#these were just the ones I had on my phone

[rafesdollette]

SLEEPOVER WITH SECRET!BF!RAFE

a/n: i got a request for this a few weeks ago but the ask deleted itself so I'm so sorry to whoever sent that! and i'm trying to get out of my writers block so enjoy...whatever this is. (not sure how I feel about this) not proofread!!

cw: contains smut, 18+

“come over? just for a little bit?” rafe asked as he looked at you through the facetime camera. it's been a rough day for him and you were really the only person he wanted to see right now. but it was past midnight and you weren't supposed to be out of the house around this time, let alone going to his house.

you've been told by your parents to stay away from him—countless times, actually. rafe knew he had some...things to work on, but in his mind, he wasn't that bad. at least towards you. “dunno rafe...'m already in trouble for skipping school yesterday.” you frown, tapping your manicured finger on the side of your phone. rafe sighed, sitting up against his headboard “please? it'll be quick. i'll sneak ya in and out.”

you were hesitating and that's something rafe could see clearly, but he was desperate. you were one of the only people he actually cared about these days and he didn't want to be alone right now, especially not at night.

“please..? you're the only person i want to see right now.” he pleaded, almost begging in a way. he was never one to beg, but it was the only thing he could think of that could convince you to come.

you thought it over as you bit the inside of your cheek. you knew how it would end if your parents found out you snuck out of your house. “isn't sarah home though?” rafe was silent for a moment, his hand running through his hair “no...she's out. won't be home 'til morning” he murmured. that was one less obstacle so it was one good thing. but you still weren't sure. rafe was your boyfriend and you cared about him, but sneaking out wasn't the best idea right now. “but my parents said-”

“i know sweetheart and i'm not tryna get you in trouble, but i swear it'll be like thirty minutes.” he cut you off, his tone almost desperate. you bit your lip as you leaned back against your headboard. “rafe...” you trailed off with a sigh. you weren't saying no right away, but you weren't saying yes either. it was clear you were conflicted as you hesitated before adding, “okay, fine. but just for thirty minutes. not a second longer.”

rafe's face lit up as he heard you agree. he knew he could be convincing if he wanted to and he was so glad it worked this time. “thank you baby, be outside waiting. i'll come get you.” with that, he ended the facetime, standing from his bed as he grabbed a jacket and his keys. it didn't take long for you to change into some shorts and a hoodie and put your shoes on. you carefully crept out of your room and out into the livingroom, pausing to listen for any noises. once you were sure your parents were asleep, you opened up the front door and slipped outside, shutting the door quietly behind you. by the time you were out of your house, rafe was already parked outside.

rafe was leaning against the door of his car as he waited for you. he heard the door open and shut, looking up and seeing you walking towards him. he could see you were nervous, but it didn't stop him from pulling you into a tight hug. “hey,” he greeted, his voice tired but he felt better with you in his arms. you returned his hug, leaning into the embrace. “hey...” you murmured back, your tone almost equally as tired. you could feel the exhaustion in him as he hugged you and you felt the need to ask, “you okay?”

rafe let out a sigh against your shoulder, giving you a light squeeze before leaning back “not really...” he mumbled, releasing his hold on you reluctantly. he opened the passenger side door for you, waiting until you got in before shutting the door and walking around to get into the driver's side.

you got into his car, leaning back in the seat as you looked over him. you could tell something was bothering him by the look on his face and his tone of voice. it's been a long time since he sounded that exhausted. “...rough day?”

rafe ran a hand over his face, looking over to you wearily “rough life.” he mumbled, starting up the car as he pulled out from the curb. “seatbelt.” you hummed quietly as you reached out to grab the seatbelt, buckling yourself in. you decided not to ask more about what exactly was bothering him; in time, he'd probably talk about it.

the car ride was silent as rafe drove back to his house. you didn't mind though, figuring that he needed the silence in order to calm his head for a bit. a few moments passed before he parked in his driveway, unlocking the doors and getting out. he came around the side and opened your door for you, offering his hand to help you out of the car.

you slipped your hand into his, letting him help you out of the car. walking through his yard, he quietly unlocked his front door and let you in first. “wheezie's home so we're gonna have to be quiet” he said as he shut the door behind him, locking it again.

you followed him inside “gotcha” you whispered as you looked around. “is she awake? i don't wanna be the reason she doesn't sleep.”

“she's asleep.” he mumbled, nodding towards the stairwell. “come on..” he took your hand again, quietly leading you upstairs to his bedroom. once inside, he closed the door and locked it before turning on his bedside lamp and walking over to his bed.

you followed him to his bed, crawling onto it and moving to lay back against the pillows. you could still see the exhaustion in his body as he laid down next to you, his head resting against your shoulder as he wrapped an arm around your waist. “wanna talk about anything...?” rafe was silent for a moment, almost as if he was thinking about your question. he really didn't wanna talk about anything at all. all he wanted was to lay here with you, which he thought to himself as he shook his head. “nah”

you nodded once he answered, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as you closed your eyes. you could tell he didn't want to talk and you were okay with that. you both laid there in comfortable silence, no sounds besides the sound of your breathing and the occasional passing of a car outside. “can i do anything to help?”

it felt good to lay here with you. it was the only real peace he's felt in weeks and it helped calm him a little. when you spoke again, he lifted his head to look at you, his tired eyes meeting yours.

he moved a bit closer to you, his arm around your waist tightening as his head rested on your chest. “this is more than enough for me, sweetheart” he murmured, his fingers brushing against your side. “i do have a request though”

you looked down at him, your fingers lightly running through his hair as you waited for him to speak. you could tell he was still thinking about something and you waited patiently before finally speaking, “what is it?” rafe's eyes closed as your fingers ran through his hair. he loved when you did that and it relaxed him greatly

he was still silent for a few more moments before finally speaking. “i need to relieve some stress.” he murmured, his fingers gently brushing against your waist once more before suddenly resting right above the drawstring of your shorts.

────୨ৎ────

“a-ah shit, rafe” your hands clench by your sides as rafe glides his tip between your drenched folds, looking down at you with this tongue between his teeth. “mmh...this wet already, darling? barely even touched ya yet.” rafe hummed, smirking down at you. all you can do is nod and let out a whimper as he tapped his cock against your cunt. “nuh-uh, words. none of that whimpering shit”

you were already a stuttering, whimpering mess as he ran his fingers over your clit. you needed more from him, wanted to feel more of him, but you knew that he wasn't going to give that to you until you answered.

you let out a shaky breath as you looked up at him, eyes wide. “yes!” you quickly whimpered, “been thinking about it all night. please, please rafe...” you whimpered, your hips bucking up in an attempt to get more from him. “i know baby, i know” rafe murmured, running his tongue over his bottom lip as he teased your clit with his thumb again “been so long since you've had this cock, yeah?”

you nodded rapidly, eyes pleading him to do something, anything. you wanted him so badly and you could tell he was just teasing, which was driving you absolutely insane. “rafe..." you murmured, your voice trembling a little. rafe chuckled softly, shaking his head “come on. don't get all shy with me now. tell me what you want” he said with a smirk, his fingers still moving over your clit, barely applying pressure. he could feel you shaking beneath him, which encouraged him to tease you a little more. “tsk tsk i want an answer. i know you know how to talk, baby. i just wanna hear your pretty little voice say it.”

you swallowed hard as you looked up at him from under your lashes; he looked so damn proud of himself. you were almost positive he got off on teasing you like this, and the last thing you wanted to do was give him that satisfaction. but your patience was wearing thin and you were getting desperate. you just wanted him to touch you already, but he was always so stubborn. you ran your tongue over your bottom lip as you met his gaze again, your voice shaking a little as you finally spoke up, “n-need you rafe…please...”

“mmh, that's my good girl. i knew you could do it baby.” rafe murmured, finally pushing his cock into your aching hole, causing both of you to let out simultaneous moans. “a-ah fuck” you gasp, gripping onto his biceps as he pushes all the way in, making you groan at the feeling, his cock slowly slipping all the way down, filling you to the hilt, “so fuckin' tight” he groans under his breath at the feeling of your narrow pussy engulfing his member.

you whimper as he remains motionless, denying you the much needed friction. “mmh what do we say after i give you something, baby?”

you could practically hear the smirk in his voice as he murmured the question into your ear. he knew what he was doing. he knew exactly how to get you to say what he wanted you to say, knowing how well he filled you up and how he wasn't moving. you moaned quietly, hands moving to grip onto his back as you looked up at him with watery eyes, “thank you.”

rafe hummed and nodded against your neck, lightly kissing just under your ear as he lifted his head, “good girl.” he said “you're welcome, my love. anytime.”

he finally pulled his hips back a little, thrusting back into you “you feel so damn good, baby.” he breathed before beginning to thrust into you harder, repeatedly hitting your cervix deliciously “been too long without having you.” he murmured, his hand gripping onto the back of your thigh, lifting your leg up over his shoulder. the change of position caused his cock to slide even deeper, making you gasp.

you whimpered at the feeling of him hitting your sweet spot, unable to speak clearly “oh...oh g-god rafe” you tried, your eyes already shut as you tried to move your hips in time with his. he could feel your nails digging into his shoulders, leaving red indents. “look at me.” he murmured in your ear, his hand reaching down to grab your chin, turning your face towards his “look at me while i'm fucking you, sweetheart. ” your mind goes a little blank for a moment when he says that, only able to focus on the feeling of him inside you. it takes a few seconds before you manage to open your eyes again, meeting his gaze. rafe's eyes are focused on you, a small smirk on his lips as he sees you staring “there you are.” he hums, biting down on his lip once he feels you start to clench around him “shit, you gonna cum already?”

“yeah...mmh, so close ray.” you moan, struggling to keep your eyes on him as his hand reaches to press his thumb against your clit, rubbing tight circles. “so fast, sweetheart?” rafe murmured with a smirk “been that long, huh? gonna make a mess all over my cock already?” you don't even have time to respond before your orgasm hits you hard, your body shaking as the coil in your stomach snapped. eyes squeezed shut, walls clenching around his twitching shaft. the way your pussy cinched around him is all rafe needed to go over the edge, spilling his seed deep inside you.

“mmh ray?” you murmur, looking up at him with your glossy eyes. “hm?”

“think 'm gonna stay here tonight.”

taglist: @bunbun-3 @drewscoquette @untitled10351 @rafesweetie @meetmebehindthemallrafe @supercutelovergirl

© rafesdollette

[parfaitblogs]

hard times ❀ s. reid x reader

in which spencer reid doesn’t follow through one time, and you really hate that he has a psychology degree.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: hurt/comfort tags: daddy issues. shoutout to the girls with inconsistent fathers this ones for you. established relationship. readers mentioned wearing makeup, a dress and heels. rational bf!spencer reid fuck i would hate a profiler bf. word count: 1.8k a/n: not a trauma dump fic not a vent fic do not read into this fic at all don't even start to speculate on my life and where these emotions came from they're all fake made up not real make pretend. no photos no aesthetics just me, a tumblr account, and a dream for this baddie.

In all your months of dating Spencer Reid, he had never forgotten anything. Not a date, not a work event. Or, at least, he's never forgotten to call. Even when you had been so busy one week you could barely spare him more than a ten minute phone call a day, he remembered what was going on in your life enough to be there for you. 

A false blanket of security draped over your relationship, is what it is now. 

A blanket he seemingly had no trouble ripping off you a random Friday evening, throwing it in a fire and watching it — and your trust in him — burn into dust. 

Perhaps a tad dramatic for what was happening, but you were always one for theatrics when it came to your emotions. Usually, he welcomed it. He was (abashedly) similar, after all.

Not that he was even here to welcome it. 

You'd looked pretty. You'd felt pretty. Past tense, for your shoes were strewn somewhere across the floor after throwing them in frustration, and your makeup was ruined after unwelcome tears had streamed down your face an hour ago. You had been ready for a dinner date you and Spencer had scheduled in only three days ago — penciled in, for you never knew what his work schedule was going to end up being.

You're not sure how long you sat in that one spot on the couch, mind going through every single possible scenario that could've happened between the text he sent you that morning saying he was excited to go out tonight, and the lack of his appearance this evening. 

The logical conclusion is that he got too busy, and he forgot. But Spencer Reid's whole thing is that he doesn't forget. Oftentimes he considers it a curse. You never really agreed with him. Until now, it seemed. 

The less than logical, emotionally driven conclusion, is that he actively chose to stay at work to avoid coming home because he didn't want to see you. Or he didn't actually want to go to dinner, and he didn't know how to tell you. Or his team offered to go out and he'd rather hang out with them instead of you. 

Really, the reasons are endless, and any rational conclusion was lost on you. Mind swallowing you whole as you continued to stare off into space, visibly shaking and head beginning to pound from the crying.

A glance at the clock told you it was near midnight by the time you heard the door handle rattle and twist open, tired, puffy eyes blinking to adjust to the light filtering in from the apartment hallway. 

"Hey. Why're you out here? It's late. I thought you'd already be in bed," Spencer rambles absentmindedly, voice so disconnected from you it only made the ache in your chest worse. As he flicks the light on and assesses the state of the apartment, he asks, "What're your shoes doing on the floor?"

You blink a few times. Was he pretending to be dumb on purpose? 

You stand on cramped legs, stretching them for the first time since you'd sat unknowingly on the couch nearly six hours ago, dress bunching around your waist. You didn't bother to fix it. 

Like a switch, he clicks, his bag sliding off his shoulder and falling to the floor with a thud, realisation settling into his features. 

"Our date. Oh, God, I'm so sorry, angel."

"Yeah. I'm sure," you croak, voice hoarse as you pick up your shoes pathetically in front of him, the heels clacking together as you walk towards your bedroom door. 

He calls your name, and after you make no effort to return to him, you hear his feet against the wooden flooring, carrying himself to you.

You're in the ensuite, beginning to take makeup off you probably should've removed four hours ago. It was stupid hope you held on to, anyways. 

"You're upset. I know. It was awful of me to forget our date," he stands in the doorway, staring at you through the mirror. Even indirectly, you can't make eye contact with him. 

"You forgot," you repeat back to him, almost dumbfounded. "You forgot?"

"Forgot isn't... the best word," his fingers dig into his eyes for a split second, and you watch him think. "I got caught up at work. We had a case, then we didn't have a case, then we did, so we started looking into it, and time just... escaped. From all of us."

"Time just escaped."

Your parroting wasn't doing much to further the conversation, and you watch as Spencer averts his gaze to the floor to take a deep breath, before his eyes land back on you again.

"It isn't the best reason, I know. But it's the truth," he says. 

"Uh-huh," you mumble, discarding your cotton pads stained with your makeup into the trash. 

"Can you stop being evasive?" he catches your wrist before you can return to the sink. "Talk to me."

"What do you want me to say?" you ask, almost earnestly. "It's okay that you forgot, Spencer. I won't take it personally at all, and things between us are just dandy!"

"I want to know what you're actually feeling," he replies, voice flat with his irritation, before he forces himself to soften it. "I can't reassure you if all I know is that you're angry."

"Hurt. Forgotten. Disregarded. Disliked. Irritated we're doing this in our fucking bathroom."

At that, he leads you into the bedroom, turning the ensuite light off. "Forgotten and disregarded are synonyms, so I'm assuming that's what you feel the most."

"You're the psyche expert," you mumble, bitterly.

"I'm not trying to be your psyche expert," he quips, and your heart sinks. "Why're you feeling forgotten?"

You stare at him, dumbfounded, for a beat. "Because my boyfriend quite literally forgot about me?"

"I didn't forget about you—"

"—No, you're right. You just forgot about the date that you literally fucking texted me about this morning!" you snap, voice rising in a way that makes you cringe. Yet, you can't stop it. "You! Spencer Reid! Forgot!"

"Don't yell at me, please," he takes a step towards you; you take a step back. 

"Why did you forget? Did you choose to? Are you pretending that you forgot about it all to save your ass?"

"No," he pinches the bridge of his nose. "I didn't. I told you what happened. You're choosing not to believe me."

"How am I meant to believe that? It's a shit excuse—"

"—It's the truth—"

"—God, you can lie, Spencer! Men lie!" 

He goes silent, as do you. You become trapped in an uncomfortably intense staring contest with him, as you watch his brain slowly tick over and decipher what you were saying, and come up with a response. Yours, however, splits open with your own self hatred. Disdain for what you had just said to him.

"Okay," he exhales, very slowly. "I'm going to tell you what I think, and you can tell me how right I am."

"You're going to profile me?"

He pauses. "I'm sure it'll come off that way. I'm not trying to," when you don't protest again, he continues. "I think you're less upset about the fact that I didn't come home for a date, and more about the fact that I didn't message you about it. I've not shown up for dates before. I've always contacted you prior to let you know. And I've promised I would always contact you if something came up that interfered with our plans. Ultimately, I said I would do something, and I didn't follow through. That is on me, and I'm sorry. What isn't on me, is how you're reacting. Which is childish, honey. You're acting like a petulant child, and I don't mean that as an insult, because I'm almost certain I know why."

Your silence is his cue to continue, but he pauses to collect his thoughts. Your lower lip is beginning to wobble, and he feels awful.

"You know how our childhoods affect us," he says, and the second what he's about to say to you clicks in your brain, your teeth clamp over your lip, and your eyes drop to the ground. "Reactions from parents to things we do, things others do, things they do, all builds up in our subconscious. Having a parent who didn't show up for you time and time again, built up in your subconscious. So yes, you're reacting to me not following through with something childishly. I will not take that back. But that reaction is not your fault. It's in response to a trigger, and the person in control of that emotional response is not adult you. It's the little girl who got let down by her father. I won't ever hold that against you."

Your sniffle breaks the deafening silence that follows his tangent. You allow him to envelop you into a hug, at which you break down into a fit of sobs akin to the ones from earlier. 

"I hate you," you stutter out in between sobs, voice muffled by his chest. 

"You can't say that while hugging me," he counters. It was true, as your hands had wrapped around his waist just seconds ago.

"I hate you," you repeat, punctuating your words with a poke to his back. 

"I love you," he replies, instead. His fingers thread through your hair as he cradles your head with his other hand. "I'm sorry I didn't contact you about being busy."

You swallow the lodged sob in your throat with a hiccup. "I'm sorry I acted like a petulant child. And I'm sorry that my dad sucks."

"I'm sorry your dad sucks too," you feel him kiss the top of your head. "Have you eaten?"

"Mm-mm," you shake your head, and he pulls back, hands slipping down to your cheeks, catching the tears. 

"Do you want to eat?"

"The restaurant we were going to is closed," you mumble.

"Maybe. But the Thai place isn't."

"I'm pretty sure it is," you counter, and his eyebrows furrow. "It's past midnight now."

His face falls, he waits a beat, before his hand drops to your own, and he's tugging you towards the door of the bedroom. "Okay. Fine. Well, the Spencer Reid Kitchen is never closed."

"I asked for pasta last night and you said the kitchen was closed."

"You asked at three in the morning," he deadpans, as you make yourself comfortable on one of the stools. 

"The Spencer Reid Kitchen is never closed," you mock his voice from earlier.

"The Spencer Reid Kitchen rules are made by Spencer Reid."

"The rules should be lenient of Spencer Reid's girlfriend."

"Do you want pasta or not?"

"Yes," you quickly say with a firm nod. "Sorry."

He spends the first hour of that Saturday making you pasta; and making up the missed date.

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[reignpage]

Finders Keepers

Summary: in which alien!reader crash lands right in front of Gojo and your story with him begins Word Count: 1k (just trialing a new concept so it's a quick opening) Warnings: a little cursing, allusions to experimentation and alien warfare, reader is naked but not in a sexual manner

“I can’t believe aliens actually exist,” Satoru mutters to himself. 

This has been an incredibly wild evening. 

When he stepped out of his apartment to throw the bins out, he hadn’t expected to see a blinding flash of light zoom past him and explode in the parking lot. Thank goodness for his infinity, otherwise he would not have fared as well as the minivan you landed on. 

Yes. 

You.

The woman who came straight from the sky and fell on top of a car, missing him by just two metres.

At first, he thought it was a curse; these things get pretty weird sometimes, after all. But using his Six Eyes, he could tell you were different. Sure, you looked like any other person, with arms and legs and a head. But you had a unique aura to you, positively otherworldly. 

If he was any other kind of man, he would have just left you there and pretended nothing happened — ignorance is bliss and whatnot — but what kind of Honoured One would he be if he didn’t do his duty and helped you out?

So, he slides down the massive crater you made (boy is that going to be a pain for maintenance to clean up) and carefully cradles your naked body in his arms, carefully so as to not touch bits and pieces no gentleman has a business looking at. Why are you naked anyways? 

Sensing people making their way down the stairs to inspect the commotion, he teleports back into his apartment quick as a flash before anyone could think to look through their windows. 

He throws a blanket at you and leaves you on the sofa as he paces the length of his living room and ponders what to do. On one hand, he could call the police and leave it up to them to deal with you. The government would know best about how to deal about falling space women, right? But then, don’t all the sci-fi movies talk about inhumane experimentation, weaponizing alien technology, and Area 51? 

That wouldn’t be a very nice thing to do, at all. 

And on the other hand, he could just take care of you himself. He has the means to, that’s for sure. You really don’t look any different from everyone else — surely, you need the same things he does: food, water, shelter and warmth.

Right?

Just as he’s about to pick up the phone to call his doctor friend, you begin rousing from sleep. Your eyes flutter open and they’re a normal colour, which freaks him out more if he’s going to be perfectly honest. 

“Uh,” Satoru scratches the back of his neck, shuffling on his feet a little, “hey? I’m Gojo Satoru. You can just call me Satoru, though. If you want, or can, I guess.”

You tilt your head, scanning his body, and you open your mouth. What comes out is definitely an alien language. Or maybe he needs to travel more. But he certainly does not comprehend a single thing that you say. 

Clearing his throat, he tries to smile comfortingly. “Okay, so I didn’t understand what you said. Sorry. But uh, do you need anything? Like, do you know where you are? Yeah, you definitely don’t know what I’m saying either, do you?”

You tilt your head again. 

“What is wrong with me? Seriously. What was I thinking bringing you home? You may have fallen from the sky but I’m the one that clearly hit my head. I really am an idiot.”

Glancing around the room, you don’t look any bit as frazzled and panicked as he is. Actually, you’re as cool as a cucumber, and there isn’t a hint of shame or embarrassment on your face when you push yourself off the sofa, blanket sliding down your body. 

“Woah! Woah!”

Satoru presses his hands to his eyes and leaves them there for a second or two before realising that does absolutely nothing and when he pulls them down, he doesn’t flinch when you’re standing before him, inquisitive eyes meeting his. 

His infinity is on and he’s ready to subdue you if you prove to be a threat, but so far, he’s simply letting you reorient yourself, getting used to your surroundings and giving you the opportunity to decide he’s not a bad guy. 

That being said, however, he’s still deciding whether to keep you or not. He doesn’t want you to be poked and prodded — that wouldn’t be a very cool welcome to planet Earth and he doesn’t need you to go around telling your alien friends humans suck, though they do. But he also doesn’t know if that’s the best decision. 

You could be a danger to jujitsu society, to his students, to the world. What if, right at this very moment, you’re leaking deadly radiation? And what if his infinity can’t keep it out? Can’t keep you out?

Gosh, there are so many things that could go wrong. 

It’s entirely possible too that you’re a blood sucking monster intent on wringing him dry for all he’s worth. Maybe you’re not even an alien. Maybe you’re a special kind of curse, the kind that can bypass his Six Eyes, though he’s fairly confident that’s not the case (there’s no one stronger than him, after all). 

What if this is Kenjaku all over again?

Yeah, on second thought, he should definitely call the police. Or Ijichi, or the Prime Minister of Japan, or whoever will believe him when he says there’s a naked, alien lady in his home, and no, he’s not a pervert playing out some sick fantasy.

But just as he’s lifting his phone, you lift your hand the same time he does and cover your eyes. 

Then you say his name in perfect Japanese with a sweet, soft voice, not a hint of hesitation or unsteadiness. You smile, eyes still obscured, and he feels himself mirroring your gleeful expression. 

“That’s right. I’m Satoru. It’s nice to meet you.”

He decides, there and then, to hell with radiation, alien armies, and the deadly risk you pose to everything he knows or cares about. The military, conspiracy theorists, and scientists be damned.

He’s going to keep you. 

[jxwl4k]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ her .𖥔 ݁ ˖

☘︎ . . . genre. fluff

☘︎ . . . pairings. bakugou x fem!reader

⤿ Bakugou Katsuki never believed in sappy romance, until he fell for you.

Bakugou Katsuki didn’t believe in “love at first sight.” It was stupid, unrealistic, and just another distraction. But the first time he saw you—quiet, calm, and completely immersed in a book under the shade of a tree—his world shifted. He didn’t understand it at first, chalking it up to curiosity. But as days turned into weeks, and his glances turned into stolen moments of admiration, he realized he was absolutely gone.

His friends noticed immediately.

“Bro, you’re staring again,” Kaminari teased, smirking.

“Shut up,” Bakugou growled, his ears turning red.

“Just talk to her already!” Kirishima encouraged.

“She’s way out of his league,” Mina chimed in with a playful grin.

He didn’t need their commentary. Bakugou Katsuki was explosive, fearless, and confident in every aspect of his life—except when it came to you.

When he finally gathered the courage to approach you, he was awkward and gruff, masking his nervousness with his usual bravado. “Oi, you dropped this,” he muttered, holding out your pen that you hadn’t even noticed fell.

Your soft “Thank you” and the smile that followed made his heart skip a beat. From then on, he made it his mission to be near you—walking you to class, sitting with you during lunch, and eventually asking you out in the most Bakugou way possible.

“You’re mine now, got it?” he declared one day, his cheeks bright red.

You laughed, nodding. “Got it.”

Years had passed since high school, and Bakugou’s love for you only grew stronger. You were his anchor, his peace in a world full of chaos. He didn’t know how to do romance like the movies, but he showed his love in the little things—making sure you ate, walking on the side of the street closer to the cars, and remembering all the small details about you.

When he proposed, it wasn’t extravagant. It was just the two of you, sitting on the balcony of your shared apartment, watching the sunset.

“Marry me,” he said suddenly, sliding a simple, elegant ring onto your finger before you could even process what was happening.

You looked at him, wide-eyed, before laughing. “You didn’t even let me say yes.”

“Like you’d say no,” he shot back, smirking.

And you didn’t.

Now, standing at the altar, Bakugou was the picture of confidence. His tailored suit fit him perfectly, and his usual scowl was replaced by a nervous determination. He had told himself he wouldn’t cry.

What kind of man cries at his wedding? he had thought, rolling his eyes at the idea.

But then, the doors opened, and you stepped in.

The world seemed to stop.

Your dress was perfect, accentuating everything he loved about you. The way you smiled at him, your eyes glistening with tears, made his heart ache in the best way.

Suddenly, he felt warmth on his cheek.

A tear.

Bakugou blinked, confused for a moment. He never cried. Not when he won his first big fight, not when he graduated, not ever. But now, standing here, looking at you—his future, his everything—he couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

“Bakugou’s crying,” Kirishima whispered from his spot as a groomsman, his eyes widening.

“Oh my God, I knew this would happen,” Mina gasped, quickly pulling out her phone. “Take a picture, Denki! We’ll frame it!”

“Shut up!” Bakugou snapped, his voice low but venomous, though it didn’t stop the blush creeping up his neck. His glare was nowhere near as sharp as usual, the overwhelming emotion softening even his most dangerous expression.

“Don’t worry, man. This is for the memories,” Kaminari whispered back, grinning as he snapped a picture anyway.

As you reached him, your soft laughter bubbled up when you noticed the commotion. “Are they messing with you?” you asked quietly, taking his hands.

“They’re idiots,” he muttered, squeezing your hands tightly. His crimson eyes locked onto yours, and his voice softened, thick with emotion. “But I don’t care. You look… perfect.”

“I love you, Katsuki,” you whispered, your own eyes glistening.

“I love you more,” he said, his voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill again.

The ceremony continued, filled with laughter and love. As Kaminari quietly showed Mina the photo he had taken, they both shared a grin.

“Man, he’s so whipped,” Kaminari whispered.

“And it’s the cutest thing ever,” Mina replied with a smile.

And Bakugou? He didn’t care about the teasing, the jokes, or the photos. His entire world was standing right in front of him, and in that moment, nothing else mattered.

You were his everything.

[dreamauri]

♪ —𝗖𝗔𝗡'𝗧 𝗕𝗘 𝗙𝗔𝗥 lando norris x  girlfriend! reader (fluff) fic summary . . . the world might just end if Lando is 0.0001 centimetre away from you, it's his perfect excuse to stick to your side (780 words)

( my master list | more of lando norris ) ( requests )

Lando Norris was always a little . . . extra when it came to affection, but recently, he’d taken clinginess to a whole new level. The 2024 Formula One season has come to an end and the boy couldn’t seem to tolerate being more than a few centimetres away from you for even a second. And it was adorable, if not a little exhausting.

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon, and the two of you were lounging on the couch. You’d been absentmindedly scrolling through your phone, a habit you’d fallen into whenever Lando was in one of his needy moods. Of course, "needy" here was just his cute way of saying, "I can't live without your touch, don't ever leave me."

You sighed, setting your phone down beside you and stretching an arm above your head. "Alright, Lando, I’m gonna get up for a minute. I need a snack," you announced, attempting to gently slip your hand out of his, which had been securely holding yours for the past fifteen minutes.

Lando’s head immediately snapped up from your shoulder, a puppy-doll-eyes-like pout already forming on his lips. “What? No!” His fingers curled around yours more tightly. “Stay. Please?”

“Lando, I’m hungry,” you tried, gently pulling away again, but he wasn’t having it. He threw a dramatic arm across your body, pulling you back toward him with a grumble.

“You’re being rude,” he whined, squishing his face into the side of your neck. “I can’t let you go that far.” His voice was all soft and pitiful now, and his grip tightened again.

You laughed, trying to free yourself. “I just need five minutes, Lando. I’ll be right back!”

“You’re breaking my heart,” he murmured dramatically, pressing his cheek against your shoulder and sighing deeply, like he was about to start composing a song about lost love.

You tried to get up again, but this time, he didn’t let go. Instead, he slid into your lap, his head resting comfortably against your stomach as if this was his rightful place. “Can’t you just stay with me for, like, two seconds more?” His voice was small, almost childlike.

You giggled, running your fingers through his hair, something he adored. “You’re such a baby, Lando,” you teased, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

“I’m not a baby,” he muttered, though the way he nuzzled into your lap said otherwise. “I just like being close to you.”

You smiled and stroked his hair, shifting slightly so you could grab a nearby blanket. But as soon as you moved even an inch, he whined, a noise that could’ve been mistaken for a distressed puppy. “Where are you going now?”

“I’m just . . . making us more comfortable.” You wrapped the blanket around both of you, trying to get cozy, but Lando wasn’t content with anything less than full body contact. He scooted closer, practically climbing into your side, laying his head on your chest now, his arms wrapped around your waist.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the fond smile spreading across your face. “Lando, you are impossible.”

“You love it,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. His voice was muffled from the warmth of your chest, but it didn’t hide the mischievous grin on his face.

“I do,” you admitted softly, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “But I’m not sure how much more I can take of you trying to suffocate me with affection.”

Lando giggled, clearly pleased by your admission. “I don’t care. You’re mine, and I’m never letting go. Not even when you’re asleep.”

“Lando, you literally steal my blanket at night,” you sighed, but there was no malice in your voice.

He gave a dramatic sigh in return, finally giving you a bit of space but only so he could rest his head on your lap, looking up at you with those wide, pleading eyes. “I can’t sleep without you. You’re my favorite pillow.”

“I thought I was your favorite human,” you teased, running your fingers through his hair.

“Exactly,” he grinned, his arms creeping around your waist once more. “So, you’re my favorite pillow. And my favorite person. And my favorite everything.”

You chuckled, your heart melting as you leaned down and kissed him. “Alright, alright. I’ll let you stay glued to me . . . just for a bit longer.”

“Thank you,” he said dramatically, resting his cheek on your lap like it was his throne. “I’ll never leave you alone again . . . well, except for when I’m racing.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, knowing full well that even then, he'd find some way to sneak his hand into yours during cool-downs or post-race interviews. Because Lando? He never really let go.

[crookedteethed]

ᡣ𐭩 who do you love? . • ° 　 .　 *　: r. cameron

synopsis -- mistress! reader goes bonkers and films a surprise video for Rafe and his wife's anniversary. ۶ৎ

warnings -- 18+-mdni, smut (unprotected p i v), breeding kink, video voyeurism, infidelity, mention of alcohol usage, age gap, cursing, pussy whipped! rafe, homegirl is... yeah

other woman masterlist |taglist | based on this ask | wc: 1.7k

You knew exactly what you were doing when you typed her name into Facebook's search bar. Your fingers moved with purpose, guided by an obsession you couldn't shake.

There it was - Rafe's wife's profile, and right at the top, exactly what you'd been hunting for: a fresh post celebrating their decade of marriage, complete with a photo from their younger days when their love still seemed pure and untainted. You stared at their beaming faces, letting the bitterness wash over you.

Each scroll feels like turning a knife in your own heart, but you can't stop.

Their life unfolds before you like some twisted fairy tale: Rafe teaching their daughter to ride a bike, their annual trips to the Maldives, their matching Christmas sweaters with those damn Dobermans.

And her—always her—wearing that diamond tennis bracelet you once saw in his browser history, claiming the life that should have been yours.

This should be me, the thought burns like acid.

Your fingers hover over a photo of their Mediterranean cruise, her perfectly manicured hand resting on his chest, that massive engagement ring catching the sunset.

She has everything: the weekend brunches at that fancy place downtown, the Range Rover you've seen in their driveway, the three beautiful children with his eyes, the garden parties you watch from afar, and him—God, especially him.

The life that slipped through your fingers because of timing and trust funds. She had everything you didn't: old money, country club connections, and most crucially—age.

While you were still learning to drive, she was already the perfect socialite, the appropriate choice for a man of Rafe's standing. The Seventeen-year age gap between you and Rafe might as well have been an ocean—one that she had already crossed long before you even learned to swim.

Sometimes you wonder if that's what drew him to you in the first place: your youth, your naivety, everything that made you so different from her. Everything that ultimately made you impossible.

Your wine glass is empty again. When did that happen?

A tear escaped your eye as jealousy carved deeper into your chest, the pain spreading until you could barely breathe. Your trembling fingers found your phone, muscle memory still remembering his number after all these years. You knew it was wrong—God, you knew—but you pressed call anyway.

One ring. Two rings. Your heart threatened to burst.

"Hello?" His voice, still so familiar, sent electricity through your body.

"I—" your voice cracked, "I need to see you, Rafe. Please. I can't… I can't stop thinking about you, and I'm so alone tonight. Please come over, I need you."

The silence that followed felt eternal—like light years away, stretching between your world and his, filled with everything unsaid.

You could picture him there, standing in his perfect house with his perfect family just rooms away, probably running his fingers through his hair the way he always did when he was conflicted.

Your heart hammered against your ribs as you heard him move, presumably stepping outside or into his study. Then came that familiar sound—the slow exhale through his nose that you remembered from countless late nights together, when difficult decisions hung in the air between you.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, rough with something that might have been regret or desire or both: "I'm on my way."

Three simple words that shattered whatever remained of your resolve. You ended the call before he could change his mind, before reality could catch up to either of you, before guilt could claw its way back in.

Your hands shook as you set the phone down, knowing that in fifteen minutes—twenty at most—you'd hear his car in your driveway, and everything would change again.

When he steps through your door, the world narrows to just this: his loosened tie, your trembling hands, the soft thud as his back hits the wall. "We shouldn't," he whispers, even as his fingers dig into your hips, even as he pulls you closer.

You silence his protest with a kiss that tastes like regret and wanting, knowing tomorrow will bring guilt but tonight—tonight belongs to muscle memory and bad decisions.

Your hands roam greedily over each other, ripping clothes away with primal urgency. Your mouths hungrily devour one another, teeth nipping at lips as you guide him to the bedroom. Your heart races with desire and anticipation, knowing what awaits in the heat of passion.

The phone you carefully propped against the lamp earlier blinks silently in the darkness, its camera catching everything. You position him perfectly in its view, letting him think it's just desire guiding your movements.

"God, I've missed you," he breathes against your collar bone, completely unaware that every word, every moan, every mistake is being captured. You almost feel guilty—almost.

Then you think of her Facebook shrine to their perfect marriage, and something shifts inside you—guilt crystallizing into purpose.

Your phone keeps recording in the darkness, anticipating to capture every betrayal, every whispered confession.

Soon, her perfectly filtered life won't matter anymore. Soon, you'll have something far more precious than any photograph: Rafe—cornered, desperate, and finally yours.

Without hesitation, you shoved Rafe onto your queen size bed. Straddling his naked body, you disregarded any notion of foreplay.

As much as you craved the feeling of his tongue on your clit or his thick fingers probing you, all that mattered was having Rafe's cock buried in your cunt.

"Damn, you weren't kidding. You really do need me," Rafe smirked as his palm immediately found its way to your dripping core, but to your dismay was swatted away.

With a seductive grin, cooed in your sweet, high-pitched voice that made Rafe's brain mush. "Un huh, now be a good boy and let me take care of myself," you purred, guiding his rock-hard cock to the entrance of your wetness.

"Are you going to let me do that?" Your tone was condescending, but it only fueled the intense desire between you both, and because Rafe's mind turned to mush the moment you said you needed him, he nodded, totally pussy whipped and enamored by you.

The sharp gasp that escaped both of your lips was matched only by the intensity of your desire.

Slowly, you sank down onto Rafe's throbbing cock, savoring the feeling of him stretching you just as he always did.

"You're so tight, baby," he groaned out, his voice dripping with lust.

As you remembered the phone set up hidden by your side table lamp, a mischievous thought crossed your mind:

"Am I tighter than your wife?" you asked, already beginning to rock your hips on his length. Naturally, Rafe's hands found their way to your waist, not to guide you but to bring you closer to his lips.

"So much tighter, shit," he breathed out between hot kisses, with each agonizing slow rock.

"You're gonna leave her for me, huh?" you asked, face to face with Rafe, cradling his jaw to peck his lips. Slowly, you began to pick up the pace. 

Your rhythmic movements escalate into frenzied bouncing, his hard length molding perfectly to your slick walls, stretching you to the limit. You lift yourself up and press down on Rafe's chest for leverage, driving him deeper and harder into you

Rafe's eyes rolled back as you bounced harder, your pussy gripping him like a vice. "Fuck, I… I don't know," he groaned, his hips bucking up to meet your thrusts.

You leaned down, your breasts brushing against his chest as you whispered in his ear, "Come on, baby. Tell me you'll leave her. Tell me I'm the only one you want." Your walls clenched around him for emphasis, drawing a strangled moan from his lips.

"God, yes," Rafe panted, completely lost in the sensation of your tight heat enveloping him. "I'll leave her. You're all I want, fuck!"

Hearing those words sent a thrill through you. You began to bounce faster, slamming yourself down onto his thick cock with abandon. Your breasts bounced enticingly and Rafe reached up to cup them, pinching your nipples between his fingers.

"Say it again," you demanded breathlessly, grinding your hips in circles. "Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours, baby," Rafe panted, thrusting up to meet your movements. "All fucking yours."

You leaned down to capture his lips in a searing kiss, your tongue tangling with his as you continued to ride him relentlessly. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with your shared moans of pleasure.

"Gonna cum for me?" you asked, clenching your walls around him. "Gonna fill me up? Gonna give me one of your babies?"

"Yeah, gonna stuff your sweet pussy with my hot load, fuck, I'm about to explode," Rafe moaned, his nails digging into your flesh, leaving red marks on your hips.

You reached down to rub tight circles on your clit, chasing your own release. "Me too, don't stop," you gasped.

With a few more forceful thrusts, you both toppled over the brink together, moaning in bliss as powerful waves of pleasure engulfed you. Rafe followed suit, releasing his hot and sticky load inside you, filling you up completely.

The afterglow lasts exactly thirty seconds before Rafe is already reaching for his clothes, his movements quick and efficient like this is just another business meeting wrapping up, breathing hasn't even steadied.

"I need to get back," he says, checking his watch. "We have dinner reservations at La Maison."

"Of course. The anniversary dinner." Your voice sounds hollow even to your own ears. "Rafe?" He pauses, shirt half-buttoned. "Did you mean any of it? What you said while we were…?"

He crosses the room, cups your face, and plants a soft kiss on your lips—the kind that feels like goodbye. Then he's gone, the front door clicking shut behind him.

You sit in the twisted sheets, his warmth already fading, listening to his car fade into the distance. Your hands shake as you reach for your phone and stop the recording. The email address you've had memorized for months appears in the recipient field without hesitation. You attach the video—forty-three minutes of undeniable truth—and watch the upload bar creep forward. In the subject line, you type five words that will demolish their perfect life: "Happy Anniversary, From Us Both."

Your finger hovers over 'send' for just a heartbeat before pressing down. Let her enjoy those reservation plans now.

Now he'll have to choose, you think, watching the loading bar reach 100%. And this time, he'll choose me.

a/n -- thanks for making it to the end, as always all likes comments, and reblogs keeps me motivated! 💕🫶🏾

taglist --

@rafestoothbrush @alexxavicry @trapistani @Hejsj @neslayuh @hotvampdragon @alyisdead @jelybely @elmolovesw33d @littlelamy @futuremrscameron @percysley @rrafeswhore

[orangeblossomsintheair]

ILLICIT AFFAIRS (3/3) | CS55

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

wc : 14k

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

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

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

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

But Carlos is no tumbleweed.

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

At first, it had just been sex.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until it’s not.

Until the minutes start to stretch.

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

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

It’s easy to brush it off at first.

To pretend it’s harmless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You I dreamed I hit you with my car

Carlos Hot. Was I shirtless?

You No, but you were crying. Freaked me out

Carlos Probably because I looked so good

You should block him.

You should delete his number.

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

He doesn’t stop at morning texts either.

He sends unsolicited opinions all day, every day.

Carlos Do you think cows ever get tired of standing?

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

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

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

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

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

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

You You need therapy

Carlos So do you, but I don’t judge

You You judge me constantly 🤨

The banter becomes relentless.

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

You Pasta

Carlos Predictable. You’re so basic it physically hurts

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

Carlos First of all, how dare you

You You’re trash

Carlos Trash that you text back btw

Then comes the random photos.

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

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

You Fast to embarrass yourself

Carlos Wow. Jealousy is a disease. Get well soon

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

You Limited edition ugly

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

Carlos We’ve decided to boycott walkies today.

Solidarity with my guy.

You Tell him he’s lazy

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

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

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

Carlos Rude. He’s very smart

You He licks his own butt

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

Carlos Did you miss me while I was asleep?

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

You I slept better knowing you weren’t conscious

Carlos So, you’re saying you dreamt about me

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

Carlos Romantic getaway for two. Love that for us

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

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

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

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

The silence is unnerving.

You tell yourself it’s just one night.

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

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

But you’re not.

You spend the evening trying not to think about it.

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

It doesn’t.

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

Then, finally, your phone buzzes.

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

Carlos Miss me?

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

You Not even a little

Carlos Liar

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

Carlos He misses you too

You groan, but your cheeks ache from smiling.

Carlos By the way

Carlos I sent you a gift

You I didn’t get a package?

Carlos Wait

Carlos Call me when you get it

You shake your head, setting your phone down.

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

Two days later, a package arrives.

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

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

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

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

It rings once before he picks up.

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

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

“Why don’t you open it and find out?”

“Carlos.”

“Yes?”

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

“It’s not alive,” he interrupts.

“Then what is it?”

“Open it.”

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

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

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

“You won’t hate it.”

“I highly doubt that.”

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

“Carlos,” you warn.

“Yes?”

“If this is some kind of prank-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For a moment, you just stare.

Then, you shriek. Loudly.

“Carlos, what the fuck?!”

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

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

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

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

It looks… normal, at first glance.

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

The very specific details.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How did you even- who does this?!”

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

“Customer?!”

“Well, you.”

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

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

You choke on air. “You’re insane.”

“Insanely thoughtful,” he corrects.

“You’re disgusting.”

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

Your jaw drops. “I am not-”

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t ask for this!”

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

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

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

“I will not!”

“Bet you will.”

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

“And you need lube,” he counters smoothly.

“You’re deranged!”

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

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

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

“I am absolutely not-”

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

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

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

You freeze, hand hovering over the trash.

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

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

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

“Because I needed to yell at you!”

“And now you’re smiling.”

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

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

“I think it’s horrifying!”

“You’re laughing on the inside.”

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

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

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

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.”

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

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

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

Seconds later, your phone buzzes with a text.

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

You stare at the screen, your cheeks burning.

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

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

You Blocked

Carlos Bad girl.

—

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

It starts with a string of increasingly pathetic messages.

Carlos Please?

Carlos Just once?

Carlos I take that back.

Carlos Twice? Maybe even thrice

Carlos C’mon, I’ll be good

Carlos I’m literally begging here

Carlos On my knees

Carlos Pathetically btw

Carlos Do you need a photo for proof?

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

You Carlos, we are not doing this again

Carlos You say that

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

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

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

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

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

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

You know you shouldn’t.

It’s ridiculous, bordering on embarrassing.

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

You Fine. But just this once

Carlos I love you

Carlos You’re the best

Carlos I’m naming my firstborn after you

You Just call me

Carlos Yes ma'am 🥰

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes are locked onto you.

There’s heat in them, hunger.

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

And you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Don’t push your luck,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice strained.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Carlos…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod desperately.

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

You whimper, obeying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bounce on it harder,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pretty girl.”

—-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For a moment, the conversation drifts to lighter topics.

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

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

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

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

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

Carlos blinks. “This?”

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

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

Us.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

“Why not?”

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

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

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

“You love me though,” he counters easily.

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

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

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

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

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

“Busy?”

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

Carlos hesitates, leaning forward slightly. “Hey.”

You pause, looking up at him expectantly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Us.

—-

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

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

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

“Oh?” she says, leaning in.

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

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

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

That would be insane. Absolutely unhinged.

One, because it’s Carlos Sainz.

Two, because it’s Carlos fucking Sainz.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kika blinks. “Phone sex?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kika-”

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

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

“Okay, okay, fine. I'll behave.”

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

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

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

You shrug, feigning innocence. “Sometimes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it’s too late now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You freeze, horrified. “I’m leaving.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s quiet for a moment—mercifully quiet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not what I said!”

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

“Kika, I swear to God-”

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not a lightsaber, Kika!”

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

“No!”

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

—

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

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

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

And one day, it all comes to a head.

Kika cracks.

Or rather, her big mouth does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Unlikely,” you mutter.

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

Not that you’re paying attention.

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

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

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

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

You wince, sinking lower in your chair.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I hate you both,” you mutter.

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

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

“Stop helping,” you snap at her.

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

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

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

“Oh my God.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well… yeah!”

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

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

“How would I know that?” you snap.

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

“Absolutely not!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You two are the worst,” you mutter.

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

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

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

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

Mistakes. So many mistakes.

—

You can’t stop thinking about it.

Carlos. In love with you.

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

Because Carlos isn’t in love with you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then the photo happens.

It’s a normal day.

Quiet. Peaceful, even.

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

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

Then his face pops up on your feed.

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

You don’t even blink.

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

But then you see her.

The girl.

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

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

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

But the way he’s looking at her…

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

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

Spoiler alert: you’re totally spiraling.

Which is how you end up calling Kika and Alex.

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

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

“I need help,” you blurt out.

“What kind of help?” she asks cautiously.

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

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

“No, don’t-”

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

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

“Okay…” Alex says slowly. “And?”

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

“Oh my God,” Kika groans.

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

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

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

You whine. “He looked… happy.”

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

“No!”

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

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

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

“You don’t even know who she is!”

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

You groan. “That’s not helpful.”

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

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

“I hate both of you,” you mutter.

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

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

“Then you’ll know,” Alex says simply.

And that’s the crux of it, isn’t it?

Knowing.

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

“Thanks, guys,” you say finally.

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

“Bye,” you grumble, hanging up.

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

—

So, you cut him off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Carlos How’s your day going?

You Busy

Carlos Busy with what?

You Work

He doesn’t push, which is somehow worse.

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

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

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

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

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

The worst part is how much it hurts.

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

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

You try to distract yourself.

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

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

It usually is.

Carlos Did I do something

You Just busy

Carlos Are you mad at me

You No

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

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

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

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

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

So you keep going.

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

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

There’s just silence.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it’s not.

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

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

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

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

Your breath catches, just for a second.

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

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

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

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

—

Carlos has a suspicion you’re avoiding him.

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

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

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

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

At first, he tried to laugh it off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re pulling away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did he say something? Did he not say enough?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Carlos Where are you right now?

You Still hoping for that coffee date, huh?

Carlos Always

You …Paris

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

Carlos Okay, I’m going there.

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

You What?

You ARE YOU SERIOUS???

Carlos Yes.

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

Carlos Watch me.

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

You This is insane.

Carlos No, it’s determination.

You It’s bordering on stalker behavior.

Carlos Then stop running from me.

You I’m not running!

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

You It’s called having a life.

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

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

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

Wrong.

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

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

Another knock, this time more insistent.

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

Carlos Sainz.

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

Your jaw drops.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A poor, pathetic attempt to cover up the obvious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not-”

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

“I had a reason!” you defend weakly.

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

“Carlos-”

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

You can’t help it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s my cousin, Marina.”

Your heart stops. “What?”

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

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

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

“I wasn’t-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What condition?” you ask warily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

[transgendz]

I live with two roommates, one of whom has cancer and an appt with a surgeon today, and the other one and I have been too sick to leave the house for about a week now. Covid tests have been negative. Ig it's the flu, but also our tests are old and getting seen by a Dr is out of budget rn so who knows.

I messed up and paid my storage bill when I needed to pay my phone bill first, the storage could've waited but now I am $100 short on a very urgent phone bill, made more urgent by the fact that I need my line available for surgery related calls soon.

Dm me for proof or details. Anything extra received will go to maintaining the current nightmare. More details on our situation below the cut.

V--$C--kofi

$0/$100

My roommate has to fly across the country and back this past month for treatment she was denied here, and she's only back now because her surgery got denied by insurance up there. She's getting surgery here, and maybe needing to go back up there after, we domt know yet.

We were all immunocompromised to start with, so this whole cancer and also getting sick thing is really bad and had been terrible timing. It feels like it happened as I started to make more money and get us stable. It's been right back to just barely getting by and I am very much at my fucking limit.

Neither of my roommates are able to work right now, my job has been slow just really horribly slow all through the holidays. And I've not been able to work this week because I've been too sick to do quality work, which Will get me fired, whereas time off Won't but doesn't pay. The only reason we have been eating is because of someone bringing by food consistently in appreciation of some community work I've been doing for them that got more complicated than anticipated.

[bruhstories]

Bet IV

p.1 here & p.2 here & p.3 here

mandatory mdni because things will start to get heated up in the following chapters.

summary: you're starting to feel things for the man who hired you to take care of his cat. but he's only being nice. that's it and nothing more. pairing: hwang in-ho/the front man x civilian!reader warnings & content: age gap, afab!reader, slightly detailed descriptions of reader’s background for plot purposes, red text for in-ho, purple for reader, pre 33rd squid game, canon divergent, domestic violence (reader gets slapped by her uncle), veeeery slow burn, reader's dad is dead w/c: 2.1k

a/n: if you would like to be tagged for the next part, please check this post! thank you for reading! please remember that if you asked to be tagged but i can't find your age on your blog, you will NOT be tagged. there will be smut and people dying lol.

"Where were you last night?"

You sighed at your uncle's question, sick and tired of explaining the same thing over and over again. He woke up earlier than he should have, especially for a man who worked night shifts at a warehouse. He did it on purpose, just to have more reasons to pick on you, and you knew that all too well. You lived through that hell for the past ten years.

"I told you, I was cat sitting." 

"Cat sitting." He repeated with derision in his voice. "You need to get a real job."

"I have two real jobs." You reminded him, and it took all your willpower not to raise your voice at him.

"Where's the money, then? Huh?" Your uncle grabbed you by the wrist, twisting it backwards.

"I'm getting paid today!"

"How much?" 

"660,326!" You cried out as his fingernails dug deeper into your skin.

"I better see that money on my nightstand by tomorrow morning." He let go of your wrist. "Keep the change."

How generous, you thought, rubbing the crescent-shaped dents in your skin. At least he didn't hit you, but your small victory crumbled when he turned on his heels, smacking you with the plastic fly swatter in his hand. Once. Twice. Thrice. 

You didn't cry, not in front of him. Never in front of him. 

But when you stepped through the doors of Mr. Hwang's penthouse, the dam broke, and tears streamed down your cheeks. They burned when they touched the cracked, swollen skin, courtesy of your uncle, but you still smiled at the sight of Eunjoo.

Instead of waiting next to the water bowl, like she had done before, the cat jumped on the countertop, her paw gently touching your wrist, where the imprinted dents of his fingernails were still visible. You didn't know why, but Eunjoo's gesture made you cry harder, heavy tears falling onto her plate. 

"Good kitty." You sobbed, daring to pet her, and she allowed it, nuzzling your hand for the first time since you met her.

Without wasting a single moment, you took out your phone to take a selfie of you and Eunjoo, and sent it to In-ho, with the caption 'Making progress!' You thought he might be happy to see her slowly lower her guard and get attached to you.

Who hurt you?

Stupid. How could you be so stupid to send a selfie when your cheek was grazed and puffy? Of course Mr. Hwang would ask about it, he was a nice man, one whose kindness you didn’t think you deserved.

I accidentally walked into a lamppost! Silly, right?

Hoping that the lie would be convincing enough, you carried on with your tasks after eating with Eunjoo, and to your surprise, it worked. It fooled him, but you weren’t proud of yourself in the slightest. 

You need to be more careful next time. If anything happened to you, who would take care of Eunjoo until I return?

It shouldn't have hurt reading his reply, and yet your heart ached. What did you expect? You were an employee, he obviously wanted his cat to be safe, not you. And how could someone like him even care about someone you? You came from different worlds that could never intertwine.

I will.

No thank you, no sad face — you were bitter, even though, rationally, you had no reason to be. Besides, you lied to him in the first place. Maybe if you told him the truth, he would have sent a different reply. It didn't matter. In less than five days he would come back, pay you and never speak to you again. Just like all rich people did.

You cleaned the bathrooms that morning, scrubbing the bath tubs, the toilets, the sinks and the floors until your fingertips stung and your head pounded from the bleach fumes. The vibration of your phone startled you, and you wiped your hands to check the notification.

Have I upset you?

Okay, maybe he did care. Or maybe he was just very observant and noticed your monotonous reply.

Not at all, I just have a lot on my mind. I'm sorry that you worried about me, or that I seemed upset! You're right, I need to be more careful next time.

Please don't take this the wrong way, miss, but I've never met anyone who apologised for making me worry about them. You're quite special.

You did a double take when you read Mr. Hwang's reply, and a wave of remorse crushed your heart. The man was too nice for you to lie to him, but you didn't want him involved in your family affairs, either. There was a strong internal conflict within you, a battle between honesty and dishonesty, but for the time being, dishonesty won, no matter how disgraceful it was.

Choosing not to reply, as time was ticking and the Abduls would be waiting for you soon, you swiftly finished tidying up the bathrooms and put away all the cleaning products so Eunjoo couldn't get to them. With the automatic feeder full, fresh water in the bowl and litter boxes clean, you left.

In all fairness, you didn't know what to reply to his text. No one called you special before, except for that one guy you dated who only wanted to sleep with you, and unfortunately succeeded. It wasn't your proudest moment, but you moved on since then. You stared at the text, typing a reply, then deleting it, then typing again, and you did that for the duration of the entire bus ride back to Guryong Village. By the time you knocked on Ali's door, you still hadn't come up with a response.

What could you even say? Thank you? Likewise? I'm sorry I lied to you, my uncle slapped me with the fly swatter? No. In telling the truth, Mr. Hwang would pity you, perhaps even offer you more money, or food, or clothes, and you didn't want to be pitied. You wanted your hard work to be recognised, not to use your social status or depressing background as an excuse.

Mrs. Abdul couldn't feed you that day, and that was fine. They needed to prioritise themselves, since they didn't live any better than you. Luckily, you saved enough money to buy a kimbap roll for lunch and a bag of rice crackers for dinner and breakfast. Resourcefulness was, perhaps, your strongest point and the reason you survived for so long.

The theme park was packed with tourists and locals, gathering to watch the parade, and you took the time to entertain children and take pictures with them, always on your feet, always working. Back in the dressing room, you took the comically large mascot head off, sweat dripping down your face and neck. Summers were worse — there were body parts you didn't think could sweat.

"Excuse me, Y/N?"

You looked up from your seat to a man around your age, a coworker named Donghyun. He had worked there for a few months or so, but you barely spoke.

"Yes?" You smiled, resting your elbows on the mascot head in your lap.

"We're getting paid today, and a few of us are going for drinks after work. I was wondering if you would like to come." Donghyun avoided looking into your eyes, nervously pinching the soft fur of his own mascot.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, but I have another job I need to get to. Maybe another time."

"Yeah, another time." He nodded. "Hey, could I get your number?"

"Why would you want my number?" You laughed, immediately pursing your lips when Donghyun frowned. "Sorry, yeah, of course I'll give you my number!"

You were such a people pleaser, it was ridiculous, but he seemed to feel better after saving your number in his phone. And there was no harm in making new friends.

"I'll text you later." Donghyun nodded with a smile and left.

What a strange interaction, you thought. It wasn't unusual for men to like you — you were pretty, smart, funny — but you just weren't interested in any of them. In fact, it was their age and maturity that didn't appeal to you. They acted like prepubescent pricks, trying to impress anything with a vagina and a pretty face by being obnoxious and loud and downright irritating.

Older men were different. They had manners, they were respectful and caring. They knew how to dress, knew how to speak to women, kind of like Mr. Hwang.

Oh. 

God, you needed to forcibly remove that thought from your mind before it spiraled into something worse. In-ho probably wanted nothing to do with you — no, he definitely didn’t want anything to do with you. He was just a nice gentleman who happened to not be married. Maybe he had a girlfriend that didn't live with him. Or maybe he worked so much he couldn't afford a relationship. 

Maybe he murdered people.

You laughed at that ridiculous idea — no one in their right mind would do that, especially not Mr. Hwang. He had a cat, for God's sake. Murderers usually killed animals, surely he was just a normal man with a lot on his mind, a workaholic, or a hermit.

Walking into your boss' office, you received your pay and counted the money — 662,326. You got more than you should've, completely forgetting about the pay rise. Your uncle didn't need to know about that, and you took the extra 2,326 and hid it in a small pocket inside your backpack, along with other money you saved. Unbeknownst to him, you secretly opened a savings account in the hopes that one day you would be able to leave and rent your own place, but you only had 1,094,463.60 won, which was barely enough to cover the deposit.

One day. One day you would leave all that abuse behind and have a fresh start. But today was not that day. 

Back in Gangnam-gu, you entered the penthouse earlier than normal and dropped your bag on the floor next to your worn and torn boots. You were hoping they would last through winter because you really couldn't afford a new pair. Eunjoo ran to greet you for the first time, and your heart was filled with joy at the sight of the cat rubbing against your leg. She was growing on you, and you soon realised how much you'd miss her when Mr. Hwang returned. Perhaps he'd let you visit her. 

You turned the TV on and played some songs by ABBA, the sadness of the morning gone, replaced only by joy and optimism. Things would turn out well, you just knew it. You grabbed In-ho's black clothes and placed them in the washing machine, all the while dancing to the beat of Money, Money, Money. It was a song you related to, but you didn't want to find a wealthy man. You just wanted to have enough money to survive without your uncle.

"It's a rich man's world." You sang to Eunjoo, who wiggled her butt, playfully attacking your feet. 

"All the things I could do if I had a little money, kitty. I would get my own apartment, I would donate to orphanages and charities. Oh, don't look at me like that." You frowned when Eunjoo stared at you judgmentally. "I would! There are people out there who need help. But you know what I would get for me? A hotteok! Ah, I would kill for that cinnamony goodness."

You placed the food on the floor and opened the pack of rice crackers. 

"My dad got me a hotteok on my seventh birthday. It was the best birthday ever and- oh my God, I'm talking to a cat." Laughing at the sudden realisation, you shook your head in disbelief. "Well, you're probably my only friend anyway. You don't judge me. You don't care if I'm rich or poor. You just listen and eat. Oh!"

Good evening, Mr. Hwang! Could I ask what your favourite dish is?

You decided that would be your gift. Cooking wasn't your strongest skill, but you were confident in yourself. And who didn't want to come back to a hot home-made meal? Maybe he liked jajangmyeon, or jjigae, or something sweet, like chapssaltteok. The possibilities were endless.

Beef Wellington. Why?

Your heart sunk to your stomach. Beef fucking Wellington? How on Earth could you even afford all the ingredients? The tenderloin itself was probably over 65,000 won. But you were going to do it for him, regardless of what it cost. You felt that Mr. Hwang deserved it. 

I was hoping to cook it for you when you returned. I'll admit, I didn't think it would be such a... fancy dish, but I'm sure I can manage. 

Have you tried it before?

I'm afraid not. Is it good?

Exquisite. You'll have to stay and try it when I return, yes?

Chewing on your bottom lip, your heart skipped a beat at his request. You knew he was just being nice, but you couldn't stop the sudden burning desire to just obey. 

Yeah, I'll stay. 

tagging: @ri1liane @anmert1 @syraxnyra @frshluvcats @lanyia @mettreads @nightdark-dreamdark @bridge-always @lovekm @audrey223 @ririgy @starkeyszn  @hobiesbrownsgf  @thoughtfulbelieverstrawberry @maria-trisha @akiqvq @10hrs26mn @tenzko @okaycharr @politicstanner @moonxknightx @googie-jeon @swthrtbyeol  @mariiestfu  @ratsnestinmyhair @missroro @talia-the-gemini @fortluocha @true-queen-of-mischief @ssa-callahan @bibliophile-yomna @wwastro @heartsforseo @marymun @glads-stuff @starryeddie @kisses2kanao @gagaga167 @l4venderia @scryi @lelisae @twicelover2 @ashtrosstuff @cruel-affair @cdej6 @veragrhm @nikos-a-clown @cchewhaz @pepsicolacoochie @lily-ann-b @red22wolf @nellabear @unabletonotlovesatoru @happiness2112 @waterjewelsspite @luna-looniesnlog @plan3t-plut0 @full-sunnies @houta-habtet-houta @alexisabirdie @riri53 @bluehourss

[sweetpupii]

tw: non-con, somno, fingering & cunnilingus ( r!receiving ), reader cries just a little, praising, overstimulation, abby being the sweetest girl ever ( pretty ironic ) | 1.6k words.

having long nails is great.

they look cute, you can match them with your outfit and your makeup, you get some compliments, they're amazing at scratching and all that.

“wanna know what's frustrating though?” you start, mindlessly scrolling on your phone while abby looks at your new set of nails, her own unmanicured hand holding yours. “not to be, you know, nasty but I feel like I'm gonna slash my pussy open if I try to stick a finger in there the wrong way.”

only a low hum of agreement can be heard from the blonde as she leans back against the couch of your shared apartment, tracing the design that's beautifully decorating the nail on your middle finger. yeah, that looks like it would hurt real bad.

“then get a toy. there is more stuff you can use.”

“of course I know that, but I don't have time either. at this point I feel like a nun!” a ( kinda whiny ) sigh escaping your lips at the mere thought of all the weeks spent unsatisfied. coming home late and tired didn't give you much time to even grab a toy like abby suggested.

but luckily, you have a very thoughtful roommate!

this woman would do anything—and I mean anything—to see you happy because that's what friends are for. helping and supporting each other during tough times and, let me tell you, being sexually frustrated definitely counts as one.

“abby? what the fu—mhggm” her hand quickly went over your mouth to stop your protests to get louder and more panicked while the other worked to keep your legs and arms from pushing her face away. why are you acting so surprised to see her in between your legs when she's just trying to help? it's not like you would be able to push her away but jeez, didn't expect such an ungrateful response.

yes, she woke you up by making out with your pussy but you were basically asking for it earlier.

“gonna make you feel good.” she promised before she kept lapping at your cunt like a starved woman. slurping you up like you're her favorite dish. feeling the vibration of your desperate, muffled sounds against her palm made her speak again. “shh, I won't hurt you.”

taking off your underwear while you sleep, holding you down, forcing your mouth shut and your legs open doesn't hurt! not if you stay still, at least.

her plan was simple.

if she made you feel good by eating you out, using her own fingers to reach places you currently couldn't ( and probably have never been able to ) reach while you slept then you would surely wake up in a good mood and thank her with that precious smile of yours and maybe even a kiss.

but noooo, you decided to wake up in the middle of it and panic. ugh, just when your body was responding so well to her touch. she had seen the way your cunt was glistening when she started to slowly kiss it. the moonlight slipping through your curtains making the sight even prettier, and she'll be lying if she said the thought of taking a picture didn't cross her mind.

but a little crying from you won't stop her, even if she feels the hot tears against her skin.

she's still holding your legs open so she can continue to suck and lick at your clit, tongue tracing each fold and sensitive bit. your hips bucking into her face—but she's not sure if you're liking it and want more or you're trying to push her away.

“don't scream, okay baby?” she whispered against the soft skin on your inner thigh, peppering small kisses, while looking up at your watery eyes, “I'll be so gentle. trust me.”

actually, what other choice do you have? this woman can literally bench press 205 lbs. you get on her bad side and a single smack takes you back to your mother's womb. she has a mean right hook too, those punching bags stand no chance.

but again, it's abby who we're talking about.

the blondie that cuddles you to sleep anytime your bed feels too cold, who makes stupid jokes to cheer you up even if she cringes so fucking hard immediately after, who lets you try to count every freckle on her skin without even asking why, who can listen to you talk for hours and pay attention to every word, the one that drunkenly tells you how glad she is that you're her roommate and friend while kissing your shoulder even if deep down she wishes for more than that and stares at you as if you are the most important thing in the world—because to her you truly are.

so maybe she really just wants to make you feel good...

the second the fear and confusion in your eyes turns into something more calm, seeing the slow nod of your head, the small hiccup and your legs no longer struggling, she pulls her hand away from your mouth to trace the other set of lips, gathering the mixture of her saliva and your fluids on her fingertips before gently pushing one inside. “there we go…nice and slow.”

she might've been wrong for not asking first but how was she supposed to resist the feeling of your warm, tight walls squeezing her fingers just right as she curls them inside. soaking her knuckles in a shiny coat of stickiness that makes her want to dive in face first again and taste it until it becomes the only flavor she'll ever remember.

once she's sure that you're wet and comfortable enough, another thick digit slides in, the stretch earning a moan from you that has abby feeling like angels are singing and welcoming her to heaven. god, she has waited for so long to hear those sounds out of your lips—sounds caused by her, not your vibrator nor whoever you used to invite over thinking you two were quiet. ( she could hear you every.single.time… and honestly? it was so good to get a free show. )

even if her pace was somewhat slow, the thrusts of her fingers still managed to produce soft, wet noises that filled the room as they combined with your heavy breathing.

“told you I'd be gentle.” she cooed against your abdomen, trailing her kisses up your torso until she finally reached your lips. the same lips she has been dreaming of kissing since she moved in, since she first saw you smile, since you finally laughed at something she said, since the first time she saw them in a pretty shade of lipgloss. it's better than she ever imagined and she knows she'll ask ( beg ) for more from now on.

she's head over heels if you couldn't tell already.

“a warning would've been nice.” your quiet words bring a sheepish smile to abby’s face as she sighs, pulling her face away just a little, “sorry, you looked so stressed lately, I figured you wouldn't mind…”

abby aims to please even if she doesn't realize how bad her impulsive thoughts are before she acts on them. but look at the bright side; from now on you have a girl who's willing to drop to her knees and bury her face between your thighs at your own home almost 24/7!

after a bit, she starts to notice that the clenching and throbbing around her fingers gets more frequent and your moans louder, meaning she can finally speed up the pace. burying herself deep into your cunt to reach all the perfect spots she knows you've been missing. “fuck, you're so pretty. I wish you could see yourself…dripping all over the bed.”

she’s breathless as if she was the one getting touched, her own underwear damp just from seeing and pleasing you. can you blame her? she feels like a child on christmas morning.

“that's it, doing so good.”

oh, how she adores the way your hips tremble underneath her. making a mess on your bed sheets as you throw your head back—which she takes as an invitation and buries her face there. inhaling your scent like it's the only thing keeping her alive, like you're the oxygen she needs.

“gonna come? I can barely move my fingers with how tight you are.” liar. no matter how much you squeeze she's pumping them in and out without a single bit of effort. working out daily really pays off in the most satisfying ways. plus, you're too wet and it slides in and out very easily.

and god, her words make the flutter in your lower belly even worse. your hand gripping at her forearm, nails digging so hard she takes it as “it's too much.” when in reality she had fucked you so dumb with her fingers that reaching for abby was purely out of instinct.

she can't even understand the words ( babbles ) coming out of your mouth, all her pussy-drunk mind is able to register is the whiny tone tone in your voice because yes, she's as fucked out as you are.

the loud cry that escaped your puffy lips while repeating her name over and over definitely woke up a neighbor or two and just the thought of it makes abby's ego go up to the roof. who's making the prettiest girl in the building come? abigail motherfucking anderson.

her fingers continue their movements, a bit sloppier than before, but they keep going nonetheless. thumb circling your sensitive clit to add more stimulation.

she shushed your whimpers with soft kisses on your your temple and held you still to keep the overstimulated jerking off hips from pushing her away.

“you can take a little more, you're a big girl.”

and she's an insatiable woman.

masterlist ♡ taglist — @1ckyporcelainbunny @patronagrona

[tallyhall-lyrics-that-match]

all of this is /sarc by the way

am i the asshole for stabbing my husband in an alleyway and leaving him to die?

for context i (f37) was married to my husband (m39) for about 10 years. i've always had this fantasy of finding the perfect man, marrying him, starting a family with him, and then killing him in cold blood. i've never known why, i just have.

when my husband literally ran into me at a bus stop into porter (the seaside town in new hampshire, not the neighborhood in massachusetts), i knew he was the one. he had an adopted kid (we'll call them jude, nb17) at the time, and his fiancee had recently broken up with him after she was caught having an affair with her best friend.

i moved in shortly after that initial meeting, since i was escaping a bad situation in the city at the time, and a year later we got married.

cut to about 3 or 4 years later, when i discovered i was pregnant with a baby boy. we were all delighted, and when our son finally arrived, my husband was overjoyed.

we remained a happy family for about 6 years, until one night i finally knew it was time. he told jude we were going on a date, which was true. eventually i lured him into this dark alleyway on an unnamed street, just next to an apartment building. he tried to escape, but i wouldn't let him. i stabbed him twelve times and ran off. i heard someone scream shortly afterwards, but i didn't turn myself in until two days later.

i am now in prison, and jude just got off the phone with me, yelling that "if i loved them, i wouldn't have killed their father", though that isn't true at all.

am i the asshole in this situation?

if you're trying to get into the head of your story's antagonist, try writing an "Am I the Asshole" reddit post from their perspective, explaining their problems and their plans for solving them. Let the voice and logic come through.

[burrowdarling]

He Really Knows Me

Summary: It’s your first time meeting Joe’s siblings. With your nerves evident, Joe gives you something to calm them. I also just had to listen to Call It What You Want - Taylor Swift

Pairings: boyfriend!Joe Burrow x girlfriend!reader

Warnings: A bit of talk about sex, otherwise just some fluffy boyfriend Joey

Note: Hi everyone! I hope you all enjoy this request from this anon, I thought the idea was absolutely adorable. I'm excited to have some more frequent content out for you all. As always, my ask box and messages are always open to requests or to chat! 

Word Count: 1.3k

Check out my Masterlist here!

Taglist: @burrowbarbie @definitelynotdomanique @one-sweet-gubler @plushkhiii @enchantedinfinity @iosivb9 @hellsingalucard18 Feel free to comment or message me if you'd like to be added to the list!

To say you were nervous was an understatement - tonight would be the night that you were meeting Joe’s brothers along with their wives for the first time. The two of you have been dating for a few months now, deciding it was time to take things a step further. You knew how important family was to Joe and were excited at the opportunity to meet those close to him. You’d heard loads about them already, excited for the chance to get to know them. To keep things casual and low pressure for you, Joe decided to invite everyone over for dinner at his place. Joe knew you felt safe there, being able to step away for a breather with ease if needed. 

You’d like to think you were a fairly confident person, believing that was part of the reason you were with Joe in the first place. The one thing that could knock you off kilter was a lack of control. You were serious about Joe, wanting to make a good first impression with his family and hoping that they would like you.

Joe had offered for you to come get ready at his place while he got a workout in at the gym, knowing you couldn’t say no to getting ready in his bathroom. It was something you were jealous of, wishing you had this type of lighting back at your place. Being in his space offered you a sense of relief, feeling like . You had music playing off your phone speaker, your makeup products were strewn out across the counter, and your hair tools at the ready. You heard the faint sound of shuffling downstairs, signalling Joe had finished his workout. You paid no mind to it, focusing on perfecting your look. 

You were in your own little world, dancing off your nerves when you just about jumped out of your skin.

“Jesus Joe, are you trying to give me a heart attack?” you said with a hand pressed to your chest trying to catch your breath. He only chuckled at you, slightly shaking his head at your comment. 

Your temper simmered once you took in his appearance. He was leaned against the door frame, hair tousled with sweat as his sleeveless shirt hung off of his torso. The holes for the sleeves were ripped so low, you could see a preview of his abs creating a spark inside you to have your hands on him. His cloth shorts were hung low on his hip and his whole demeanor had you wanting to drop to your knees before him.

“Not my intention, sweetheart, though I was enjoying your little show. It looks like I was giving you one right back based on the drool on your chin” Joe said with a smirk. You reached for your chin, falling for his joke which only made him laugh harder, causing you to give him a glare.

“You can’t expect me not to look when you come up here like that” you said as you gestured to him at a loss for any further words.

“Look as much as you like, but I’d much rather your touch. I just came to wash up before dinner, baby. I’ll take my distraction elsewhere, don’t worry your pretty head” he said moving off the door to drop a kiss to your head. He walked to the shower, turning the handle and starting to strip. It took everything in you not to watch him from the mirror and keep your focus on getting ready. You watched his silhouette through the steamy glass door, admiring his profile. You’d have time to have him later, it would help to ease your mind.

“Do you think they’re gonna like me?” you asked out of nowhere. Your voice wavered more than you expected, needing to speak up over the shower.

“They’re gonna love you because I do, there’s nothing to stress about I promise,” Joe said as his cutt of the shower. He stepped out and wrapped a towel low on his waist, walking over to meet you. “You did great with my parents, this will be a cakewalk in comparison. You’re so sweet, amazing, and funny, I’m going to have to hope they don’t like you more than me”.

He leaned down, ghosting his wet forehead above yours causing you to giggle when droplets from his hair fell to your nose and cheeks. 

“I can’t get my face wet, I just finished my makeup” you said as you gently pushed him away, letting your hands linger on his wet chest.

“You’re right, I’d much rather get something else wet instead” he spoke as he turned out of the bathroom, bracing for your reaction preemptively.

“JOSEPH! Get your mind out of the gutter” you yelled out as his laughter carried into the bathroom from his bedroom.

Once you felt that your look was perfected, you took one last look in the bathroom mirror before making your way into the bedroom. You expected Joe to be downstairs, but were surprised to see him sitting on the edge of his bed with a small gift wrapped box in his hands.

“What’s that for?” you questioned, pointing to the gift in his hands.

“It’s for you, I was gonna wait to give it to you, but this seems as good a time as any” Joe said as he patted the spot next to him.

You sat down, joining him as you felt a fresh wave of nerves course through you. Joe placed the small box in your hands as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into him. His smell offered a sense of comfort, remembering there was nothing to be worried about, this was your Joey.

You pulled the bow loose and slipped it from the box, you unwrapped the small bit of paper and removed the top from the box. A small gasp came from your lips as you took in the small piece of jewelry in front of you. It was small ‘J’ strung on a delicate gold chain, bringing a well of tears to your eyes.

You turned to face Joe, his eyes already on you as he reached up to wipe a stray tear from your cheek before it caused a streak in your makeup. Your mind was reeling, overcome with an influx of emotions and adoration for the man beside you. He always knew exactly what to do and when, having a knack for his small gestures having a big impact on you.

“Joey, I absolutely love it. Will you put it on me?” you asked, getting a soft nod in response as he moved his finger in a circular motion for you to turn away from him.

He stepped behind you, placing the delicate chain across the top of your chest as he brought the two ends together to clasp them. He softly released the ends, letting it fall naturally onto your chest. The dainty ‘J’ stood out against your skin, his initial looking nice around your neck. You looked up and turned your head to meet his gaze over your shoulder, the look of pure love in his eyes was unmistakable. 

“I’m not gonna lie, I got the idea from that taylor song you listen to all the time. I knew you were feeling some nerves about tonight so I wanted to give you something as a way to let you know I’m always there. Thank you for all that you do for me, you’re truly amazing and I have no idea what I’d do without you.”

“I swear you always know the right things to say and do, you never cease to surprise me” you said with a smile from ear to ear.

You placed your hands to his cheeks as you pulled him in for a passionate kiss, feeling things began to heat up rather quickly. You felt him pull back as he rested his forehead against your properly. 

“Now as much as I’d like to have you with this new addition, it’ll have to be later. We got dinner to eat and you have people who want to meet you.”

[navybrat817]

Any thoughts for WETnesday with Bucky?🤭🤭

Okay, Syd. I wrote this after work for Wetnesday and promptly fell asleep. So, I'm posting this on Thirsty Thursday! And that has to be Mr. Barnes before you two are married.

Dinner Plans

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky doesn't want to be late for dinner, but you don't seem to be in a rush to go.

Word Count: Over 2.8k

Warnings: Established relationship, quick unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, lovelies), possessive behavior, a bit of humor and fluff, feels, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: I love this couple, okay? @targaryenvampireslayer and @starlightcrystalline, I hope you enjoy! ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

It was still early in the evening as Bucky got ready for dinner. Checking his watch once he put it on, he sighed. If he was late, Steve would give him a hard time. And if Steve gave him a hard time, Sam would only give him the gasoline to fuel the fire. Just the thought of it had his face shift to his grumpy stare you loved.

His gaze softened when you went to the vanity. Would the guys give him a hard time if he said he was in love and wanted as much alone time with you as possible? How being with you was like floating on a cloud and being pulled back down to earth all at once? He didn’t care if they’d call him out for being sappy. He sure as hell suffered enough in his life that he could afford to be appreciative of you and maybe a little selfish when it came to you.

But checking the time, he grumbled. “We were supposed to leave five minutes ago,” he said.

He would’ve rather gone to a hole in the wall kind of place or a diner to have dinner, but it wasn't his turn to pick the dinner out with some of the gang. Plus it was nice getting to dress up with you since you liked how he looked in suits. To be fair, you said he looked good in anything and he felt the same way about you. How you always managed to look like a goddess, he’d never know.

You hummed. “We still have a few minutes to spare,” you said, which he wasn’t sure how you knew since you hadn’t looked at the time. “And you are not dressed yet, so it’s not like we can head out the door.”

He paused to stare at you. “Neither are you,” he pointed out, licking his lips as you leaned forward a bit more as you applied your makeup. He shook his head after a moment, trying to snap himself out of the spell you always managed to put him under. “I’m bringing you one of my cardigans to put over your shoulders in case you get cold.”

Because the weather was nice for the evening, you picked out a sleeveless dress. He didn’t know if the restaurant would be cold though, and he didn’t want you shivering through the meal. You likely had something to match your dress, but putting one of his cardigans over you was like that extra touch of belonging to him in case anyone got any ideas.

“You just want one of your shirts draped over me like a big neon sign that says I’m yours and you don't want guys checking me out on my dress,” you said like you knew exactly what he was thinking. There was no reason to deny your words since it was the truth. “But I appreciate the thoughtfulness.”

“I do like my clothes draped over you,” he smirked. He liked having his smell on you, too. “But you know what I don’t like? Steve and Sam bitching if we’re late. It’ll spoil my appetite.”

“Aww, my poor super soldier,” you teased, smiling at him in your reflection and making his heart skip a beat. “If we’re late, you can just blame me. I won’t let them give you a hard time, okay?”

Bucky couldn’t blame you though. Not entirely. You were late getting in the shower thanks to him insisting on the two of you staying in bed. Serum stamina or whatever you wanted to call it, but he felt bad some days for his almost constant need. You didn’t seem to mind though.

“They won’t believe me,” he said, staring again when the strap of your bra slipped from your shoulder. “And baby, you know I adore you, but you need to quit distracting me so I can finish getting dressed.”

Ever since you moved in, you’d been a distraction in a wonderful way. He often found that he’d pause to look at photos or little touches you incorporated into the place, giving him a chance to reflect on memories you made together and even learn more about who you were before you met. Hearing your laughter or voice call to him from another room also made him drop whatever he was doing, too. Sharing a space with someone could be daunting, but it was easy with you, like you had lived together for years. It made him look forward to more.

“Me? Distracting you?” You turned your head toward him and gave him an innocent glance. You were anything but innocent. “I'm not doing anything.”

Bucky almost snarled. Like hell you weren't doing anything. Swaying your hips and prancing around in your lingerie before you sat to get ready, lingerie which barely covered your gorgeous tits and sweet cunt. He wanted to rip it to shreds or tear it off with his teeth. You wouldn’t mind, right? He could always get you more to destroy.

“Not doing anything? Look at you,” he said incredulously as you turned back to the mirror and pushed your bra up. He should’ve been holding your breasts. “Why aren't you wearing a robe?”

You tilted your head. “Well, you said before I got in the shower that we were in a slight rush, so I figured putting on the robe was a waste of time. At least I have my underwear on, though I know you’d rather I be naked.”

If Bucky had his way, you’d be naked all the time. At least, when you two were at home. Logically he knew he couldn’t have that at work, functions, or anything of that nature, but the image in his head was nice. “For such a rush you seem to be taking your time.”

“I'm not taking my time. I'm finishing my makeup,” you argued, carefully applying your lipstick. “Like it?” you asked, blowing him an air kiss. It was a pretty shade. It would look even prettier smeared around his cock.

He closed his eyes with a groan. Some days he felt like a caveman with the thoughts that consumed him. “You look beautiful,” he said once he opened his eyes. Like always. “Now get your dress on so I can show you off before I put the cardigan on you.”

“Show me off?” You slowly stood from your chair and gave him a generous view of your backside. His cock twitched in his pants, and there was no reason to hide the pure lust in his eyes when you turned to face him. “You flatter me, Mr. Barnes.”

He chuckled. It always did something to him when you called him Mr. Barnes. It was something affectionate, sweet. “I think you’re the one flattering me, Mrs.-” he exhaled before he could finish, and he heard the hitch in your breath across the room.

“What was that?” you asked breathily.

He adjusted the watch on his wrist and avoided your gaze. You were his girl, yeah, and the love you had for each other spoke volumes, but you weren’t his wife. Not yet. God, how he wanted you to be- for you to take his last name, wear his ring on your finger, be his partner in all aspects of life. He wanted it to be more than just a dream.

“I didn’t say…” He cleared his throat and put on a blank face, only because he didn’t know how you’d react. “Anything.”

Your eyes raked over him before you beckoned him forward with a finger. He swore no one would ever control him again after HYDRA brainwashed him, but you could’ve commanded him to do anything. It didn’t frighten him because you would never harm him, never take advantage of him. Taking him into your care and maintaining his trust was one of the ways you showed you loved him.

Once he stood in front of you, barely an inch away, you whispered, “Were you about to call me Mrs. Barnes?”

He swallowed hard, his heart racing. It was one thing to say you loved each other, to want a future together, but what if you weren’t ready when he popped the question? “I was,” he whispered back.

You smiled, not looking the least bit put off or afraid. He should've known it wouldn't bother you, especially with you being the one to say “I love you” first. “I think that has a really nice ring to it,” you said, your hands moving to unbuckle his belt.

“You think so?” he asked, forgetting for a moment that he was capable of breathing. “You like the idea of being my wife?”

Bucky would no doubt be the kind of husband who’d brag about you. He’d find ways to insert “my wife” in conversations just to let others know that you picked him out of everyone else on the planet. Not just that, he wanted people to know how proud he was to be your man and that he’d find reasons every day to be proud of you.

“I love it,” you confirmed, sighing when he ran his fingertips along your arms. “Makes my heart race,” you admitted. He could hear it. “Makes me wet.”

Bucky arched his hips and pressed up against you. “Baby, you’re gonna kill me,” he whispered, not stopping you as you unbuttoned his pants. He was thinking of just cancelling dinner so he could throw you on the bed and stay inside you for the rest of the night. “We need to-”

“Oh. Now might be a good time to tell you that Steve pushed the reservation back by a half hour,” you cut in, mouthing over his racing pulse. “He figured he’d message me since I’m better about checking my phone, and-”

Bucky picked you up with ease and tossed you onto the bed. Your wide-eyed expression as you bounced nearly had him busting out of his pants, and he didn’t hesitate to crawl over you and pin you down. Relishing in the moan you let out when he lightly bit your neck, he did it again a little harder. “No wonder you took your time and teased me,” he smirked when you squirmed beneath him. “My future wife.”

“My future husband,” you moaned, bucking your hips up. “Need you in me. We can be quick.”

You got a hand in his hair and forced his head up to yours, your tongue impatiently pushing into his mouth. He groaned in understanding, feeling just as desperate as you. Knowing how turned on you were at the thought of being his wife turned him on, and he could barely form a coherent thought as he took his cock out and gave it a couple of quick pumps.

“Say it again,” he demanded, shoving your panties aside and rubbing the head of his cock along your slit. He took his time earlier today stretching you, and he wanted nothing more than to feel you around him again.

And the way you reached between your bodies and gripped the base of his cock, he knew you wanted the same when you said, “Fuck me, my future husband.”

He eased in gently, making you whine. He thought he’d whine, too, for a second because of how good he felt. God, how good it would feel to hold your hand one day and feel his ring against your skin. “You okay?” he asked, dragging his thumb along your lower lip once he was fully inside you. You were tight still, so wet, and oh, he was going to fuck you and make it quick, but he wasn’t going to hurt you.

“I’m okay,” you whispered, starting deep into his eyes as you clenched around him with purpose and brushed his hair back. He tried to be still, tried not to thrust like a wild animal. “Are you?”

“I’m okay,” he promised, easing his hips back. “Just hold on while I fuck you.”

Your back arched when he slammed himself back in nice and deep, your cry bouncing off the walls. Here in the comfort of your home you didn’t have to smother any noises, didn’t have to keep quiet. He wanted to tell you how much he loved you, how you were the queen of his world.

Being inside you all he got out was, “You feel so fucking good.”

And because you could read him like no one else could, you tenderly smiled. “I love you, too.”

He threw his head back as you clutched his arms, determined to make you feel good, determined to show you how much he loved you even as he fucked you. “Gonna put you on your hands and knees after dinner. Make you watch in the mirror while I fuck you,” he groaned. “Can imagine it's part of our honeymoon.”

“Please!’ you moaned, trying to meet his thrusts.

Bucky grabbed your thighs to lift you higher, uncaring if he ruined his pants for the evening. Watching you tremble beneath his, a vision of ecstasy, he was happy to stay there forever. Wrapped up in you was where he always wanted to be.

“Gonna come,” you moaned, reaching up to pull his hair again, your body quaking. “Bucky, please.”

Bucky groaned. He hadn’t rubbed your clit how he wanted to. Didn’t get to tear your bra off and tease your nipples. He did promise to fuck you later though, and he’d do all those things and more. “Then come for me,” he smirked, leaning down to say against your lips, “Future. Mrs.. Barnes.”

You got impossibly tight and the flood of wetness that gushed around him triggered his own orgasm, a rush of heat filling him as he filled you. His mouth fell open as you clung to him, and he heard you moan his name as your eyes went glossy. He wanted the image of you getting off to taking his last name etched in his brain for all time. He wanted his name to fall from your lips again and again on your wedding night.

The cloud in his mind began to lift. You, his future wife, were beneath him, still shaking, still holding him like a lifeline. He didn’t want to let you go either. “Holy… shit…” you panted.

He braced himself above you, trying not to crush you as the euphoria slowly faded. It never really went away though. Not with you. “Holy shit,” he agreed. He stayed inside you, your sweet mewl making him smile as he kissed you. “Is this a new kink?” he asked, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Yeah,” you exhaled, touching his cheek. “New kink unlocked.”

Touching your lips with his once more, he chuckled. “You ruined my pants,” he teased. It wouldn’t have been the first time. The first time you rode his thigh and got your release all over it, he nearly came, too. “Good thing I have a few minutes to change.”

He cradled you close when he shifted to the side, making you moan again. “Yeah, well, you ruined my panties. Fair is fair.”

“I did,” he smirked, running his fingers along your spine. “Hey.”

“Hey what?”

“I love you,” he whispered, wanting to say it as often as he could. They weren’t just words, but a declaration, a promise.

“I love you, too,” you whispered back, tracing one of the buttons on his wrinkled shirt.

His lips brushed your forehead. He’d never get tired of hearing you say that. “If I asked you to marry me right now, would you say yes?”

He wouldn’t propose right this second. You deserved something more romantic. But in his heart, he just wanted to hear you say that you’d say yes.

You giggled, your eyes full of love. “I would say yes in a heartbeat,” you replied, kissing him gently. Your answer relieved him. “And I’d marry you anytime, anywhere.”

He raised an eyebrow. “But?” he asked, sensing a “but” in there.

“But don’t ask me right now, okay?” you smiled, in sync with his thoughts. “I mean, I’d like to think my pussy would make you propose now-”

“And it would,” he smirked.

You giggled again. “But ask me when I’m not expecting it… Whenever it feels right to you.”

“I will,” he promised.

“Looking forward to it.” You snuggled closer and missed his look of adoration. “Hold me for one more minute before we get ready to go?”

As if he could ever deny you. “I’ll hold you as long as you want,” he whispered.

He no longer cared if Steve or Sam gave him shit should they show up late. If you wanted him to skip dinner just to hold you, he’d do it. If you wanted him to surprise you when he proposed, he would. And no matter when Bucky asked you to be his wife, he’d make sure it was perfect as it could possibly be.

AHH! I love them so much. How do you lovelies think he proposed? ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[benkeibear]

『 AITA: For accidentally sending nudes to my sons best friend? 』

☼ synopsis: Toji accidentally sends nudes to his sons best friend... but was it really an accident?

☼ character: Toji Fushiguro

☼ reader: female | AFAB

☼ wc: 2033

☼ cw: phone sex, age gap (reader is in her 20s, Toji in his 40s), masturbation, pet names: baby/doll/bunny, mentions of pussy eating and p in v

☼ notes: a sudden need for dilf Toji overcame my horny brain... I won't apologize 😭

[1 New Message, 3 Images Attached]

Your head piped up when your phone vibrated, your focus instantly vanished when you saw his name - Toji. Seeing his name on your phone was a rare sight, he only ever texted you when Megumi didn't show up at night or when you asked him to pick you up from god knows where because it was far too dangerous to walk home at a late hour. Hell, at this point you almost called him dad with how many times he showed up for you or the way he treats you like his own.

Curiously you opened the messages to see why on earth that man texted you at almost 1 am, but your phone dropped to the floor and your jaw almost joined the device. You pinched the bridge of your nose and picked the phone up again. This surely wasn't what you were thinking...right?

A shaky breath left your lips when you unlocked your phone again, only to be met with Toji Fushiguro's cock splayed all over the screen. It wasn't even tasteful, just your average dick in hand while jerking off picture. Unsure if you should even stare at it the way you did, you swiped left to be met with a similar picture, but it was the short video that followed that left you breathless. He sounded so frustrated, angrily moving his fist up and down his thick shaft, his foreskin slightly shifting over the tip each time. It was hypnotic and after the fifth time of watching the eight second long video, you had to close it, your pussy aching from neglect, but your brain told you not to indulge. You really shouldn't touch yourself to nudes of your best friend's dad, now should you? This surely was a mistake and it almost made you chuckle, the thought of Toji going on dates and probably scaring these poor women off with his attitude alone.

Biting your lip, you decided that it couldn't hurt to indulge, worst case, you could blame him for it - he's the older one, after all, and should know better. Your clothes were quickly discarded before you took a few tasteful nudes, which you immediately sent to him. They were really tasteful, nothing too revealing and most importantly, not showing your face.

[1 New Message, 1 Video Attached]

With a shaky breath, you opened the video, your other hand gently rolling one of your nipples before traveling down south while the video played on a low volume.

“That's my good girl,” his voice rasps into the microphone, praising you for indulging, but his voice almost gets drowned out by the view, his cock was painfully hard, veins visibly popping and his grip was tight as he worked on his lubed up cock. The view once again left you hypnotized, his big hands looked small when he held his cock and it left your pussy clenching around nothing as your thoughts ran wild. Would you even be able to take him? He surely would rip you clean into two pieces with how huge his cock is.

Your pussy was absolutely drenched by now, fingers gently circling your clit and occasionally dipping the tip of a finger inside of your entrance to tease yourself.

“Bet you want me to fuck you dumb on my cock. Make you forget your own fucking name, bunny,” he groaned, a low moan following after the pet name that had your clit throbbing. You wanted nothing more than to hear this moan directly next to your ear when he pushes your head into the pillows and fucks you until you're a babbling mess for him - for your best friend's dad.

“Fuck- I can only imagine what your little cunt would look like stretched around me right now… so fucking tight and messy.” His hips buck up to meet the thrusts of his hand and you can see his abs ripple beneath his skin. He was right. Your pussy is a mess right now.

“Show me that messy pussy I love so much, baby. Let me see,” he encourages you to send him more of you, which is where the video ends.

A shiver runs down your spine and your finger stills against your sweet spot, but you don't pull it out just yet, contemplating if you should go further than you already did.

Your needy cunt clenched around your finger, letting you know that you fucking need to see more of Toji, need to see him come undone in order to earn your own release. These thoughts won't let you think straight, so you angle your camera and hit record when you rub your little clit just before dipping two fingers into your messy cunt. The squelching noises are obscene when you start curling them against your sweet spot and at this point, you can't hold back mewls and small whimpers anymore, practically whining his name and begging for his cock like a bitch in heat. Just as you were about to release, you pulled your fingers out, edging yourself and sending the little video to Toji.

[Message: Sent]

[Message: Read]

In order to keep yourself dancing along the edge, you ran your fingers over your clit with feather light touches, just waiting for him to type or send more of your newest addiction - his cock.

Toji stroked his dick in time with the way you pump your fingers into your cunt, fast and needy, but when you start whining for him, he almost loses control, his balls suddenly feeling tight and his urge to release getting almost unbearable… until he catches a glimpse of your face. It was just a fraction of a second, but he would recognize your face everywhere.

His hand stilled right away, his orgasm ruined, but his cock twitched greedily.

“Fuck,” he cursed out and locked his phone before running his hand over his face. Without wasting another moment, he wiped the remnants of lube on his hand off on his discarded t-shirt and dialed your number.

When you finally picked up, it was just silent on both sides, neither of you sure what to say, so he puts on the big boy pants and speaks up first.

“That wasn't meant for you,” it sounded like he scolded you, as if you invaded his privacy when it was his fault to begin with.

“I should have paid better attention, sorry.” An actual apology followed seconds later and you could hear that his heart and mind racing equally as fast as yours, although he would never admit to it. He was met with silence once again.

“You shouldn't have sent me anything back. I would have deleted everything if you would have just…” He began to explain that he would have never asked this of you, trying his best to be a proper adult here, when in reality he has thought about bending your cute ass over the kitchen counter quite a few times.

Toji can't even deny it at this point. He likes his women a lot younger and you're no exception here, even though his son is your best friend, so what? There was a reason he stopped talking, though, a little whimper on your end caught him off guard.

“Are you fucking getting off to this?” He asked, but it sounded more accusatory, although you can hear his smirk, you know him well enough that you know that he's just trying to be that stern adult when in reality he likes to think with that big cock of his.

Get a grip. She is young enough to be your fucking daughter. Toji tried to hold himself back, but at this point it was like a tightly coiled spring, the more pressure applied, the more inevitable he would snap - so he chuckled.

His chuckle sounded almost mocking, but it turned you on even more. The fact that he could hear just how pathetic you were, how desperately you craved him to stretch you open on his cock and fuck you until you could neither sit nor walk comfortably for the next days to come. Two of your fingers slipped into your dripping pussy once again, a silent gasp escaping you at the light stretch.

“You thinkin’ of my fingers fucking you, bunny?” He mused out and you heard a lid click shut on his line, followed by a small hiss. The lube felt like fucking ice against his rock hard length, but he needed it, wanting to imagine your little cunt wrapped around him and not his shitty hands. You mewled in reply, but it wasn't good enough for him.

“Use your words, baby. Tell me what you thinkin’ of,” his voice sounded raw, the hunger for you dripped off of every word, and you could already feel your walls flutter. The sheer perversion and the taboo of this alone were enough to have you on edge, but the way he talked to you drove you to the brink of insanity.

“Y-yes,” you whimpered and your voice cracked in such an embarrassing way, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

Toji could hear how needy you were for him - not knowing if you've ever been fucked properly or if your fingers were all that your cunt ever got stuffed with - he took pity on your whining self.

“Come for me, baby, let me hear you,” he encouraged you to finally cave in, to let the knot that has formed in your tummy snap. Heaven knows he was just as close with how desperate you were for him, whining his name so sweetly as you came around your little fingers. He could practically see it, your toes curling and your mouth hung open as you tried to close your thighs, fingers still curling by the sound and he wanted nothing more than to have you clench around his cock like that - you'd grip him like a vice and he would never let you go until you're dripping with his cum and -

“Fuck-” Toji’s chest rumbled with a groan as he painted his defined abs with small shots of ivory, a few drops running down his hand as he squeezed his sensitive tip a little harder than necessary just for it to sting with overstimulation.

There was silence between the two of you for a few minutes, heavy breathing slowly evening out and the haze of hormones wearing off, leaving you to think about what just happened between the both of you.

“Are you okay?” He eventually asked, actually worried that you might regret this.

“Hmm, yeah,” you whisper softly, and it felt like a whole entire mountain fell off his chest.

“Do you… regret it, doll?” He proceeded to ask you as he wiped the cum away with the discarded T-shirt before tossing it to the ground.

“Not really,” you giggle softly and shake your head. “I just regret that it wasn't actually your fingers,” you sound teasing with an edge of sincerity and it was a breath of fresh air to him. He never thought you would be this naughty.

“Naughty… Perhaps I can change that next time I drive you home,” he mused, letting you know that this won't ever happen in his home.

“Yeah… let's not tell Megs anything about that, okay?” You ask shy, the guilt was slowly eating you alive from keeping such a secret, but Megumi wouldn't like it much to know that you're fucking his dad. He would probably never speak to you again should he find out.

“That boy won't find it out from me anyway,” Toji reassured you, never telling his son anything about his love life to begin with - let alone about the women he ends up in bed with.

“But who knows. Perhaps I'll have you as a dessert one day. You just gotta be real quiet, he muses, the playfulness practically dripping from his voice and you rubbed your thighs together.

“Don't say that, Mr. Fushiguro. I might hold you to it,” you chuckle as your finger gently glides over your slick folds once again.

“Maybe you can tell me about all the things you intend to do to me.”...

Networks @pixelcafe-network @houseofsolisoccasum

[pandapetals]

Sexting

Logan's been gone on a mission for days now. You miss him terribly and one little text spirals into sexting.

logan howlett x fem!reader - inspired by a tiktok i saw, teasing banter, sexting, flirting, established relationship, smut, phone sex, masturbation, orgasms, dirty talk, cocky logan, dominant/possessive logan, pet names used, good girl praising

a/n: horny era entered.

divider credit: @enchanthings

The day had dragged on, each hour stretching longer than the last. Between the endless grind at work, the knot of stress coiling tighter in your chest, and nearly everyone testing the limits of your patience, you felt utterly wrung out. By the time the sun sank below the horizon, all you wanted was to melt into Logan’s arms—strong, steady, and always warm, like they were built to shield you from the rest of the world.

But Logan wasn’t here. He’d been sent off on a mission three days ago with no clear answer to the question that gnawed at you the most: When would he come home? Three days felt like three weeks, and the ache of missing him was a dull, constant hum beneath your skin.

You had done everything you could to fill the space he left behind. His pillow now wore one of his shirts, the fabric soft and faintly infused with his scent. You’d sprayed it with his cologne—too much, honestly, but the sharp, musky notes helped. At night, you’d curl around it, imagining his arms around you instead, but it was never the same. You missed the rough timbre of his voice, the way he’d smirk and toss out some gruff remark that made you laugh. You even missed how his scruff would scrape against your cheek when he kissed you.

Now, you were sprawled across the bed, Logan’s stand-in pillow hugged close as your thumb aimlessly scrolled through your phone. A familiar pang of longing twisted your stomach as you stumbled across a photo of a couple kissing under twinkling lights. You sighed and were about to toss your phone aside when it buzzed in your hand, a new message lighting up the screen.

Logan: I miss you so much, gorgeous.

Your heart clenched, a smile tugging at your lips before you could help it. You quickly typed back:

You: Miss you too, handsome.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, the ache of missing him pressing harder than ever. A mischievous thought sparked in your mind, and before you could second-guess yourself, you typed it out.

You: You should send me a photo of your bicep for being gone so long.

The typing bubble appeared almost instantly, and you could practically hear Logan’s low chuckle in your head.

Logan: That so?

Before you could reply, your phone buzzed, and a new image loaded on the screen. The photo made your breath hitch. Logan was sprawled out on what looked like a worn motel bed, his shirt pushed up to his chest, exposing the hard ridges of his abs. But the star of the show was his arm, flexed in a way that showed off every curve of his bicep. The dim lighting cast shadows that deepened the definition of his muscles, and the veins stood out just enough to make your mouth dry.

You swallowed, your face heating as you bit your lip. His usual teasing smirk wasn’t visible in the photo, but you could feel it like it was carved into the very pixels of the screen.

Another message buzzed in.

Logan: Feel better, honey?

You groaned, the grin tugging at your lips both frustrated and helplessly smitten.

You: No. Now I just really want to bite your bicep.

His reply came faster than you expected.

Logan: You’ll have to be patient, sweetheart. But don’t worry, I’ll let you.

Your stomach flipped, heat pooling low in your belly as you stared at his words. God, you could hear his voice so clearly, that deep, teasing rasp that always made your pulse skip.

You: You’re cruel, you know that?

Logan: Cruel would be reminding you how good my hands feel on you. But I won’t do that. Not while I’m stuck in this dump, thinking about what I’d do if I were there instead.

Your breath caught, and your thumb hovered uncertainly over the screen. You could feel the shift in his tone, that familiar heat creeping into his words even through text.

You: What would you do, Logan?

The typing bubble appeared, then disappeared, like he was taking his time to think—or maybe to make you squirm. When his reply finally came, it hit you like a jolt of lightning.

Logan: First, I’d pin you to the bed. Then I’d take my time—slow, deliberate—just to hear you beg. You’d look so good under me, darlin’. I can practically see it.

Your thighs pressed together instinctively, heat rolling through you in waves.

You: You’re not playing fair.

Logan: I never do. 

You couldn’t argue with that. Every word, every teasing reply, every memory of his hands on you was like a match to dry kindling, leaving you aching for him in almost unbearable ways. You leaned back against the pillows, closing your eyes as your fingers hovered over your phone, your imagination already running wild.

Before you could think of a reply, your phone buzzed again.

Logan: I miss your body, but you know what I miss more? The way you look at me after. That soft, sleepy, satisfied look, like I’m the only man in the world who can make you feel that way.

Your heart clenched, warmth blooming in your chest and mingling with the heat already simmering there. God, you wanted him so badly it was a physical ache.

You: You’re going to kill me, Logan.

Logan: Nah, honey. Just keeping you hungry for me. Trust me, I’m starving over here too.

His words wrapped around you like a warm, possessive embrace, filling the void he’d left behind. Though hundreds of miles separated you, for a moment, it almost felt like he was there—his rough hands sliding over your skin, his lips grazing that sensitive spot just beneath your jaw, the weight of his body. The ache of missing him was unbearable, pressing hard and heavy in your chest. You buried your face in his pillow, inhaling the faint remnants of his scent, but it only made the longing sharper.

Your thumb hovered over the screen as you finally typed back, giving in to your own need to feel closer to him:

You: I’ve been sleeping with your pillow... making it wear your shirt.

The reply came almost immediately, his words brimming with that familiar mix of teasing and heat that sent a thrill rushing through you.

Logan: Bet you’ve been doing naughty things to it too.

Your breath caught, your face flushing as you stared at the screen. Damn him. How did he always know? He had an almost supernatural ability to read you, even from miles away. You bit your lip, the memory of those late, lonely nights flashing vividly in your mind—the way you’d pressed his pillow between your thighs, imagining it was him, imagining his weight, his heat, his voice in your ear telling you to let go. You knew when he got home, he’d take one deep inhale and know exactly what you’d done.

Your fingers trembled as you typed back, heart pounding.

You: Maybe I have. What are you gonna do about it?

The three little dots of his reply appeared, then disappeared, then reappeared, drawing out the tension until you wanted to scream. When the message finally popped up, it was pure Logan.

Logan: Oh, sweetheart, you know what I’ll do. First, I’ll ask you to tell me exactly what you did. Then I’d make you show me. And I wouldn’t let you stop until you were begging.

Heat shot through your body, pooling low in your belly as you shifted restlessly on the bed. Your lips parted, a soft breath escaping as your imagination ran wild, conjuring the image of him above you, his rough hands and deep voice taking you apart piece by piece.

You glanced at your phone’s camera, a bold idea sparking in your mind. If Logan wanted to play, you’d show him you could hold your own. Slowly, you sat up, slipping the strap of your tank top down one shoulder. The fabric slid lower, exposing more of your skin, and your pulse raced as you positioned the camera just right. The click of the shutter sounded louder than it should have, your heart hammering as you looked at the result—a sultry shot of your bare shoulder, collarbone, and the faintest hint of cleavage.

You attached the photo to the message and typed, fingers trembling slightly:

You: Think you can handle this when you get home?

The response came almost instantly, and it was clear you’d hit your mark.

Logan: Jesus Christ, darlin’!

A second message followed:

Logan: You trying to kill me?

You smirked, a wave of confidence washing over you as you typed back.

You: Just keeping you on your toes. You’re the one who said you’d pin me down, remember?

His reply was a voice note this time, and when you pressed play, the low, gravelly sound of his voice sent a shiver straight through you.

Logan (voice note): Oh, I remember. And trust me when I get back, you won’t be walking straight for days. You keep teasing me like this, and I’m gonna make sure you pay for every second of it.

Your thighs clenched as you listened to the raw hunger in his tone, heat blooming across your skin. But you weren’t done teasing him yet.

You adjusted your tank top a little lower, this time snapping a photo that showed more—the curve of your chest, the line of your neck, the look in your eyes that you knew would drive him wild. You sent it without a caption, letting the image speak for itself.

The reply came in seconds.

Logan: You better not be touching yourself right now. That’s mine.

A thrill ran through you at the possessiveness in his words.

You: What if I am?

Another voice note came through, this one darker. His voice dropped an octave, sending goosebumps racing down your arms.

Logan (voice note): Don’t you dare finish without me, sweetheart. When I get home, you’re going to come on my fingers, my tongue, and then my—

You couldn’t stop the whimper that slipped out as you hit pause, your whole body burning with need.

You: Logan...

Logan: You started this, gorgeous. Don’t get shy on me now.

You sighed, biting your lip as your fingers tightened around your phone. Heat simmered low in your belly, and your heart raced as you debated your next move. Logan was right—you had started this, and now there was no turning back. Your thumb hovered over the screen for a moment, your nerves threatening to get the better of you, but the longing for him—his touch, his voice, the way he looked at you—overpowered everything else.

With a deep breath, you hit the video call button. The screen flickered for a moment, your reflection briefly staring back at you before the call connected. And then there he was.

Logan appeared on your screen, lying back against the headboard of some cheap motel bed. The light in the room was dim, but it did nothing to dull the sharp angles of his jaw or the piercing heat in his eyes. He had one arm tucked lazily behind his head, the other holding the phone, but there was nothing casual about how he looked at you—like he could devour you through the screen.

A slow, almost predatory smirk curved his lips. “There’s my pretty girl. For a second, I thought you’d chickened out.”

You swallowed hard, the sound of his voice making your pulse race. “You’ve got me all flustered,” you admitted, your voice softer than you intended.

Logan’s chuckle was low and rough like gravel sliding over honey. “Sweetheart, you’re the one teasing me,” he said, his gaze raking over you through the screen. “All I did was tell you what I wanted to do when I get home. But if I’m being honest…” His smirk widened, his tongue sliding briefly over his bottom lip. “I don’t think either one of us can wait that long.”

A shiver ran down your spine at his words. He shifted slightly, and the movement made his shirt pull tight across his chest and shoulders, the fabric doing little to hide the hard lines of muscle underneath. You let out a breath.

“Logan…” you whispered, but it came out more like a plea than you intended.

His voice softened, the teasing giving way to something more intimate. “Yeah, darlin’?”

Your fingers gripped the phone tighter as you adjusted the angle, letting the camera catch the way your tank top clung to your body, how the strap had slipped off one shoulder. His eyes darkened instantly, the air between you thickening even through the distance.

“Show me,” he murmured, his tone low and commanding. “You’ve been driving me crazy all night. Now I want to see you, pretty girl. Let me see what’s mine.”

Your breath hitched, heat flooding your cheeks, but how he was looking at you made it impossible to resist. Slowly, your free hand trailed down your neck and over your collarbone, lingering at the edge of your top. His gaze tracked every movement, his jaw clenching as he exhaled heavily.

“Good girl,” he rasped, his voice like a caress. “Keep going.”

You couldn’t help the small, breathy sound that escaped your lips as you let the fabric slide lower, revealing just enough to leave him wanting more. His hand moved slightly on his end of the screen, and you had a pretty good idea of what he was doing.

“Logan,” you breathed, your voice trembling with nervousness and excitement.

“Don’t stop,” he urged, his tone rougher now, filled with a hunger that sent a rush of heat straight through you. “You’re so fucking beautiful. God, I can’t wait to get my hands on you again.”

Your fingers trembled as you slid your tank top down, the cool air brushing over your bare skin, making your breath hitch. Logan’s eyes burned into you through the screen, the teasing smirk on his lips softening into something darker, more primal. His gaze wasn’t just hungry—it was devouring like he wanted to memorize every inch of you even from miles away.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, his voice a low growl that sent shivers racing down your spine. “You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

Your cheeks flushed, heat blooming under his praise, but it only fueled the fire building inside you. Biting your lip, you whispered, “Show me what you’re doing.”

The words came out so soft you weren’t sure he’d heard you, but then his lips curved into a wicked grin that made your stomach flip. “You sure about that, sweetheart?” he asked, his tone rough and teasing.

You nodded, unable to find your voice, your pulse thundering in your ears.

Logan shifted slightly, the phone shaking just enough to make your anticipation climb. He adjusted the angle, tilting the camera lower until the frame revealed the sharp lines of his abs disappearing beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. Your breath caught as he pulled the fabric down just enough to show you the outline of his arousal, his hand wrapped around himself, moving slowly, deliberately.

“See what you do to me?” he muttered, his voice thick with desire. His hand stroked lazily, his movements unhurried, like he wanted you to feel every second of it. “Every damn time, darlin’. I can’t even think straight when it comes to you.”

Your heart stuttered, your thighs pressing together instinctively as heat pooled low in your belly. The sight of him, the way his body tensed with every stroke, the way his breath hitched as he watched you—it was almost too much.

“Logan…” you breathed, your voice trembling with need.

“Keep going,” he rasped, his eyes flickering back up to meet yours. They were dark and intense, filled with raw hunger. “I want to see all of you, gorgeous. Don’t hold back on me now.” 

Your free hand drifted down your body with deliberate slowness, tracing the curves of your waist and the soft plane of your stomach, until your fingertips brushed the waistband of your underwear. The fabric felt impossibly delicate under your touch, and your breath hitched as you let your fingers linger there, teasing both yourself and him.

Logan’s eyes burned through the screen, dark and hungry, following every movement of your hand. His jaw tightened, and you saw the flex of his arm as his strokes grew just a bit faster, his breath hitching in rhythm. The tension between you was unbearable, a crackling heat that made the distance between you feel almost cruel.

“Don’t stop,” Logan rasped, his voice rough and uneven. “I need to see you. All of you.”

The raw need in his voice sent a shiver racing through you, your pulse pounding as you slowly tilted the phone. The angle shifted, and the screen filled with the sight of your bare skin, the way your hand dipped beneath the fabric of your underwear, teasing at the heat there. A soft, breathless sound slipped from your lips as your fingers began to move, exploring yourself with slow, deliberate strokes.

Logan groaned a low, guttural sound that sent a wave of heat washing over you. “Fuck, darlin’,” he muttered, his voice thick with need. His phone shifted slightly, and your eyes flicked to the screen to see his hand moving more urgently now, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. “You’re so goddamn beautiful. Look at you… so wet for me.”

The heat of his words made your thighs tremble as your body arched instinctively, your hand moving in sync with the rising tension in his voice. The soft, wet sounds of your fingers moving against your slick heat filled the air between you, and you bit your lip, trying—and failing—to muffle the needy whimper that escaped.

“That’s it, good girl,” Logan growled, his tone both commanding and reverent. “Don’t hold back. I want to hear you. I want to see what I do to you.”

Your phone slipped slightly in your trembling hand, but you steadied it, angling it just enough to give him the view he craved. His reaction was instant—a sharp intake of breath, followed by a string of curses muttered under his breath.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he groaned, his hand faltering for a moment as he dragged his free hand through his hair, his head falling back against the headboard. “I can’t fucking wait to get my hands on you.

Your breath hitched, and you couldn’t stop the soft whimper that escaped your lips. “What would you do, Logan?” you asked in a shaky whisper.

His eyes darkened further, his expression turning almost feral. “I’d start by kissing you everywhere,” he growled. “Slow, soft, until you’re trembling for me. Then I’d pin your wrists above your head, hold you still so you’d have to feel every second of it while screaming my name.”

Your head fell back against the pillows as his words washed over you, the heat in his voice lighting up every nerve in your body.

“Keep touching yourself, sweetheart,” he urged, his tone both commanding and coaxing. “Such a good girl for me.”

His words pushed you closer to the edge, the ache in your body growing unbearable as your fingers moved faster, your breaths coming in soft, uneven gasps. “Logan,” you whimpered, his name a broken plea on your lips.

“Come for me,” he demanded, his voice low and rough like he could feel your tension through the screen. “I want to see it. I want to watch you fall apart for me.”

“You’re killing me,” you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

His lips curved into a crooked, breathless smile. “You started it, gorgeous,” he said, his voice rough and uneven now. “And when I get home, I’m gonna finish it. Properly.”

The promise in his tone sent a fresh wave of heat through you, your body aching for him in ways that words couldn’t begin to describe. But for now, this was all you had—his voice, his eyes on you, the sound of his breath growing heavier as the two of you shared this moment across the distance.

“Logan…” you whimpered again, your body arching as you felt yourself reaching the edge.

“Let go for me. Good girl,” he murmured, his voice softening but losing none of its intensity. “Show me how good I make you feel.”

The heat in his tone, the intensity of his gaze, the way his hand was moving on himself—it all pushed you over the edge. Your body tensed, a sharp gasp slipping from your lips as the wave of release crashed over you, your hand faltering as you rode it out. Logan groaned deeply, his own release following seconds after, his head falling back as his chest heaved.

For a few moments, the two of you were silent, your breaths filling the space between you. Logan was the first to speak, his voice softer now, tinged with satisfaction and lingering desire. “Goddammit,” he muttered, his voice husky and low. “You’re gonna be the death of me, darlin’.”

You laughed breathlessly, your body still buzzing, your heart full. “I could say the same about you, handsome,” you teased, though your voice was still shaky.

He shook his head, his eyes softening as they locked onto yours through the screen. “You better be ready,” he said, his tone playful but underlined with a seriousness that made your stomach flip. “Because when I get back, I’m not letting you out of my sight—or my bed—for a very, very long time.”

“Promise?” you asked, your lips curving into a lazy, satisfied smile.

Logan’s grin turned wicked, his eyes gleaming. “Oh, it’s not a promise. It’s a guarantee.”

[xjcjuis]

ARE YOU COMING HOME?

pairing: billie eilish x reader

synopsis: she gets a lovely surprise while on tour

warnings: nothing but FLUFF i love fluff, not proofread

wordcount: 0.9k

a/n: very late merry christmas and happy new year!! not my best work but please enjoy! anyways i need to be picked up and spun around plsplspls

long distance relationships are never easy, especially when your girlfriend is one of the most famous singers in the world. she's on tour right now, overseas and so, so far away from you and your empty arms.

or so she thinks.

billie's voice is a little tinny through the phone, crackles from foil heard as she unpacks the snacks she'd bought after her show. you watch in contentment, hugging a pillow to your chest with a leg exaggeratedly thrown over it, arm starting to go numb from holding the device up.

"i bought your favorite sweets too," she says, cutting the silence. "missing you so much, i really wish you could be here to steal from me." she ends her statement with a pout. oh, how you wish you could kiss that pout off of her lips. but soon. all you need right now is patience.

"so your friends- you guys went to a hotel just to watch a movie?" billie asks, a little confused. it was the best excuse you could think of out of nowhere.

"yup," you reply, popping the p. "they're not around right now, though. out shopping. i'm too broke and lazy to go out."

"i told you you could use my card, though."

"i'm not using your card, billie."

"you could if you wanted."

"no."

she frowns, as if she were the one losing something. billie did that a lot: shower you with expensive gifts and treats and dates and refuses to accept anything back. the fact only makes you happier about your plan, knowing she'd ask about the cost but it wouldn't really matter anyway because both of you were benefitting.

"when are you coming home?" a trick question. "i miss you so so bad. and i miss staying home with shark and just cuddling together. our bed is so cold without you."

"oh?" billie grins, eyebrow raising. before she could comment anything inappropriate, the doorbell rings on her end of the line. "ah, that must be room service. i ordered dinner. be back in a minute, love."

you grin to yourself now as she turns away to answer the door, knowing that there was a very big chance that it was, in fact, not room service. your ears prick up at the hint of a gasp, muffled voices exchanging polite conversation, and billie returns in frame holding a huge bouquet of flowers, an even huger smile on her face.

she was practically glowing, outshining the sweat and slight tiredness formerly seen on her face from her performance. "you're kidding me."

"what?!" you ask, laughing. your heart swells with pride.

"you didn't seriously get me this from, what, on the other side of the world?" your girlfriend asks incredulously, admiring the little pink and white petals you'd picked out and reading the note that said nothing but 'i'm proud of you'.

you push yourself up off the bed, casually pulling on a pair of socks before slipping on your shoes, making sure to not let it be seen on camera. "i had to call in a couple of favors from your manager, of course. i'm sorry it's not in my handwriting."

and it wasn't, because you knew that billie would recognize your strokes immediately, and that would blow everything else off.

you make your way to the main hotel door, making sure your face covered the background so that the girl on your phone didn't see its similarities to her own room. "hold on, baby, i'll call you back."

the singer's dark brows furrow at your abrupt dismissal. "okay. don't take too long."

"love you."

she didn't get to reply before you click on the red button and dash to the elevator, pressing her floor in the same hotel (though she didn't know it yet), having memorized the number by heart when she told you yesterday.

you get there, just in time for the room service server to roll his cart of to her door. pushing your nerves aside, you walk right up to him and excuse the interruption. "hi, sorry. my girlfriend is in this room and i was hoping to surprise her, would you mind if i borrowed your hat?"

he agrees, barely hiding a smile. thanking him, you took a deep breath to compose yourself, jamming the hat onto your head. your hand lingers over the bell, glancing nervously at the server, who in turn nods encouragingly at you.

ding.

footsteps can be heard from inside, and you count to five before the door swings open and you drop your head to hide your face, resorting to deepening your voice. "hello ma'am, room service-"

"y/n?" she gasps in recognition, incredulous. billie's hand is frozen on the doorknob, staring in disbelief.

finally, you raise your head and hand the server his hat back, your smile having difficulty in concealing a laugh. "surprise?"

you're unable to do anything more when billie snatches you up by the waist, raises you, and spins you around dramatically, her own lips wide in a grin. the sudden movement messes up your hair, getting it over your shoulder and behind and swept towards the opposite side but she didn't care. your girlfriend pulls you in close in a tight hug, one arm around your waist and the other resting upon your spine.

her happiness can still be felt blind.

she wouldn't let go, not for a second to get inside, not to formally accept the room service food, so you thank the server over her shoulder.

he leaves you and billie to your moment a little awkwardly.

"you didn't tell me you were here!" she whines into your hair.

you laugh. "that's the point of a surprise, bils."

"i can't believe you actually flew here. you hung up on me. i love you so so so much, you know that?"

"yes, i know." another soft smile graces your face. "i love you so so so much too."