more time analyzing your every single action and words...
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."
"You know, Spencer…" he looked up at you when he heard his name, as you held out an arm to hold the elevator doors open. As if thinking better than to say anything, you sighed and turned to enter the elevator, shaking your head with the most disappointed look he had ever seen on your face.
Spencer tried looking at you one last time before the elevator doors closed, and despite your face being as unreadable as it often was, he saw a flicker of sadness that stung his heart more than he liked to admit. If he hadn't done anything wrong before, now he had utterly fucked everything up.
The drive home, for Spencer, was a torture. He knew that he had to pay attention to the road ahead of him, to the other vehicles and drivers, but his mind kept drifting to the last glimpse of you back in the headquarters. Your empty eyes appeared behind his eyelids every time he pressed his eyes closed. He willed himself not to cry, to not blur his vision, taking his frustration out on the steering wheel, where his grip was so tight that his knuckles turned white. As he parked his car and looked up to one of his windows, he remembered you. Because of course he would remember you.
The sight was almost comical, to be honest. You, clad in one of the suits that fitted you so well, sitting on his windowsill, a cup of green tea in hands as you stared out the window, trying to analyze every single drop of rain before it reached somewhere outside your vision range. The funny thing was that you had no shoes on, instead, Spencer lent you a mismatched pair, not being one used to having people over, he didn't have a pair of spare slippers. Then, you sat there with a dinosaur-pattern sock on one foot and a striped-pattern sock on the other.
Spencer, sitting on his sofa and holding his own cup (he had let you choose your mug and stayed quiet when you pointed quietly at his favorite), smiled to himself. It was weirdly calming seeing you out of your character, doing something so... human.
"I can feel you staring, you know," you said. And your tone was almost... teasing?
"Right. Sorry." He said, looking down at his steaming tea.
"I'm not scolding you," you said, turning to look at his direction with a grin.
"Right, no—heh..." he replied, bashfully, cheeks reddening at the sight of your smile.
If only you knew... how many hours he would lay awake at night, as thoughts swirled in his head, how everything seemed to shut down at the thought of you. How he would fall asleep to the wish of being on the receiving end of one of your rare smiles, how he appreciated that you were always the first one he talked to upon his arrival at the headquarters. How... how he would do anything for you to look at him under a different light.
Seemingly out of nowhere, you giggled. Everything stopped.
Spencer.exe has stopped working.
"Heheh—I guess... It's not everyday you get to see a Hotchner so out of its—heheh—habitat." You quipped, looking at him with a smile on your face.
Suddenly, Spencer lost his voice. The connection between his brain and his tongue, which felt heavy, disappeared. Completely speechless, eyes slightly wide at the sound of your laughter. It made you laugh a bit more, but when his stare and open mouth got too much to handle, you looked down at your feet, wiggling your toes to distract yourself from the intensity of his gaze full of awe. Then, Spencer got back to his senses, smiling at you as you missed it to look away in embarrassment.
Spencer blinked away the tears and left his car, entering his apartment. As he took off his shoes, he let the tears fall at the sight of your windowsill.
Meanwhile, you were getting wasted at some bar. Not just any bar, but the one you usually went with Spencer when you were feeling daring and wanted a change from the places where you both used to go to. You were a bit of a lightweight, so a couple of drinks were enough for you to start playing trivia with Spencer and let your gaze linger for longer, basking in the sight of him so carefree, having fun with you.
Upon your arrival, the bartender that usually took care of your orders, MJ, greeted you with a smile. When she saw no one was joining you, she frowned. "Good evening, Hotch. Where's loverboy?"
You sent her a look, but since you were letting your guard down, after all, there were no acquaintances or friends around, you didn't know if the look came out as a glare or if you looked like a kicked puppy. She snorted. "Gee... That bad, huh?" She asked, and you didn't answer again, though you muttered a soft thanks, MJ when she gave you your go-to drink.
And it turned into two drinks. Three. Four...
(MJ was now giving you alcohol-free drinks, too worried for your well-being. You and Spencer started to grow on her as you two kept coming back.)
You rested your chin on your left hand while you traced patterns with your right index finger on the counter. MJ was eyeing you suspiciously, drying a few glasses with a washcloth. "He kissed another girl." You admitted, quietly.
"No way." She gasped.
"Way."
"But... I thought you two were a thing." MJ was baffled, placing down the objects she was holding in sheer shock. "I always thought you two were like... together for years."
"We were a thing.... I think, at least... I don't know, MJ." You sighed, tucking a stray of hair behind your ear. Looking up at her, hazy eyes taking in her focused expression, you sniffled, "we were on this case and then he met a girl and then the next moment the two of them were making out in a pool. In a freaking pool."
She tsked, anger flashing in her eyes, "I swear, those nerdy guys are the worst."
"Yeah..." You muttered, fiddling with your straw. "Can I have another one?"
She pursed her lips, but she relented. Then, as she handed you the liquid, a guy sat next to you. Did he look like Spencer or were you already hallucinating?
"Hi. I'm Dave. Can I buy you a drink...?" He asked with a small smile, wanting to know your name.
No, not Spencer. It’s cool.
"Hi, I..."
MJ cut you off. "Hey, Dave, I think she had too much to drink already."
They exchanged looks and it took you a minute to feel offended by her interruption and knowing you were perfectly capable of speaking for yourself, but realizing you would probably have to entertain a stranger, you felt grateful for it.
Dave left with a sour smile. "Thanks." You muttered, again, looking at MJ.
"Do you need me to get you a cab, honey?"
"That would be great." You said, placing money bills to pay for your drinks and the tip.
MJ looked around to spot someone to keep an eye on the bar as she led you out of the place, hand never leaving your shoulder. As she called a cab, she made you stand on only one leg to make sure you weren't gonna need her to go with you. You scoffed, but obeyed her all the same, with a low snicker. As you two waited for the cab driver, a woman who MJ trusted with her life (and her favorite regulars), you tried to make conversation to make up for embarrassing yourself by talking about Spencer with someone. How pathetic.
"So, what does MJ stand for?"
She chuckled, shaking her head at you and at your dazed eyes. "That's classified information."
"I'm familiar with that."
The cab driver, Paula, arrived. She greeted the both of you with a smile and a cheerful good evening! As you entered the vehicle, you rolled the windows down and pressed the subject further, "Seriously, is it Mary Jane or were your parents more creative?"
She rolled your eyes at you, shaking her head. "It's Mary Jane. MJ because who would take me seriously?"
You smiled. "I like the shoes!"
Paula started driving slowly, just to let other drivers drop their own passengers, as you were lost in your own little world, serious expression taking over your face again, not wavering, as you delved deeper into the whirlwind of thoughts plaguing your head. Paula, looking at you through the rear-view mirror, asked, "Is everything okay, honey?"
You buckled your seatbelt. "Yes, yes. Just... keep driving slowly, please."
"Where to?"
Only then you realized you never gave her an address. Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you gave her Spencer's, telling her you were going home.
An unknown number had sent Spencer a couple of messages.
[8:32 p.m.] Lovergirl is here, drinking all by herself.
[8:32 p.m.] Water, but still. I'm not having her passed out without you here.
[8:40 p.m.] Sent her home, people were starting to approach.
Throughout the time he had spent with you at the bar, the two of you exchanged numbers with MJ in case she needed your help — you know, being FBI agents and whatnot. But Spencer didn't need to see her name to know it was her and she was talking about you; 'lovergirl' and 'passed out without you here' gave him clue enough. His stomach tied in knots when he read that people were starting to approach her, the nagging feeling that the image conjured in his mind was making him feel almost sick, then, it hit him like a truck: Lila Archer.
Their… case? was as fleeting as a careless glance. To be honest, Spencer accepted her advances to spite you for having such power over him, even if unknowingly so. The young agent felt like you were so out of his league, so out of reach — you were all that pile of confidence and stoicism and pure lusciousness and everything to him. And he was a young guy who truly had barely been kissed so far. How could he approach you, charm his way into your heart, especially when you barely bared it? With Lila, it was... nice. Easy, even. It was nice being wanted, to be able to read her intentions and desires like a children's book. With you, it was a tantalizing challenge, one he was, for the first time, struggling with. It was not like having a high-school crush, not like pining over the untouchable girls that would catch his interest as he grew older. No. This was something new. You had hit him deeper than ever or anyone before.
Plus, as much as he hated to admit it, he gave room to the anxious thoughts regarding your father as well. Would it affect his relationship with his superior? Would it affect your relationship with your father? Spencer felt dizzy just by the mere thought of ruining something uniquely yours. No, he couldn't impose himself on your life like that. It was mean, it was wrong, it was immoral.
To want, to desire, is to be selfish.
It was a bold assumption. To think you were jealous of him. Nevertheless, the signs were all there, had been all along. He was just dumb and scared enough of making assumptions.
A barely there, faint sound of a knock on his door made Spencer fly out of his bed, dropping his phone on the bedroom floor, but he didn't pick it up. He had a suspicion as to who could be knocking on his door, but he was too scared of assuming anything. Again. Opening the door, he saw you, breathing a bit heavily. The stairs, he supposed. You always complained about them. Once you exchanged looks, Spencer’s surprised one and your earnest one, you asked, "Do you really think I'm a robot?"
Shit. He could feel his heart breaking in a million little pieces. The insecure edge of your voice and words made him squeeze his eyes shut; in his mind, he was kicking himself simultaneously as he sank down to his knees, on your feet, begging you to forgive and forget his dumb, stupid, frustrated, unrealistic words.
"No," he breathed out, wincing, almost as if he was in physical pain. "I—I didn't mean to talk about you like that. I was..."
"Frustrated?"
He nodded, silently, eyes never leaving your face. Your speech, albeit way out of the ordinary that he was used to, was flawless. If not by the dilated pupils and the faint smell of alcohol, not to mention MJ's texts, he would dare to say you were perfectly sober. "I was, too." You admitted, looking down.
Spencer made way for you to enter his apartment. He watched as you kicked your shoes off. The sight, that had become as common as the act of breathing, made his way flutter. You intended on staying. Or so he hoped. You walked further into the place, noticing everything as it ever was, as if you hadn't been to his apartment for some time now. "You must be thinking why I'm here," you said, moving to sit on the couch and mentioning him to sit on the small coffee table in front of you, as if you owned the place, and not him.
Perhaps it was true.
He closed the door once you were inside, hesitating for a moment before joining you. He kept noticing things about you; the way you were walking, the way you could barely look him in the eye, the way you looked… “How much did you have to drink?” He asked, quietly.
"Not much. You know I don't usually drink because I can’t hold my drinks. And I'm sure MJ was giving me plain water at some point." You said, looking up at him. Well, at least, your speech flawlessly delivered, even though you were moving a bit more… disoriented than usual. She's totally a Hotchner.
"I... I am," he started, sitting in front of you carefully. "I... I'm sorry. It's just... You've never been so distant. I guess that I was mean to you to elicit some reaction."
Your analytical gaze softened upon his confession. You needed to give him some break, be a little easy on him. Well, easier than you were being as of lately. Nodding lightly, you added, "I'm here to apologize, too. I know... I know that I pushed you away and I made you think that... that that was your fault. It's not."
He froze. No, he wouldn't have you taking the blame for how his actions caused you to react. He looked up at you, reaching out a hand to touch your intertwined ones, "It is."
"Hear me out. Please." You said, lowly, not breaking eye contact. This was so hard, and you had never felt so afraid before. How ironic — to be afraid of being brave. "I... I guess that by now you know why I pulled away."
"I do," he admitted, nervously. "It took me some time, but I... I think I figured you out."
You looked down, embarrassed. It was overwhelming for him to see you portray such different and so many emotions all at once. To you, it was as agonizing as it was freeing. "Well, yes. So... It, um, it wasn't fair. We... we are not something. We are not a thing."
His heart, doing all the thinking and feeling, nearly stopped. As if it wasn't enough, you kept on going, "I'm sorry, I truly am, for how I behaved and how I made you feel by being absent. It's... it's not my place. You have your own life, Reid. I can't be upset with you for making decisions. You're a grown man..." you sighed, glancing at every direction but at him. "I know that I'm wrong, okay? And I know that I shouldn't have pushed you away, nor should I have kept my feelings from you."
Spencer drew in a long breath. He didn't know what to say, but you couldn't be more wrong. All at once, he wanted to scream, but he didn't know what ro say; he wanted to run, but he didn't want to leave you alone — not for a second. He didn't ever want you out of his sight; he didn't want to be the one you were apologizing to, hell, he wanted everything to be okay between them, but it was nice that she was talking to him, finally.
"I..."
Every time he thought he could say something, words failed him. Then, you took it as another opportunity to word-vomit everything you've been feeling. "I was... I was jealous. I didn't like to see that. I didn't like that it happened. But I also know that I have no right to be upset with you because you're single and she's attractive and you're both consenting and willing to do whatever you please, so..." You shrugged as if speaking those words aloud didn't stab new holes in your heart.
Spencer looked at you, totally speechless. It made you snicker. And speak further. Shut up, you idiot. Please, please, please! "And, ah—hahahah—I guess I am, indeed, a bit of a robot because it took me a bit of alcohol to pluck up the courage to come here and totally—hic—destroy our friendship by telling you I love you so much; that I'd hate to see you with anyone other than me. It happened and I hated it. It still stings."
Spencer's heart threatened to fail once again. Your giggles, your words, your confession... His mind completely short-circuited. She loved him. She loved him? She loved him?!?!???!!! That’s what she’d just said, apparently. Okay, calm down. And she’d been jealous. She didn’t like him kissing another woman, because she fucking loved him. Say something, you dumb idiot, his brain shrieked. Say something!
You parted your lips to say something else, but apparently decided against it. Another beat of silence of Spencer staring dumbly at you. "I'm going," you blurted out, standing up.
Spencer, at breakneck speed, stood up as well to stop you from walking away, placing his hands tentatively on your shoulders. Your bodies were now apart by mere inches. "No." His voice was so small and pained that you sat back down.
Despite your apparent willingness, your next words told him about your turmoil. "Why would I stay, Spencer? I've been pouring my heart out to you and you haven't said a thing."
Looking at you, so bare and so vulnerable, Spencer suddenly had flashbacks from when he had lashed out on you earlier and simultaneously fought the feelings that were bubbling inside of him upon your confession. Couldn't you see the sheer shock on his face? Couldn't you see that he was battling against every single bit of self restraint not to pull you into his embrace and make you believe him when he would tell you that you were the only woman for him?
Sure, he had dreamed of you saying those words to him countless times as time went by and you two got closer. Shit, he literally dreamed of it. Of you. Speaking sweet nothings to him... He broke out of his daze, realizing that he was deadly silent, "Don't go..."
"Then say something. I'm here. Not as Hotch's daughter, not as your coworker, not as a part of the team you work with. I'm here as the woman in whose heart you've grown over the last few months. I'm terrified of your answer and you keep depriving me of it." There was a hint of annoyance and hurry on your voice, and he could understand you, he truly could. He just didn't... he lost his voice when he looked at you.
Saying your name softly, he beginned, “I said stupid, untrue things, and I’m sorry. I’m a jerk, and I know that I’m a jerk and—" You quirked your eyebrow and he took a deep breath, trying to cut his rant. "Just... don't sit there and think that I have nothing to say."
"Have you said it?" You pressed it, quirking an eyebrow.
"No." He admitted, widening his eyes a bit as he realized his mistake.
At the same time, you shot, "Not saying something is also an answer for me—"
"—but not for the reasons you're thinking! Do you know how hard it is for me right now?" Spencer was starting to sound very desperate and pathetic, not to mention the fact that he wasn't answering your questions.
Deep breaths (from both ends).
"Look, Reid..." He glared at you upon hearing his last name. "I think I should go home. You and I clearly need some space—"
"What we need to do is talk."
You sighed. "Then why won't you give me an answer?"
Silence.
"You won't even remember this in the morning."
At that, you deemed yourself utterly defeated. This was useless. "I'm sorry I came over. I'm... I'll just go, okay? Please, don't be upset about tonight. I apologize in advance."
The sight of her, once more shying away from him and turning to escape from him, was making Spencer frustrated, with himself, to no end. His heart clenched at your apology, to which he shook his head vehemently. The thing is, he wanted to get ready to answer you, properly, just like he always had some trick up his sleeve or some funny or curious fact to blurt during the most random moments. Spencer was good at speaking, but only when the speech was already ingrained into his mind, something he had read or rehearsed before. Plus, he was sure your state of drunkenness would stop you from remembering that moment.
Spencer dashed to his door, barely stopping you. No, no, no, no, no... She can't leave. This might be my only chance. "You're not going anywhere."
"Excuse me?"
"Stay with me. I don't want you to go." He said, softly, slowly, looking straight into your eyes. It made you dizzy. Either that or the alcohol.
"No?"
"Y-you're drunk and I... I don't think it's safe for you to go by yourself and it's late and... and..." he trailed off, nervously, desperate to get you to stay.
"I'm not drunk."
"You're not fooling me. You might be as concise as ever but you're not sober. Stay."
"Promise... promise you won't be upset with me?"
His heart dropped, heavy with guilt. And with love for you. "I promise."
Spencer silently led you back to the couch, gingerly holding your hand. He felt dazzled, speechless, desperate, frustrated, all at once. But your touch was starting to ground him back to reality, where you were real, having confessed your feelings for him, and he was a mess, not even being able to say anything back. Without much thinking, he said, "You should stay over tonight."
"Okay... I'll take the couch."
"As if I'd let you sleep on the couch."
"It's okay."
"Stop... stop acting like I sent you away."
You kept silent. You felt like he did. Through his touch, he hoped to get you to understand that his feelings were a mess, but they existed, and they were real, and they were yours. "That'd be alright with me, you know. Taking your couch. I think I would sleep better on your floor than I would ever in my bed. To... to say that anything is better if you're somehow involved."
His stomach made a flip-flop. Brain short-circuited again. You yawned, as if you had just made an annoying comment on the weather.
"Are you tired?" He managed to mutter.
"I am."
"Come on. Let's get you to bed."
"No."
"What do you mean 'no'? I'm not letting you on the couch. Come on."
"I can't go to your bed with outside clothes." You booped his nose.
He chuckled lowly, confused a little by your words. "Are you seriously worried about clothes?"
"You don't like germs. That's why I removed my shoes."
Okay, he thought, if I manage to put her to sleep without having a heart attack, I definitely don't need a cardiologist's appointment because it would mean I'm that strong.
"Y-you... remembered?" Damn it, Reid. Stop stuttering.
You sighed, tiredly, and rested your head on his shoulder, looking down at his hand holding yours. "I remember everything about you."
"You do?"
"Yes. Fortunately or unfortunately."
Spencer was too stunned to speak. Too stunned, too dumb, too afraid. Damn it. Damn it. He couldn't stop cursing internally. He forced himself to pull you towards his bedroom and even though he still sensed some uncertainty, he kept going. Reaching for a pair of sweatpants and a big t-shirt, he gave those to you. "You can change into these," as he left the room to make you more comfortable.
"Wait!" You almost shrieked.
"What happened?" He prompted, worriedly, reaching a hand out to touch your arm.
"I don't want you to go."
He bit back a sigh. "I'll be just outside."
"Just... stay here?"
"I can't—" he interrupted himself, just turning around so his back was to you instead. At that, he looked up at his ceiling and prayed to any deity to let him survive that night.
He could hear the sounds of your movements. The zipper being undone, the soft ruffling of the fabric as you tugged your shirt up your head... He was imagining your exposed skin, every perfect inch, how would you look without all those clothes that suited you so nicely, how would it be to touch you, to run his fingertips all over your heated skin, how would it be to kiss every freckle on your body, to—"Done."
Turning around, the sight was adorable, which made him somewhat guilty of his early impure thoughts. "I feel like Alice when she shrunk into a tiny human."
He couldn't fight the smile at your words. He led you to his bed, where you laid on your back on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling. Spencer left you briefly to get you a glass of water and some painkillers to leave by the bedside table. You thanked him with a silent glance. As he turned to leave, once again, you said in a small voice, almost phrasing it like a question, too afraid of the answer. "Stay."
"I'll take the couch."
"You asked me to stay, thrice, I guess… And I did. I asked you once and you did. I still have a few requests left. I'm keeping tabs."
He relented, laying next to you and placing a pillow between you two. You breathed out a chuckle and he shook his head, clearly knowing where your mind had gone to. He placed his hand on top of the pillow, offering his comfort, and then you tentatively placed yours on top of his. He grinned to himself.
It was hard for him to wrap his head around what had happened that night. He knew his words — or lack of — could be read the wrong way and you possibly did, but he also hoped that his actions were speaking louder. Just as he was getting lost in thought again, he heard your voice once more.
"Spence?"
That damned nickname.
"Thanks for, um, being so respectful. Not that I don't think you'd be. But, um, as you've said, I'm drunk. And I told you I love you. And you're simply holding my hand." He gulped. He was keeping count, too, of how many times you said you loved him. Twice, so far, but he wanted so much more, endlessly. He wanted to lose track. "I guess... that makes me love you even more," you finished, crushing his heart between your palms, voice thick with sleep.
When he finally turned his head to look at you, your eyes were closed and you looked peaceful, drifting off to sleep. Then, when he was sure you were actually asleep, he stood up from his bed, grabbing a pillow and a spare blanket to lay on the floor.
"I'll gladly sleep on my floor if it means I get to have you around, too..."
Spencer didn't get any sleep.
He tossed and turned on the floor all night long, both because his carpet was not the most comfortable spot to sleep on, but also and mostly because there was no way in hell his mind stopped working. All through the night, Spencer fought the urge to shake you awake to ask if this was real, if you really loved him, if the words that slipped through your lips were in fact your feelings towards him. Despite his curiosity and eagerness, he let you sleep, figuring that he had already put you through too much already. As you slept, a movie played on his mind: your moments together, your confession of love, and overthinking the words we are not something. We are not a thing. He feared that you would wake up and realize how badly he had screwed up and decide not to want him anymore. Yes, he was that anxious.
You, on the other hand, even though confused by his lack of answer to your heart’s words, felt lighter than ever by speaking out your truth (the booze did help you a lot, though). Being as analytical as you were had its perks. One of them is that you never let yourself suffer too much for too long, too attached to reality to care much about the rest. So what if he rejected you? Life goes on — and that’s what you thought with every other loser that you caught yourself thinking too much of. Spencer, though… Who were you kidding? Spencer was Spencer. And that meant the world… It wasn’t so bad, if he actually rejected you… you’d only have to face him every day, until the rest of your lives, doomed to work together, cursed to think and rethink all over again small, fleeting moments such as an exchange of longing glances.
(You felt strangely calm due to your touch with reality. Maybe, just maybe, you were hoping for the best based on his care with and for you. But boy, were you ready to give him a piece of your mind.)
As your eyes fluttered open, you stretched your limbs on an unfamiliar bed with too much space. Upon your confusion, the memories came back with full force. You jolted, sitting down, searching for him — and, to be honest, not wanting to find him. The house was deadly silent, so you tried to trick yourself that you were sure he wasn't there. You dashed to the bathroom, taking a quick shower to get rid of the shame and the faint reek of alcohol. As you moved around his stuff, you couldn't help but think that you were so familiar with his things that it was almost like you belonged there. Sigh. It turns out that hiding emotions is easier than feeling them, especially their extremes.
As soon as you finished putting on your own clothes, you stopped dead in your tracks as you heard footsteps outside the bedroom. You froze, not knowing what to say. Or do.
Spencer entered the room, holding a tray meticulously organized with some food on it. “Morning. I, um, made you breakfast.” Because of course he would make you fucking breakfast. 
“Morning,” you replied awkwardly and hoarsely. Maybe you cried a little bit, who knows… “Thanks, you didn't have to.”
“I did.”
You take your time to get a good look at him. He had bags under his eyes that appeared to be tired. The sight made your heart drop. “I'm sorry…”
“Don't be.”
“But I was wrong.”
“So was I.”
“But—”
“Last night you said some things. Do you, uh, do you remember what you told me?” You nodded, unable to speak. “Do you remember what you told me?” He repeated, trying to get a verbal answer from you.
“Yes, Spencer. I remember.”
“Can you listen to what I have to say now?”
You nodded, weakly.
“I didn't say anything because… because everything had gone in the most opposite direction they could've gone.” He said, approaching you calmly. “I was up the entire night, hoping to find the right words to tell you that would make you believe me after I… was stupid. I… First, I'm sorry I made you feel that way. I know you said that we're nothing, that we weren't something, that we didn't have anything… but… but you're everything to me.” At that, your eyes finally met his. The intensity of your gaze made him shudder, but he kept going. “All the time we've spent together was nothing compared to what I want to have with you… and… and… God! Do you have any idea of the torture I was put through with you? Constantly thinking of what we could be, what we should be, too scared of your reaction or that—that—that Hotch decided to chop off my neck because he found out that I was crushing on his only daughter!”
At the mention of your dad, you burst out laughing. Seriously? That was such a cliché! “Hey! I'm serious!”
“I'm sorry…” You bit your bottom lip, fighting the urge to laugh at him some more. He was adorable.
“As I was saying,” he continued, trying to sound annoyed, but a hint of a smile threatened to break on his lips, and he didn't pull away when you approached him nor he did when you wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your chin on his chest, looking up at him, adoringly. He looked down, meeting your gaze,  “I… I love you. I love you too. God, it just feels so good to say that!”
You giggled, again. God, he could never get used to that sound.
“And I’m sorry for being so mean to you when I was frustrated. I should have been more patient and my unthoughtful words hurt you.” You kept silent, remembering his words. “I—I’ll spend the rest of my life apologizing if you’ll have me.” He added, intimidated by your gaze.
Silence. “Well, I accept your apologies. I was unfair to you as well. And you know where I stand when it comes to you. My feelings, I mean.”
“I do… But…”
“But?”
“I'd like to hear you say it.”
“Say what?”
“That you love me?”
“I don't know. Do I, really?” You joked.
He blushed furiously, ready to stutter himself out of that situation. “No, I mean… you—you said that—that you remembered what you said last night and… so… putting two and two…”
Another giggle interrupted him. You traced his jawline, leaning up to kiss his right cheek. “I really, really love you.” A kiss to his left cheek. He chuckled. “I love you.” A kiss on the tip of his nose, to which he snorted, totally lovestruck. “So much.” A lingering, tender kiss to his forehead. He closed his eyes, already anticipating the next spot you would press your soft lips to.
As you made your way to finally kiss his lips, you decided to tease him and let him wait for a bit longer. Spencer groaned in protest and you chuckled a bit, finally deciding that it was enough. Pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth, making him sigh, you were thrilling on making him more and more eager. His grip on you tightened just slightly as he let out a shaky breath. You wanted to laugh, but instead, you poked fun at him. “Now you know what it's like to be teased.”
“I love you. Oh, Jesus… You're driving me insane. You're here… And you, you're you…”
You grinned, looking up at him, finally, finally pressing your lips to his. As you let out a small sigh, his breath hitched, both of you utterly drowning in relief and satisfaction. You pulled back a bit, grinning, going back to kissing him. Spencer's hands found your jawline, sliding back to tangle in your hair as he sucked your bottom lip into his mouth. Parting your lips slightly, you granted him full access to kiss you properly, and he moaned at the taste of you, gripping your hair rougher than before. You groaned softly, and he proudly heard and swallowed all your small sounds.
The ring of a phone broke the urgent atmosphere that was building between you two. Spencer ignored it, letting it ring until you pulled away, gasping for air. As you did, the noise stopped and you met his lost eyes, totally dumbstruck, and you laughed because you probably looked the same way. He gave you a charming, lopsided grin, too stupid, too hypnotized to say anything.
The phone began ringing again. “Son of a…!” he cursed, picking up the phone. “Hi, this is Dr. Spencer Reid and unless this is an absolute emergency, I'm kinda busy—”
“Reid.” Aaron Hotchner's firm voice hit Spencer like a bucket of cold water. Widening his eyes, he gulped.
“Yes… sir?” You smiled at that. Of course you knew who he was talking to.
“We have a new case.” Hotch announced.
“Oh… okay… I, um, I—I'll be there in 20.”
Silence.
“Is everything okay, Reid?” Hotchner could read anyone, Spencer was now sure of that. Even through the goddamned phone.
“Wh—yeah, yeah… Everything's… totally f—fine.” He cursed under his breath as you gripped his vest, trying not to laugh.
“Do you know where she is?” Hotch inquired after another moment of quietness. 
“Who?” He squeaked. You chuckled silently.
“My daughter.” Of course it was his daughter.
Playing dumb is not a good look on you, you mouthed.
“N—no… I haven't… heard from her.”
“Sure.” Hotch said, skeptically. Spencer could feel the sweat on his forehead. After a moment, your father finished the call with an unreadable “We need to talk.”
Once the phone call ended, you burst out laughing at Spencer's reaction. “Not funny.” He protested, a frown on his face and a soft smile betraying his faux frustration.
“Come on, it is funny.”
He glared at you. “What do you think he wants to talk about?”
“I don't know. Men talk. I wouldn't want to get involved.” You said, grinning, pulling him by his vest.
He squeezed his eyes shut, relishing in the feeling of having you so close. “Do you think he knows?”
“Of course he knows.”
“How are you so collected?”
“Because I'm not the one he's going to scare to death, apparently.”
“He said ‘we’ need to talk. Emphasizing ‘we’. If he knows you’re here, then it probably—” you cut him off with a kiss.
“Well, then… Are you ready to face your biggest fear? The frightening Aaron Hotchner?”
Glancing at you adoringly, he chuckled. “I’d face him and whoever, whatever, a thousand times, if it meant that I could get you in the end.”
A couple days after the case, you and Spencer meet again, in your apartment. Sitting down on the couch, you ask him, amusedly, “Do you think he noticed?” 
“Totally. I could barely look him in the eye for the first moments,” He said with a fond smile, hiding from you the fact that he had awkwardly and bravely spoken to your dad about your relationship. You laughed, placing your legs on the top of his legs. “I guess we should thank Lila, after all.” He joked, and you laughed out loud. 
Leaning him closer to him, grabbing his chin and looking deep into his eyes, you muttered, “Don’t ever say her name again, Spence.”
Your wish was always his command. It would always be.
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lover-of-mine · 2 days ago
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Okay, me and @buckgettingstruck have been going back and forth since yesterday and we have reached enlightenment about bucktommy, and I'm here to share. This isn't an anti post btw, this is us trying to make sense of the relationship in the context of the show.
But imagine you're Tommy. You’ve been closeted for most of your life and you recently came out (yeah, recently, six years is not that long). You left your fiance and decided to come out, but since then most of your relationships — friends and otherwise — have been shallow. For some reason, you don't know how to turn off the instinct to keep people at arm's length.
Suddenly you’re helping your old coworkers rescue your former captain and his wife, and in come Eddie and Buck. 
You hit it off with Eddie. He’s very friendly and you have a lot in common, so you're hanging out with him and trying to get a feel for him. Maybe he’s into guys. Hanging out with him is fun, even if you still can’t find any actual reason to open up to him about your life. You go to fights, you practice Muay Thai, you play basketball. You have fun. 
And then there’s his crazy ass best friend — Buck. 
Buck is spinning out about the two of you hanging out for a few weeks for some reason. You kinda assume there’s something going on with him and Eddie and you try to apologize to the guy. Buck tells you that it's not because he’s jealous of Eddie, it’s because he wants your attention. It throws you for a loop (my attention? You two haven’t really talked since he asked for a tour around Harbor), but your interest is piqued. The guy is hot, and he’s cute in a rambly way so you decide to go for it and it works out in your favor. But in the back of your mind, you know that this dude has some very intense relationship going on with his best friend. You had to bring up Eddie’s kid to get him to warm up to you, after all. But for all you know Eddie is straight, and Buck says he wants your attention. You don’t want anything that serious — breaking off the first engagement was hard enough — and you don’t really have anything to lose by just seeing where this goes. You’ve only been out for six years, so you want to explore. Maybe this could be fun. 
The first date is a bit of a trainwreck, and the dude turns out to be too intense. Somehow Eddie showed up with that girlfriend of his he’s never really talked about, and Buck is spinning out. You decide to cut your losses and go home — even if leaving Buck on the curb was a bit of a dick move. But Buck calls you a few days later. You meet for coffee. He tells you he doesn’t know what he wants, but he wants to try with you. He invites you to Chimney’s bachelor party and his wedding to Buck’s sister as a nice gesture and you figure, what the hell? Why not? Maybe it’s a little much, but he’s trying. 
In your head, you're in a fun, casual relationship because you haven't had the conversation about it being serious. Since Buck doesn’t bring it up or ask you for very much at all, you believe he is on the same page. You keep him at arm’s length so it stays that way — when he talks about almost losing Bobby, the whole Gerrard mess. It’s subconscious, you think, but keep it light and surface level. You don't want something that deep, and he is following your lead. You maybe see each other once a week, considering you both work 24-hour shifts and have chaotic schedules. You go to dinner, you go to the movies, and maybe you make out a little. It's easy and it's fun, and you can stay that way as long as the Buck doesn't push you further. It’s been almost six months now, and beyond venting about Gerrard a few times, he hasn’t even nudged. 
It’s a little weird, though, how Eddie’s always there. And you really like Eddie, honestly, but he’s constantly around. Sometimes it feels like you’re the third wheel here. He’s already there when you arrive for Chimney’s bachelor party, dressed in a suit to match Buck’s and helping set up. Suddenly a few months later you’re being invited to Chris’s Zoom birthday party, where Buck looks just as defeated taking the decorations down as the kid’s father. Buck dislocates his shoulder — you didn’t ask why, and he didn’t volunteer the information — and Eddie is there tucked into the guest chair with a magazine and the shitty hospital coffee, asking about Buck’s recovery and return to work. You do get to stay with him overnight, on his uncomfortable couch and falling asleep as he talks on and on about the corpse he accidentally rented (and alright, why did Buck get mad at him for laughing and not Eddie?). When Buck wakes up with boils the next day it’s not even a question for him to call Eddie. Eddie talks him down a lot better than you could, even if the situation is a bit ridiculous. You don’t miss the way he snaps at you for calling him gross — mentioning your cousin gets shingles is apparently a crime — while he tells Eddie to call his appearance what it is and he’ll believe it’s stress if he says so. But hey, getting boils kinda sucks, and Buck is having a rough go lately, so you move past it. But you don’t miss how Eddie seems to sense that Buck’s picking at his face without looking up from his phone when you’re at the hospital a couple days later because of Hen’s kid. You don’t miss how everyone else gets the good news that he’s going to make it through. Everyone except for you. 
You kinda want what Buck has, if you’re being honest. He found a family at the 118, with really intense people on his six, and you’re hoping that when the relationship runs its course you can stay friends. Maybe you can still keep part of that. Maybe that’s still within reach, even if Buck won’t even show you the text everyone else got. 
Buck goes from zero to a million after that, because he finds out he dated your ex-fiance and his next course of action is to thank you for gay rights and ask you to move in with him.
Up to this point, you thought you were on the same page — light, casual, fun. He didn’t push, but then he shoved you both off a bridge and now you can't ignore the thing that's been in the back of your mind for the last six months. 
Honestly, you have no idea what’s going on with Eddie. The mustache is a choice, and he was doing some funny things with that ring pop back at the hospital, but for all you know, he’s a zero on the Kinsey scale. You know Buck has something going on beneath the surface with how he feels about Eddie, whether he realizes it or not. You knew there was an expiration date on this thing when you started, and you didn’t even mind. You kept it fun and light over the past six months. You kept your distance — maybe a bit too much, considering Abby never came up until now. You hoped maybe you’d get to keep some decent friends once Buck figured his shit out. You knew, even if you tried to ignore it. You tried to enjoy it while it lasted. 
You tried to convince yourself it wasn’t there for a while. Buck, as far as he knew, still knew, was telling the truth. He wanted your attention, your time, you. He’s still figuring everything out, and you thought maybe you had more time. Keeping it casual and slow could only go so far, in the end. 
Buck nudges once, pushes you to consider what it would be like to be in a relationship with him that's serious. He’s talking about living together and you’re panicking a little bit as a thousand scenarios run through your brain, but you can’t see an ending that's not him realizing he has feelings for someone else and leaving you. Another six months, a year, five years — it's all the same. 
You didn’t want to get hurt in this situation, but you will be if you stay. You’ve already hurt people by denying the truth before.
So you tell him — I know how this ends.
You didn’t want to. You never really planned on ending it because you figured he would, but you reached the point where you can't come back. He wants more, and you know that would just end in smoke. Not for him, but for you. 
So you have to break this guy’s heart. And you know if you break this guy’s heart, you’re going to become the villain. You lose the entrance to a family you wanted to be a part of. You lose the friendship you had with Eddie, who is just as goddamn weird and crazy about Buck as Buck is about him. You lose the potential friendship in Buck, in them both, in everyone. There’s only one way out of here now. 
Buck’s somehow still endearing as you end things. You try to nudge him for once, talking about firsts and lasts. He doesn’t get it. You throw in some line a parking spot because the second reserved one Buck got with his loft went to Eddie years ago. You step into the hall, out of Eddie’s shadow, and walk away with nothing.
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jarofstyles · 17 hours ago
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Benefits
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Hi lovebugs! This can be read as a standalone, but this is a 3 parter. The first part will be put up here but the next two are Patreon exclusives if you’re interested. (Part two is up now) I hope you guys love it.
Check out our Patreon for part two and 220+ exclusive writings
WC- 6.6k
Warnings- Asshole-ish H, smut, slight degrading, oral, slight possessiverry, etc
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She knew he was watching.
A subtle smirk played on her lips as she helped herself to a drink in the kitchen, nearly able to feel the man’s eyes on her as he traced her dress. One she wore just for him, but would never admit to. He wasn’t good about hiding how much he watched her, how much he had been curious about her, but he hadn’t talked much to her. Only stared.
She'd been warned that Harry was a man of few words. He didn't go out of his way to talk, he was the stereotype of tall, dark, handsome and dangerous-but it's exactly what she's been craving. Twisting the lid back onto the mixer, she finally raised the cup to her lips as she turned around to face him. He wasn't hiding the fact that he was watching her. His eyes didn't stray. He liked that she didn't waver in her staring back, too. Y/N could tell.
It had been a long time since a man had properly excited her. She wasn’t exactly the easiest to please, if she was being honest. Y/N got bored easily, she liked to play games, to test people to see if they could handle her- but something about Harry had her fully understanding that he could handle her, no problem. Maybe it was just the look in his eyes that told her he was intrigued by her but also wanted to eat her alive, but she quite liked it.
Her eyes flirted with his, as she slowly took a sip, her throat bobbing delicately. "I think you're enjoying the view." Her voice was sultry, a taunt. She was baiting him, daring him to respond, to engage. The game of cat and mouse had been fun, but she wanted to be caught. "You're not very good at hiding it."
“M’not trying to hide it.” His raspy voice made her internally peek up. She’d only heard it a handful of times but each one had nearly had her purring. The man had the voice of her wet dreams, and she sort of hated how he was checking off boxes she had purposely put too high.
A small smirk played on her lips as she set the cup down, her hands moving to rest on the counter. She leaned forward, her arms stretching out in front of her, very aware she was very generously handing over a view of her chest for him to glaze over. "Is that so?" She asked, matching his tone. "You're just going to stand there and stare at me then?" The challenge was laid out softly, despite the tension in the room.
“Mm. I was enjoying the view.” His body was leaned against the cabinets of the kitchen, no shame at all in admitting the fact. “Think y’like when I look.”
Her eyes traveled up his face and met his eyes, a slow blink the only reaction to his words. She liked it, damn it. She liked being the focus of his attention, even if he wasn't saying anything particularly sweet or romantic. There was something about his blunt honesty that drew her in. "And what if I told you I don't like it?" She asked, her voice a gentle purr. "What would you do then?"
“I’d tell you t’stop looking like that and maybe we could come to an agreement.” His eyes kept contact with no issue, challenging her back. “I know you’ve been looking back at me when y’think I’m not going to notice.”
God, he was hot. It was infuriating, really. Men weren’t supposed to effect her like this. She’d always had the upper hand, but this one had her wavering as she reached up to twist a strand of her hair around her finger. "And what kind of agreement would that be?" She asked with a soft tilt to her voice. She loved the way he spoke, the way his accent rolled off his tongue. It was so…different to the general population of men she was used to. Some could accuse her of being excited over having a new flavor at her fingertips, but Y/N would argue that anyone who got a few moments alone with him would feel that level of excitement prickle their nerves. "One where I stop looking at you and you start talking to me?" The girl suggested, the small smirk playing on her lips growing.
“Perhaps.” Crossing his arms, he stood up off the counter and slowly sauntered over to her. “Was tryin’ to figure you out. Don’t get new additions in the group often, and you’re different than the people we’re usually around.” His tall form had her lifting her head a bit to keep his eyes as he stopped in front of her.
 She’d been right. He was taller than she’d thought, and broader. The man had kept a physical distance before, but now she was feeling the effects of him dropping that barrier. He was just so…large. And it made her feel small, which was a feeling she rarely experienced. "And what have you figured out?" She asked softly, tilting her head to the side as her eyes fluttered to his lips briefly before meeting his eyes again.
“I’ve figured out a couple of things.” Taking another step forward he gave her the chance to move if she wanted- but she didn’t. Backing against the counter, she didn’t shy away from him. “Mostly that you’re a little bit bratty, but you aren’t fake. You’ve been mostly nice t’everyone.” It had been a relief. Harry wouldn’t have been shy about calling her out on ulterior motives, but he only knew of one- and it had come after she’d already met everyone. “And you want me t’fuck you.”
She swallowed hard, her heart in her throat as he took another step forward. Again, she could have moved, but she didn't. Instead, she stayed put, her back against the counter as she met his gaze. His words were blunt, and she liked that about him. Most people would sugarcoat things, but not him. "And what if I do?" She asked, her voice faltering slightly for the first time in a long time. It was so different, but...She liked it. He had managed to get her to feel something different. Naturally making her feel a little more submissive when she had been so used to taking in the opposite role. 
“I’d fuck you.” Harry rose a shoulder in a shrug. “I’ve wanted to do it since I met you. Had to figure out if you were someone who was going to stick around.” The tension was thick between them. “I don’t usually fuck people just once. Don't like to think with my dick. But I think you’d want it more than once.”
Her breath caught in her throat, the heat pooling between her legs at his words. She’d known he wanted her by the way he had looked at her body, but hearing him say it out loud had her insides quivering. He was so…crude and it was so hot. "I’d want it more than once." She admitted breathlessly. She wasn’t one to shy away from the fact. "And how many times do you think it would be?"
“I’m not in the business of letting you nut off and fuck off. If m’fucking you, you’ll be in my bed for hours. I don’t go easy.” It was the truth she needed to hear. Harry wasn’t one to half ass sex, and considering he’d been letting the want fester for a bit now, he had plenty of things he wanted to do for her. “Is that something you can handle?”
Her throat was dry, her voice hoarse as she responded, "Hours? That sounds...nice." She wanted to tell him that she could handle anything he threw at her, but she knew he'd only call her bluff. She'd never had a man talk to her like this before when she had confidence he could actually back up the claims, and it was exciting. Y/N wanted to know what else he'd say, what else he'd do. "And if I can't? What happens then?"
“Then I’ll walk away and let you continue your night. M’not going to do any of that if it isn’t what you can take, or isn’t what you want.” He made no effort to move, though, because he already knew what her answer is going to be. “You’re not gonna make it weird for everyone else in the group after we fuck, yeah? You’ll be able to behave yourself whenever we go out for the stupid dinners and drinks?”
She swallowed hard, his words making her feel things she hadn't felt in a long time. The way he was talking to her, the intensity in his eyes, it was all so new and thrilling. "I can handle anything you give me." She said softly, her voice filled with a confidence she didn't quite feel but wanted to project. "And I can behave myself. I'm not some teenager who's going to go running to the group about this."
“Just got t’be sure, Cherry.” Lifting a finger up towards her bottom lip, he smeared the lipstick with his thumb before pulling it back. “You don’t seem to be the kiss and tell type, but you never know.”
Her eyes fluttered closed briefly as his thumb brushed against her bottom lip, again the action so simple yet so hot. A little invasive- in a good way. She couldn't help but part her lips slightly, inviting him to touch her more. "I'm not. And besides, who would I tell?" She asked softly.
“That’s the right answer.” He sighed, taking a second to look over his shoulder and back to her face. “C’mon then. M’not fucking you here. Don’t want you to have to keep quiet. If I’m fucking you, I want to hear you.” Curling his hand around the back of her neck, he brought her out the back door. “S’a short walk.”
——-
He had a nice house. Smaller, with a porch and garage. Newly painted, lawn maintained and a little tree in the front. It wasn’t the bachelor pad she had expected, but she really didn’t know that much about him- did she? That was becoming more apparent the longer she spent near him. 
“C’mon. Inside.” He unlocked the door and ushered her in, relieving them from the chill of the night. “Shouldn’t go out without a jacket next time.” The grumble seemed to make her laugh as he tossed his keys into the bowl, kicking his shoes haphazardly on the mat. She hadn’t expected to go on a stroll, so she had left the jacket in her car- but he didn’t really care about that. “Do you want a drink? Or do you just want to get into it?”
Her eyes scanned the cozy interior of his home, taking her even further by surprise. No, it wasn’t the bachelor pad at all. It was tidy and clean, with a few personal touches that gave her a glimpse into what was probably his actual personality. She noticed a guitar in the corner, a few books on a shelf, and a framed photo on the mantle that she couldn’t quite make out. “Huh?” The place had warmth she hadn’t expected to see, and the distraction was evident as she vaguely heard him ask something.
“Do you want me t’get you a drink, or do you want me to get to fucking you?”
Her attention snapped back to him, his words making her blush. Honestly? She really did love how blunt he could be, no sugarcoating or beating around the bush. It was so common to have people be coy about what they wanted, but then again Harry wasn’t anything close to most people she had met.  "Oh, um, I think I'll go with the second option," Her words came out slightly shy, with a hesitant smile. She looked around the room again, taking in the details, before her gaze landed back on him. "But first, can I ask you something?"
“Yeah.” He grunted, taking a step into her space and putting his hands on her waist as he backed her further into the home. “Make it quick. Dick’s fucking aching.”
Her breath hitched as he moved closer, his hands on her waist making her feel small and delicate. She licked her lips, hesitation flickering in her eyes before she asked, "It’s just…Why me? You've barely said two words to me before tonight. And now...here we are." She trailed off, nibbling her lip. A nervous tell.
“Because I was trying t’see if you were someone that was going to stick around.” He said bluntly. “Lots of people pop in and back out. Didn’t know if you’d be one of the floaters. Got to watch you and see how you were before I talked to you. I wanted to see what you’d say.” While some could call it a little creepy, he’d more so put it as educating himself for the best result. “Wasn’t sure you’d be okay with me fucking you. Some people can’t handle me or how I talk. You’re a sweet little thing but I can tell you like some of the nasty shit. So we’d most likely get along.”
She blinked at him, processing his blunt words. A small, almost imperceptible shiver ran through her body at his assessment. He had been watching her, evaluating her...and apparently found her worthy of letting her see a whole different side of him. Y/N hadn’t pushed her luck in regard to asking about him but she figured there wasn’t much people would say anyways. It was obvious to her through her own observations that he had been quiet about a lot on purpose. Considering there were a few people in the group that did indeed find him incredibly attractive, it was more than exciting that he had chosen her- mirrored her own quiet interest. The thought sent a thrill down her spine. 
"I...I appreciate your thoroughness," she said, a slight tremor in her voice, though trying to still appear confident in the way she had tried to portray. It wasn’t an act- she really was like that- but Harry had that little edge to him that made her want to soften up. "And you're right, I can handle you. I like a man who knows what he wants."
She took a deep breath, steeling herself. “And what do you want, specifically?” Her voice was low, almost breathy as she looked up at him. “With me?” His words had given her a lot to think about. The way he had evaluated her, the way he had found her worthy all while barely knowing her, and the way he had so bluntly admitted that he wanted her around for more than just a one-night stand. But she wanted to hear it all.
“I want to have an arrangement between the two of us. Told you, m’not someone who fucks people once. Not sure if m’looking for a relationship, but I want to like the person I’m fucking.” It was convinent for a release, having an understanding. “We’ve obviously got physical chemistry, find each other attractive and have the same friends. I think…” He leaned his face closer to hers. “We should be friends that fuck. Often.”
She nodded slowly, her gaze locked onto his. "Friends with benefits," she clarified softly. "No strings attached, but...exclusivity?" She wanted to know that she was the only one he was sleeping with, even if they weren't in a traditional relationship. "And we can still hang out with our mutual friends, just...without them knowing the details?" She bit her lip, considering the proposition.
“Yeah. Don’t worry about me, I don’t have the time to find other people to fuck. Work a lot, and I’ve got particular taste. I don’t want to worry about you fucking around either. Too much shit goes around. Eventually I’d like to ditch the condoms.” He shrugged, firmly gripping her waist to pick her up and set her on the hallway table. “It’ll be nice. You can just… Call me when you need to be fucked. I’ll call you. Scratch the itch. The rest don’t have to know a thing.”
She let out a soft sigh as he set her on the table, her arms wrapping around his neck as he towered over her. "Alright," she agreed, her heart racing at the thought of being exclusive with him. "Just you and me, no strings, no other people involved." She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. "And...no labels either, right? We're just friends who fuck, nothing more."
“Right. As long as you know that cunt’s mine to fuck for now, I’m happy.” He chuckled under his breath, nudging her thighs apart. “You wore this dress for me, didn’t you?” Fingers dragged up her inner thigh as he questioned her. “Cause you wanted my attention.”
She let her legs fall open, her breath hitching as he nudged her thighs apart. Her heart fluttered at his words, her insides clenching at the possessiveness in his voice. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she knew she had. When the confirmation that he had been coming had been dropped in the group text, she had taken getting ready a bit more seriously. Though she hadn’t expected this to be the outcome. Not in the slightest. "Yes, it was for you," she admitted, her voice dropping to a whisper as he touched her thigh. "I hoped you’d like it.” She squirmed, her legs spreading further. "Did you?
“Decided to take you home, didn’t I?” Shaking his head, he let out a sigh as he watched her squirm. “Course I fuckin’ liked it. But you’ve been taunting me, and you weren’t subtle about it either. Figured I had to ask you now.” Ghosting his fingertips along the hem of her panties, he tangled his other hand in the ends of her hair to tug her head back. “Could tell you were starting to get a little desperate.”
She moaned softly as he pulled her head back, her eyes fluttering closed briefly before locking onto his again. "Well, you were staring at me like you wanted to eat me alive," she retorted, her voice breathy. "So...yeah, maybe I was getting a little desperate." She bit her lip, shifting her hips forward. "So, are you going to touch me now?"
His touch was gentle, almost torturously so, as he ran his fingertips over the damp fabric. His eyes were locked onto hers, watching her reactions intently. "You're so eager. Though m’not so sure I like the sass. I’ll do as I like, and you can tell me how good it feels." he murmured, his thumb pressing down on her through the thin material. "I bet you're dripping, aren't you?" His touch grew firmer, ever so slowly rubbing his thumb over her clit.
Her breath hitched, her hips bucking forward to meet his touch. She hadn’t been sure how he would be in this sort of scenario, but it was better than she imagined. It took a special sort of man to make her feel even the slightest bit submissive and she almost melting. "Y-yes," she stammered, her voice slightly shaky. It was embarrassing how wet she got for him before he’d even touched her. "I'm...I'm soaking for you." Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as her head fell back against the wall.
She could feel his touch like a brand through the thin fabric, her legs spreading wider to grant him better access. Her breath came in short gasps, her chest heaving with each breath. "Please," she whimpered, her hips moving in rhythm with his touch. "It's not enough..."
“Greedy.” He laughed through his nose. “I was curious how you’d be once I got my hands on you. You talk a big game, like t’be a tease… but in reality, you’re a desperate little slut, hm?” It was the most he’s ever spoken to her, but she couldn’t complain when his words went straight to her cunt.
"I can’t help it! You started it.” She gasped as he found a rhythm, her body tensing as his fingers tugged the panties to the side, slipping under the fabric. "Oh god…” She moaned, her body tensing as his calloused fingertips grazed her bare flesh.  His words made her squirm, her body trembling as he slid a long, thick finger inside her.
“I didn’t start anything.” His voice was contained, even as he spoke with the smug little smirk on his face. “I told you, I needed t’figure you out. I hoped you’d be like this…” Looking down to where his hand was hidden between her legs, slowly pushing his finger in and out of her sopping wet cunt, he licked over his bottom lip. “Desperate. Melt at the slightest touch. You rejected everyone who came up to you at the bars when they wanted to take you home but you love t’flirt. You knew they wouldn’t be able to give you what you needed- so you waited for me to move in.”
"Mmmm…” She let out a moan as he slipped another finger inside her. "They can’t handle me. They want to try but I don’t want someone to try- I want them to do it.” she whimpered, rocking her hips into his hand. "You’re wrong, you did start it.” She gasped out, her back arching as he crooked his fingers to graze against that sweet spot inside her. "You walked in and you...you just stared at me like you owned me.”
“Because I did.” He leaned forward, letting their lips brush. “And now I do. This wet little cunt is mine to fuck for now. Got all slick before I had even laid my hands on you, fucking filthy.” He sneered. “Listen to that.” The sound of his fingers fucking into her were audible beneath her pants.
The squelching sound of his fingers pumping in and out of her quivering hole echoed through the room, a lewd melody that grew louder with each thrust. Her own wetness made his digits glisten, the sound of her coating his skin becoming embarrassingly audible. Every push into her tight hole was met with a wet slap of his palm over her clit, punctuated by her short breaths and gasps.
"It is your fault!" She hissed, her voice strained as she tried to keep quiet. "You kept staring at me like…like you wanted to devour me. It's not fair!" Her hips jerked forward as he increased the pace, her hand flying to his shoulders to steady herself. "You're gonna make me come like this." She hissed, her nails digging into his shirt.
“Then cum.” He taunted. “If it’s all my fault that your desperate pussy got all sloppy and wet, cum on my fingers and show me that then. Barely even touched you and you’re clenching all around my fingers.”
Her breath hitched, her face flushing with heat. "Oh god, shut up..." She hissed, her hips bucking against his hand as he curled his fingers inside her, getting the spot she couldn’t get on her own. "H-Harry… Fuck." She let out a high-pitched cry as she finally shattered, her inner muscles tightening around his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her.
Her body trembled as the intense pressure building inside her finally broke. Her inner walls clamped down around his fingers, squeezing them as she rode out the waves of her orgasm. The lewd sounds of his digits moving in and out of her drenched opening grew louder as she writhed against his hand, soaking his skin. Without thinking, she buried her face against his neck, muffling her whimpers as the peak of her climax washed over her.
"There y’go. Filthy girl, making a mess of my hand.” He coaxed, slowing his fingers down but rubbing right against the spongy spot in her cunt to make it last. “That’s what you needed, wasn’t it?”
"Mmm, yes." She mumbled against his neck, her breath hitching as aftershocks wracked her body. "Please...please no more..." She whimpered, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as she clung to him, boneless and spent. "It's too much." Her voice was soft, vulnerable.
“I think you can take more.” He said with a laugh, but pulled his fingers out anyway. “But since m’nice, I’ll give you a second. I’ll go easy on you since it’s the first time we’re fucking, but next time m’not stopping. You’ll keep cumming.” Harry had plenty of plans for her, she had no clue how much he’d been planning on this. “C’mon.” Scooping her up easily, he had her wrap her legs around his waist and arms around his shoulders as he carried her through the house.
"You’re insufferable.” She muttered, her head nuzzling against his neck as her body trembled in the aftermath of her release. She let out a soft squeak as he easily picked her up, her face flushed as she hid it. "Where are we going?” She asked, her voice soft. "I can walk, you know...” Y/N trailed off, her face flushing. "I’m not light, either.”
“Shut the fuck up with that. M’holding you, and m’not struggling.” He grunted, giving her ass a swat as he kicked open the door to his bedroom. “Bringing you to my room. Since your cunt needs a second, figured it’s nicer on your knees if you’re kneeling on my carpet t’suck me off.” The bluntness showed its head again as he felt her pull her face from his neck. “Been thinking about you getting that lipstick you keep wearin’ all over my cock.”
Her eyes widened in surprise, her cheeks flushing darker. "Oh...” She trailed off, licking her lips unconsciously as her gaze lowered to his crotch. "You mean like this?” She asked, her voice soft and sultry as she slid down his body to land on her feet. She slowly sank to her knees, her hands resting on his thighs. "Maybe I will, maybe I won’t..."
“I think you will. You’ve been gagging for it.” His hands grabbed the buckle of his belt as she looked up at him on her knees, the picture absolutely perfect. “You look awfully good there. Think you were made to be on your knees for me.” Depositing the leather onto the floor, he reached for her face and let his thumb smear her cherry red lipstick. “Go on. Undo my trousers, take my cock out. Know it’s what y’want. Don’t have to play coy with me.”
Her eyes fluttered closed as he smeared her lipstick, her tongue darting out to lick at her lips. "Mmm, you think so?” She cooed, her hands moving to his fly. She deftly undid the button and zipper, her slender fingers pushing the fabric down his hips. She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to the bulge in his boxers, her voice low. "Maybe…” Her breath hitched as she felt the warmth of his body through the fabric. "Maybe I'll take your cock out and give it a little kiss first," she whispered, her hands gripping the elastic waistband, slowly pulling them down to help his cock out.
She looked up at him through her lashes, her pink tongue darting out to lick her lips once more. His cock was thick, the head flushed a ruddy red. Reaching out, she wrapped her hand around the base of his shaft, feeling the heat radiating from him. "So big and hard for me." she purred, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the tip of his cock. Brushing her tongue around the sensitive tip, she smeared the precum that had leaked out. Looking up at him, she felt the thrill in her stomach as his eyes darkened with lust as he watched her. She opened her mouth, slowly lathing her tongue lick up and down his shaft from base to tip.
“There y’go.” He breathed, gathering her hair in a loose excuse for a ponytail. The red had transferred some to his cock and he loved the vision. He’d thought about it more times than he could count. “One day, think I should film this. Let you see how pretty you look on your knees.” He murmured, watching as her tongue ran back over the slit. “Get it wet.”
Humming in approval at his words, her tongue continuing to lap at his length, eyes fluttered closed as she felt his hand tighten in her hair. “I would like that.” Continuing to lick him, her tongue traced the ridges and veins of his cock before she looked up at him, wrapping her lips around the tip.
“Good.” He grunted as he felt the plushness of her lips take the head of him into her mouth, the slow pull of the suction. “Take a little more. Know you’ve been thinking about sucking this cock. Show me.”
As he spoke, she listened, taking more of him into her mouth. Unfortunately, she was not as immune to him as she had tried to be. It seemed she had met her match, wanting to please him in ways she usually scoffed at with any other man. She hollowed her cheeks, sucking hard as she bobbed her head up and down, doing the work she needed to make him pleased. Her hand wrapped around the base, stroking in time with her mouth as she looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, her throat working around his thickness.
“Oh, fuck.” He laughed deeply, head tilting back as she showed him what he had asked for. “Thatta’ girl. Knew you had it in you. Shit.” He cursed under his breath as the heat of her mouth welcomed him, taking him much better than he had anticipated.
She could feel his hands in her hair, guiding her pace, making sure she was taking him just right. The salty taste of his precum mixed with the musky scent of his arousal was intoxicating, making her head spin. She looked up at him, her lips stretched around his girth, and saw the raw desire in his eyes. It only fueled her own hunger, making her suck him even harder, desperate to please him.
Y/N moaned around his cock as he bottomed out in her throat, the vibrations traveling up his shaft. Her nose pressed against his pelvis as she swallowed around him, her throat constricting to make him hiss. She held herself there, savoring the feeling of being so completely filled by him before slowly pulling back to catch her breath. Strings of saliva connected her lips to his spit-shined cock.
His face contorted with pleasure as she deep-throated him, a guttural groan escaping his lips. "God, you're so good at that." Harry praised, his hands fisting her hair tighter. His hips bucked forward, meeting her bobbing head, the wet sounds of her mouth filling the room. His breathing grew heavier, chests heaving as he struggled to maintain control. "You’re gonna be a lot of fun to fuck, aren’t you?”
“Mhm.” With a messy pop, she pulled his cock out of her mouth, saliva dripping from his glistening tip. She looked up at him, her eyes dark with lust, before leaning forward and spitting directly onto his cock. The mess hit him dripping over the side, making him hiss in surprise. Rubbing her saliva into his cock, she coated him in it as she smirked up. Getting him to react was a reward. He had barely said anything to anyone, and she was the one getting him to groan and hiss. Sue her for feeling a little special. “Think it’s wet enough?” She purred, coy as she looked at him through his lashes.
Before she could say another word, Harry grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her head back, his mouth crashing against hers in a searing kiss. His tongue pushed past her lips, making her moan in surprise. Was he good at everything? She could taste herself on him, the salty sweetness of her saliva mixing with the heat of his own mouth. Biting down on her lower lip, he pulled it gently between his teeth before letting go.
 "You talk too much."
Her breath hitched as he spoke against her mouth, his voice low and commanding. She could only manage a whimper in response, her knees growing weak. He took advantage of her parted lips and weakened stance, slipping his hands around to squeeze her ass, pulling her flush against him so she could feel him against her tummy. "But you're right," he murmured, voice roughened by desire. "You've made quite a mess. Think you’re ready to take my cock?"
She nodded eagerly, her eyes locked onto his intense gaze. "Then turn around and bend over the bed," he ordered, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. She quickly complied, feeling a rush of cool air against her bare backside as she leaned forward, gripping the bed sheets tightly. 
As she leaned her chest further into the bed, she felt the soft fabric of the comforter against her breasts, her hard nipples grazing against it. Every sensation felt a little overwhelming, but in a good way. It had been a long time coming considering how she had tried to navigate how to work up how to simply talk to Harry, and now he was her supposed friends with benefits. Patience was wearing thin.  Swaying her ass enticingly, wanting to give him a good show- make him break. The room was filled with the sound of her shallow breathing, her chest heaving as she tried to regulate her breathing. Behind her, she could hear the crinkle of plastic as he sheathed himself in a condom.
She could imagine how Harry must look right now, his dark eyes fixed on her ass as he prepared himself. The thought sent her reeling. If only she had eyes on the back of her head. Feeling him step close, his body heat radiating off of himself and into her bare skin, she lifted her hips slightly, trying to guide his cock to press against her soaked entrance.
Harry's strong hands gripped her hips firmly, guiding her movements and controlling the pace. control- he was exercising the control that she clearly did not have. She felt the tip of his prick slowly push against her, inch by agonizing inch. Gasping, her fingers clawing at the bedsheets as she stretched to accommodate his size. The sensation was intense, bordering on overwhelming, but she welcomed it nonetheless, pushing back against him to encourage him to continue. "Oh, fucks sake.” She sulked into the mattress.
,"It’s not fair. You can’t.. You’re not supposed t’have such a big dick when you act like one.”  Her words came out in a string of stuttered moans as he seated himself fully inside her, his hips flush against her ass. He gave a low, satisfied chuckle, his body tensing as he held himself deep inside her.  She felt her insides clench around him, her body instinctively trying to adjust to his size. “Oh, no? You don’t like it?”
She shook her head vehemently, biting her lip as she felt him throb inside her. "N-no, I love it. I fucking love it." She admitted breathlessly, her voice thick with need. "It's just not...fair that you get to have such a perfect cock and you waited so long to give it to me." She punctuated her words with a roll of her hips, relishing the drag of his thick length against her walls.
Her insides felt like a silken vice around him, pulsating rhythmically as if trying to milk him despite him not being inside her long enough to do so.  Her body was already betraying her as her walls quivered around him, her inner muscles fluttering as if trying to entice him to move, to draw him in deeper. Her body was warm, and she was tight, gripping him as if she hadn’t been with anyone in years.
A smug grin spread across his face as he let out a low, satisfied groan from deep within his chest. “Well, m’sorry, babe. Had t’make sure you’d be a good fit for my cock. I think I made the right call, though. Tight little thing, squeezing me the way I like.” He taunted, his voice laced with amusement. His hands tightened on her hips, fingers digging into her flesh as he slowly began to move within her. "You like how I fill you up?" He punctuated his words with slow, measured thrusts, his voice growing hoarser as she clenched around him.
When she struggled to answer, he let out a laugh instead. He continued to speak for her, his voice a low, husky rumble as he slowly pumped into her. "Yeah, y’like being stuffed full of my cock. Like how it stretches you open and makes you feel so fucking small." He teased, his fingers digging into her hips as he picked up his pace slightly. "Barely able to talk back to me when I know you love to run that filthy mouth. Must be because you’re not used to being filled like this.”
She mewled, her hips rolling to meet his thrusts. He was right. Embarrassingly so. The wet squelch of his cock plunging in and out of her filled the room, mixing with the erotic symphony of their moans and groans. He could feel her getting more slick, her arousal coating his shaft and dripping down onto his balls. "That's it, take it deep like that. You like to play tough, but you just want t’be a good girl for me. Isn’t that right?"
Her response was a strangled cry, her pussy fluttering around him as if to agree. He grunted in approval, his hips snapping forward to fill her again. "Good girl," he praised darkly. "You're doing so well. Such a good little thing, taking me so well. Now answer me.” The croon was soft, a direct opposite to his pace. “Gonna let me fuck you when I want, mm? Gonna call me when y’need it too?”
She keened, her voice echoing in the room. "Y-Yes please... I- I'll call you. I'll be good. I'll... I'll let you. I'll let you whenever you want!" Her words came out disjointed, broken up by his thrusts growing a bit harder, jostling her where she laid. Her hands fisted the sheets beneath her, her knuckles turning white as she tried to keep herself grounded.
"That’s a good fuckin’ girl. You're gonna be so well-behaved for me, aren't you?" He cooed, his voice a soothing contrast to the growing brutal pace of his hips. One hand slid up her back, pressing between her shoulder blades to keep her arched as he took his pleasure from her. "You're mine t’play with now, understand? This pretty little cunt belongs to me." As he continued to pound into her, she felt a sense of contentment wash over her. This was exactly what she needed - someone to take control, to make her feel desired and owned. And Harry was perfect for the job. They were going to be lovely friends, with many benefits. As she teetered on the edge of her climax, she felt a sense of peace settle over her, knowing that she was exactly where she was meant to be.
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estranhossonhos · 22 hours ago
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It's obviously not a requirement I look for, whenever I meet someone (friends, bf/gf, doesn't matter - I mean people I want to keep around and nourish a relationship with); but I would love to have a significant other with this kind of mindset. That cooks with joy, plans every mealtime with ease, and feeds on other people's reactions to their food. In fact, whenever I get invited to eat at someone's house, and they complain that the food didn't turn up how they envisioned, or state that «it's nothing fancy» - oh, you have no idea how moments like this warm my body, heart and soul. And I wish I was writing all of this out of nostalgia, with that magical, slow-motion like remembrance about everyone gathered around a table, enjoying themselves, talking, laughing, ... but for me, it goes beyond that.
tw: mental health + unhealthy eating patterns
I try not to feel ashamed by confessing this, but I can't help but notice how people look at me weird. It's such an automated/basic thing everyone does, and I can't do it? «What do you mean? You need food to live, yet you can't cook nor do the groceries? ». Not quite, but I do need a whole day to do it, and a few days in advance to get myself ready for this mundane task. You see, my brain shuts off whenever I look at what's inside my fridge or pantry - if there's even anything in there to begin. I simply cannot put combine ingredients like you do (and it's not due to lack of knowledge). And whenever I can, it will most likely become my go-to meal for the next few weeks. It's a logistical nightmare to even consider going out to the supermarket. Yes, I could order online - but that's another task on itself. 80% of the times this gets me so overstimulated that, I've ended up (discreetly, I hope) crying in public, on a few occasions.
Don't worry, it's not an everyday occurrence. And for better or for worse, I am too self-conscious and pragmatic for this bad habit to take over. But whenever my neurodivergent brain is going through the slumps (you know: those occasional rough patches that resurface every once in a while, sprinkled with anxiety and depression), I prefer to stay in bed, disassociate and lose track of time, with an empty stomach. Even though I merely switched that moment with another filled with more guilt and shame towards myself. And yes, that also includes going out to eat. That's why I (while trying to play it cool) usually choose what somebody else ordered, or what the waiter recommended. This way nobody suspects anything is wrong with me, right?
Now, if this all seems childish and overly dramatic, congratulations: you are a typical functioning human-being. Believe me when I say this: I feel the same way you do, whenever I hear myself complaining about this «first world problem». But unfortunately, this drains the little energy we have to navigate our daily lives as neurodivergent individuals in a neurotypical world. Especially for those with a very tight monthly budget, who live alone or share a place with people they are not close with. Just like you, I used to find unnecessary and environmentally unfriendly all of those pre-packed, peeled and/or frozen meals, veggies and fruits. Nowadays I am thankful whenever I find them, since they quite literally have saved my life multiple times. Chemicals? Not healthy? Never heard of them. I need fuel to get out of bed and to not rot away. And if that fuel is a frozen lasagne with a weird ingredient list, so be it. I promise I'll compensate in a near future, when I am mentally and physically out of the slump, and I feel capable of asking for help (if needed) or to mask myself again as a typical functioning human-being 💪 So, next time you catch yourself complaining about those «unhealthy and ready to eat meals» or any other «unnacessary invention» that promises to make someone's life easier: take a deep breath, question everything but always try to do it out of pure curiosity. This way you're always reach the correct answer, be apart of less judgemental world, with more acessibility, compassion and solidarity towards one another.
Cooking for you is my love language.
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mimipolo · 2 days ago
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If you do nsfw requests, could you do nam-gyu being submissive? If not, how about sharing a bed with him? Thanks and have a great day! ❤️
sub!Nam-gyu x reader (nsfw)
This will be my first time writing smut but for you anon I will. You were definitely cooking with the idea tho, he could be made submissive.
It's another one of those cold nights. You're enjoying the cool weather, leaning against the window sill and gazing out dreamily. Life was tiring, managing check to check was tiring. But somewhere amid the chaos you managed to find solid ground, a stable job that pays enough to pay the bills and have extra left over. Life was good.
Even Nam-gyu was getting better, for you. Yes he's still working towards sobriety but you rather he'd be drunk or high off weed than drugs.
That's when you hear the door unlock from the living room. Knowing it was him from the jangling of his keys. Your mood perks up a bit knowing he's finally home from work, you missed him during the day as you usually worked from home.
You're about to step out the bedroom to welcome him home but he's already there, eyes low and focused as he hovers you. There's a softness to his demeanor you couldn't pin point. You couldn't name what's different yet so instinctively you still move in to embrace him. Linking your fingers behind his back as you kiss his jaw gently.
"Welcome home, how was work?"
"Okay."
At his dry response you're immediately confused, tilting your head slightly at him. Usually he'd be more than happy to talk your ear off about how annoying work was and it's crappy customers that spill liquor everywhere and so on.
But he's quiet, eyes still intently fixed on you as if expectantly. His breath smelling sweeter than usual is the only thing you could note. Your eyebrows screw together tighter as silence continues to dominate the room.
"Something happen?"
What you didn't expect was when you squeezed his waist to urge him to talk was the faint whimper that falls from his lips, his body suddenly hunching over yours. It feels hot to the touch even under his clothes.
"Please..."
Is the only word he mutters, his hands shakily reaching for you, digging themselves under your sweater to roam the warmth hidden under. It finally clicks in your head what's going on and it takes everything not to laugh at how soft he's being as he buries his head into your shoulder. You know he'd get embarassed and back out even in this state.
Glancing down to look into his eyes it didn't look like he was high, he looked transfixed. His face blushed a soft pink and lips slightly parted in a way that makes you want to coo at him.
"Please what Nam?" he groans in frustration at your words, already knowing he won't get anything unless he asks.
"You know what you always do this..." Huffing defeatedly against your neck as you rub his back.
"I want you... please." You roll your eyes softly at his answer, knowing this was the best you'd get from him as you lead him to lie on your bed.
His back is to the headboard and he's immediately grasping for you, grabbing your face firmly to kiss you as you straddle his lap. He's whining in the saddest way inbetween each breath as if he could do without air. When he knows you're not pulling away he lets go of your face and holds your waist in a death grip, still pulling you impossibly closer.
You smile against his sloppy kisses while your hands move to his waist, fingers purposefully grazing his crotch to see how sensitive he was. The violent buck into your palm tells you enough, he sighs shakily at the feeling, stopping mid kiss to collect himself, his gaze shifting away from yours as he mutters something you can't decipher under his breath.
"It's okay hm? You came to me for help right?"
You gently comfort him through it, you knew he couldn't handle the potential ego bruise if you teased him too much. He brushed his hair hurriedly behind his ears as he nods, sitting up right for you as if he was recieving a reward.
Stiffling a whimper behind his hand as he watches you unzip his trousers, his breaths are heavy above you and you're honestly just enjoying doing things slowly. He's so hard it hurts and he genuinely wonders how he managed to stay calm when he first saw you, looking at him so affectionately.
The thought of you just looking at him like that again has him grinding into your hand as you finally peel off his boxers. Seeing you holding up his shirt he takes charge of taking the peice of cloth from your hands and keeping it between his teeth. You look up at him gratefully and his body flushes hotter. He didn't understand why he always felt this way whenever you looked so calm taking him into your care.
He's hot, everywhere you could tell his body was flushed even under the moonlight. He leans towards the thicker side and he's an overall average length. A soft squeeze draws a low moan from him, beads of pre cum dripping thickly from his tip. You both just stare for a moment before he breathlessly speaks up.
"I- Just do it already or I'm gonna lose it here..."
His grip on your hips even tighter as he waits for you, never taking any action himself, a silent agreement of obedience. You peck his lips softly, moving your hand slowly up and down his shaft, whispering sweet words that have him curling into you almost suffocatingly.
Eventually you pick up the pace slightly, his mouth now sucking into the skin of your neck, out of his own desire to have you and to quiet his moans. You could feel the slick from his tip smearing on your clothes, still so persistent to get closer to you as if he isn't already breathing down your neck. A broken "Faster-" catches your attention and you realise you'd been maintaining the same pace for at least twenty minutes.
"'M sorry, gonna get you there okay?" You mutter apologetically, your free hand stroking through his hair. He tries to respond but he's cut off by being jerked off faster, nodding his head as he unlatches his mouth from your neck. He's switching between curses and strained "thank you"'s the faster you go.
You know he's getting close when his hips start flinching and his body's so hunched over yours you could end up on your back, it was like he was engulfing you(it's happened before.) You genuinely wonder what has him so worked up like this all of a sudden but you don't mind, it's one of the only times he likes to listen to whatever you say.
With a gutteral moan he suddenly comes undone, shooting ropes into your fist. Slipping down the smooth surface of his abdomen and unfortunately, on your sweater too. You watch him with wide eyes, he came faster than he usually does. He slowly comes down from his high, you softly jerking him through it.
He seems to come back to reality at the last moment, unconsciously leaning his full body weight against you. You groan externally as you're made to fall onto your back, his hands squeezing at your chest dazily as he moves to rest his head against yours.
You can feel the cum on his stomach smear against yours when he shifted it up to get his hands under your sweater, making you groan in annoyance. But he seems completely unbothered, to you and the mess he's made of your clothes.
"Care to share what happened now?"
"Chocolates at work, dunno they had some crazy shit in them, felt so good." Is what he mutters before dosing off but you're left thinking. Aphrodisiacs? At the bar? He didn't ask before just eating them??You don't get the opportunity tonight to ask him all your questions. They'll have to wait till later.
I hope this is okay, I honestly was sweating writing this.
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lheesluv · 2 days ago
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Please me, baby (l.hs)
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You text Heeseung to come over after struggling to get him off your mind and not to your surprise, he shows up, fulfilling your fantasy.
PAIRINGS - brother's bsf!heeseung x fem!reader
GENRE - brother's best friend, smut
WARNINGS - smut (mdni), blowjob, handjob, deep throating, dirty talking, pet names, Imk if i missed anything!
WC - 1.4k
A/N — hey guys! if this seems familiar, its another smut chapter to my wattpad series "My Secret Lover." if you wanna know what happens next, go check it out at lheesluv on wattpad.
© All rights reserved Iheesluv do not copy, repost, or translate.
You quickly ran downstairs without making a commotion and opened the door for Heeseung. "You came." you breathed out, looking up at him. He smirks and makes his way in.
You quietly closed the door, not wanting to reveal that Heeseung is here. You pulled Heeseung up to your room and shut your door. You turned around and you were surprised to see him so close to you.
You wanted to walk away but your back hit the door. He leaned close to your ear and whispered in the most alluring way, "You want me?"
You know you texted him to come here but you didn't think he actually would. All your confidence died down and you felt shy. You sent him that message without thinking.
"I— uhm... hey?" Heeseung chuckles at you and backs away. "Shy now, aren't you, darling." You only looked into his eyes feeling flustered. Your room was kind of dark. Only the dim light of the sun setting was shining through your window.
"What were you thinking about before you texted me that, hm?" You hesitated to answer him. "Nothing," you quickly said and broke eye contact with him. You heard him hum then felt his presence get closer to you.
"That doesn't sound so promising, darling."
Your eyes that were once focused on the floor looked up and saw his face centimeters away from mine. "Would you like to know what I was doing?" You asked him, suddenly feeling confident.
You got on your toes and whispered in his ear. "I was thinking about doing things with you." You saw his facial expression change once you got back on your feet.
His lips curved into a cocky smile. He placed his hands on your waist, keeping you close. He then leaned into the crook of your neck and started leaving kisses. Your hands naturally reached for his shoulder and held your grip there.
Your breathing got heavy when you felt him tease you. "What were you thinking about us specifically, Y/n." You didn't want to respond but the things he is doing to you right now persuaded you enough without you thinking.
"Giving you a blowjob," you blurt out, sighing at the feeling of his lips against your skin. He met eyes with yours as he softly caressed your waist. "Is that so? That sounded promising."
There was a moment of silence. It was just you two and your eyes talking to each other. Before you knew iit, your lips were on his. Your lips moved against each other with desperation.
He suddenly lifted you up and walked to your bed, not breaking the kiss. He drops you on your bed and hovers on top of you. One of his hands slips under your t-shirt and starts kneading your breast.
You gasped against his lips, giving him the opportunity to slide his tongue in. You kept on making out until you felt his boner against you. He pulled away and looked at you, panting.
"Are you going to fulfill your imagination, darling?"
And with that you pushed him off of you and had him sit on your bed. You got on my knees in front of him and impatiently pulled down his sweatpants — along with his boxers.
You hear him sigh in relief once his hard on is released free. You were frozen for a second. Your eyes never left his length. His chuckle set you back in reality. You looked up at him — who was now sitting on the edge of your bed and blinked a few times.
He stared down at you between his legs with lustful eyes. Your hand was hesitant at first, but eventually wrapped around his hard cock. You heard Heeseung inhale from the unknown touch in the quiet room.
From there, your hand started to pump up and down his length. You observed the head of his cock disappear in your hand every time your hand moved up and down his erection. The tip of his cock was leaking with precum and was red. Oddly enough, it turned you on.
Your eyes then looked up at him. His eyes were closed and his mouth was slightly opened, letting his heavy pants escape. In this quiet room, all you were able to hear was Heeseung's heavy breathing and the wet sound of his precum in your hand.
Your thumb brushed past his sticky tip as your eyes never left him. His jaw dropped when he felt your thumb brush past his sensitive spot. His eyebrows knitted in pleasure. "Don't fucking tease," Heeseung managed to say, tightening his jaw.
Having him feel vulnerable under your touch gave you a confidence boost. You giggled, "I'll suck you real good, pretty boy."
You stuck my tongue out and let the head of his cock settle on your tongue. You swirl your tongue around the tip, receiving a sigh of satisfaction from Heeseung.
You wanted to tease him more, but one of his hands moved to your head. In a gentle — yet forceful way, he pushed your head down, allowing you to take half of his cock in your mouth.
You heard him let out a shaky breath. You moved your head up and down his length, along with the guidance of his hand pushing your head. You took your hand to stroke the base of his cock, not able to take more of him in your mouth.
"Fuck, Y/n. Keep g-going," Heeseung stutters, his hips involuntarily bucking up. I hummed against his cock, sending vibrations that made him moan.
Hearing him let out such lewd sounds only made you want to satisfy him even more. So, you tried to take more of him. "Y/n— You don't have to— oh shit." And with that you felt the head of his cock hit the back of your throat.
Your gag reflex was triggered and tears welled up in your eyes. Your nails dug into his inner thigh at the feeling. Despite the feeling, Heeseung enjoyed the pleasure that came with it so you didn't care.
You looked up at him with his cock stuffed in your mouth with teary eyes. And honestly...he looked so damn hot right now. His hooded eyes looked down at you. His mouth parted with heavy breathing. His cheeks had a tint of redness. His raspy voice when he tried to speak. And, him. Everything about him just looked so attractive.
His eyes that were filled with lust became even more lustful, if that was even possible. "Fucking hell, you take me so well, baby," he confesses, gripping your hair. "You look so goddamn sexy with my cock stuffed in your mouth like that."
His praises made you moan against his length. You bobbed your head up and down faster until you heard him vocalize in ecstasy. Though you loved hearing him, he needed to be quiet. You pulled away, but kept on jerking him off.
"Shh. You don't want us to get caught, do you?" Heeseung then bites his bottom lip to suppress his moans. Your hand kept on moving up and down his length. It was sticky and wet with your saliva and his precum. The wet noise echoed in your room.
"H-holy shit." He brings his hand back to your head and pushes you down onto his cock. His hips started to fuck himself in your mouth and you felt him twitch. His breathing got inconsistent and faster. His grip on your hair got tighter.
He was getting closer and closer to his high and you wanted him to cum. Now. You sped up your movements that had him gasp with stuttered moans. "Want your cum," you mumbled against his cock and continued deep throating him.
"Oh fuck, pretty, I-I'm cumming," He sputters out in such a way it made your stomach turn and made you wet. You felt his warm cum fill your mouth full, fulfilling your needs. You swallowed his load and pulled away with a string of saliva connecting from the tip of his cock.
You kept on pumping him for a few more seconds to ride out his high. His hand wrapped around your hand that was jerking him off and squished it to stop you from moving. His heavy breathing soon returned to normal and the room was quiet once again.
Heeseung looked at you with tired eyes, but gave you a weak smile. "You look so sexy right now," you confessed and licked the corner of your lips to get the rest of his cum. He chuckled and pulled you on top of him into a hug.
"You did amazing, darling."
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mandarinmoons · 3 days ago
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omg i love ur account soo bad, i would rlly like to read about Spencer being jealous of Derek, for the reader to comfort him and try to help with his insecurities, lowk sad ik but pleaseee 🙇🏻‍♀️
Spencer sighed as he watched Derek from afar, talking to a group of women. Each of the girls seemed to be entranced with what the man in front of them was talking about, one of them playing with her hair while the other one kept biting her lip which turned into a not so subtle smirk over time.
Spencer hadn’t had the best luck with women, he had a few take interest in him over time, but it never grew into something serious. He blamed himself for not being the archetype of a man girls would usually want from what he saw and no matter how hard he would try to be more appealing, it just wasn’t him and he wouldn’t be able to keep up the facade for too long.
“What’s on your mind, boy wonder?”
Spencer blinked his eyes as you walked over to him and brought him out of his thoughts. Spencer wondered if he should tell you what’s on his mind or would it be something he would eventually get over after some time. It was hard to hide anything from you though, the sparkle in your eyes made Spencer crack and he’d always tell you whatever it was he was thinking of, you had never judged him for it as well, so he had his answer.
“Y/N, be honest, is there anything about me that’s… unattractive?”
“What do you mean? I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.”
“Really?”
You nodded as you took a seat next to Spencer, your hand reaching out and thumb running across the back of his hand. Spencer wasn’t one for physical touch, but whenever you showed it it put him at ease.
“Where is all of this coming from?”
“I look at Morgan at times, the way he talks to women, how he presents himself, the way he is basically and I don’t know I just… wish I could be that way.”
“I’ve always liked the way that you are. Men similar to Derek put me off at first, it makes me feel like they have other intentions, but when we first met only minutes in and you were talking about the differences between plant and human cells and I thought that it was really fascinating.”
Spencer chuckled as he remembered the day you both had met. He was scared that he had messed up his first interaction with you and that you would stay clear of him whenever you would come across in the bullpen, but you did the exact opposite. You’d always take time out of your day to go talk to Spencer, even if it was the most random subject someone could think of, but you never regretted it and kept coming back for more.
“There are people out there that adore people like you Spencer and I’m proud to say that I’m one of them. Plus, I think you’re cuter than Derek.”
Pressing a kiss to Spencer’s cheek, his eyes went wide as you waved goodbye and he watched you return to your desk, a slight bounce in your step as you strode across the room.
Spencer chuckled as his eyes met the floor, somehow your words set him at ease during times he needed it the most. He didn’t know what he had done to deserve someone like you in his life, but whatever it was he was sure he’d do it a thousand times again to have even one more conversation like this.
You can find my masterlist here!
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cjlouwho · 3 days ago
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Hello my love ❤️
How about "board game dispute" for a Bucktommy drabble
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anything for you, love! Although it went a little long... oops 😬
"Well-"
"Don't say it."
"I really don't see a way around it, Tommy."
"We're not-"
"We have to get a divorce."
Tommy sighed. "We've talked about this before, Evan. You're not hearing me out. Relationships are about compromise."
"I compromised when we named our last daughter Jade. I don't understand why you won't just give me this."
"Because I am not sending our child to school and letting her be bullied over having the name Ambrosia. It's a fruit salad, Evan! She'll be walking into kindergarten with her two dads and telling everyone she's a fruit salad!"
Tommy took a breath, reaching over to take Buck's hand. The second he touched him, Buck jerked his hand away and crossed his arms. "I don't think you're giving kids today enough credit. It's not the way-"
"It's exactly the way it used to be! Sometimes it's worse than it used to be and-
"I really think you-"
"you should listen to-"
"Guys!" Maddie yelled from across the table.
They went silent, both turning to her. That's when they noticed she was the only other one at the table.
"Where... Where'd everyone go?" Buck asked.
"Hen and Karen left ten minutes ago, and Howie headed to bed five minutes after that. This isn't even how Life is played, you guys! You don't have to name the children at all." She picked up one of the pegs and tapped it on the table, causing both Tommy and Buck to gasp at their "child" being potentially harmed. "See," she said. "Not real."
Tommy pursed his lips and Buck unfolded his arms. Maddie was hopeful she got through to them, until-
"What about Amber?" Buck asked.
"That's fin- Wait, how are you spelling Amber? Please tell me there isn't a y, Ev-"
"Just two, I promise!"
"No!"
"You're being stubborn!"
"You're being unreasonable!"
"You know what," Maddie stood, backing away from the table, "I'm going to bed. You two can see yourselves out. Don't forget to lock up."
Buck waved her off, keeping his focus on Tommy. "One y?"
"No!"
"Tommy!"
"Evan!"
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puckedout · 2 days ago
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i cannot stop thinking about quinn coming home horny after getting high sticked.
he's fuming, the blood pumping through him. he just comes in the house, lip all swollen. his hands claw at your clothes. "angel, lemme..." he paused. his hands end up under your clothes.
you just look at him. his swollen lip, sweaty hair sticking to him. "well i want your mouth on me so.. unless you wanna do it another way.. no."
he pouts. "i'm already in pain! just want to make you feel good!"
"yeah? you wanna fuck me?" your tone was teasing.
he doesnt say anything as he peeled off your pajama clothes. it was hasty- done out of deep desire. his hands reached up and began to play with your boobs.
"so so pretty. and you're all mine." he spoke like he was talking to your body, not you.
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comflexxed · 3 days ago
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june paused mid-pull, a clump of stubborn weeds still clutched in his hand as he looked up at hans. the sight of his husband — kneeling in the dirt, cheeks flushed with effort and emotion, voice catching with unshed tears — stirred something deep in him. hans had a way of speaking about their life together, about their future, that made june feel both grounded and weightless, like he could do anything so long as hans was by his side.
“hans,” june said softly, setting the weeds aside and rising to his feet. he brushed off his hands as he walked over to where hans knelt, his shadow stretching long over the patch of earth. when hans glanced up at him, his gaze bright and tearful, june couldn’t stop himself from reaching out, his fingers grazing hans’s cheek. “you’re going to make me cry if you keep talking like that,” he admitted with a laugh.
he crouched down next to hans, his knees pressing into the dirt, and rested a hand over hans’s. “you know i’ve never been much of a dreamer,” he began, quieter now, almost like he was confessing something. “but you make it so easy. you’ve turned me into someone who can look at a patch of land and see a life. you’ve given me so much.” june’s thumb brushed over the back of hans’s hand, his movements slow and deliberate. he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and offered hans a small, crooked smile. “it’s going to be wonderful, doing all of it with you.”
scooter wandered over then, his wet nose nudging june’s arm as if to remind him of the work still to be done. june chuckled, giving the dog an affectionate scratch behind the ears before looking back at hans. “but first,” he said, his tone shifting to something lighter, teasing, “we need to finish clearing this yard. and you can’t start crying on me or we’ll never get anything done.” june gave hans’s hand one last squeeze before standing, brushing dirt from his knees.
“come on, dreamer,” he said, his voice warm and playful as he reached down to help hans to his feet.
june let hans tug him out of his seat, but he lingered for a moment, their joined hands pulling him to a gentle stop. he studied hans, his husband’s enthusiasm glowing brighter than the morning sunlight filtering through the window. that boundless energy, that resolve to make something beautiful and meaningful out of even the smallest things — it never ceased to amaze him.
june’s smile softened as he looked into his husband’s eyes, his thumb brushing against his hand. “we’ve got a lot of weeds to pull. don’t thing you can go sneaking off to dream up wedding plans while i do all the work.” he teased lightly. with a quick tug of his own, june pulled hans toward the door, leading the way this time. “but i’ll admit, i like the idea of lilies and daisies on the beach.”
as they stepped outside, the air was crisp with the salty tang of the sea. the yard, a mix of wild grass and untamed patches, stretched before them, promising hours and hours of work. scooter and jinx darted around as they investigated the overgrown garden. june crouched to inspect a stubborn patch of weeds near the fence, pulling a few loose with ease before glancing back at hans. “you know,” he said, a thoughtful lilt in his voice, “this feels… symbolic, i guess. like we’re starting fresh, planting roots.” straightening up, he walked over to hans, brushing dirt from his hands.
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