#some of my favorites for old times sake ... <3 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

orangeblossomsintheair · 6 months ago

Text

ILLICIT AFFAIRS (3/3) | CS55

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

wc : 14k

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

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

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

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

But Carlos is no tumbleweed.

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

At first, it had just been sex.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until it’s not.

Until the minutes start to stretch.

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

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

It’s easy to brush it off at first.

To pretend it’s harmless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You I dreamed I hit you with my car

Carlos Hot. Was I shirtless?

You No, but you were crying. Freaked me out

Carlos Probably because I looked so good

You should block him.

You should delete his number.

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

He doesn’t stop at morning texts either.

He sends unsolicited opinions all day, every day.

Carlos Do you think cows ever get tired of standing?

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

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

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

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

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

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

You You need therapy

Carlos So do you, but I don’t judge

You You judge me constantly 🤨

The banter becomes relentless.

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

You Pasta

Carlos Predictable. You’re so basic it physically hurts

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

Carlos First of all, how dare you

You You’re trash

Carlos Trash that you text back btw

Then comes the random photos.

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

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

You Fast to embarrass yourself

Carlos Wow. Jealousy is a disease. Get well soon

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

You Limited edition ugly

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

Carlos We’ve decided to boycott walkies today.

Solidarity with my guy.

You Tell him he’s lazy

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

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

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

Carlos Rude. He’s very smart

You He licks his own butt

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

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

Carlos Did you miss me while I was asleep?

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

1K notes · View notes

m4tthewmurd0ck · 4 months ago

Text

SQUEAKY CLEAN

── AKA. . .

the first time you put bucky’s metal arm in the dishwasher | just pure fluff with mentions of angst from the past.

── Bucky Barnes x Fem!Avenger!Reader

(obviously this is an au and i’ve taken creative liberties in bringing back some characters that have passed away because in this story no they didn’t!!!! i’ve loved and been in the mcu fandom since the first iron man so when you see things have been changed, that’s just me taking creative liberties for the sake of my story. as far as powers go, i don’t get into using them but reader can travel the multiverse, and has telekinesis)

thank you @pellucid-constellations for getting me out of my bucky writing slump, without even meaning to! i am but a kathie stan account atp. now brb gonna go re read for the love of the game again 🙂‍↔️

Bucky Barnes wasn’t sure of many things in life. But one thing he is 100% certain of, is that he is completely in love with you.

Even in the beginning, you were a calming presence in his life. He’d known you since you helped Steve track him down in Romania.

Now here you were all these years later, and most days he still couldn’t believe that not only were you in love with him as he was in love with you, but he was lucky enough to call you his wife.

On tough days where you weren’t also working, you often cooked so that he came home to his favorite home cooked meal, you’d make sure he took a long shower to relieve the tension in his muscles, and you even encouraged him to remove his metal arm when he was at home.

The last part occurred after he confessed that yes, he obviously loved being able to have both hands working. But there was a small sense of relief when he was able to be without his metal arm, even if only for short periods of time.

And that’s what you were dealing with right now. Bucky was gone for the day to go meet Sam and Joaquin for what Sam declared would be the best guys day any of them ever had. You were surprised when Bucky said he was going to go without the arm, since they were only going to be eating, watching the best trash tv (again, Sam’s words), and hanging out just the 3 of them.

When he told them, Joaquin immediately offered to pick him up on his way to Sam’s.

That was how you knew he fully trusted the 2 men. Around new people, or anyone he wasn’t too sure of, he always wore the metal arm, saying it was just incase.

Upon closer inspection, you noticed the arm was starting to get a little dirty. Shuri had done an amazing job, and the vibranium prevented itself from retaining any scratches. But there were tiny spots of dry old blood and other stains that didn’t come off no matter how hard you scrubbed, and you worried how Bucky would react when he noticed one day.

You set the arm down on the kitchen counter and sat down as you tried to work out what to do. After thinking for a few minutes, you pulled out your phone, sending a text.

Less than 5 minutes later you were on a Zoom call with the 2 people you thought would best be able to help you.

“I’m telling you, it’ll be fine! I know my technology, and some soap and hot water could probably do it good. It’s made to withstand water whether or not it’s being worn.”

“What she said. Plus if it something goes wrong, just come over and Stark Enterprises will be happy to help. I won’t even charge you.”

Shuri rolled her eyes as Tony spoke, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

As the 2 went back and forth arguing about who’d be able to repair the arm the best, should the dishwasher idea go wrong, you quietly leave the Zoom call, promptly receiving 2 messages.

Figuring fuck it, only one way to find out if this’ll work, you pick up the metal arm and head over to the dishwasher.

After spending too long deciding what cycle to run it on, you opt for the shortest one, pop a dishwasher pod in, and hope for the best.

Realizing Bucky will probably be home soon, you decide to kill time tidying up the apartment. He forgot his phone at home, but Joaquin text you saying that your boyfriend mentioned that he missed you multiple times.

You’re well aware that you could wave your hands around and have your apartment basically tidy itself. On your last girls night, Wanda had shown you how to do just that. But something about moving around the different rooms and cleaning / organizing, it calmed you. So you often chose to just do it manually.

When the door to your and Bucky’s apartment opens, you smile as you realize you were right.

“Doll, I’m home.” You look up to see him toss his keys onto the little table by the door.

He does a double take as he walks by the kitchen counter, noticing the giant piece of metal that’s missing.

“Where… where’s my arm?”

Right after he asks, the dishwasher does the little series of beeps that lets you know it’s finished. You grab Bucky’s hand as you tell him to come with you to the kitchen.

“Wanna take a guess where your arm is?”

Bucky raises his eyebrows as he takes a quick glance around the kitchen. “Under the sink?”

When you realize he thinks you hid it for him to find, you can’t help but laugh. “It’s not hide and seek for your arm baby. Although I’ll keep that in mind for the future. But anyway, you know how your arms really good at not retaining scratches or dents from bullets or knives or whatever people try to kill you with?”

“…yeah.” You can practically see the gears turning in Bucky’s head as he tries to figure out where this conversation is headed.

“But you also know better than anyone that it’s not the easiest thing to clean, right?”

“I— yeah…”

“Well I made a call. Actually I guess technically I got on a call with two people, because I had an idea but wanted to make sure it would work and wouldn’t damage the vibranium.”

“Sweetheart… what did you do?”

“Ta-daaaaa!” You open the dishwasher and slide the bottom rack out.

When Bucky sees his metal arm on the rack, he bursts out laughing. He bends down to look at it, then pulls out his phone to get a picture before he takes it out.

Piggy backing off of his idea, you make him bend down next to the dishwasher, and he makes a face as he looks at the arm, pretending to be grumpy. After you take the photo, he carefully removes the arm and places it on the counter so he can inspect it up close.

It’s then that you’re thankful the dishwasher had a drying feature or you’re sure things would’ve ended bad.

You’re also pleased to see that your idea worked. The arm has a little bit of its shine back like when he was first gifted it. Gone are any traces of blood and whatever else wouldn’t come off when you scrubbed by hand.

When his arm is back on, he approaches you and pulls you close, and you sigh with content at the feeling of being in his embrace again.

“Thank you,” Bucky smiles and places a hand on either side of your face, pulling you in for a kiss.

“All I did was put it in the dishwasher and push a button, but I’m happy to help.”

“No,” Bucky shakes his head. He’s turned serious now, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face, and you know he’s happy. “I don’t mean just for that. When I first got that other arm from hydra, if you’d have told me there was gonna come a day where I’d be able to joke about it and be comfortable enough to take it off in front of people, not that I laughed back then but I would’ve laughed in your face.”

“Buck…” tears filled your eyes as you thought of Bucky as a scared man just forced into captivity. When a tear finally falls, he immediately wipes it away.

“If you’d have told me that eventually I’d meet the love of my life, and that she takes care of me, helps me see that I’m just as much of a man without the arm, I’d have said you were crazy. You know we got a little sentimental over at Sam’s, well he and Joaquin did a little more than me because I don’t get drunk, but we got to talking about safe or happy places. Sam and Joaquin agreed that their happy place was in the sky, when they’re able to fly freely in their suits and there’s no trouble or anything to worry about.”

You smiled as you picture them answering. Sam talked about flying like it was the coolest thing in the world, and you had no doubt that was true.

“I told them my happy place wasn’t actually a place. It’s you. Without a doubt, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. And if I could only pick one reason to be grateful for…” he holds up his left hand and wiggles the metal fingers, “it’d be because it allows me to hold you like this.” He pulls you close once again, and for a moment there’s just a comfortable silence as you enjoy being in each others embrace.

“Well now I’m really glad I decided to put your arm in the dishwasher,” you laugh as a happy tear manages to escape.

“Me too doll, me too.”

bonus ~

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x avenger!reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x female!reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst

500 notes · View notes

deansbeer · 4 months ago

Text

like father, like daughter!

୨୧ warning(s). domestic fluff | toddler swearing | ben being a menace & bad influence on ur child | affectionate teasing (?) | light humor.

୨୧ kari notes. i wrote this yesterday in my car while i was running errands for my baby sister's birthday LMAO and this sounded funnier in my head but (in bree's words) fuck it we ball. i also missed writing for mr. soldier boy <3

saturdays are sacred.

it's the one day of the week where you don't have to rush out of bed, don't have to fight through traffic or sit through meetings or deal with deadlines. it's the one day you get to just be—with ben, with your daughter, with the small, messy, ridiculous family you somehow built together.

today had been a good one.

you'd all gone to the park, let your daughter run wild for a few hours, watched her climb the jungle gym with the reckless confidence of a toddler who thinks she's invincible. ben had trailed after her the whole time, grumbling about little shits not watching where they're going when other kids ran too close, but you caught the way he smiled every time she threw her head back and laughed.

now, the three of you are home, settled in the living room. your daughter sits on the floor, surrounded by a mess of her stuffed animals and plastic dolls, while you and ben take up the couch, curled into each other as an old '80s movie plays on the tv.

it's one of ben's favorites—something with big explosions, bad one-liners, and way too much synth in the background music. he's been mouthing along to half the dialogue, grinning whenever a fight scene starts.

"god, movies were so much better back then," he mutters, stretching his arm across the back of the couch.

you snort. "you just like them because they're all violence and tits."

"yeah, and? what's your point?"

you roll your eyes, but you're smiling.

it's nice—the warmth of his body beside you, the steady hum of the tv, the quiet sounds of your daughter mumbling to herself as she plays. it's one of those rare, perfect moments where everything just feels right.

but sometimes… those moments aren't always forever, are they?

"oh, for fuck's sake."

your daughter's tiny voice rings out clear as day, full of frustration as she glares down at one of her toys like it's personally offended her.

your head snaps toward her so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash.

ben stiffens beside you.

"what," you say slowly, "did you just say?"

your daughter huffs, still frowning at the plastic dinosaur in her hands. "i said, 'for fuck's sake.'"

you stare at her.

then, just as slowly, you turn to ben.

he's sitting completely still, eyes locked on the tv, expression carefully blank—like if he doesn't move, maybe you won't notice he's there.

you narrow your eyes. "ben."

"hmm?"

"benjamin."

he exhales, dragging a hand down his face. "look, before you start bitching—"

"are you fucking kidding me?"

the man smirks. "oh, now who's teaching her bad words?"

you elbow him hard in the ribs.

he grunts, but he's still grinning, the asshole.

meanwhile, your daughter is just looking between the two of you, completely unfazed, like she hasn't just dropped a full-blown curse word like it's nothing.

"baby," you say, rubbing your temples, "we don't say that."

she tilts her head. "but dada says it allll the time."

ben immediately turns away, suddenly very interested in the movie again.

you shoot him a glare. "unbelievable."

he shrugs. "what? she spends all day with me, she's bound to pick up some things."

"yeah, like a sailor’s vocabulary."

he smirks, leaning in, voice dropping low. "c'mon, sweetheart, you didn't exactly marry me for my clean mouth."

you swat at him, fighting back a laugh. again asshole.

your daughter, still sitting cross-legged on the floor, lets out a little put-upon sigh and mutters, "jesus christ."

ben loses it.

he throws his head back, laughing so hard his shoulders shake, like this is the funniest thing in the goddamn world.

you groan, flopping back against the couch.

this is your life now.

#kari ♡ writes.#soldier boy #soldier boy x fem reader #soldier boy drabble #soldier boy angst #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy imagine #soldier boy smut #soldier boy fic #the boys

315 notes · View notes

absolutebl · 7 months ago

Text

MY BEST & WORST BLs of 2024

My Top 10 BLs of 2024 are (in order)

1 Cosmetic Playlover

Japan Gaga

I love this little show. It's a classic office BL about the older workaholic who loves his job and the younger upstart who unexpectedly loves his boss.

It’s a hyung romance where everybody is extremely earnest and sweet and pretty about everything. Except our seme, who is slightly unhinged and a little obsessed in all the ways one likes best from Japan. Utterly charming unexpected gem of a show. What fun!

Already in hard rewatch territory.

2 Love For Love's Sake

Korea iQIYI trigger suiside

KBL isekai about a man who must win a game by convincing a reserved teen outcast to fall in love with him. Of course, that teen represents himself and his own unhappiness. Like many queer narratives, this show is actually about self worth, trust, and found family, and it is VERY on the nose. But I don’t expect subtlety from my BL and I enjoyed it's truly lovely redemption arc and earnest performances. The narrative tension is tight, and the pacing is killer.

That said, I did find the flow a touch disjointed with overworked filming angles and poorer than average captions, but the consistency of tone, script, and immersion is spectacular, beyond the norm for BL (even KBL). You will drown in this show and like it that way. The leads have fantastic chemistry and it's ultimately highly rewatchable and utterly charming, which counts for a lot.

3 Unknown

Taiwan YouTube

Unknown is a wonderful BL with a pitch perfect portrayal of long term pining, age gap, and the stepbrothers trope. The acting and chemistry are ON POINT (especially from the leads) which made the resulting characters very believable.

When it dwells in intimate family drama, it's stunning. It's slightly less successful when it leaves the home and goes gritty. It's few flaws are the result of curtailed length. It could have used more breathing room to deal with side plots, characters, and companion character development. The editing was occasionally choppy and packed with flashbacks that broke the emotional tension. Still, those are mere quibbles for me. This is an excellent show based on one of my favorite old school BL tropes that I know I'm going to be recommending for a long time.

4 We Are

Thai iQIYI

I unabashedly loved show. It was slow to find its stride (I didn’t get into it until ep 6!) but I’m so glad I gave it a chance. It’s a soft ensemble piece with multiple couples and very little plot, but I didn’t care because it’s not trying to be anything more substantial.

Essentially, this was a series of vignettes covering one year of uni for a queer friendship group finding love, new friends, and laughter. It’s not being harsh with us or it’s characters the way some offerings of this ilk have been (side eyes Friend Zone and Only Friends) nor did it tumble into Gen Y chaos. In fact, this reminded me more than anything of a refined Love Sick - just with older characters and occurring within a genre that has matured over this last decade. It has that close queer friendship group meets earnest gentleness that made me adore Love Sick and Make It Right so much.

In other words, this was Thai BL at its finest, finding it roots again 10 years on, but also stretching upwards and showing us what it could do with that original seed. So? I adored it. Did it blow my mind? No. But it left me smiling and made me belly laugh quite a bit.

5 Cherry Magic (Thai remake)

Thai grey

A soft charming warm hug of a show about crushes and mind reading and self worth that really worked for me. With no-fuss execution from a consummate team and an OG lead pair (proving why they remain eternal and deserve to grow up).

Look, here’s the thing, Cherry Magic is a great Thai BL in its own right - not comparing it to any other iteration. But even when I do compare (and I've seen all the Cherries and read the manga) it stands strong.

I, personally, like the Thai BL slightly better than the Japanese live action yaoi, but I think that’s because I just really enjoy Thai BL's style and I LOVE TayNew (who may be my favorite OG branded pair still in operation). Also all the kissing was both present and better in this version. As it should be from Thailand.

Highly recommended.

6 Wandee Goodday

Thai YouTube

Such a FUN show. A charming quintessentially modern Thai BL about a doctor and a boxer who start as a one night stand and then fall in love. Great rep for everything from Muay Thai, to safe sex, to FUN sex, to ace, to bisexuality, to smiley kisses, to the first legal gay wedding in a Thai BL.

It’s a delight and I enjoyed (almost) every single moment of it. With out question it's best traits are active positive representations of green flag boys, communication, and grown-up relationships but the chemistry is ALSO on point. I personally can't (and don't) ask for much more than this from my BL.

Highly recommended as one of 2024's best pick-me-ups.

7 The Sign

Thai YouTube

This show is literally everything (except straight) all at once. It's BL, queer, band of brothers, romcom, erotica, PNR, fated mates, police procedural, fantasy, mystery, suspense, and slasher. It’s the king of genre mash-up chaos. Sure, it's madness but there is genius in it.

Was it a crazy unhinged mess +1 roll for damage? Yes. Yes it was.

Did it manage to hold all those tangled threads together? No it did not.

Was it also a charming, sexy, engaging, non-stop piece of entertainment? Sure thing.

I think this show is basically my KinnPorsche, and frankly I’ve been chasing that dragon naga since KP aired.

Is it perfect? No. But it was balls to the wall FUN.

Emphasis on balls.

8 Century of Love

Thai Gaga

This is a very pretty drama about a young man who fell in love with a nice girl 100 years ago, and when she died in his arms, he was cursed to live until he could meet her reborn self. Only this time around, she’s reborn into the body of a man. Or is she?

I love it when Thailand gets all up in its own historical business and reincarnation and shizz. I like this pair (it’s not DaouOffroad’s fault I didn’t enjoy their first series.) Daou’s wushu is snazzy and we got a unique meet cute. (Erm… Remeet cute? Meet cute 2.0?)

Ultimately, this is I Feel You Linger in the Air + First Love Again, rather than (as one might expect) Until We Meet Again or The Director Who Buys Me Dinner.

The leads turned in great performances, although Daou outclassed everybody else on that screen by making us really believe he's over 100 years old.

It’s a good story and a great BL and I can’t find any major faults with it beyond a certain level of camp that is sadly endemic to lakorns. I’m going to give it credit as the kind of BL that one could safely recommend to lovers of melodrama and historical romance, without having to qualify it as “good for a BL.”

It was, to put it succinctly, a VERY ENJOYABLE show.

9 Sugar Dog Life

Japan grey

This is a phenomenally charming and adorable little romance about a forlorn university kid and the police officer who adopts him. They are relentlessly kind to each other, in fact it’s an extremely kindly show over all (everyone in it is so nice to everyone else including us) so there’s very little tension. But what it lacks in drive, angst, and complexity it makes up for in earnest acts of service and simple affection.

These two are basically boyfriends from the get-go, it’s just one of them acts like it and doesn’t realize it and the other one realizes it and has to figure out how to make it a reality. It’s incredibly sweet and incredibly wholesome, nourishing but delicious.

Everybody who can, should watch this show. It will make you feel better about life.

10 The Rebound

Thai iQIYI

I am well aware that objectively this show was, erm, NOT good. But this was a sports romance Thai BL pulp with everything I could have asked for given this sub genre. More, actually, since MeenPing are both great basketball players and the team component really did form part of the connective tissue of the show (vital in a sports romance IMHO since these are band-of-brothers narratives).

Meen has his shirt off within the first two minutes which is all I needed but he's still pretty great as the sullen secret-keeper against Ping's cheerful survivor - childhood sweethearts torn asunder and now reunited. Then Frank sweeps in to give everyone a bad case of second lead syndrome.

I always try to judge BL for what it is AS BL, and what it’s trying to do within its own territory and purview. This did exactly what it claimed on the tin: gay boys play b-ball and fall in love. That was all I wanted from it. Sure there was random kidnapping and a light bought of mass murder, but what’s a BL in 2024 without a touch of the mafia? You do you little pulp, I’m disposed to be pleased.

These BLs all got 9/10s from me. Unlike in 2023, I did not hand out any 10/10 to any BLs in 2024.

The 13 BLs That I DNFed in 2024

(no particular order)

7 Days Before Valentine

Bad Guy My Boss

Bad to Bed

Beside You

Close Friend 3 Soju Bomb

Happy of the End

Kiseki Chapter 2

My Universe: Refund Love

Ossans Love – Season 2 (5 years later)

Playboyy

The Hidden Moon

The Whisperer

Time the series

You can consider these my "worst BLs of 2024." I am no longer a BL completest, too many aired in 2023 and it broke me. I now DNF all whenever I feel like it.

Codicil

I only carefully track/watch Thailand, Taiwan, Korea, and Japan. Other countries are not fully represented.

2024 - My Numbers

So my spreadsheet chronicled 109 BLs that finish airing in 2024 (down substantially from 138 last year). Japan has increased production slightly (length and consistency), Taiwan stayed steady, but Korea cut back - as did Vietnam, the Philippines, and Thailand.

73 = watched & reviewed (almost 30 less than 2023! I fell off the wagon in a big way)

3 = I'm still thinking about watching/finishing (4Minutes, Blue Canvas of Youthful Days, Spare Me Your Mercy)

20 = CNF (could not find)

13 = DNF (which accounts for how few very low scores I handed out, I just stopped watching). Speaking of which...

Ratings spread

(# of stars. & # of BLs given that rating)

0 (see DNFs instead)

1 - IT'S DEPRESSING they killed the gay, save yourself

1 - I DON'T KNOW WHAT I AM WATCHING AND NEITHER DOES IT

3 - FATALLY FLAWED but still basically BL, however… do we want to support this kind of behavior?

3 - WATCH IF YOU HAVE NOTHING BETTER TO DO but don’t expect much, it’s a total hot mess

9 - WORTH WATCHING BUT FLAWED probably around the ending or in narrative structure/cohesion or censorship

24 - RECOMMENDED WITH RESERVATIONS i.e. isn’t quite BL, convoluted, not strictly HEA, too short/long, or chemistry issues

22 - RECOMMENDED some concerns around tropes (like dub con) or story structure but still satisfies as BL

10 - ABSOLUTELY RECOMMENDED probably a few pacing issues or one flaw

0 - HIGHLY RECOMMENDED faithful to tropes, happy ending, good chemistry, few flaws, high rewatch potential

Favorite 2024 call out?

The Sign's nod to UWMA

Most adorable meta moment of 2024?

Wandee Goodday

Most stunning execution of a traditional trope in 2024.

Began Beginning (the shoulder lean)

(source)

391 notes · View notes

wlwsoccerfics · 5 months ago

Text

Secret is Out!(MeademaXTeenReader)

Warnings: school Fight, bullying, injury, homophobic comments mentioned

A/N: for the sake of this Fic, Viv never left Arsenal.

Summary: you have a Secret girlfriend. Your moms find out when school calls them cause you got into Trouble.

You were walking from your classroom to the Cafeteria ro grab some food and meet up with your girlfriend when you got cornered by a group of girls. They weren't Strangers to you. Unfortunately you were one of their favorite Targets. They called you names that were quite homophobic, they mockingly called you 'queen of football' and stuff like that. Saying you make a really big deal out of playing for Arsenal and Englands national Team at only 15 years old. Which was ironic cause you never really talked about it at school.

"why do you keep posting pictures of your Family! No one wants to see you and your mothers! We get it you all are d*kes!" One of them said. You frowned softly.

"why the hell do you feel the need to watch at what she Posts? You seem to be obsessed with her!" You heard a voice behind you say. You knew exactly who the voice belonged to. It was your girlfriends voice. You and Lenja had been secretly dating for 3 months now.

"can't little Mix(they called you that cause of you being english & dutch, thinking it was hilarious, No Idea why) fight her own battles?! She is like a rescue puppy!" One of them answered.

"leave her alone! She is too nice to be mean to you guys!" Lenja said.

"No she is weak in every way! She is only playing soccer cause her moms are playing, not like she is any good." The Queen of mean replied and everyone laughed. She then pushed you which resulted in flying fists. You ended up with a bloody nose and a black eye. Even though you weren't even fighting. No Lenja was defending you and had a busted lip now. The mean girls got suspended but somehow you and Lenja also got in trouble and now your parents would get called.

Viv's Phone rang during practice, first she ignored it but when it rang the second time, she picked up. Seeing it was your school.

"miedema." She said.

"it's y/n's english teacher calling, you need to Pick your daughter up from the principals Office. She has gotten in trouble!" Your teacher explained. "Don't worry she is okay!" She added.

" we will be there as quick as possible!" Your momma said and ended the call. Your Mom was looking at her and so were a few teammates.

"Viv what's wrong?" Your aunt Leah asked.

"is everything okay?" Your Mom wanted to know.

"that was the school. our daughter is okay, but she has gotten in some sort of trouble!" Your momma explained.

"getting in trouble so doesn't sound like our Kid!" Your Mom stated and sighed softly.

"agreed, my goddaughter doesn't do trouble! Only on the pitch!" Your aunt Steph replied.

Your moms quickly told everyone they would talk more during afternoon practice. It was the practice you always attended as well. It took them 20 minutes before walking into the school and seeing you sitting in front of the principals Office, next to Lenja. Her parents happened to be closely behind your moms.

"oh my god! What happened to your face liefje?" Your momma asked.

"the Queens of mean happened!" Lenja said.

"Lenja, i want an explaination!" Lenjas dad replied. You two explained things when the principal walked over and told you and your parents that you would be suspended for two weeks as well.

"that's bullshit!" Lenja jumped out of her seat but you pulled her back.

"Lenja." Her Mom said, wanting to make sure she calms down as well.

"those girls bully my girlfriend on daily basis! They even threw punches and now instead of just them getting in trouble it's us as well?!" Lenja frowned softly. Not realizing at first that she had just accidentally outed your relationship. All four parents did notice though. But at first they wanted to resolve the Problem because it doesn't seem fair to them either to punish the two of you for that.

"our daughter looks all banged up! It's your Job to keep our kids Safe! Does this look Safe to you?!" Your mom asked. She was upset. Pointing to both your face and Lenjas.

"i agree with my wife!" Your momma replied.

"we think it's not acceptable either! We should sue you!" Lenjas dad stated.

"i don't think that's necessary. I am sure we can figure something out." The principal let you guys know. He probably realized it wasn't so smart to get press for the school. Especially not If three Professional Football players and two doctors were involved.

This all did in fact work out and you weren't suspended but still left with your moms, Lenja and her parents for the day.

You went to grab some coffee and talked about your relationship.

"so you two are a couple." Lenjas Mom stated.

"yes. Guilty!" Lenja answered.

"why didn't you tell us?" Your momma asked.

"in all honesty...i wanted to avoid the talk." You admitted.

"Same!" Lenja admitted. Lenjas parents chuckled softly.

"Lenja you got the talk two years ago. We won't give you another talk... just be Safe!" Lenjas Mom said.

"Same goes for you! We just want you to be safe, liefje!" Your mom told you.

You talked for a little while before you had to go to practice. Your moms and Lenjas parents got along well though so your moms invited the three to your next Game.

You were on your way to practice mow, sitting in the backseat. Your momma was driving.

"lovely? Can i ask you something?" Your Mom spoke up.

"yes sure." You replied, curious what she wanted to ask.

"why didn't you tell us you were being bullied?" She asked.

"cause i was trying to ignore them for the most part! It doesn't really bother me that much anymore." You explained.

"still, you shouldn't have to go through it." Your momma answered.

You walked into the locker room with your moms for afternoon practice. All eyes were on you and your banged up face.

"okay who hurt my goddaughter? I am gonna hunt someone down!" Leah stated.

"it's all sorted out!" You quickly said.

"But someone messed up your beautiful face!" Steph answered.

You chuckled softly.

"as long as my girlfriend still likes it!" You told them.

"WAIT?! GIRLFRIEND?!" they all yelled out.

#woso request #woso x reader #woso fic #leah williamson x reader #steph catley x teen reader #arsenal women x reader #beth mead x viv miedema x teen reader

170 notes · View notes

jxxbtx · 4 days ago

Text

TW : Kinda suggestive (no graphic, just mild mention of intercourse) Shidou's an incubus - A seductive demon that has sex with mortals in their wet dreams

Incubus!Shidou who found his job to be an utter bore, especially since he found half the people he seduced to be pathetic.

Incubus!Shidou who tries to invade your dreams cause he found you to be adorable (and he may have just wanted to see if you were as innocent as you looked)

Incubus!Shidou who finds out that you do not HAVE dreams and sulks about it near your bed till the morning light

Incubus!Shidou who scared you half to death on an incident of sleep paralysis, and now he snaps you into it every night just so he could talk to you.. more like- have you listen to him talking really..

Incubus!Shidou who sits on your bedside chatting mindlessly about his boring night with some random neighbour who was way too old to be having wet dreams anyway-

Incubus!Shidou who pokes and prods at you, trying to get you to twitch for him in your sleep paralysis state

Incubus!Shidou who screamed like a girl when you managed to snap out the paralysis and swing hard enough to break his nose

Incubus!Shidou who just thinks he fell inlove trice over when he felt the blood run down his chin

Incubus!Shidou who casually leans over your shoulder while you go through books on exorcisms, whistling innocently

Incubus!Shidou who looks at you like you insulted his hairstyle when you referred to him as your 'sleep paralysis demon (He was an incubus for.. satan's sake!)

Incubus!Shidou who clings onto the word 'my' from your lips a bit more than he should

Incubus!Shidou who trails after you EVERYWHERE when he realises he doesn't give a fuck about his duty with you.. the.. temptresses infront of him.

Incubus!Shidou who pouts and complains whenever you go to the library with the sole purpose of getting him out your life (should he find that hot?)

Incubus!Shidou who happily skips around your room while you brainstorm on your pin board for strategies, even offering you suggestions knowing for a fact he would never let you go

Incubus!Shidou who patiently sits in your mediocre salt circles while you chant whatever it is that you found in your books

Incubus!Shidou who panicked so hard when you pretended he vanished from your vision, he doesn't think of himself as gullible but you'd be able to drive him to the ends of the earth

Incubus!Shidou who remained your little devilish companion, offering threesomes whenever he caught sight of an interesting guy- and overall remaining an utter menace..

Incubus!Shidou who's snickers resonated in your household too freely, too at home, too yours..

Shidou who ripped his wings and horns off- disassociating with his species, just so he could stick by you till you lived out your mortal life..

A/N : Happy rly late bday to the all time favorite zest demon <3 for christ's sake X for satan's sake ✓

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock headcanons #bllk hcs #blue lock hcs #bllk headcanons #shidou ryusei #ryusei shidou #shidou ryusei x reader #ryusei shidou x reader #shidou x reader #shidou x you #shidou x y/n

89 notes · View notes

sexy-monster-fucker · 7 months ago

Text

How (some of) My Favorite Characters Would Kiss You at Midnight on New Years

I thought this would be something fun to do in honor of me being a New Year’s Baby and all.

ft: Lee Russell, Mark Hoffman, Eddie Brock|Venom, Aaron Hotchner (first time writing for him!),

a/n: I know time zones exist and therefore not everyone would see the ball drop at the same time, but this is for fun so who cares!

~~~

Lee Russell

- Neal Gamby had invited you over for a New Year’s Eve party. Calling it a “Principals Party” seeing as thought Lee and yourself were the only people he could trust since being shot.

- Lee started the night having all of you throw back shots. Changing to smoking some joints he had picked up from some old delinquent that graduated a few years back. Toothy grin taking over his face as he exclaimed with joy.

- Gamby sipped on a beer as you made yourself a fruity cocktail. The minutes ticked closer to midnight. You found your face growing warm as the alcohol burned the whole way down. Gaze finding its place on your coworker.

- Lee put on some music with a Bluetooth speaker he had brought. Erratically dancing to the fast paced pop music. Singing along as he extended a hand to you.

- Throwing caution to the wind, you took his hand. Dancing along to the hits from a few years ago. Laughing and smiling as he cheered you on. “There ya go, sweetheart,” Lee cooed with a suck of his teeth.

- Lee admired the way your curves moved as you danced. Lying to himself about the liquor settling on his hardening cock. How he could not remember the last time he felt like this for someone. Usually the type to only be with people for his own gain.

- Gamby choked on his beer as he abruptly sat up. “Shit— It’s almost midnight!” Scrambling to grab the remote and click through the channels on the TV. You and Lee both cursed as you plopped onto the couch beside Gamby, Lee in the middle.

- All of you shouted which channel would be showing the broadcast. Arguing which one would be best as Gamby stomped his foot to shut you up. All of you sighing in relief when he finally landed on a channel. Less than two minutes til midnight.

- “Fuck! I wanted to do shots as soon as it drops—“ Lee hopped off the couch running to pour three shots for you guys. “Hurry up, Lee!” You called out. He chastised you as he spilt the shot glasses he carried. Passing them to you both, ending yours with a “my lady.”

- 30 seconds. Lee’s legs bounced up and down with excitement. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to get me drunk, Russell,” you chuckled as you sniffed the strong alcohol. Lee’s hazel eyes darted between your eyes and mouth. His cheeks pink.

- 15 seconds. You found yourself staring at Lee’s lips. Knowing what was usually done when the clock struck midnight.

- You all began counting down from ten. Smiling ear to ear, surrounded by your closest friends. You’d been through a lot in the last year. You cherished moments like this.

- “3!… 2!… 1!!!” You each threw back your shots. Faces contorting at the strength. You and Lee shot glances over to one another. Meeting quicker than intended, you both went in for a kiss. Sloppily interlocking.

- Your eyes shot open momentarily before melting into him. Wrapping your arms around his neck as drunken horniness took over. Lee’s hands roamed your body as he pushed himself into you. Forgetting you were not alone.

- “Jesus Christ, you guys,” Gamby groaned.

- “Give us some space, Gamby,” Lee said between kisses.

- “THIS IS MY HOUSE!”

- “Go reintroduce yourself to your hand or something— for fuck’s sake,” Lee deepened the kiss ignoring how his friend still sat next to him.

Mark Hoffman

- Of course Mark works on New Year’s Eve. Investigating cases never stops. And he would be damned if he ever let Peter Strahm get a leg up on him.

- You leaned against his desk, some case file pinched between your fingers. Staring at pictures of the newest Jigsaw victim. Unsavory and bloody.

- Mark’s thick hands sprawled across the paperwork. You could have gone home, but it was more fun to stay with him. Even if he was consumed by his job.

- You looked at the clock. It was just a few minutes to midnight. You walked over to one of computers and found a livestream of the ceremony in New York.

- “What’re you doing?” Mark deep tone broke the silence between you. Chills prickled down your skin at his innocent question. Something about him got you like this. Needy.

- “Don’t you wanna watch the ball drop?” You looked over your shoulder at him. Hooded eyes caught staring at your ass. You smirked.

- “Doesn’t matter,” Mark’s eyes bounced to the screen. Unable to deny the statistics of the night as he saw how many people filled the streets. A faltering thought when his eyes went back to you.

- You pouted at him. You leaned down to grab the bottle you had hidden in one of the drawers. “Don’t even wanna have some champagne with me?”

- Mark smirked, “You planned this all day?”

- You walked over, sitting the champagne on his desk and resting your hands on the arms of his chair. Capturing him between you. “I like to celebrate,” your lips achingly close to his.

- Mark looked around. “Cups?”

- You shook your head as you wrapped some old napkin around the bottle as you popped it open, “Gotta drink it out of the bottle.”

- Thank God none of it spilled.

- You took a huge swig as the countdown got to 60 seconds. Mark took it from you and drank some himself. It burned so good. Immediately flushing your cheeks.

- Mark stood up behind you. Walking over and towering over your figure. His large arms wrapped around you as his groin pinned you to the table. His nose traced your neck and jaw.

- Your fingers tangled in his hair. Smiling widely. You knew you’d get him eventually.

- 30 seconds. Mark’s fingers danced around your waistband. Deep blue eyes staring at the staticy screen. Your smell did things to him. Sweet aroma taking over his senses and urges. He wanted to take you right then. No matter how inappropriate.

- 15 seconds. Mark reached forward grabbing the bottle and drinking more of it. Passing it to you after.

- “3!… 2!… 1!!”

- Mark spun you around. Pushing his plump lips against yours. Kissing you with a hunger you had never felt from him before. Tongue venturing between your lips. Body pinning yours.

- “Let me fuck you,” Mark’s alcohol ridden breath asked between kisses. You giggled. Hands coming up flat against his chest.

- “We can’t at work,” you mumbled.

- Mark groaned as he ground himself into you. His hardening member taking over his urges. Needing you worse than ever before.

- “Maybe next year you’ll take off work,” you teased.

Eddie Brock|Venom

- The apartment was completely wrecked from the fun time Venom had been having. Alcohol always turned him into a party animal. And of course, you always played along.

- You and Venom sung along to some 90s hits karaoke. Buzzed as the words slurred and stumbled from your mouth. Broken pitch and laughter taking over the well-known lyrics. Swishing of party beads against your bodies backing up the vocals.

- “Guys, the ball’s about to drop,” Eddie interrupted as you were attempting to select a new song. Venom growled in frustration before seeing the excitement come over you. Running over and joining Eddie on the couch.

- Eddie clicked through to a channel that was showing the countdown in New York.

- “This is such a weird human tradition,” Venom got close to the TV. Staring into it like a cat does a fish tank. Perplexed. Still attached to Eddie’s shoulder, causing him to pull forward slightly.

- “Another cycle around the sun, buddy. Isn’t that a reason to celebrate?” Eddie sipped his beer, eyebrows raising with his question.

- The symbiote thought silently. You looked at Eddie and shrugged.

- “Well,” you began, “And you get to kiss someone special when the ball drops.”

- That caught his attention. He lunged back to wrap around you and Eddie both. Sharp teeth curling into a smile as his white eyes stared into yours.

- Eddie caught on and pulled Venom back, “Hey- Hey- Hey- who said it would be you?”

- You giggled, fingers dancing up Eddie’s torso as you leaned deeply into him. Your breasts resting against his arm as you whispered, “Who said it would be you either?”

- Eddie smiled as he wrapped on of his arms around you. Keeping you close to him, “Don’t tease me, princess.” You both laughed flirtatiously.

- 30 seconds. “Come here, V,” you called him over to you. Putting a party hat around his head. Giggling at how he arched to look at it.

- 15 seconds. You snuggled up with your roommates. Hearing how loud people were on the TV. Excited for another year.

- “3!… 2!… 1!!”

- Eddie planted his lips onto yours. Eyes closed as you leaned in together. Soft plump lips against yours. You felt Venom plant a small kiss on your cheek.

- “Happy New Year,” Venom shouted.

Aaron Hotchner

- It had been decided that you would be having a party as a Team. Everyone was set up at Rossi’s house. Garcia had brought some cute black and gold decorations along with accessories for you all to wear.

- Derek and J.J. brought the liquor. Several of you throwing back shots and mixing things with your sodas. Your face burned with alcohol as you carelessly smiled.

- Hotch sipped some bourbon as he leaned against the counter. Dark eyes watching how you goofed around with your coworkers. Playing some sort of guessing-card game. A soft jealousy raising in his chest when he saw you lean in and run your arm down Reid’s torso.

- Your eyes kept darting to your supervisor in the kitchen. Fixated on the muscles showing in his t-shirt. How hot he looked in his casual clothes. Pretending like the two of you had not discussed sneaking off during the party. Hiding away in one of Rossi’s bedrooms for a little more fun.

- There was five minutes until the clock struck Midnight. You all huddled onto the couch surrounding the TV. Party hats and noise makers resting upon all your bodies. Reid turned and blew his, the paper tongue coming out and softly popping you in the face.

- A shadow overtook you. Looming over you from behind the couch. You arched your neck back to see Hotch standing above you. A drunken smile forming against rosey cheeks, “Hi, Hotch.”

- Unable to deny the smile that crept across his own face. Buzz of alcohol stinging behind his skin as he looked down locking eyes with you. “Hi, Y/N.” You began questioning if the alcohol was what really had your face so hot.

- Garcia grabbed Derek in excitement as the countdown finally showed the 60 second mark. “Oh-Oh! It’s almost time! Everyone, get ready to count down,” she conducted all of you.

- “Aaa~nd,” Derek began to tease, “Pick out who you’re gonna kiss when the clock strikes zero.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Garcia pulling a bright smile from her.

- Everyone erupted in a mix of laughter and boos. Emily threw a party favor at Morgan as she jokingly told him to shut up. Hotch’s hand fell against your shoulder.

- 30 seconds. Hotch came around and squeezed in between you and the arm of the couch. His arm resting on the back of the couch as he gave you a soft smile. Smell of his cologne took over your senses as you practically melted into him.

- 15 seconds. You blushed heavily as your hands awkwardly rested in your lap. Being tucked into Hotch’s arm, flush with his body. You fluttered your lashes up at him. Everything slowed down for a moment between you.

- “Ready guys?!” Everyone began counting down from 10. Drunken, loud voice shouting as if they could hear you all the way in New York. Smiling faces from everyone as the number lowered.

- “3!… 2!… 1!!! Happy New Year!”

- Hotch pinched your chin between his fingers. Planting a passionate kiss upon your lips. Your hand flattened against his chest as you both continued deepening it. Derek and Garcia were too busy sucking each other’s face to notice, but as for the rest of your team.

- Reid’s jaw hung open, J.J. and Emily softly celebrated for you, Rossi rolled his eyes with a smirk.

- “Happy New Year, Y/N,” Hotch smiled.

Bonus: Art the Clown

- He does not kiss you. He, in fact, counts down the last ten seconds with a swing of an axe until it hits zero and he finally bashes your head in.

~~~

// Thank you so much for reading! My birthday is January 1st and I just wanted to post something a little fun in honor of it. Happy New Year everyone! If you have any requests or characters you want me to write for, my inbox is always open! //

@megangovier ~ @toogaytofunctiondangit ~

177 notes · View notes

sydwritess · 13 days ago

Text

Groupchats With Y/n Pt. 5

F1 grid x fem!reader

Summary: texts in the F1 group chat with y/n

Notes: requests are open!

01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10

Y/n

LANDO!!!!

Lando little bitch

Yes...?

Y/n's favorite(George)

This can only be good

I love George sm

He's in deep shit

Charlie

Uh oh

Y/n

I am SERIOUSLY FREAKING OUT. I have cramps attacking me EVERYWHERE and I ran out of your monster drinks and they are the ONLY THING keeping me going!!

Lando little bitch

....

Y/n

And- and I can't find them ANYWHERE in stores because your stupid fans keep fucking taking them all on me!!!!!!

I love George sm

Lol.

Kimi Kardashian

Real

Y/n's favorite(George)

🤣🤣🤣

Roscoe's dad

Omg 😅

Lando little bitch

I didn't know they were that good. But anyway... you do realize I'm the owner? I can get you some if you want. Also, please don't call the fans stupid.

Y/n

Please I fucking need them! My fucking body is going limp without them!!!!

Charlie

Y/n that's a sign that you've had one to many.

Y/n

You are just jealous because I don't like your ice cream.

Charlie

What did I do! My ice cream is delicious!

Riccardio

Y/n maybe you need some good old golfing lessons 🤔

Y/n

I have been to ten fucking corner stores and the whole shelf is out. I will give you everything! FUCKING EVERYTHING for them.

Kimi Kardashian

I feel that 😔 they are good

Lando little bitch

I will get you some just stay calm for now. Jesus your like bouncing off the walls

Y/n

They're so good. They're like the only thing I drink now!!

Lando little bitch

Love the support

Carlos 🌶

Your greatest supporter

Y/n

Roses are red. Violets are blue. Without Landos monster energy, I am nothing but new.

Y/n's favorite(George)

HAHAHAAHAAHHAHA oh my God!

Roscoe's dad

Step 1 of addiction: anger

Step 2 of addiction: sadness

Step 3 of addiction: y/n being y/n

Charlie

🤣🤣🤣

Y/n

Okay, Mr. Ferrari calm down. That team may be good for your bank account (quoted by yours truly, alex), but it sure ain't helping you win, bro ✋️

Lando little bitch

Oop-

I love George sm

😂

Alexandria

Love that for you, mate.

Red bull #1

Guys some kid in the paddock just came up to me. He was like 5 or 6... idk and he told me that I'm a bad driver... 🤨

Y/n

Tell him to go fuck off

Roscoe's dad

Y/n! He's only 6

Y/n

Oh well. You wanna call me bad at my job, why don't you do it first. He probably crash into the wall like a fucking idiot.

Kimi Kardashian

Damn... you hate kids don't you?

Y/n

When they are little rugrats... yes.

Pastry 🥐

Lol.

Y/n

There he with the dry ass texting again 😒

Pastry 🥐

What?

Y/n

Dude lighten up! You have to be like 'LMAO!' or 'HAHAHAHAHA WHAT THE FUCK'

Pastry 🥐

.....

Y/n

None of this 'lol.' Like tf is 'lol'? Dry ass hoe.

Lando little bitch

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA OSCAR'S A HOE

I love George sm

Anyone want to tell me why Yuki is crying the in bathroom?

Y/n

Some little bitch ass kid called him a bad driver. God, I wish I was there to throw that kid off a balcony.... NOBODY hurts Yuki's feelings!!!!

Carlos 🌶

¿Qué carajo está pasando?

Y/n

Kids. Kids are happening.

I love George sm

Even I'm not this aggressive

Max's best friend

Says the one who crashed into me

Y/n

CHILDREN CHILDREN PLEASE! Now, I don't know what happened or what sexual tension you need to resolve, but this isn't the time or place for it!

Max's best friend

WHAT?????

I love George sm

🤮🤮

Pastry 🥐

Lando literally just laughed out loud at that. He dropped his phone on his face and everything.

Lando little bitch

I'M CRYING. I'M ACTUALLY CRYING!!!

Pastry 🥐

He actually is 😂

Max's best friend

Sex- sexual tension? Did I just read that right?

Kimi Kardashian

Can we PLEASE put a text up of when inappropriate chats are happening 🙈

Y/n

Nah. Your In F1 now. Get used to it boo 💋

I love George sm

Like I have sexual tensions with George. I'm fucking married for christ sakes!

Y/n

You didn't deny that you were gay tho....

Charlie

Oh my god! That's wild!

Red bull #1

Oh my

Roscoe's dad

Okayyyy

Riccardio

So now that I left, George is the new side piece??? I'm broken 💔💔

Y/n

Haha 😄 gotta love it!! 👌

Lando little bitch

Not funny. 0 out of 10 do not recommend.

Y/n

Papaya slutz gonna hate players gonna play 🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻

Kimi Kardashian

Oop- did she just-

Y/n's favorite(George)

Chat this is not real...

Charlie

Oh boy

Y/n

😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈

Lando little bitch

ME? A SLUT? NAH NOT ME QUEEN

Y/n's favorite(George)

Haters gonna hate hate hate hate hate and the players gonna play play play play play 🎶

Y/n

GET IT BESTIE BOO 💅

Charlie

😭😭😭 WTF

I love George sm

Ew wtf....

Y/n's favorite(George)

He can never have any fun can he 🙄

I love George sm

Talk about having fun. At least I'm maintaining my professional look.

Y/n

🧍🏻‍♀️.........................🚪(sexual tension door) $5 a person plz, have the greatest time 😁

I love George sm

...........

Bearman #1

What the fuck did i just read

Alexandria

Uhmmmmm okayyyyyy

Roscoe's dad

Alright.... are we just not going to talk about that.

Charlie

I mean... she's not wrong....

Y/n's favorite(George)

NO NO NO NO NO.... NO EW

Y/n

Now you sound like lando when someone put coffee on his ice cream 😂

Lando little bitch

IT WAS GROSS HOW HOU COULD RUIN PERFECTLY GOOD ICE CREAM LIKE THAT!!

Y/n

I'll ruin your ice cream next time you have some if you don't hurry up with my drinks!!!!

Roscoe's dad

😂 y/n do you think you might have a problem?

Y/n

No problems. I'm mentally stable

Roscoe's dad

Uh- that's not what I was asking

Y/n

I'M THAT BITCH HOE, GET LIKE ME!

Lando little bitch

SLAYYYY GLORILLA ON THE SPOT QUEEN

Y/n

IT'S A FRIDAY NIGHT, MY MAN AIN'T AT HOME.

Pastry 🥐

Uhm, it's Tuesday.

Kimi Kardashian

You have a bf? That's great for you!

Y/n's favorite(George)

She's writing lyrics from a song kimi...

Y/n

HER FACE, ASS, TITTIES.

Lando little bitch

YOU PLAY WITH ME I'LL PUT A POTHOLE IN YOUR TEETH 🖕🏻

I love George sm

I have a feeling this is getting worse...

Charlie

Children cover your ears (kimi and ollie)

Lando little bitch

PRIVATE ENTRY THROUGH A CLUB, FUCK A FEE!!!!

Y/n

HE A DOG FOR THIS P- AND YOU KNOW I GOT THE TREAT

Roscoe's dad

WOAH WOAH WOAH

Lando little bitch

NECK ON FAUCET, DO MY DANCE ON 'EM BITCHES SINCE THEY WATCHIN

Y/n's favorite(George)

Jesus Christ there's kids here!!!!!

Y/n

It's alright. You just don't know fun from your own ass buddy.

Lando little bitch

TELL THEM BESTIE BOO 💅

Y/n changed y/n's favorite(George) to Georgia peach

Y/n changed Lando little bitch to Lando-tastic

Georgia peach

WOAH NOT FAIR

Lando-tastic

SO FAIR LOVE IT!!!

I love George sm

Can you PLEASE CHANGE MINE!!!!!!

Y/n changed I love George sm to Gas station boi

Georgia peach

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

Red bull #1

Lololllll

Charlie

Fair now?

Gas station boi

Ugh, teef

Y/n

ENGLISH PLEASE???? 🖕🏻👂👂

Charlie

Hahahaha

Y/n

You know. I think we should fire Charles and have Leo take his spot. HE'S FAST. Don't you agree Lewis?

Roscoe's dad

No comment *cough* yes

Charlie

RUDE. NO MORE DOG PLAY DATES!

Kimi Kardashian

Awe that is so cute! I love dogs!

Y/n

Oh kimi... you are just so innocent.

Kimi Kardashian

...what?

Bearman #1

Lol, oh my God 😅

Pastry 🥐

Do you ever notice how y/n starts fights? Kinda funny

Y/n

Maybe it's you with your dry ass, scratchy ass texting.

Pastry 🥐

Right.... right... right....

Y/n

Poor Lily. I just want to save her from the dry texting bf she has 😔😪

Pastry 🥐

Lily and I are perfectly happy together.

Y/n

She just called me for help. Poor girl...

Pastry 🥐

You lair. She's sitting right next to me calling someone.

Y/n

Mhmm

Pastry 🥐

Oh... it's you.

Lando-tastic

HAHAHAAHAHAHAH STUPID IDIOT!

Y/n added Lily to the group chat

Lily

Hello 🙂

Y/n

LILY MY BAE I'M COMING TO SAVE YOU!!!

Lily

Oh I'm just fine, no need to worry, we are just watching a movie now 😊

Y/n

So sweet. I'm sending a blessing your way that Oscsr doesn't keep his dryness up much longer

Lando-tastic

Hi lily

Y/n

Little bitch go.

Lily

Hi Lando. And thanks y/n 😊.

Y/n

Any time, my girly.

Lily

I'm going to back out of this before my phone starts blowing up.

Y/n

Good idea. I'll text u Bae 🥺

Lily

Bye everyone 👋

Lily was removed from groupchat

Georgia peach

There, do you feel better y/n?

Red bull #1

Hopefully.

Y/n

No.... she's probably being held at gun point. OMG THIS BREAKS ME 😔

Pastry 🥐

Oh shut up 😅

Y/n

No.

Roscoe's dad

I'm sure she's fine

Y/n

I swear to God if she isn't at the next group dinner. WHICH I WILL BE INVITED TO NEXT TIME. Then I'm breaking into your house to rescue her.

Gas station boi

This again?

Y/n

YES YOU DUMB DUTCH BOY

Gas station boi

Okay chill chill ✋️

Charlie

Don't worry I'll make sure these dumbasses invite you. You'll get seated next to the best of the best.

Y/n

Toto...?

Georgia peach

NOT MY BOSS AGAIN FOR CHRIST SAKES!!!

Y/n

Hehe 😈 fine as fuck 😋

Kimi Kardashian

Ew. Now every time I see him I'm going to think of this text...

Georgia peach

Y/N!!!

Lando-tastic

Crying, laughing, throwing up 🤣🤣🤣

Y/n

So is Mr. Zak

Lando-tastic

OH MY GOD 🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮

Y/n

😈😈😈😈

Pastry 🥐

Absolutely gross

Y/n

Sexy mfs

Lando-tastic

Ew. No. Just. No.

Y/n

"I aint no fuckin' Cinderella!"

Georgia peach

That's for sure.

Y/n

How the fuck is that your man if he right here with me hoe?

Kimi Kardashian

😳

Lando-tastic

So in reality your a hoe...?

Gas station boi

😂😂

Y/n

I aint got no bitch and no bitch ain't got me!

Carlos 🌶

Get it y/n!!!!!!!!!!!!

Y/n

These bitches love a freak!

Riccardio

Ohh I get it now! GET IT QUEEN!!!! QUEEN VIBES OF THE YEAR GO TO Y/N Y/L/N!!!!

Y/n

60 thousand fans come to see me do my dance. Got a million one haters, they all can kiss my ass 💋

Carlos 🌶

GET IT BESTIE BOO! POP OFF 💅

Roscoe's dad

I don't think the lyrics ever end.

Gas station boi

Nope!

Hey loves! Finally back from vacation! Hope you like this one! Comment to be added to this series tag list. Requests are open!

Tag list:

@mimisweetz @latay7 @leviathan0000 @averylambros @makanirock05

127 notes · View notes

hoe4hotchner · 8 months ago

Text

Pieces of the past | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader | WC: 1.2k | CW: This is very angsty (and kind of triggering to me at least), reminiscing of childhood, centered around the memories you have of a dead relative, specifically your granddad, mentions of a funeral, mention of undisclosed illness. I mention the word church once.| Summary: Looking at old pictures from your childhood, which makes memories resurface, some better than other.

A/N: This is a very personal fic to me, and I wrote it weeks ago when it would've been my grandad's 80th birthday. I hope you guys will take good care of it --> Also the stories told about the grandad in these are half real and half made up for the sake of the story ❤️

You set the heavy grocery bag on the kitchen table with a sigh, the crinkling of paper breaking the stillness of the apartment. You’d just returned from your mom's house, and what was supposed to be a quick stop had quickly turned into a nostalgic trip down memory lane. The bag was filled with old photographs, ones she had kept in the basement - forgotten over time, ones you hadn’t seen in years. Mostly, they were from your childhood, while others were from before you were born - holidays, birthdays, anniversaries, and weddings - but the ones that hit the hardest were the ones of your grandad.

He had passed when you were still young, but the memories you had of him were vivid, and cherished, and every now and then, those memories resurfaced like the pictures you now held in your hands.

You started spreading them across the dinner table, sorting through the faded snapshots, organizing them by event. There was one of you, maybe 3 years old, sitting in a four-wheeled wagon, your grandad pulling you around the garden, both of your faces were lit with massive smiles - You could tell it was winter from your massive red puffer jacket, it looked way too big for a toddler, but it looked warm. Another one had him holding your hand while walking through the park, his old, weathered jacket wrapped tightly around him, you could tell he was already sick there, knowing that not long after that trip, he had passed.

The further you sorted, the heavier the ache in your chest grew. It wasn’t sadness, really - it was more of an emptiness, a longing for those quiet, comfortable moments you could never get back, a longing, wondering how he would've reacted to your life choices, how different life might have looked if he had still been around.

You picked up a photograph that felt heavier than the rest, your breath hitching as you recognized the scene captured within the frame. It was a solemn day, the sky gray as friends and family gathered to pay their respects. Your grandad’s casket, draped in a simple white and wooden veneer, stood surrounded by flowers, red roses to be exact - they were always his favorite - each bloom a testament to the love he had shared throughout his life. In the image, you could see yourself, a small figure in a white dress - it was the same one you would wear when your grandmother remarried 2 years later - holding tightly to your mother’s hand, her fingers trembling in yours. Tears glistened in your eyes as you remembered the heaviness in your heart that day, you were sure you hadn't really understood what was going on around you. The ache of loss was suffocating, knowing he had touched so many lives. You blinked hard, wishing to erase that moment from your mind, but it lingered like a ghost, haunting the edges of your memories.

By the time Hotch returned home, you were sitting in the middle of a sea of photographs, some placed in neat piles, others scattered haphazardly, the memories tangled with your emotions. You didn’t hear the door open or the sound of his briefcase hitting the floor. It wasn’t until you felt his presence that you realized he was home.

“Hey,” his voice was soft, and when you looked up at him, he already knew. He didn’t need to ask.

“Hey,” you murmured back, trying to summon a small smile but failing. Your eyes dropped back to the picture in your hand, a shot of your grandad, dressed in his Sunday best at his 25th wedding anniversary with your grandmother, his kind eyes twinkling with the same warmth you always remembered.

Hotch’s gaze followed yours to the table, his brow furrowing slightly as he took in the scene. He walked over without a word and sat beside you, his presence solid and comforting, even in the silence.

You leaned into him a little, letting your head rest against his shoulder. “I went to mom’s today, and she gave me all of these,” you explained quietly, gesturing toward the photographs. “I wasn’t expecting to… I don’t know, feel this way.”

Hotch slipped an arm around you, grounding you without interrupting your thoughts.

Your thumb brushed the edge of the photo in your hand, the texture familiar, like you had held it a hundred times before. “That’s me and my grandad,” you said softly. “I miss him. He always knew how to make things feel better, you know?”

Hotch nodded, his eyes on the photograph now, though he stayed silent, giving you space to share whatever you needed.

“I remember when this picture was taken. It was a summer afternoon. We’d just come back from the park, and I had scraped my knee running after the dog.” You smiled faintly, the memory so vivid it was almost like stepping back in time. “I was crying so much, and he just scooped me up like it was nothing, sat me on his knee, and blew all the pain away he said. It worked, of course.”

Hotch's thumb traced soft circles on your arm, a quiet comfort that encouraged you to keep going.

You picked up another photo, this one of your grandad during the last Christmas you got to spend with him. “This was the last Christmas, I never knew he was as sick as he was,” you murmured, your voice catching slightly. “He loved hosting everyone, their house was always open, whether it be people from church or his patients at work, always pretending like it wasn’t a big deal, he was so proud of it.”

The lump in your throat grew, but you didn’t stop. You wanted to keep talking, wanted to share these pieces of yourself and your grandad with Hotch.

“He taught me so much, not just the little things, but how to… how to love and care for people. I guess I’ve been thinking a lot about him today. He would’ve liked you a lot, Aaron,” you added, turning your head slightly to glance at him.

Hotch’s eyes softened, his hand resting on your back as he gave you a gentle squeeze. “I would’ve liked to have met him,” he said quietly, his voice was low and soothing.

You nodded, feeling the familiar weight of longing settling in your chest again. But being here, with Hotch beside you, made it a little easier to bear. His quiet understanding, the way he didn’t try to fill the silence with meaningless words to coax you into being happy - it was exactly what you needed.

For the next hour, you kept sorting through the photos, talking when the memories felt too strong to hold back, and simply resting when the words wouldn’t come. Hotch stayed right there with you, listening, holding you, and occasionally picking up a picture to ask about it, his voice always gentle, never rushing or forcing information out of you.

It wasn’t until the last photograph was placed on the table that you finally exhaled, feeling a little lighter, even though the ache was still there. You leaned into Hotch’s warmth, your head on his shoulder again.

“Thank you,” you whispered, closing your eyes.

Hotch pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Always.”

And in that quiet moment, you realized that while you couldn’t go back to those days with your grandad, the love and memories he left behind would always be a part of you - and now, they were something you could share with the person sitting beside you.

215 notes · View notes

rootspiral · 7 months ago

Text

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 8 part 7

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

more Oz references! fury of the elements, one very pissed ex, same thing.

god but how much I love rio going feral?! it's so stupid I'm giggling and kicking my feet about it. you'd think a very old, very wise being would react like a grown ass adult after a breakup, especially because it was such a long time coming. but does rio go home to process things quietly? noooooooo she summons a whole storm and sits on a roof waiting for agatha to come out of her basement, so she can be an ass about it. if they were humans rio would be slashing agatha's tires and smashing windows and throwing rotten eggs at her house drunk at three in the morning, and you know what? good for her!!! she's been fucking trying to work things out in a mature responsible way, and it was never going to work, agatha was never going to grow up. so fuck it. agatha wants to be immature? we'll show her immature! I support my girl going full petty and unhinged, let her cry and scream and eat a whole ice cream tub and then throw it all up, let her piss all over agathas' rhododendrons, my girl has earned it.

AND she's brought her favorite soul-reaping orchid with her! she's like, I'm gonna do it! this time I'm gonna getcha! I will drag your ungrateful ass to our son kicking and screaming if I have to!!!!

...girl. we both know you ain't. like agatha is literally about to die and you still won't reap that soul without her consent. absolute loser behavior.

and agatha... well, agatha never backed off from an immaturity showdown. oooh she's gonna out-toddler you for sure.

but it's so interesting that the Road didn't give her her powers back. tbh I don't think she ever lost her powers at all, seeing as she's first and foremost a succubus and that power works just fine, if alice's fate is any indication. it's more like, three years under the spell completely drained her battery and she desperately needs to feed.

and agatha wasn't planning on joining the Road at all, as far as she was concerned it didn't even exist. like with lilia, jen and alice the Road gave her not what she asked, but what she needed all along: her prize was that moment of closure with nicky

so rio cannot kill people, she can only make them wish they were dead, and I just realized, her special talent is also being fucking annoying, just like agatha

by the way, rewatching wandavision I realized that his name is JOHN, not herb! I'm so sorry I've been calling you the wrong name this whole time, my guy. ALSO MOVE OUT OF THAT NEIGHBORHOOD DEAR LORD

same goes for you two. harold you have a daughter!

(omg a literal harold, they're lesbians.)

agatha sees the fire moon and it reminds her of alice. she draws a circle for the expelle hoc malum protection spell she's learned from her. she had a coven only for a day and look how much they've gotten under her skin.

rio gives an incredulous sigh. are you calling me "evil"? it's like, we've been over this!

I know that baby and I love you, but also you're very much sitting on a rooftop cackling like a maniac. how can these two be both so tragic and so so fucking ridiculous at the same time.

it's like, she's absolutely right, she's no villain and she's no demon, agatha should stop treating her like one and punishing her for it. but also... stop begging her to, for fuck's sake. rio, my love, have some dignity. stop chasing. you did a dramatic exit half an hour ago, WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE

agatha trying to exorcise her ex wife with a spell: clownass behavior.

rio blowing the circle away with a kiss: also clownass behavior.

but is she wrong????

lilia's turn to come in handy!

I'm sorry but... a whole sink? she threw a whole sink at her head?? this scene is so fucking hilarious, like I know some people found rio ooc but to me it makes perfect sense. I'm just sorry she didn't throw a toilet.

GO HOME, RIO. it's okay, we're gonna put up a picture of agatha in your living room and throw poop at it until you feel better or smth, it's gonna be okay, you let it all out.

^^literally rio

jen's moment: vulnus ab aqua curare.

I don't think it's going to help you much though, babe. remember when agatha kept poking wanda with a stick and got her ass kicked to oblivion in return? she's been poking DEATH for two hundred years. what did she expect???!?!

THAT IS THE HOTTEST SOMEONE HAS EVER LOOKED, DEAR LORD

and considering that rio chooses an outfit for each soul she reaps: this is what she chose for agatha??? girl, be for real!!!

aaaand she gets kicked into a wall a moment later. after her devastating sexy ass walk with the high slit dress and all. complete loser behavior.

(also hilarious: agatha's laundry hanging there the whole time)

billy came back to save agatha (awww) but not before conjuring a cool wiccan costume and doing a very dramatic entrance (awwwwwwww). literally her son.

I agree tbh

agatha's face when she realizes billy is choosing to give her magic: this is the first time someone does it willingly. and sure he is super powerful (she drained poor alice in a second), but I keep imagining a world were agatha is an important, cherished member of a community, maybe playing the vital role of teacher and knowledge keeper, and the community willingly donates magic in return, all together and on a regular basis, like people donate blood, so that no one dies and she doesn't starve.

look at how the beam changes color, and just how happy she is to finally eat. it's just the way she was born, you know? I hate that evanora turned it into something horrible when it didn't need to.

oh god, that stupid outfit again. that is agatha's "I'm such a scary merciless bitch and I don't care about your feelings" outfit. as if.

and then she realizes she's killing billy. look at her face, a moment ago she even said how good all this power feels. she could easily take it all. but of course for billy she has to stop.

so, can agatha actually control her powers? well, it's complicated, isn't it? she definitely couldn't when she was very young. possibly she never sought to learn how to as time went on.

(thank you for your patience, everyone, I'll update more regularly from now on. and you all know what happens next entry.)

go to episode 8 part 8

#agatha all along #agatha deep dive #agatha harkness #rio vidal #agathario #billy maximoff #character analysis

134 notes · View notes

cowboy-robooty · 2 months ago

Text

This is the 5th time im trying to post this damn masterlist. fuck my baka life. It straight up deleted your ask last time my apologies.

i didnt respond for 10 days because it made me so happy to get an ask like this that my little heart ceased to beat so i flopped over and died grandpa on the lazy-boy with a bucket of chicken on his lap style. im ok now tho dont worry. anyways, heres a current compilation of my exceptional itager doujin comics and such (not singular fanarts), although this list hasn't updated in forever since... idk... people don't really scanlate itager comics from pixiv much anymore (>3<) at least not on tumblr since the R-18 ban! I'll put this all under the cut since it'll be a bit long

FULL DOUJINSHI:

Hiraite Musunde Ishuukan! - R (corolla)

This is the best itager doujinshi ever. Hands down. I've never read anything that has topped this it is literally perfect. It's created by overlord R who's only critical fault is that she ships gerita.. but ngl i think she was just born in the wrong time. You'll see a lot more work by her here and i genuinely think that if she was born in an era that didn't push for uke italy she would've been an itager warrior. shes like how a lot of people who aren't racist in this day and age (thank god) would've TOTALLY been super racist 50 years ago (you know what i mean? sometimes you just can tell when you know somebody). Poor R was born in the wrong generation.

Her other doujins are also excellent (found below)

Lettera d’amore - R (corolla)

Very close second to her best one

Gattiino Nante Iwasenai - R (corolla)

This one is also great but I'd say it's only a tinyyy bit more behind the other two because of the knowledge she is a Gerita believer (it spoils the taste of some bits when you think about it). If you ignore her beliefs though this is a just as high quality of Itager doujin as the other two

Temperatur - PB (Neri)

What's this?! A doujin that's improperly sorted on [MANGA SCANLATION SITE] under gerita?! This is Itager LOL you can literally see it on the title and on Otaku Republic its labled as itager as well. Although it has fully proper intentions behind it, it's still not nearly as good as R's above doujinshis or my favorite Itager fanartist (who will come up later in the pixiv comic section). This isn't because it's itager of course (im going to fucking kill you if you go "durhhh its worse because its itager since gerita is supreme") NO. It's because this author isn't willing to keep "it" in their pants! This is a shounen ai but there's still too much eroticism for the sake of sexiness rather than humor which takes away from the critical broship aspect of itager! I have nothing against ero (if you know me im SUPER pro-ero) but yaoi is a science! Erotic scenes are like chilli crisp in a doujinshi... YOU MUST USE THEM PROPERLY OR ELSE IT'LL RUIN THE YAOI INSTEAD OF ENHANCING IT! Also there is pruaus jumpscare which ranks it down for me too.

HONORABLE MENTION

I have two Itager doujinshis I bought off Otaku Republic that have never been scanlated before. They are the last of their kind on the website, so I'm too afraid to tear them open for scanlation. I also don't know how to translate Japanese and it probably would be a nightmare to contact the original authors of these doujins since they're so old... but the art looks so good... especially for strawberry sex. I will make a point to put an effort in this over the summer (if I cannot get permission, then I will translate it for myself and you will need to personally contact me to see the translation, out of respect for the original author).

TRANSLATED PIXIV COMICS:

Before we begin, everybody, please say thank you to yumekotan. I have no clue where you have gone and I think you probably shipped gerita (another case of being born in the wrong generation perhaps), but you have done an incredible service for our world with your scanlations. I will be providing links to yumekotan's tumblr post scanlations for your easy enjoyment and grouping the links by author.

モツ (MY FAVORITE):

this motherfucker is my goat. my on god goat. i think they hate hetalia now or are just average japanese embarassed of their past bc they deleted all their hetalia work and i would literally do anything to put them in a time machine and make them go back to when they liked this shit so i could commission them to make a whole doujinshi with my entire year of part time job pay. Perhaps I'm wrong, since this is all we have left of motsu's legacy in the itager wars, but this is SO freaking itager i think my eyes would start rolling to the back of my skull if i found out they're another gerita victim of the era. because almost everybody else on this motherfucking post is a victim to being born in the wrong generation, but they do have comics and fanarts that show symptoms of their gerita truth aids (and the comic gets really weird or bad suddenly when it kicks in like you can pinpoint it). Motsu has never faltered. And whats even more impressive is that this is absolutely canon. The best itager doujinshi by R is incredible and perfect because it's exactly canon, but I think that motsu takes it a step further by being able to create mundane comics that still have the same level of canon atmosphere. I'll admit that R's best Itager doujin relies on sticking close to things himaruya has already written to keep it standing strong. Motsu doesnt give a single fuck. bro said no pads no helmet no condom we whip out dick out in the wind raw and see who gets pregnent. and it turned out himaruya did because these comics are absolutely perfect they are a true extension of the real webcomic itager which i think i have a SUPER SUPER long way to go until i can get there. (at this point I kind of embrace that my itager is colored in the way my way of writing and humor is, but that is because i draw itager for fun too much these days due to heavy school and work. my career is studying classical #true webcomic himaruya style itager which requires actual skill).

R (corolla):

These above three are very good quality R pixiv comics (going from best (top) to great (bottom))

^ Good tier comic. nothing excellent but nothing bad in its flavor

The below four are itager comics I would consider OK, but they have some form of gerita AIDS that causes it to be a bit unpleasant to eat (to varying degrees, going from OK (top) to what is this gay shit <- derogetory (bottom)). R was born in the wrong generation... and it really starts showing how the environment influenced them to add some really bad components to their version of the ship

^[This comic seems to have problems, so click this LINK to see it]

To clarify, none of these are absolutely terrible awful "killed my grandma" kind of things. All of these comics compared to the average gerita comic are WONDERFUL. But if we are looking at it alone without the context of the gerita invasion our world is suffering from, these OK-bad tier comics do have key components wrong with them. If anyone is interested I suppose I can make another post annotating what is wrong with these comics, but I feel like that is unnecessary and a bit cruel considering R doesn't seem interested in the ship anymore. Sometimes people live and die in the wrong era, and you must acknowledge their faults, but still be understanding of the situation they were in.

Hakoniwa:

^[This comic also seems to have problems, so click this LINK to see it]

If you've read all the English translated doujins for this ship floating around online, you probably recognize this author and are surprised this is here! Yes, they have a billion jillion gerita doujins and i hate all of them LOL. But this one pixiv comic is the one time they got something right. Hakoniwa seems to have this problem that (aside from gerita... although I think this is a symptom of having gerita aids) they make this ship way too emotional in an angsty sadness manner! I understand that their focus is that they prefer exploring the emotional depth of ships rather than making humorous situations, but they're doing it all wrong! (this isn't even to mention how I think that humor and emotional depth are things that can exist side by side; even complimenting each other if executed properly....) I feel like people get the idea with ships that sadness/angst = depth, which is untrue. emotional components that twist your heart around and bring you to tears can come from sad AND happy things, it just seems to be that it's much harder to execute with happiness. People think angst and fluff are opposite things when really, they're two sides of the same coin, with both of them being done terribly most often LOL. I don't consider myself someone who likes fluff or angst at all actually, because it seems that when people describe something as either of those things, neither of them provoke the feeling im supposed to have. I think that with itager, it has lots of depth in its emotional components, but these components are made of things that make you feel so heartwarmed that you could cry. This comic does not reach that level, but it is for once an emotional comic that Hakoniwa gets RIGHT. This is canon compliant. This is something that would happen. This is ITAGER!

FANFICTION:

There is no good itager fanfiction. There is very few mid ones. maybe one or two OK/almost good ones. but no solid good ones. and this is coming from a guy who spent the last 6 years scouring ao3 and fanfiction dot net. In my opinion, hetalia fandom has this wretched curse that it will uniquely be the only fandom with so much fanfiction with none of it being good. Good hetalia fanfiction does not exist for Itager and Romapru. For other ships maybe, but at least for the two I'm into hell No. Everytime I come back to ao3 it just leaves me upset and unsatisfied like that stripper that i KNOW doesn't actually love me and just wants my money, but I keep coming back hoping shell change her mind. NEWS FLASH! SHE WONT!! SHE JUST NEEDS TO PAY HER BILLS THIS MONTH!

HONORABLE MENTIONS

Hidekaz Himaruya:

Webcomic Kitayume era. Basically anything before the World Stars serialization. I often reread this era whenever I'm feeling like I want to consume some itager

Hetalia (anime - Studio Deen):

Seasons 1-4 (APH to World Series... in other words before the artstyle changed.) + bits and pieces of beautiful world are good (but some are BAD... LOOKS AT THAT ONE SCENE THEY ADDED THAT I FUCKING HATE).

Bloody Moimoi:

I'm not a bloody moimoi expert, but of course I've read their doujins how could i not. They have pieces of real goodness in them, but basically all of their work is R-18, so of course the gerita aids is too much for my palate to handle. I'll take a closer examination at them if somebody asks me to, but for now I'd say if you haven't read their work yet you should, since during their non R-18 scenes I remember theres some good parts, but the R-18 totally kills my boner *cries*

IN CONCLUSION:

I hope this was helpful!! I'm SO HAPPY I GOT THIS ASK WWWWW IM SOOOO HAPPY EEEEK EEEK EEEEEEK SQUEE IM SO HAPPY TO TALK ABOUT ITAGER THANK YOU GUYS. I LOVE ITAGER I LOVE TALKING ABOUT IT I LOVE IT I LOVEEEE IT AUGHAKSDJF *BLEEDS FROM EYES*. This isn't itager connected at all, but you should read Killer Crush (manhwa) if you like Itager. To me Killer Crush is as close as an independent completely unrelated manhwa can get to being an Itager AU. Seriously. To me it's an itager au ngl and in the ranks of my absolute favorite comics. 10/10 read it. it's a nicotine patch.

#ask

80 notes · View notes

betterthana-six · 11 months ago

Text

| MUSIC TO MY EARS - [ABBY ANDERSON] - CHAPTER THREE |

PAIRINGS: stoic!rugby player abby x musician fem!reader

SUMMARY: you and your new(ish) college roommate, Abby Anderson, have gotten into an argument. about what? unclear at the moment. but it's got Abby in a fit of shame. until late one night she hears you outside with someone whose voice she doesn't recognize and listens in.

WARNINGS: heyooo we are so fucking back! AND LOOKIE AT THAT TAG LIST AHHH THANK YOU FOR THE AMAZING RECEPTION SO FAR!!!! LOVE YOU ALL. im having so much fun writing this and watching this story spiral into absolute chaos. im honestly just trying to see how big i can make this story. much more pining this chapter but ooh girl we are getting sexier as we go, trust the process. mdni DUH. ive been wanting to write a pool scene. abby sure be falling in love. let me know if you guys are liking the structure so far, its pretty predictable. abby is snarkier and snarkier, but im always nervous to stay true to her character. let me know what yall like, and even mid story I am open to suggestions or if youre like that or this part wasnt fully fleshed out, why not let me know? im down. k have fun. bye. ALSO: i have a playlist brewing for this story. comment if you want it and ill post.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Music To My Ears: Chapter 3

.・✫・゜・。..・✫・゜・。..・✫・゜・。.

There are tears drying on your chin when Abby abruptly stands up, pulling you up with her, towel still wrapped over your arms.

She starts pulling clothes out of the depths of her closet and throwing them onto your bed.

“What are you doing?” You sniffle.

“Put these on.”

“Your clothes won’t fit me. You have something called muscle mass.”

Abby let out a small snicker. “They’re from when I was, like, sixteen. They’ll fit,” she said.

“I have my own clothes, you know,” You gesture to your side of the room. “They’re actually about five feet away from me.”

“You’ll understand when we get there why I’m giving you my old clothes.”

“Are we hiking?”

“You hush.”

“Oh my god, is it paintball?”

“Yeah,” she says. “It’s paintball. The 24-hour paintball park is awaiting our arrival as we speak. How’d you guess?”

You smirk bashfully. “I’ll only put them on if you tell me what we’re doing.”

She plants herself a foot in front of you and tilts her head down. “You’re no fun.” She shoves one of her rugby sweatshirts into your stomach. “Let’s have fun. Actual fun. Come on, it’s the weekend for fuck’s sake. I just… I know a place.”

You lower the towel like a shawl around your elbows and walk over to your bed, as Abby’s eyes follow you. Seeing her, you jut your jaw out at her, waving your index finger in a circle. Abby's response was a bit delayed, she catches her eyes getting lost on your silhouette again, and struts slowly around to face her side.

You sigh and put the clothes on. The feeling of warmth from the dry clothes covers your body with a chill and you’re nearly sedated with comfort. While Abby is still turned away, you bring the sleeve of her hoodie up to your nose and smell it as quietly as you could.

“I’m ready,” you say.

Abby opens the door out to the hallway. Nobody’s out there. It’s nearly 1 am.

You still look both ways nervously, and Abby notes it, but neither of you say anything. She guides you down the hallway, the sound of her keys jangling against her thigh, hanging from the carabiner locked around her belt loop. She is sure to keep you close to her. Each time you sway or stumble a bit, she grabs your wrist and holds you up. Though, of course, you put a hand up every time to insist that you’re fine.

You are still drunk. It is indeed still obvious.

Abby turns a corner and halts the journey in front of a vending machine which blares with light in its dark corner. “Hold up, one second,” she says, as she inserts a dollar, some coins from her pocket, presses B7, grabs it from the bottom, takes your hand and puts the candy in it.

“Twix is my favorite,” you say.

“I know,” Abby says.

“You know?”

She hesitates and runs a shy hand over the back of her neck under her long braid. “I see wrappers in our trash sometimes.”

You pause with suspicious eyes.

Abby gives a small laugh and looks away. “Whatever. Eat.”

You bite and it is as forgiving on your stomach as any midnight candy bar can be, especially after the amount of alcohol it's following.

Now, Abby pulls your hand from three paces ahead of you. She seems restless, happily so, in a way you had rarely seen her. Maybe only once or twice in hindsight.

You are already out the doors of your building and into the cool air of early spring. It is almost completely dark but the moon lights the pale sidewalk visibly enough. Once your eyes fully adjust, you can see Abby. Her braid swings back and forth across her back.

After a ten minute walk through the main circle of campus, Abby takes one of the keys from her hip and opens the entrance of your school’s gym.

She checks your demeanor, and you meet her with a wide-eyed face that says: what the fuck?

“Just trust me,” she says and grabs your hand again, guiding you through the dark corridors and up the stairs, past the treadmills and weight machines.

As you approach the top, a blue haze lights Abby’s face and then yours. It’s very quiet up there in the announcer’s box, and it looks down onto the college’s Olympic sized swimming pool. You’d only ever seen it from the doors on the bottom level. You remember the first time. People were splashing about in the water but it didn’t ruin the illusion for you. The smell of chlorine. The warm humidity that threatened its way out onto you. You, who stood firmly in the air conditioned hall, pleasantly zoned out on the swimmers.

Even from behind, Abby seems so eager to fulfill her spontaneous promise of a good time. A small smile grows on her face every now and then. You become very aware of your hand in hers. Hers is gruff and big and warm, her thumb securing around your fingers messily. It’s possible you merely imagine the vibration in the space between your palms. Her touch reignites the bliss of your drunkenness, and, again, you feel light on your feet.

Abby pulls out a key and inserts it into the keyhole for a discreet door. It leads the two of you down two flights of stairs into a locker room with fresh towels piled up into neat stacks. She throws one at you: “Here.”

“No way,” you say. You realize you were so carried away you only now realized what she had brought you here to do.

“I didn’t bring you here for us not to swim.”

You smile big. “Oh, fuck yeah.”

“I knew it would cheer you up.” Abby laughs.

“Wait,” you think, “someone’s gonna be here. We’re gonna get kicked out.”

“No, we’re not,” she reassures, “I’m friends with the rec team. I asked for the after hours key so I can workout at night. I guess I just forgot to give them back.”

You look at her a little confused, moreso disbelieving.

“No, really, I swear. Sometimes it’s nice to de-stress at night. Let off a little steam when no one’s around,” Abby says. You smirk and lift her sweatshirt over your head, revealing the light blue tank top Abby had given you.

“Don’t I know it,” you say under your breath.

“Oh?” Abby says.

“You think I don’t notice when you don’t come back to the dorm until 5 am?” You say with a cocky tone.

Then, she, too, pulls her sweater off. She was only wearing a thin bra and boxers. You were surprised she wore anything under it at all, given her track record. You quickly note the way you don’t squirm or turn away. Perhaps it’s just a matter of familiarity - you have been roommates for three months now - or, maybe, it’s the way she’s looking at you in this moment. “You notice?”

The sudden turn of the question makes you stutter.

“I- I mean, the once or twice it's happened. Obviously.”

Instead of laughing at you this time, Abby just stands and looks at you thoughtfully. Intensely.

“Whatever. Yeah, that was…” she finally says, shaking her head, with a twinge of something shadowing her tone and preventing her from finishing her sentence.

The both of you have changed completely into her clothes, the clothes she didn’t think twice about letting you ruin with chlorine. You save her from whatever she didn’t want to say. “You could’ve at least told me to bring a swimsuit…” You say.

“Yeah, well, it would’ve spoiled the surprise,” Abby says.

At the door leading to the pool, Abby turns back suddenly, stopping before speaking.

“Okay, listen. This is a sacred rite. No one besides me, and now you, has access to this place. No one knows I have the keys, and it needs to stay that way.”

You nod. “Makes sense.”

“Because this will be really fucking fun.”

“Understood.”

“And, I’m showing it to you because you’re having a shitty, no-good night.”

You hold a salute up to your forehead. “Captain, I won't let you down.”

She rolls her eyes to your delight. “Come on.”

You find her hand in yours again. You can’t help but marvel at how natural it was - not because you are surprised - just because it still sends a shiver running down your spine.

The smell of chlorine washes over you and you breathe deep, closing your eyes and feeling the damp air warming your skin. Abby’s in front of you, hooking her phone up to a wire and resting it on the ledge of the spectator window. The speakers overhead start playing music.

“Holy shit,” you say, looking at her with amazement and pointing up to the ceiling. The Rolling Stones' “She’s A Rainbow” rings out over the speakers and fills the space completely. A smile creeps onto your face, and once it’s there, it’s stuck.

“How’d I do?” She asks.

You don’t answer but smile at your feet. You walk past her towards the edge of the concrete, sparing a devilish smirk her way right when your shoulders nearly graze each other. Only the pool lights are on, making the whole place shine with the blue dancing patterns of the water ripples. It reflects onto your face, and, when you look back at Abby, she is staring at you.

“You coming?” You ask.

And Abby eyes dart away in shock, feeling scandalized and taking what you said entirely out of context. She can’t help it; a semblance of those words have been echoing in her head for the last three months, more or less. Jolting her awake from her dreams. Both sleeping and conscious.

.・✫・゜・。..・✫・゜・。..・✫・゜・。.

The first dream happened about three weeks into living together.

Since that conversation in your room on your first night, neither of you tried to initiate conversation deeper than small talk. The explosive end to that night left you reluctant to speak to her at all and left Abby anxious to say the wrong thing.

It was the beginning of the semester, anyway. Abby had a routine to establish and you were busy finding the right buildings around campus, keeping your head down, and practicing guitar.

You hadn’t been able to anticipate her comings and goings. Mostly Abby left for her day without saying a word and came back in the same manner. When she returned in the evenings, you quickly traded the guitar on your lap for earphones while Abby read silently only feet away.

"You can keep playing, I don't mind" is the only thing Abby would sometimes say. "No, it's okay. I should probably just use the practice rooms anyway," was your usual response, if you said anything at all.

The first dream happened when Abby took an impromptu nap in the early afternoon while you were out.

Her dreams involved many strange things she could never comprehend and typically forgot soon after she woke. Yet, toward the end of this dream, she saw nothing but your face, eyes softly closed, there between her legs. It was no in-depth scene. No words. No kissing. Just you, licking a line from her knee up the skin of her inner thigh.

Abby woke up with a gasp. She looked down to find there was wetness between her thighs, and momentarily she couldn’t distinguish what was and wasn’t real. She was almost convinced that you really were somewhere near, that somehow you had been there between her legs just a moment ago. But, the room was empty and the wetness had come from Abby, herself, of course.

She found her hand was there, too, under her boxers, to meet her body with stiff, soaked fingers.

She laid there, staring at the ceiling, unsure of what to make of it, still hypnotized in her exhaustion.

She didn’t think about it. Abby began moving her fingers around in circles, her other hand placed on the top of her head, bottom lip tucked slightly under her front teeth.

She closed her eyes and, without realizing, tried to prolong the feeling that seemed so real only moments ago.

You popped into her mind. She quickened her pace.

There was something so indulgent about the image she had. It felt dirty. Naughty ideations of her own roommate was something she knew she’d feel guilty about later, a secret that could never be shared. She didn’t know where it had come from specifically, this need for you, but, honestly, she didn’t even try to interrogate it. She just exhaled hard through her nose as she tried to picture you more vividly.

“Fuck…” She whispered to herself. The feeling built and built and she gripped onto her blanket, breathing hard.

Just then, the key to your door started jangling.

Abby stopped immediately, yanked out of her dream and her tiredness altogether. She pulled up the slightly pulled down pants and sat up. She grabbed the book off her desk, opened it to a random page and pretended to be lost in the story by the time you opened the door and walked inside.

She had startled you.

“Oh, hey,” you said.

Abby looked up over the page. “Hey.”

“I forgot I need these for my next class,” you explain while gathering two books from your desk and shoving them into your backpack.

“Hm,” she said, feigning disinterest.

You zipped up and turned to leave. “Alright. See you later,” you said but met Abby’s eyes which were already on you. You turned back. “Are you okay?” You asked.

“I’m fine. Why?”

“Oh, nothing, your face is all red.”

Abby just shrugged, at a complete loss for words.

“Okay,” you said without a second thought. “Well, bye.”

“Bye.”

Once you were gone, Abby tossed the book, turned over onto her stomach, and buried her head beneath her pillow.

.・✫・゜・。..・✫・゜・。..・✫・゜・。.

The dreams, however, only got worse from there. Abby started waking up from dreams with her hand down her pants more often than not and, by morning, they delivered her a head full of thoughts she could barely acknowledge to herself. Dreams of you sitting in her lap, dreams of her fingers in your mouth, dreams of you panting into her ear. She had visions of what you’d look like astride her hips with a smile on your face. Impossible dreams of you seducing her in huge hot tubs, or at fancy dinners with her hand squeezing tight around your thigh under a tablecloth, a gala where you both get locked in the coat closet with nothing but time to kill. These dreams consumed her until late in the day.

If there was one thing Abby promised herself she wouldn’t do is fall in love with a straight girl. Especially her roommate, who she presumed kind of hated her. This new energy you brought to her made her so vulnerable in the dark hours of the night, she felt she had to release it before she got in too deep.

So, she tried the gym. She started lifting uncharacteristically heavier. She started lifting until failure, until she had completely obliterated her muscles. Her teammates applauded her for her hard work, if only they knew the real reason for the fire lit under her ass.

It helped some. More like distracted her. But she knew the craving hadn’t fully subsided. It only took an hour for it to re-emerge. Sooner if she saw you walking to class or if you tried to spark conversation in the dorm, which was rare but nonetheless excited Abby when it did happen.

One time when you were both getting ready for bed, you turned to Abby and broke the silence.

“Hey, I was wondering…”

“What’s up?” Abby responded. The eagerness with which she asked was out of her control.

“I, um, well, do you think you could show me around the gym sometime? I didn’t get to see it when I toured, and it’s so big. I’m honestly kind of intimidated-”

“Yes, yeah,” Abby said.

“Cool,” you nodded. “Thank you.”

A moment of silence passed. Abby’s heart raced with the prospect of getting to talk to you so much. Guide you around and show you the place. But in a second, she thought better of it. She needed to contain herself someway or another.

“Yeah,” Abby continued. “They’ve got a great yoga studio, you know. One has classes and the other one is free for students to use anytime.”

You scoffed. Abby’s face was intentionally blank, waiting to see your reaction.

“Of course,” you said. “Of course, you assume I’d just want to do yoga.”

“I figure you’d want to see it.”

“Okay, well could you just show me the whole gym?”

“Yeah,” Abby said, recoiling from you a bit. She pushed through, wondered if perhaps she could make this worse for herself. Worsening the relationship could force the unwanted thoughts about you to subside entirely. “Sorry. You don’t strike me as a weightlifter.”

You stopped and looked sharply her way.

“Okay. Forget I asked. I’ll find someone else.”

Just like that, another failed attempt at conversation was over. Her self-sabotage felt far less productive than she thought it would feel. All Abby felt was stupid. Her heart sank lower in her chest.

.・✫・゜・。..・✫・゜・。..・✫・゜・。.

Soon she became so scared of her sleeping self, worried that you'd hear her sleep talking your name or, dear god, catch her fucking herself while she dreamt about eating you out in the quiet section of a library. The idea was so mortifying to her that she nearly couldn’t sleep with you in the room at all, which was every night.

She grew anxious, unable to control herself and unable to sleep. Practice became lackluster. Lifting felt ineffectual. Still, she knew she couldn’t let the levee break. She needed respite in any form and, eventually, Abby realized she was desperate.

One day before rugby practice, she texted Nora, a girl Abby fucked on and off for a majority of her freshman year. Abby liked Nora because she was as impersonal about hooking up as Abby was. It was a clean-cut fuck buddy deal she knew she could rely on if she wanted.

The next Thursday, Nora took Abby in like an old friend. She sat her down and opened a bottle of wine, performed the pleasantries of simple conversation, caught up with school and sports and life, and eventually led Abby to the bedroom.

They knew what they were there to do.

In a blur, Abby found her arms wrapped around Nora's lower back as she pressed her face flesh to Nora's chest, guiding her through a sweaty orgasm which seemed satisfactory.

When Nora tried to return the favor, Abby was completely dry.

She had been mentally elsewhere since the moment she knocked on the door.

She played it off as just being out of it, just wanting to please Nora that night. So, Abby haphazardly thanked her for the wine, as it was really the only thing Nora could give Abby that night besides for a spacious bed outside of the dorms, and they went to sleep.

But Abby could only stare up at the ceiling as Nora breathed heavily beside her in a deep sleep.

She decided to walk back to the dorm. It was early and the sun was just starting to light up the sky. You were asleep, and when Abby closed the door, you sprawled out in your bed, strands of hair curled and scattered messily around your face. She watched you sleep for a second, feeling gross and cold and wired. She still couldn’t sleep, so she turned on her desk lamp and read in an attempt to forget her last two or three decisions.

When the sun was finally up, you turned over in your bed and pushed your covers down to your feet, stretching out until your hands hit the headboard. You saw Abby was already up, only reading in bed as you often found her.

“No gym today?” You yawned.

Abby looked over at you and just shook her head.

“You look tired.”

“Good morning to you, too,” Abby said.

You nodded, grabbed your toiletry bag, and left.

Half of Abby convinced herself you knew what she’d been doing the night before, which only made her feel dirtier. Moreover she believed that even if you knew, in agreement with how she wanted to keep things, you were totally indifferent.

.・✫・゜・。..・✫・゜・。..・✫・゜・。.

Abby’s logic wasn’t flawless. She thought she had been doing all the right things. She fucked it out of her system, as far as she was concerned, so after that she got right back into the swing of her routine. All excess feelings would surely go away. The dreams would stop.

Yet, a week later, it was your face she saw through vertically moving weights, walking through the gym’s hallways that made Abby nearly drop the weights she had raised over her head.

A blonde girl was walking with you. You seemed disinterested.

Her name was Carol and she was another classical guitar major. She was the best in your music theory class and you clung to her when you realized not only was she a talented sight reader but she had the most lifeless and dull nature of anyone you had ever met. She was the exact friend you had hoped to meet.

She had also offered to show you around the gym when you asked. Admittedly, you didn’t need someone to tour guide you through the gym. You just didn’t want to go alone.

Carol talked at you in great detail about the gym’s hours, what kinds of people one might find in certain areas, and how she tried pickleball once but couldn’t stand the instructor’s “overly-excited” approach to teaching.

You zoned out, clutched onto the straps of your backpack, and looked around at the gym. There were so many levels. A big hole in the wall right by the entrance that showcased the basketball courts, two yoga studios hidden around a corner on the second floor, the track that outlined the upper level, and, of course, the massive weightlifting section next to it. You tried to look away from it when Carol walked you past it just in case.

When she had taken you through most of it all, you stopped at the sight of double doors with small windows you could barely see through.

“Is that the pool?” You asked, but you were already walking away by the time Carol could answer.

You gazed eagerly at the swimmers who glided across the lap lanes with ease. There were sounds of whistles and people yelling out times.

“Can anyone swim here or is it just for the swim team?” You asked and no one answered.

You looked briefly behind you. Carol was gone. But, truthfully you didn’t care enough to go after her and continued staring at the splashes and glistening bodies in swimsuits, caps bobbing in and out of the water. The smell of the chlorine was so nostalgic. You let yourself breathe in and out, taking it all in, closing your eyes.

“It's just for the swim team, usually,” a voice said right behind you.

You jumped and turned to see who was inches away from you, closing you into the door behind you.

You exhaled. “Abby.”

“You swim?” She ignored your shock.

“Not, like, for exercise.”

“Hm,” Abby responded. “So, what are you doing here then?”

“Getting the tour I requested.”

“Yeah. From Carol, who’s never actually been here before.”

You momentarily look around for Carol but assume she must have left. You wonder how Abby even knew she was with you.

“Hey, she took a very riveting pickleball class here and has much to say about it,” you said.

Abby smirked and moved from her close proximity to the space next to you. You both stayed there for a moment, just watching.

“She seems like a lot of fun.”

“She is,” you said a bit indignantly.

“I bet,” Abby said. “I had her in my Intro to College course last year. She’s very… organized?”

You sighed, eyes still fixed on the swim team. “Yeah, she’s kind of awful.”

Abby couldn’t contain a laugh and you laughed with her. Out of all your conversations where she seemed to get on every one of your nerves, you were always kind to her. You turned away from the doors and Abby followed alongside as you walked together.

“So,” Abby said, “why are you friends with her then?”

“She’s very smart. She’s nice enough.”

“Your standards for friendship are pretty low. No offense.” Abby swallowed at the thought of you taking offense. Of her taking it too far again. But this time you conceded.

“You could say that. I guess I like laying low.”

“Yeah, I see that. I can’t figure out why though.” You looked up at Abby to see if she’s fucking with you again but she looked genuine. It softened you. “I think you’re cool.”

“Thanks,” you said, looking from her to the floor again. “I just…I’ve had my fill of shitty friends before. I figure Carol is the boring kind of shitty and not the ‘ruin your life’ kind of shitty.”

“Christ,” Abby said. “I get that though.”

You looked at her to call bullshit.

“No, really,” she continued. “If I had a dime for every time I’ve realized someone I considered a best friend was actually totally fucking awful, I’d have, like…”

“Too many dimes?”

You smile. Abby smiled at having made you smile.

“Too many fucking dimes,” Abby agreed and lingered on you, this laugh of yours in particular said, that’s so stupid, but you smiled anyway. She looked away and nervously stroked her neck. “Hey, listen, I’m sorry about what I said before. I see you lug, like, four guitars between classes everyday, so I had no right to say what I did, about me not taking you for a weightlifter. That was stupid.”

Abby’s breath got caught in her words. There was something about her that always made you sympathetic and made the corners of your mouth perk up. She went on.

“I feel like we got off on the wrong foot. Which… that’s my fault. If you ever want to hang out, though, outside of the dorm-”

But your eyes tore from her and were suddenly down the hall, staring at a gaggle of girls talking to one of the front desk student workers. Your face went sullen and your body stunned. Abby tried to follow your gaze.

You went into a panic and your eyes darted around until they landed on Abby again.

“I have to go,” you suddenly said. You swung around to Abby, seemingly hiding your face from them.

“Oh- sorry, did I-”

“But thanks for saying that. Yeah, we should,” you said, and Abby could sense your urgency to leave. “Do you wanna go to a party with me?”

Abby couldn’t hide her surprise. And pleasure. “Yes. Yeah,” she coughed. “Sure.”

“It’s a Valentine's Day party. I know it’s early in the month for that, but, yeah, Carol invited me and it seems like it might be fun, I sort of want to go but I don’t really want to go with…”

“Oh, yeah, no, fuck Carol. I’m down.”

“Yeah?” Your eyes opened brightly, at her and then anxiously to the doors behind you. “Okay, that’s great, amazing. I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, see you.”

And you were out the door. Abby noticed your head slightly turn away from the girls at the front desk.

Abby’s eyes were wide. She let out a big breath and smiled to herself as she walked back to the weights. Yet, Abby found herself counting past her normal ten reps, so consumed by her thoughts that she couldn’t feel her muscles burning. Perhaps it was the moment you invited her to the party that Abby’s grand idea to repress her feelings had gone out the window. Maybe it was when you confided in her, in what small way it was, or the way you laughed at her being a smart ass that made her abandon the boundary she set for herself. Or, possibly, in the moments she spent watching you watch the swim team, Abby realized something she quietly knew since the day she met you: she couldn’t exercise or fuck her way out of this.

Even if it all was to just be your friend, which she was slowly accepting it would be, it would be worth it to die on that hill. She would let herself die on that hill. Even if it broke her heart and you never were any the wiser. What else could she do? Abby had been a lost cause from the start.

.・✫・゜・。..・✫・゜・。..・✫・゜・。.

In a glance, Abby’s memories stop short. She feels the same sense of hopefulness she did in her memory so she chooses not to reminisce further. Not when things feel so simple and good again.

It was hard enough for Abby to look you in the eyes. Every time she did, she felt like she was reading a book and your pages were turning so fast it made her dizzy. It’s how she feels as you ask again:

“You coming?”

You’re half turned to face Abby on the pool’s edge with a hand outstretched to her and anticipation in your eyes.

She comes in colors everywhere, she combs her hair, she's like a rainbow...

As if at peace with the restlessness you gave her, she looks over to you sweetly, cracking a girlish smile and releasing her hair from its braid.

“I’m not waiting for you!” You sing out. “Three! Two!”

Abby runs and cannonballs into the pool.

A second later, Abby feels you explode into the water next to her and opens her eyes. The chlorine stings but she sees you clearly. The deep blue glow surrounds your body as you cascade through the water. Your eyes are squeezed shut drawing little lines of sunshine on the sides of your face, bubbles of air fluttering around you, escaping to the surface.

Abby follows you up until you both find air. Two heads bobbing up and down. The noise of splashing calms. It’s just you and her. Both bodies are tensely aware of that fact.

You hide the bottom half of your face in the water, looking away from Abby nervously. You can sense her eyes on you. It makes you freeze. The familiar heat runs up your neck.

“Stop it.”

She shrugs, indecipherably.

“Okay,” she says.

But Abby doesn’t change a thing.

It all festers on your face.

You take a breath and plunge down until water surrounds you completely, until you’ve held your breath so long that your heart beats louder than your thoughts, slowly and finally drowning them out.

Comment if you want to be on this story's taglist!

Tag babies: @soupycloud @femme-historian @ichokedonmyoreo @paleidiot @r3starttt @lez-zuha @seraphicsentences @vancexplicit @iamaboringrattat @iprefermountainsoverthesea @maybeidohaveadhd @fortune777 @umfiodeprata @x-ani @emothurman @colbyweirdo @backstrom69 @kisssssessssssyj @aylabv02108 @vic-likes-flowers @giuliaexe66 @sapphicontherun @nellkaida @i-feel-violated @grey-jedi12 @stickynachomaker @letmesleep8 @ravyaryn @punkwrld

.・✫・゜・。..・✫・゜・。..・✫・゜・。.

#abby anderson tlou2 #tlou2 #abby tlou #the last of us part 2 #abby x fem!reader #abby anderson #lesbian #abby x you #abby the last of us #abby anderson playlist #abby x reader #the last of us

180 notes · View notes

muffinsin · 10 months ago

Note

GUYS!!! GUYS!!!!!! idea time 😈

the dimitrescus (seperately) with a s/o that acts so much like a vampire, that the dimitrescus were suprised to learn they werent?

Like, reader has irregularly sharp teeth, claw-like nails, oddly pale skin, and literal bloodlust (they genuinly enjoy to drink blood, -- you can cut that part out if it makes u uncomftorable, obviously 💗💗)

Reader, their s/o, also avoids going outside like the plague, -- they hate the cold, always loom around and cause chaos (their energy vaguely resembles Danielas..), and wear dark, covering clothes (that also, somewhat resemble the dimitrescu sisters' cloaks) that you would expect to see in an old, monster-romance cliche.

Their s/o even has a tattoo! Its .. not on their forehead, but, its the same! Its a flower! They must be a vampire too! Wait, whaddya mean you're mortal? ..

.....

what?

IM GOING ABSOLUTELY FERAL FOR THESE LOVELY LADIES GRAHHHH SOMEBODY LITERALLY SEDATE ME 😨😨😨😨😨

And now i leave, just like my father -- aha. Please laugh.

-🐾🍪🏕

Traveling girlscout anon ;3

Awhhh, this is a cute one!! We love ourselves these vampiric tendencies! :)

Let’s get into it!

Masterlists

Bela

Until recently, Bela was convinced you’re a vampire. Or similar to her mother, at the very least

Sure, upon finding you and seeing your (at first glance-) humane nature, she did think of you as a human

But, within hours already, this changed

Early on she convinced herself you were like Alcina, not made of flies, but vampiric at the very least

After all, all about you screams just that

The first Bela noticed, ever, early on into your relationship, was your appearance

Hidden underneath your gloves are sharp claw-like nails

Much like her own, really, and nearly as sharp

She actually screamed in surprise and mild pain the first time you clawed at her back

She likes restraining you when things get wild, now, for the sake of her porcelain-like skin

Not only your nails look strangely inhuman, though

Next are your teeth, sharp and almost filed, again much like her own

Upon feeling them under her tongue, and later on inspecting them properly, Bela became aware of their fang-like nature

Really, she loves this

While she would never admit it, Bela loves to feel your fangs sink into her skin, to feel you break skin, to feel the pain she so rarely experiences due to her nature

And then, to her biggest surprise, there’s the tatttoo

Almost like her own! A rose, one typical for house Dimitrescu like hers, though lacking the other symbols of the house

Placed just below your neck, she saw it first when she offered you a massage

She likes to trace it whenever the two of you cuddle now, giggling whenever you lean up and kiss hers in return

What became obvious next, was your not so human appetite and favorite dishes

Mainly because while she made sure you had bread and such available, you showed no interest in that, and have barely indulged in that in the time she’s known you

In fact, to this day, you share her meals and snacks, blood

When she sits drinking the infamous blood-wine, you often sit down on her lap and take some sips from the fancy glass

At times you prefer it directly from the source

As such, Bela is moaning and gasping beneath you or trapped against a wall, her pale face flushed pink as you first bite down and tear her neck open, then suck at the wound eagerly

To this day, it’s something she grants you and something that gets her flustered like very little else

Your eyes are dark, your appearance even more so

Like her, you prefer dark clothing, something that only feeds into her suspicion of your vampiric nature

You loom about in the shadows, are hardly ever seen outside

In fact, she finds you only join her hunts at night

The sun she enjoys on her pale skin, warming and tickling lightly, seems to almost disgust you

You’re never seen in it, always stay in when you can

Your paleness almost matches hers

Sometimes, she attempts to get you outside

When she holds your hand and gently guides you, giggles as your face scrunches up in disgust

At times, you humor her, walk outside and stay in the shade, watch as she sunbathes

You don’t quite understand why, only growl to yourself at times as you watch her

At least, it’s an opportunity for you to watch her

Still, she giggles when your growls turn to whines after fifteen minutes or so, pleading to go back inside

At other times, you watch her from the window in her room, playing with the few daggers you’re allowed to store there

Then, suddenly, one day the truth comes out

It’s winter, the cool air trapping your girlfriend within the castle

Still, as she nibs at your neck and draws circles along your skin lazily, you feel her become restless

Working for her mother and being busy so often, winter is less harsh on Bela than her sisters

Still, she has cravings, as you come to learn early on in the relationship

And so she’s curled in your shared bed, whining quietly to herself (not that she would ever admit that) as you kiss her forehead

You promise, you’ll head to the woods to get her a snack, freshly caught, the way she likes it

Only is it during the day…and while the air is bitingly cold, the sun is standing high

Immediately, she worries and tries to stop you

Upon hearing her reasoning, you can’t help but giggle, which only prompts an adorably confused frown

You’re not incredibly surprised to hear her think of you as a vampire, but assure her nonetheless: you’re human

As such, she allows you to go, talking only of things to bring with you to keep you safe

And as you hunt for her, you endure the sun, frowning in annoyance at it occasionally

You truly hate the sun, and the annoyingly cold breeze makes it an even worse experience

But, you would do anything for her

And upon returning, you smile as she feasts on your catch eagerly, exploring your body anew after her discovery

You let her, leaving a light smile on your lips

Cassandra

Having met you officially as her mother’s advisor and informant from the village, and noticing your overall appearance, Cassandra has never thought of you as anything but a vampire

In all the time she has and does see you, you’re covered in black, gothic-like clothing, not at all unlike her own

You look regal, but dangerous, mysterious and dark

You look like you perfectly fit into the castle and the family, even before Cassandra has made you hers

Never has she seen you in colorful clothing, except maybe the few times you wore an almost victorian dress for one of Mother’s infamous hosted balls and festivals

A deep shade of red, victorian and gothic in style, further adding to her belief of your vampire status

Her believes haven’t changed to this day, even

When she hunts, you join her at night

And while not as fast or strong as her, you have little difficulty keeping up. Often you even slay beasts with her

The two of you like to stay until the morning approaches, kissing and hunting, relishing in one another’s bodies and words until it’s time to head back to the castle before the sun sets

She never questioned why you don’t like the sun. After all, all vampires don’t like it, can’t stand it even

You like to join her in the basement, often cleaning and polishing her weapons and tools of torture

She never thought of it as strange, never thought an immortal being like herself or her family would be bothered by the blood and screams

Your teeth are similar to her own, sharp and predatory, fang-like and glistening when the shine of the moon hits them

And while they’re not as strong or sharp as Cassandra’s, they are still unnatural looking

Of course, she’s very keen on them, as you realize early on

She loves to inspect your teeth and run her tongue along their sharp tips, crackling in delight whenever she isn’t careful and cuts herself on them

Secretly, she allows you to bite her when you play rough

At those times she relishes in your presence and vampiric-like biology, allowing you to take what you want from her, rather than the other way around

It’s rare times, but it’s still one of your favorite moments, when she allows you to hold her down and straddle her, your sharp teeth digging into her surprisingly sensitive neck

At those times it’s often that your sharp, claw-like nails come into play, as well as her own if you neglect to use protection

Always, you tie her arms and wrists up when it’s your turn to take from her

Your girlfriend simply loves scratching too much, so much so you’re sure you couldn’t live through it

You are after all, though oblivious to her, mortal

As such she’s usually tied when you take, and relishes in the deep scratches you give her along her backside when she takes from you

Sometimes, after, she allows you her blood as a reward

It’s divine, and if you could (and if she let you) you could easily live off only that

Alas, you often share in a maid with her, held between the two of you, her cries muffled as both of you share one side of her neck to drink from

While usually discarded after, they always make for a fun snack

Should one be unlucky enough to live through it, it’s clear she’s Cassandra’s plaything now, awaiting the woman’s attention in the basement

And lastly, another detail she loves about you, is the tattoo placed on your chest

A rose, similar to the one she sports, only missing the Dimitrescu sigil and the ring surrounding it

Sometimes, when feeling particularly soft and cuddling up together, Cassandra likes to draw along the tattoo, adding bits here and there

Until, at the end, it looks nearly identical to her own

You smile whenever you see it

The day she finds out about your mortality is one like any other, really

She’s out hunting with you, the late night hours when the sun is down and the air has adapted a nice, cozy temperature

You’re at it for hours, hunting successfully, not worried about the time in the slightest

It wouldn’t be the first time the two of you stay out all night

And as the spirits rise and the hunt slows, the two of you take advantage of the quiet forest that seems to belong to only the two of you, now

With your hands tangled in her hair and your teeth teasing her neck, you completely forget about restraining her hands

As such, when you bite down, her claw-like nails come down on you, slicing and tearing lines down your back

Immediately, you tear yourself away, screaming in pain even as pleasure runs through you and your fang-like teeth and lips tingle with the desire to feast on her again

As you sink to your knees, she’s immediately by your side

She doesn’t understand, not until she notices your trembling body and the deep slashes at your back

She never considered that, unlike her, you don’t heal as fast

Immediately, you feel her tear your blouse from you, straps of your and her clothing used to help bandage your wounds

You don’t notice how tense your body is, until she cups your face

Her face holds a mix of surprise, worry and anger

“You stupid mortal!”, she cusses, and you can’t help but grin stupidly at her

You doubt you’ll get her to trim her nails even a little, but are still somewhat thrilled to have felt them on you

She supports you as you make your way back to the castle, rambling on angrily about how you didn’t tell her you were human, as though it wasn’t obvious by your blood alone

For the next few days you enjoy the mixture of her pampering and scolding you

She feeds you her blood, somewhat feeding into the strange nature of your biology, a human fed a mutant’s blood

You keep ropes and such in mind after this, and allow her to worry about you a little more than before

At least, she doesn’t treat you as she does other mortals, still valuing your skills and abilities rather than treating you like you were made of glass

Daniela

When she first encounters you, she immediately thinks; this is it

You are it

Her true love!

Her one and only! The reason all the others were mere disappointments! The sole reason she hasn’t found happiness yet!

Because of course, her true love would be like her!

You’re even matching her tattoo, somewhat, wearing the rose tattoo on your wrist

Your heart at your sleeve, so to say, she thinks when she first sees it

Of course, it must be a sign

A sign you’re her soulmate!

Often, she traces your tattoo

When you do the same to her, she practically melts against you, a blushing mess of buzzing flies that could easily be mistaken for purring at your touch

You’re taller than the average villager, more so similar to her own height, too

She never once thinks you might be human, and you never once suspect she might have doubts about your mortality, and thus never set her straight

She supports you fully, buying you all the clothing you like, all dark and gothic themed, much like the one of her family

You’re a Dimitrescu by heart, she’s sure

Sometimes, she likes to take your clothing, hunting in a new pair of dark pants and a tucked in, black blouse of yours

At other times, she allows you to take inspiration from her clothing

With both of you detesting the cold, there’s nothing you like more than to curl up someplace with her

Daniela’s not made to keep others warm, being barely able to keep herself warm, after all

You, despite your appearance and vampire-like aesthetic, are entirely different as it comes to that, so that on cold days it’s often you warming her up while the two of you scowl at the temperature

Maybe, your warm body and blood should have been a hint to her, a hint proving your mortality

Often, she feeds from you, especially on the cold days

Your warm blood dripping down her throat and settling in her cool body works wonders, so much so her face is flushed fast and she heats up within minutes

Daniela loves the feeling of your teeth against her skin, the sharp fangs digging in and biting down at one of her most sensitive spots

Often, it gets her excited. You’re always eager

Another way for you to warm her up, after all

In turn, she eagerly allows you a taste of her whenever you want

Unlike you- another hint, probably- she doesn’t have to wait days for the wound to close again, after all, so you can occasionally feed off her multiple times a day

On sunnier days, Daniela tries hard to have you come outside with her

As she hates the cold, she loves the sun!

Next to you, she almost looks as if she is the mortal one, even

You, dressed in dark clothing and scowling a little whenever the sun hits your eyes, her, grinning from ear to ear in a light, fluttery dress, the only indication of her vampiric nature being the bloody splats along her chin and cheeks

Sometimes, she asks for picnics, reading together in the castle gardens, cuddling and sleeping in the sun, sharing little treats here and there that you’re sure she sneaked from the kitchens

She can’t tan, but likes the thought of it nonetheless, so you often read to her while she’s spread out in the sun like a lazy cat enjoying the warmth along its fur

Often, she ends up dozing off, awakening in your arms or in her bed once you’ve decided you had enough of the outside and carried her back to your shared room

At other days, she takes you hunting with her, the both of you running and stalking, laughing whenever a human gets lost among the tall trees

Sometimes, the two of you share the blood of your prey right then

At other times, you drag it home to the castle and you prepare the meat for the both of you

She always figured you do this as a preference, oblivious to the fact you really should not be eating raw meat

And on some other days, the two of you like to race at the castle, causing chaos where you can

You like playing a game of scaring the staff, seeing whose presence is more unsettling, counting how many poor maidens can be stalked until they grow aware of your presence

Only does she grow aware of your mortality when your chaotic games eventually cause a window to break

Immediately, you shield her body with hers when screams are torn from her

Teary eyes look up at you full of sorrow, as though she expects you to die shielding her

But, no such thing happens

Your skin doesn’t crystallize, doesn’t even bruise

You merely shiver as you hold her and wrap your vest around her tightly

“I’ve got you”, you whisper, and while you sound worried, there is no pain in your voice

She doesn’t understand…

As you return to your room, it’s her that checks you for injuries first, despite how you try to fuss over her

She can’t understand..not even a scrape?

You grow more and more confused with her

Why is she so surprised?

Upon voicing her confusion, you can’t help but laugh a little

As you cup her face in your hands, her cold, but soft cheeks pressed against your warm hands, she looks at you with an endearing expression

You explain you’re mortal, something you never quite thought you’d have to do

And yet, the more you speak the more she connects the pieces of what could have been hints from long ago

She feels a little silly, but is quickly overwhelmed by the happiness and excitement upon remembering you saved her

Her knight in dark, shining armor, truly

#cassandra dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #🐾🍪🏕️ anon

141 notes · View notes

yoomiwrites · 27 days ago

Text

Sweet Innocence ²

Summary: Princess Y/N’s kingdom is falling apart, and her family’s only hope is her marriage to a cruel, old king. Desperate, she makes a reckless choice one night—and wakes up in Niji Vinsmoke’s bed. Now, caught between a dangerous engagement and Niji’s growing interest, Y/N must navigate a deadly game of survival where one wrong move could cost her everything.

Note: Chapter 2 of this little darling. Truth to be told, Niji isn’t my favorite out of our mean Vinsmoke trio. It's Yonji, actually. However, I like a good ol' challenge. It's funny, though. In Bounty Rush I tried desperately to get Yonji. Got Ichiji 8 times, Niji 2 times. Well, in the end, also one Yonji. I guess Ichiji and I work the best? IMPORTANT: Starting from Chapter 4, we will switch to second-person (You), if you WANT that. Please comment beneath this chapter!

I also don't know if I will continue to use bold in the story. I thought it's nice as first, but maybe it isn't? Mhhm, we will see!

Third-person pov. Female Reader. Sensitive topics. Hard language. Slight Gore. Slow Updates. Enemies to lovers. Sex mentioned. Forced marriage. Death mentioned. Sensitive topics. Abuse. Blood. Mention of virginity loss.

Chapter 1 Chapter 3

Y/N’s breath hitched, her pulse a wild, erratic drumbeat in her ears.

This couldn’t be happening.

This had to be a nightmare—some twisted, alcohol-fueled illusion that her mind had conjured up. Because there was no way she was standing in Niji Vinsmoke’s room, wrapped in nothing but a silk blanket, with a very real stain of blood on the sheets behind her.

And yet, every tiny detail screamed that this was real.

The cold bite of the floor against her bare feet.

The distant clang of swords clashing outside.

The heavy scent of steel and faint cologne in the air.

And Niji—standing there with that insufferable, cocky smirk, like this was all some great inconvenience to him.

She yanked the blanket tightly around herself as if it could somehow protect her from reality. Her body wobbled slightly, the remnants of alcohol still dulling her balance, but she didn’t care.

All she could see was the blood.

A single red mark on the pristine fabric.

It was undeniable.

She had actually—

Y/N sucked in a sharp breath, panic rising like a tidal wave.

Niji’s amused exhale cut through the silence.

“Oh, for god’s sake.”

She snapped her head up, eyes burning with a mix of shock, confusion, and something dangerously close to humiliation.

He was watching her like she was a petulant child, arms crossed over his chest, shoulders loose, like this entire thing was nothing more than an unfortunate hassle.

“What’s with that look?” he muttered, tilting his head. “You were a lot more eager last night.”

Y/N’s face burned, mortification crashing over her.

She didn’t remember.

She didn’t remember anything past that kiss.

Just… darkness.

Her fingers clenched around the fabric of the blanket, her voice coming out shaky.

“What… What did you do?”

Niji let out a short, humorless laugh.

“Me?” He gestured to himself, looking almost offended. “You’re the one who—” He stopped himself, exhaling sharply, before dragging a gloved hand down his face. “Forget it. You’re too hungover to process it, anyway.”

Her nails dug into the silk, her stomach twisting.

This wasn’t funny.

This wasn’t some joke.

She was ruined.

Although she had planned to do this, he was the worst possible outcome. And Niji—he was acting like it was just another inconvenient morning after.

Y/N’s hands were trembling now, her body too overwhelmed to even think straight.

But before she could say anything else, Niji moved forward.

She immediately took a step back, hitting the wooden post of the bedframe, but it didn’t matter. He was already there, already reaching for something—

The blanket.

Her breath caught as his fingers brushed against the silk, grasping the edge near her knee.

She tried to jerk away, but his grip was firm, and before she could stop him, he lifted it just slightly, just enough to expose her leg.

His gaze lowered.

Y/N’s chest tightened, heart slamming against her ribs as she watched his expression shift.

For a second—just a fleeting second—he looked almost… amused.

Then, with an exasperated sigh, he let the blanket fall back into place and straightened.

“You’re an idiot,” he muttered.

Y/N’s stomach dropped.

“What—” she started, but he was already shaking his head.

“The blood?” He gestured lazily to the sheets. “It’s from your knee.”

She blinked.

Her knee?

What was he—

Niji sighed again, like explaining this was physically painful for him.

“You fell last night,” he said flatly, crossing his arms. “Smashed your damn knee on the stairs before you threw yourself at me.”

She froze.

Her mind reeled, scrambling through the fragments of her memory, trying to remember—

But there was nothing.

Just that kiss.

Just darkness.

Just… this.

Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

Niji’s smirk returned, sharper this time.

“You seriously thought I—” he huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Y/N felt her entire body go rigid.

The world tilted, humiliation creeping up her spine like a slow, suffocating weight.

She hadn’t—

He hadn’t—

She was still—

Her throat tightened, heat rushing to her cheeks, and Niji just watched her flounder, his grin widening with something dangerously close to satisfaction.

“You’re not my type, Princess,” he added lazily. “Not even close.”

Y/N stared at him.

Her breath was uneven, her body still wrapped in tension, her mind still struggling to catch up—

And yet, all she could focus on were those words.

"Not even close."

Something in her snapped.

Y/N’s fists clenched, her pulse still hammering from the sheer humiliation of his words. The sharp sting of it settled deep in her chest, curling into something hot and angry.

How dare he?

How dare he act so unbothered, so casual, after everything?

She wasn’t expecting kindness, but this? This was mockery.

Y/N lifted her chin, ignoring the lingering heat in her cheeks as she forced herself to speak.

"If I’m such an ‘idiot,’” she shot back, her voice steady but laced with irritation, “then why am I even here?”

Niji exhaled sharply through his nose, looking like he couldn’t believe he was still having this conversation.

“Hell if I know,” he muttered. Then, with a slow, lazy stretch, he met her glare with a smirk that made her want to slap him. “You were the one who wouldn’t let go of me last night.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted.

“That’s a lie,” she hissed.

He chuckled. “Oh? So you’re saying you didn’t grab me and start mumbling about how ‘anyone would do’ as long as it meant you didn’t have to marry that wrinkled bastard?”

Her blood ran cold.

She felt like she’d been doused in ice water, the weight of his words sinking in.

Had she really—?

Had she actually said that?

Her throat tightened, but Niji was already moving on, stepping toward the door with lazy disinterest.

“I’ll admit,” he mused, “I actually considered it.”

Y/N’s breath hitched.

He kept walking, his tone casual, like he was just discussing the weather.

“I could have turned off the lights. Pretended you were someone else.” He smirked at the way she stiffened, clearly enjoying how every word rattled her. “But then you passed out as soon as your head hit the pillow.”

Her fingers twitched, her anger flaring once more.

“And before I could kick you out, Ichiji called for me.” He shrugged. “Didn’t come back till now.”

Y/N’s breath was shallow, her mind spinning.

So that was it?

She had stumbled into his room, made a fool of herself, and then just collapsed into unconsciousness before anything could happen?

She felt sick.

Not from relief.

Not from fear.

From the way he was looking at her.

Like she was nothing more than a wasted opportunity.

Like he was already bored.

“Shouldn’t you be happy?” he added, voice dripping with amusement. “You got exactly what you wanted.”

Y/N flinched, her grip on the blanket tightening.

It was true.

This was what she wanted, wasn’t it?

Niji let out an exaggerated yawn, stretching his arms behind his head as he turned toward the door.

“Well,” he drawled, already stepping out, “you should probably get out of here before someone—”

The door swung open before he could finish.

A woman stood in the doorway, clad in the crisp uniform of a GERMA servant, her posture stiff and proper, her hands neatly folded in front of her apron.

Y/N froze, her body still wrapped in nothing but the silk blanket, her breath caught in her throat.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then—

“Ah, Prince Niji,” the woman greeted politely, dipping into a small bow.

Y/N felt the shift instantly.

The way her tone was calm—yet carefully measured.

Respectful, but… empty.

Like she was speaking out of duty, not choice.

“Cleaning?” Niji asked, completely unbothered.

“Yes, my lord.”

His smirk widened slightly as he tilted his head toward Y/N.

“Well, have fun with that,” he said smoothly. “Maybe scrub the shame off of her while you’re at it.”

Y/N’s cheeks burned, but before she could snap at him, he was already walking past the maid, his hands in his pockets, not sparing her a second glance.

“Try not to embarrass yourself any further, Princess,” he added over his shoulder.

Then he was gone.

The door clicked shut behind him, and suddenly, the room felt too quiet, too suffocating.

Y/N’s nails dug into the fabric of the blanket, her heart still hammering, her emotions still in chaos.

She didn’t know if she was angry or relieved or just…

Lost.

The maid took a single step forward, keeping her gaze lowered.

“…Miss Y/N,” she said softly, voice laced with forced politeness.

Y/N barely registered it, her mind still swirling, her body still rooted in place.

She couldn’t move.

She couldn’t think.

All she could do was stand there, overwhelmed, angry, and confused.

The soft clinking of glass and the quiet rustle of fabric filled the room as the maid silently began tidying up.

Y/N stayed still, watching as the woman moved with practiced efficiency—pulling the sheets, smoothing the pillows, gathering the scattered remnants of last night.

Then she reached for the bloodstained fabric.

Y/N saw her hesitate.

Just for a second, her fingers stiffened, her breath hitched—

Then she carefully peeled the sheet away, folding it as if it was just another inconvenience to be dealt with.

Y/N’s lips curled slightly.

She’d noticed.

Servants noticed everything—they were trained to, conditioned to observe without question, to ignore what wasn’t meant to be spoken of.

And yet…

Her eyes.

When she glanced up, just for a moment, Y/N caught a flicker of understanding there.

A quiet, knowing look.

Perfect.

If Niji was going to be such an insufferable bastard, then she might as well use it.

So she forced her expression to shift, letting a deep blush creep onto her cheeks as she hugged the blanket closer, casting her gaze away with deliberate shyness.

The maid caught the movement.

Y/N hesitated, then let out a soft, flustered sigh—just enough to sound like someone who had been caught in a compromising situation.

“Please,” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t tell anyone.”

The maid blinked.

Y/N took a small step closer, keeping her tone hesitant, her fingers clutching the fabric as if she was genuinely embarrassed.

“I… I don’t want anyone to know what happened,” she continued, lowering her eyes. “It was just… It was just a mistake.”

She risked a glance up.

The maid didn’t say a word, but her posture shifted, her hands still gripping the sheet.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Of course, Y/N knew better than to trust her silence.

Servants were notorious for gossip—they weren’t supposed to, but whispers always spread like wildfire in places like these.

And that was exactly what she wanted.

Even if she had humiliated herself, she could still salvage this.

If the right people heard the rumors, then Zeang would have no choice but to call off the wedding.

She wouldn’t have to marry that old creep.

And Niji?

Well.

If he wanted to be an asshole, then he could deal with the consequences of people thinking he’d taken her virginity.

Y/N took a steady breath, then turned toward the nearby dresser, scanning the neatly folded pile of clothes that had been left for her.

She dressed quickly, ignoring the slight dizziness that still lingered from her hangover.

By the time she slipped her shoes on, the maid had already finished the bed, tucking the folded bloodstained sheet into the laundry basket.

Y/N didn’t bother saying anything else.

She straightened, tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and walked toward the door with confidence she didn’t quite feel.

The hallway was too quiet when she stepped out, the sharp scent of polished steel and antiseptic filling her lungs.

Germa’s castle was a maze, every corridor blending into the next with its cold metallic walls and geometric precision.

And Y/N—who had only been here for a short time—had no idea where she was going.

She took a turn—then another—then a third, her frustration growing as she realized she was completely lost.

“Where the hell is the—”

“Princess Y/N.”

She froze.

The voice was deep, commanding—not quite scolding, but holding a weight of authority that made her tense instinctively.

When she turned, she was met with a towering, broad-shouldered man, his sharp eyes locking onto hers with mild disapproval.

Mr. Garrick, her father’s most loyal servant.

A man of discipline, order, and unwavering obedience—one who had served her family for years, standing at her father’s right hand like an unshakable pillar.

And right now, he was not pleased.

Y/N swallowed, forcing a neutral expression.

“Good morning,” she said smoothly, as if she hadn’t just stumbled out of a prince’s bedroom.

Garrick narrowed his gaze.

“Your father is expecting you,” he stated. “Come. Breakfast is being served.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped.

He didn’t know.

He had no idea where she had actually spent the night—he just assumed she had come from their ship.

If he assumed, then so would everyone else. For now.

She tilted her head, keeping her expression carefully composed.

“Of course,” she murmured, offering a small, polite smile.

Then she stepped forward, following him down the hall—

Straight into the lion’s den.

The grand dining hall of Germa 66 was as cold and calculated as the rest of the floating fortress.

Metallic walls gleamed under the sterile lighting, the long table set with polished silverware and delicacies fit for royalty. The air was thick with the scent of freshly cooked meats and fine wines, a luxurious contrast to the harsh, militant atmosphere that loomed over the kingdom.

Y/N sat beside Hitomi, her posture composed, her fingers carefully slicing through a piece of fruit on her plate.

She did not speak.

She did not engage in the discussions taking place around her.

She simply ate, ignoring the steady hum of conversation as it carried through the room—discussions about politics, war strategies, and, of course, the upcoming marriages.

Across from her, Niji sat with the same air of disinterest, his usual arrogant smirk absent, his sunglasses shielding his expression. He hadn’t so much as looked at her since she arrived.

She had no interest in looking at him either.

But even as she kept her gaze down, focusing solely on her plate, she could hear it.

The whispers.

They were subtle at first—nothing more than quiet murmurs exchanged between the servants as they moved around the table, refilling glasses and replacing dishes.

But Y/N was listening.

She noticed the way one of them, a younger girl, leaned slightly toward Garrick, whispering something in his ear.

She noticed the way Garrick’s entire body stiffened, his brows drawing together in sharp, calculating thought.

And then—

He turned.

Y/N didn’t look up, but she felt the weight of his gaze on her.

And when he finally leaned toward her father, voice low and urgent, she felt that too.

The moment the words left his mouth, she saw it—

Her father, in the middle of taking a sip of wine, suddenly choked.

The goblet clattered onto the table as he coughed, his face turning a shade of deep red—not from the wine, but from the rage that suddenly consumed him.

The entire table froze.

Y/N slowly placed her fork down, still refusing to look up, her expression unreadable.

Her father’s chair scraped against the floor as he sat up straighter, his fingers clenching into fists against the table. His eyes—fierce and burning with fury—locked onto her like a predator preparing to strike.

“Y/N,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “Tell me what I just heard isn’t true.”

She blinked.

Then, with an air of deliberate innocence, she tilted her head and finally met his gaze.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, Father.”

The vein in his temple bulged.

With a sudden, thunderous slam, his palm came down onto the table, rattling the silverware and causing several nearby servants to flinch.

The noise was sharp, cutting through the room like a blade.

Every conversation ceased.

Every fork and knife was set down.

All eyes turned to them.

And then—

“Did you sleep with the second Germa prince?”

Silence.

Complete.

Utter.

Silence.

The silence stretched long and heavy, pressing down on the room like an approaching storm.

Y/N could feel the weight of every gaze, the tension thick enough to choke on.

Her father’s fingers twitched against the table, his nostrils flaring, his jaw clenched so tight she thought his teeth might crack.

And yet—

She did not flinch.

She did not cower.

Instead, she took a slow, measured breath, lifted her chin, and met his gaze head-on.

“And what if I had?”

A sharp inhale.

Her father bolted up from his chair, the movement so forceful that his goblet of wine tipped over, the deep red liquid spilling across the pristine white tablecloth.

“You—” His voice trembled with rage, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Y/N saw his fury.

She saw the way his face darkened, the way his knuckles turned white with the force of his grip—

But before he could explode, before he could make a scene in front of the entire Germa court—

Her mother’s hand landed gently on his arm.

“Darling,” she said softly, her tone carrying both urgency and restraint, “not here.”

Her father turned to her, breathing hard, as if trying to contain the storm inside him.

“We will discuss this on our ship,” her mother continued, her voice calm, unwavering. “Not now.”

Another beat of silence.

Then, with a deep, furious exhale, her father snatched a cloth from the table and wiped his hands with sharp, jerky motions, barely containing himself.

No one spoke.

No one moved.

Not Hitomi.

Not Reiju.

Not Ichiji.

Not even Yonji, who usually thrived on chaos, was willing to say a word.

And Niji?

He sat utterly still, arms crossed, sunglasses shielding his eyes.

It wasn’t until a voice finally broke the silence that the tension shifted—

But it wasn’t her father’s.

It was Judge Vinsmoke’s.

“Niji.”

Slowly, all eyes turned to him.

Judge leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, gaze sharp as he regarded his son.

“Well?” he asked. “Did you?”

It was the first time Niji looked at her.

Y/N held his gaze, heart pounding, unsure of what he would say—

And then, just as quickly, he turned back to his father and said, “What if I did?”

He didn’t confirm it.

But he didn’t deny it either.

He had repeated what she had said. And that was enough.

It was enough for Judge, who nodded slightly, slowly.

It was enough for her father, who turned back to Y/N with an even deeper rage burning in his eyes.

“Come with me,” he ordered, his voice deadly calm.

Y/N hesitated.

Then, slowly, she stood.

Her chair scraped against the floor as she stepped away from the table, spine rigid, ignoring the lingering stares.

Her father strode ahead without another word, his entire body coiled with fury, and Y/N followed without protest.

But just as she reached the door, she heard the hurried footsteps behind her—

“Wait!”

It was Hitomi, her expression tense, her mother close behind her.

They rushed after them, their voices low, urgent, as they left the silent, watching Vinsmokes behind.

#one piece x reader #one piece #niji vinsmoke x reader #niji vinsmoke #vinsmoke ichiji #vinsmoke yonji #vinsmoke sanji

43 notes · View notes