#either way it’s a way for him to ‘safely’ interact face to face with the surface world | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

florestalio · 5 months ago

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HIDE-N-SEEK — l.hs

recently, your town has been getting terrorized by a serial killer, going by the name of 'ghostface'. of course you were scared to be his victim. imagine the sheer terror on your face — and the utter delight on his — when your fear turns out to not have been caused by your paranoia.

GENRE— ghostface au, stalker au

WARNINGS— dubcon, then noncon, and then dubcon again (you'll see what I'm talking about), both reader and heeseung are kinda fucked up, mentions of killing, mentions of stalking, knife play, fear play, reader has tits, reader's pussy gets called 'her' a few times?, fingering, cum eating, slight spit play, spit kink (?), name-calling (baby, slut, bitch, etc.), unprotected sex (don't), blood, blood play, bulge kink, clit pinching, missionary, mating press, kind of an open ending (?), NOT PROOFREAD, let me know if I missed any!

WORDCOUNT— 8.2k

NOTE— among the italicized text, if you see normal text, it basically indicates the opposite. as in, if the entire block of text wasn't italicized, then the normal text would have been in italics instead... if that helps

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

NO ONE WAS SAFE.

No matter where you resided, if Ghostface chose you as his victim, consider yourself to be dead.

No amount of protection, whether it be in the form of weapons or guards, locked doors or high security neighbourhoods — no one was safe from him.

You may ask, who exactly was ‘Ghostface��? Why, he is a renowned serial killer, one who wears a pitch black coat and a creepy mask, paired with white rubber gloves. The last thing his victims see before dying is the creepy ghostface mask smiling down at them — as said by a ghostface victim, who had miraculously survived the attack, only to die hours later in the same hospital at which he was interviewed. Reports say that the victim had been stabbed a total of twenty times, the word ‘Ghostface' carved onto his forehead. Apparently, he didn't appreciate the fact that someone survived him — even if it was only for a few hours.

Which was why everyone was scared to go out, even during the day. Till this date, no one had ever seen his actual face, his entire existence a mystery to everyone except him. He was truly an enigma, the source of both amazement and horror for all.

People were scared to even interact with each other, in case said person turned out to be Ghostface. What if they did something to piss the other person off, resulting in their death — perhaps in just a few hours from the aforementioned incident?

For an introvert like you, avoiding people came easy to you, it being your second nature. You weren't too worried about offending Ghostface, even by mistake. But no one was ever truly safe, not from the hands of a psycho serial killer, were they?

You would often find yourself peeking behind your shoulder at random times of the day, checking if someone was looking at you, or worse, following you. Perhaps it was simply due to your paranoia, combined with the increasing cases of deaths in the hands of Ghostface. Either way, your guard was always up.

You used to stay at the dorms on campus before, even when the deaths had started occurring on a daily basis. It was only after Regina — a girl who you never really liked because of her bitchy attitude — was found one morning by her roommate, completely mauled in her own dorm, lying in a pool of her own blood — did you finally feel terrified enough to move out of them, moving into a house in a slightly secluded region of the town, just around ten blocks away from campus. It wasn't a complete guarantee of your security, but it was better than nothing.

From some of the recent reports, apparently the victims of Ghostface were — stalked by him a few days prior to him killing them. Photos of the victims taken without their knowledge during the week before their death were found with their body. The police declared them to be taken by Ghostface, a fact that left you even more shaken than before.

You didn't have to be afraid of him. You were more than sure that you never did anything to piss anyone off, at least not knowingly. Surely no one could be holding a grudge against you, right? Especially not Ghostface?

Right?

IT WAS A NORMAL FRIDAY NIGHT — or as normal as it could be with the threat of becoming Ghostface’s next victim hanging heavily in the air.

Friday nights used to be the time when you danced, sang, got drunk, and hooked up, all night long at the frat parties that were held religiously every Friday. Now? Now people were afraid to look in other people's direction, in fear of provoking Ghostface.

It was truly remarkable, the way he had everyone in his chokehold. Rumors surrounding him specifically were mostly to blame for this.

See, according to many, Ghostface apparently likes to… toy with his victims before killing them. Exactly how does he toy with them?

According to the rumours, he gives them a phone call, taunting them. His voice is always distorted by a voice modulator, adding to the air of mystery surrounding him.

People were already downright terrified of him, but some people who apparently thought themselves to be hilarious, often mimicked Ghostface's antics — or what the rumours about him said — and called people up randomly, with a voice modulator. They would take advantage of the fact that no one actually knew what it sounded like, terrifying people to the core.

While some did it for pranking purposes, others did it for more malicious intentions, taking advantage of people's fears. It started getting worse and worse, the fakers, that is — until the government finally declared it to be a crime to mimic Ghostface, announcing a long time in jail for anyone who attempted it.

This put a stop to the mimicking, but it only made people grow more antsy. People were always silently waiting till their turn arrived to be Ghostface’s new victim, a fact that thrilled no one, but sent a chill down their spines, everytime they even thought of it.

Tonight was especially dark. The moon was behind the clouds, the eerie darkness causing you to feel more terrified than normal. It wasn't that dark, but with Ghostface out in the open…

You decided to focus on washing the rest of dirty dishes instead, trying to get your mind off the serial killer. You had procrastinated long enough, the dishes starting to pile up. What better way to distract yourself?

You turned on the television, listening to an anime while washing the dishes. Silence scared you, — which was ironic, since you were an introvert with terrible social anxiety — the need to have some kind of sound, in the tiny and isolated house of yours, other than the sound of washing dishes, was extremely high. The only available option on the television was anime, and… well, the news. But no one wants to listen to the news during these times — all the news channels simply showed Ghostface's new victims and their mutilated bodies that lay in a pool of their own blood.

You were done with washing the dishes, putting all the plates away neatly — when suddenly, your phone rang. You peeked at the screen, your lips turning into a frown — it was an unknown number.

You wiped your hands on your pants, picking up the call, putting the phone to your ear. “Hello…? May I know who this is?”

The phone remained silent for an entire minute. Just as you were about to speak again, a somewhat distorted voice came from the other side of the call. “What's your name?”

You frowned. Why was this person asking for your name, when he was the one that called you in the first place? What a fucking weirdo.

You spoke again. “I don't wish to sound rude, but — shouldn't I be the one asking that? I mean, you were the one that called me, you know — not the other way around.”

You heard a chuckle from the other side of the phone. It creeped you out, the sound more menacing than amused. He spoke again, his voice still sounding distorted. “Aren’t you adorable?”

You were starting to feel creeped out now. Your hand was gripping the last plate in your hand tightly, not even noticing how much pressure you were using on it. You spoke in a slightly higher voice, your tone pitchy with a detectable hint of panic. “Listen Mr. Stranger — I don't know who you are, nor am I particularly curious. But you aren't fucking funny, so if you don't have anything of importance to say, I'm hanging up.”

Silence. Again. This guy was really testing your patience.

Finally, he spoke again, his voice lower… still distorted. “I would watch my tone if I were you, sweetheart. It's no way to talk to a… stranger, is it?”

You gulped. He sounded so… ominous, his tone nothing short of menacing. With your anxiety spiking, you spoke again, your voice mostly level except for the slightest tremor to it. “What do you want…?”

The guy on the other side of the call let out a hum. “To know your name, of course. You still haven't told me.”

You let out a shaky breath, your grip on the plate tightening. “But why? What is the importance of my name to you?”

He let out a chuckle, his next words making your blood run cold. “So I can know who I'm looking at.”

You almost dropped the phone, all the colour from your face draining. You managed to speak up in a shaky voice. “C-Cut the act. You're not funny — the government declared jail for the pretenders, yet you're impersonating him–?”

You could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “But darling, I'm not an impersonator, am I?” His voice grew lower, an underlying threat evident in it. “You don't believe me to be one either.”

Tears stung your eyes, the hand that was clutching the plate starting to shake. You slowly put down the dish, your eyes darting frantically around your living room that was connected to the open kitchen, looking around to spot any potential threat — said ‘threat’ being… Ghostface. Even if you knew that it was pointless. If Ghostface wanted to kill you, he would succeed in doing so — no matter what obstacles he faces. “L-Look Mr. Ghostface — I barely even go out! Even when I do, I mostly keep to myself, I don't even interact with anyone. I'm sure I haven't done anything to piss anyone off — let alone you, even unintentionally! So why…”

Your voice took on a tone of desperate resignation at the end, the subtle acceptance of your fate evident in it. Ghostface cooed at your tone, his own voice sounding like that of an excited child. “Aren't you cute? Don't worry, you didn't piss me off, just — intrigued me. You're always so alone, all by yourself… I just had to find out everything about you, didn't I? You are such a mystery, one I took utter delight in unraveling. It's only fair that I get a prize for my hard work, right ___?”

With each word he spoke, his voice could be heard louder and louder, coming from somewhere around the house. Right as he finished the sentence, the side door of your house, leading to the garden outside, slammed open. Ghostface stood in the doorway, a knife in one hand, a burner phone in the other. He spoke, his voice distorted from the voice modulator.

“Right, ___?”

You let out a loud scream, the tears finally breaking free, as you turned on your heel, getting out of the open kitchen, towards the stairs. You knew from all those horror movies that running into your bedroom would be the worst possible move, but you really had no choice. You could hear him behind you, laughing as he gave chase. “Running off so quickly, darling? Won't you at least give me a greeting, welcome me into your house? That's bad manners, you know. Or did mama not teach you any?”

His voice sounded like two people, speaking at once, one of a real person, the other a distorted voice like those in old radios. It unnerved you, since his voice modulator was probably glitching due to him running. You ran into your bedroom, locking it quickly — just in time for him to bang on the door loudly.

He yelled loudly, his voice bordering on that of manic excitement. “Open the door ___! You know that the bedroom is never a smart move. Or are you a dumb baby that doesn't know the basics of survival?”

His taunting was causing your already scattered thought process even harder to get together, your hands shaking. You looked for a hiding place before he inevitably broke down the door.

Under the bed? A good idea, but he would probably think of the same. But what other hiding places could there possibly… the closet.

You quickly ran to the closet, throwing open its door. You pushed some of your clothes apart, going far inside, before pulling the clothes in front of you to make it seem as inconspicuous as possible. You sat at the back, your legs pulled up to your chest, your breathing shallow. You realised what a terrible hiding place it was, but it will have to do.

The banging grew more frantic, before he finally managed to kick down the door. You could hear his voice from inside the closet, causing you to still your breathing, to avoid getting caught. His voice was more of a menacing growl, no longer disoriented — maybe his voice modulator ran out of batteries? “Having fun princess? You're so fucking naive if you think hiding here will save you.”

He paced about the room slowly. “Where could you be hiding, hm? I hope it's not–” He dropped to his knees, peeking under the bed. “–under the bed? No, of course not. That would have been too easy. You're naive, but not that much, huh?”

But then he let out a snicker, one that almost caused you to start crying again. You could hear his footsteps again. “Or are you?”

Before you could comprehend the meaning of his words, the closet door was thrown open, his hand grabbing your wrist in a vice-like grip, pulling you out, tearing a scream out of you. “Turns out you are a dumb little bunny after all.”

He tackled your struggling figure to the ground, pinning your legs with his knees on either side of you. He used one of his hands to pin your wrists above your head, his other hand raising the knife, pushing it under your jaw, just a hair-breath shy of cutting into your throat. His voice sounded like a growl, an octave deeper. “Don't you fucking dare move — unless you would like me to slit your pretty little throat open. Trust me, I would take great pleasure in doing so.”

Your movements stilled, your breath coming out in short huffs. Tears were streaming down your face freely, your entire body covered in goosebumps. You stared up at him — at his mask, rather. He tilted his head to the side. “Did you have fun playing hide and seek? I hope you did, because I cannot guarantee that you will be having much fun now — it's my turn to have fun now, afterall.”

His words sent a chill down your spine. You were starting to accept your fate. Any moment now, he would slice the knife across your throat, slitting it in one clean swipe. He would laugh while watching the blood flowing freely from the wound, watching as the life leaves your eyes. It was all just a game for him, after all.

But he seemed to have different plans. He trailed his knife down, under the edge of your shirt. He slipped it inside, the cool metal making contact with your skin, the temperature difference sending a jolt through you. He traced the pointed end on your stomach, before doing something that shocked you — and gave you a hint of his true intentions.

He turned the knife sideways, sharp side facing up, before digging it into your shirt, slicing through it. The knife tore through the fabric like paper, before he threw the ruined fabric in some random corner of the room. You gasped at the cold air, squirming slightly. He pressed the knife above your stomach warningly. “Sit still darling. Or else I won't hesitate to cut up your useless body.”

Tears stung your eyes again at his words. But you stilled, too eager to survive. Your eyes suddenly widened as you saw him slip the knife under the middle part of your bra, before slicing it open. You gasped as he threw the discarded fabric away, the cool air hitting your boobs, your nipples instantly hardening. You were suddenly acutely aware of the precarious position you were in, unable to stop the heat creeping up your neck, as you noticed his intense gaze on your tits.

He gave you a warning look from behind his mask, his knife coming back against your throat. “One wrong move, and your throat will get sliced open.” He let go of your wrists — watching as you kept them in the same place. He smirked under the mask at your pliancy, his gloved hand coming to pinch your hardened nipples.

You let out a tiny shriek of surprise at the feeling of his rubber clad fingers groping you, unable to resist a whimper as he squeezed your mounds. He was merciless in the way he groped you, squeezing and pinching, completely unaffected by your whimpers and gasps — it was exhilarating.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to hold back a whine, as he twisted your nipple in between his fingers. You desperately tried to ignore the heat that was pooling down in your lower stomach, your heart racing.

He pinched your nipple again, squeezing your left tit roughly. He felt you shudder underneath him, the usual thrill that came with threatening his victims, running through his veins.

Yet, there was something else — an almost imperceptible hitch in your breathing, a flicker of… heat in your eyes, despite the situation you were in. Curious, he slightly moved his knife away from your throat, but not enough to make you feel any less threatened. “What's this…?”

You looked into the eyes of his mask, gulping audibly. He pinched your nipple again, tearing out a whine from you. His eyes narrowed at your reaction. He wasn't dumb — he knew when someone was turned on. But… in this situation? With a knife to your throat? Your life in his hands? It made no sense. Still — his body responded, his pants tightening.

He slowly dragged the knife down, in between your breasts, pausing at your stomach. He looked up at your face, searching for any sign of fear, or even defiance — nothing.

Instead, he saw your lips parted slightly, your breath hitching — he swore he saw your pupils dilate. He let out a shaky breath, his voice laced in disbelief. “You…”

His grip tightened noticeably, curiosity and annoyance warring in his expression. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" The realization sent a jolt of dark excitement through him. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Sick bitch.”

You let out a whimper, shaking your head frantically, in denial of the whole situation. Still, your thighs rubbed together involuntarily, trying to quell the ache between them.

An almost menacing chuckle escaped him as he registered your movement. His free hand moved to pin your thighs down, trapping them between his own once again. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, feeling his control slip. "You're really getting off on this?”

You let out a whine, squirming slightly. He stared down at you, his heart pounding in his chest. He had never been this close to losing control before. But the way you were reacting, the way you were looking at him — it was driving him insane.

"I should cut you," he growled, the knife trembling against your stomach. Your eyes fluttered slightly at the threat, a slow exhale leaving you. You couldn't understand your own body. Why, the fuck, were you reacting the way you were?

He blinked rapidly, shaking his head slightly as if to clear it. The knife lowered incrementally. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" His voice was incredulous, though tinged with reluctant awe. "Getting turned on by someone threatening you?”

Your eyes stung with tears at his words, your body reacting in the completely opposite manner — your thighs clenched, an almost pitiful whimper leaving you.

He watched your body language, the tears welling up in your eyes — a strange mix of emotions hit him. He dropped the knife to his side, as one of his gloved hands slid up to grip your jaw firmly. "You're fucked up." He whispered, anger and desire clashing in his voice.

You gulped, only just realising that your hands were free. Yet you made no attempt to move them.

His grip tightened on your jaw, leaning in until his face was almost touching yours — his mask, rather. His breath was ragged, mingling with yours. "Is this what you wanted?" he snarled, though the bite was gone from his voice, replaced by confusion, mixed with arousal. "To get me all worked up?”

You whimpered at the pressure on your jaw, your nails digging into your palm, as you clenched your fists. You were so, so painfully aroused.

A rough sound caught in his throat as he stared down at you, fighting an internal battle. He originally just wanted to play with you a little, make you feel worthless — like trash that he could easily dispose of. Disposing you was exactly what he had planned to do, although now that plan was no longer going to be put into action — at least for the time being.

He threw the knife away, causing it to clatter to the floor. His other hand moved to your hip, digging into the flesh there. "You little…”

You winced at his grip, your nose scrunching up in pain. You stared up at him, tears still evident in your waterline.

That was his last straw. He took off his mask, allowing you a brief glimpse of his face. His last semblance of control shattered, as he cut himself off, his mouth crashing against yours in a bruising kiss. His tongue forced its way in, tangling with yours demandingly. He kissed you like he was trying to punish you, to make you pay for the effect you were having on him.

Your eyes widened in shock, as you gasped loudly into the kiss. You tried to kiss him back, to match his pace — all in vain. His lips were punishing, intending to make it hurt for you. Unfortunately all it did was make you crave for more.

He finally broke the kiss, panting heavily as he rested his forehead against yours. His heart was racing, his mind reeling. "What the fuck is going on…?" he muttered, his voice shaking with a combination of anger and awe. "You're supposed to be scared, not turned on."

You gulped. Your senses were starting to blur, all of them zeroing in on his touch and his voice. It was painstakingly weird how you were reacting — how he was reacting to you. But damn, you enjoyed it — so fucking much.

He pulled back slightly, searching your eyes with a fierce intensity. "Say something, fuck. Explain this." His hands remained gripping you, betraying his conflicted desire and frustration. "I'm trying to terrify you and instead..." He trailed off, shaking his head in disbelief.

When you didn't immediately respond, he growled low in his throat. His hands tightened around you, his body pressed flush against yours. "Fucking talk, you little bitch. Tell me why the fuck you're so turned on right now."

Your breath hitched, your mind going blank. He was insulting you, his voice carrying disgust — you fucking loved it.

A dark smirk crossed his face at your breath hitching, his thumb brushing across your lower lip. "Look at that — all worked up, can't form words…" He leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear. "Does it make your pussy throb when I threaten you?"

Your eyes widened at the sudden crude language and the bluntness in his voice, your skin pricking, panties practically sticking to your cunt. He was right — your pussy did indeed throb when he threatened you.

Suddenly, you realised that you recognised him. He was Heeseung, one of the most popular guys at your college.

You remembered having interacted with him just once, when he bumped into you back in your first year. He was your senior, who immediately apologised to you after that, helping you pick up your books. He walked with you for a while after that, forcefully engaging you in small talk. He didn't seem to mind your short answers or your eagerness to get rid of him at all, continuing to talk — until a friend of his called him to go to class, causing him to reluctantly stop his rambling, waving you bye and leaving.

You remembered finding out all about him that very day during recess, overhearing his name from the table next to yours in the cafeteria. It was a group of girls, who seemed to be gossiping in what they thought were hushed voices… only, they weren't. You could hear every word.

They were specifically talking about Heeseung, about how hot he was, how smart he was — both book smart and street smart. You remembered mentally rolling your eyes at their fawning, before a certain piece of information had caught your interest.

They mentioned him to be a prude, never showing interest in going into relationships or even casual hook ups. Apparently, he had never gone on a date with anyone, politely turning down everyone who asked. It seemed rather odd of him, since he seemed like the dream package.

This incident had occurred a year before the killings first started. Nevertheless, Heeseung was never the kind of guy who seemed to be capable of something as shockingly gruesome as this. The thought made you sick to your stomach, a nasty feeling under your skin.

You snapped back into the present time, looking up at him, truly looking at him. He barely looked anything like the Heeseung you met during freshman year. His smirk grew wider at the sudden realization on your face, his hand moving to gently squeeze your throat. He was going to have to have a talk with you about college later on. Right now, he had more important things to focus on. For instance, how aroused you were from your life being threatened. "Yeah, that's it. Your little heart races and your pussy gets so fucking wet when I scare you." He leaned back to look at you, his eyes gleaming with a sinister light.

He watched your throat bob as you swallowed, his hand still gently squeezing. "You're a fucking mess, you know that?" Heeseung leaned in again, his lips just a hair's breadth from yours. "A little slut who gets off on being threatened.” His words were a whisper against your lips, his breath hot against your skin. "And you know what the worst part is? I think I might actually like it." He pulled back, his gaze boring into yours with an intensity that made your heart race.

You stared up at him, your breathing slightly shallow, begging him with your eyes to touch you. Heeseung let out a harsh laugh, shaking his head. "Unbelievable." His hand slid from your throat, trailing down your chest teasingly. "Here I am, supposedly threatening you, but we both know it's me who should be terrified.”

Your back arched into his touch, a small whine leaving you. He chuckled darkly at your reaction, his fingers brushing over the swell of your breasts. "Look at that — arching into my touch like a fucking bitch in heat." His hand continued down, tracing the curves of her body possessively.

You whined at his words, your back arching even more. You let out whimpers, shaky exhales leaving you. His eyes flashed with wicked amusement at the sound. "Oh, listen to those whimpers. Pathetic." He pinched your nipple abruptly, twisting just to the point of pain. "You're so fucking desperate for it, aren't you?”

You let out a loud gasp of pain, your body jolting — yet your body begged for more, a whimper eliciting from you the very next second. A smug grin spread across his face as he watched you whimper. "Five seconds ago I was trying to scare you, now look at you fucking trembling for my touch." He bent down, his lips grazing against your neck, as he nipped at your skin. "What does that make you?”

You gulped. His teeth dragged over your pulse point, marking your skin. "It makes you a needy little slut, doesn't it?" His hand finally reached your thigh, gripping it possessively. "A slut who can't get enough of my touch, no matter how much she pretends to be afraid.”

You whined, begging for more. "Mmm… that whine is fucking music to my ears." He abruptly lifted your leg, wrapping it around his waist as he pressed his hard cock against you. "Don't you see what you do to me? All of that bullshit where you pretended to be scared…”

You let out a shaky moan, pressing back against him. Heeseung silenced you with a brutal kiss, biting your lip to keep you quiet as he rubbed himself against you through your clothes. "You think I'm scary?" He growled, his hands roaming over your body possessively.

You let out sharp gasps, your voice coming out shaky. “A b-bit–?”

He bit your bottom lip harder, pulling back with your lip caught between his teeth. "Shut. Up." His voice was rough, commanding. "You don't get to smart-mouth me while you're practically dripping." He let your lip go with a sharp tug, making you whimper.

You bit your lip to muffle any further noises. His eyes darkened dangerously as he noticed your silence, one hand capturing both wrists above your head once again, while the other trailed down to your center. "Not going to lie, but princess? The way you just submitted to me like that?" He pressed against you meaningfully. "Fucking hot.”

You whimpered at his touch, your hips bucking up, pressing into his hand. He pushed his hand inside your shorts, his fingers finding her soaked panties, rubbing against your clit through the fabric. "So fucking wet. And you know what?" He rubbed faster, his thumb pressing against your clit. "I fucking love it." He released your wrists to grab your face, forcing you to look at him.

You let out a loud whimper at his sudden grip. His fingers continued their torturous rhythm, watching your expression carefully. "You're supposed to be terrified, remember?" He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Shouldn't you be trying to push me away instead of grinding against my fingers like a good little slut?”

You bit your lip, staring into his eyes, trying to prevent yourself from moaning out loud. His free hand gripped your hip tightly, pulling you flush against him, as he continued his movements. "You're a fucking liar." He growled, his fingers moving faster. "Admit it. You're not afraid of me. You're so fucking turned on.”

You let out a choked moan, grinding back onto his fingers. He grinned sadistically, his fingers finally moving your panties aside to slip inside you. "Mmm, look at that." He curled his fingers, hitting your g-spot perfectly.

You let out a loud gasp, your back arching. You could see stars at the back of your eyes, that's how good it felt. He thrust his fingers deeper, his thumb rubbing your clit in circles. "You're so fucking tight. And wet." He leaned down to bite your neck, hard, sucking a bruise on your skin. "I bet my dick would fit perfectly in this pretty little cunt.”

You clenched around his fingers at his words, the thought of it making you crave even more. His fingers continued their relentless pace, feeling you clench around him. "You haven't answered me." His voice was low and dangerous. "Is that silence because you're afraid? Or because the thought of me fucking you is making you even wetter?”

You gulped, choosing to stay silent. He nuzzled against your neck, his breath hot against your skin, as he spoke. "Let me make it easier for you. Answer this." He thrust his fingers deeper. "Am I scaring you? Or turning you on even more than before?”

You let out a moan at the feeling of his fingers hitting deeper. His fingers curled harder, hitting your g-spot perfectly. "Ah, fuck, that's it." He pulled his fingers out, using the wetness to rub against your clit before shoving them back inside. "You're turned on. Impossibly so.”

He pulled his fingers out again, this time using his thumb to rub your clit in tight circles. "You're so fucking turned on, you can't even answer properly." He pressed two fingers back inside you, curling them to hit her g-spot again.

You let out a loud moan. He chuckled darkly as he felt your moan vibrate through your body. "That's it, princess. Don't hold back." He pumped his fingers harder, the wet squelching noises filling the room. "Your pussy is practically begging to be fucked.”

He added a third finger, stretching your cunt further. "Fuck, look at her." He pulled his fingers out, rubbing your clit with all three before shoving them back inside. "Your cute little cunt is starving for my dick.”

Heeseung increased his pace, fucking you with his fingers mercilessly. "Come all over my fingers," He growled in her ear. "Show me how badly you want it." He bit down harder on your neck, hitting your g-spot perfectly as he curled his fingers.

You let out a loud mewl, your eyes rolling back into your head. You clenched around his fingers, the band in your stomach starting to coil impossibly tight. The squelching noises from where his fingers slid in and out of you at a fast pace, did absolutely nothing, but cause an embarrassed flush to creep all over your face and neck.

He pressed down on your clit with his thumb, rubbing on it sloppily. Your abundant slick helped him do just that, the pace of his fingers growing harsher, mirroring his buddying frustration. A low growl bubbled in his throat, as he forced his fingers to go in deeper, trying to practically force an orgasm out of you. Needless to say, he succeeded soon enough, your back arching with a loud cry, your pussy clamping down on his fingers, your release practically gushing around them.

“That's it…” He coaxed, his fingers still pumping in and out of you, drawing out your release. “Look so pretty like this, all pliant for me.”

Your head was empty, completely devoid of all thoughts, your legs shaking slightly from the overstimulation. He let out a snicker at your state, bringing his hand up, in front of his face. He locked eyes with you, spreading his fingers, letting you see the strings of arousal clinging to them.

Upon seeing your flushed face, a smirk creeped up on his. Maintaining eye contact with you, he leisurely started licking his fingers clean. He dragged his tongue from the bottom of his finger to the top, collecting your cum on it, his saliva replacing it on your fingers.

Your eyes fluttered slightly, mouth parting. Heeseung took that as his que to grab your jaw and hold it open — with the same hand that he had stuffed inside you just moments ago — pushing his thumb inside, pressing down on your tongue. Holding your mouth open, he gathered a wad of spit with his tongue, before leaning down and spitting right into your open mouth. He watched with hooded eyes, as your own rolled back into your head, his spit dripping down to the back of your throat.

You could feel a tingling in your pussy again, empty, aching to be stuffed. Maybe with something more than just his fingers. He noticed the slight change in your body language almost immediately, of course he did — but who was he to deny you, when you were being so good for him?

Heeseung gave you a stern look. “Behave. Be a good girl, and keep still for me, hm?”

You could only gulp in response, as he released your jaw. You watched, as he shook off the black coat — or costume, whatever it was supposed to be. You kept still, your wrists still above your head, your fists clenching tightly, mimicking your thighs. Your eyes raked over his bare torso, your gaze trailing down — eventually resting on his extremely obvious hard on in his boxers. A large patch was already forming on its front from his precum, his cock straining hard against the fabric, begging to be released.

He smirked at your gaze. Teasingly, he ran his palm over his bulge, feeling it twitch under his hand. “Like what you see baby?”

You gulped, your eyes snapping up to his own. Your breath sped slightly, wanting to do something risky. Your life was still very much in danger, but you were willing to take the risk for now.

You slowly sat up, your face now extremely close to his. He raised a brow, an unimpressed gleam in his eyes. Yet, there was a curiosity in them — wanting to know your next move.

Although your next move didn't really impress him. Quite the opposite.

You raised your hand, slowly inching it closer to his boner. His eyes narrowed at your audacity. In a flash, he reached to his side, and picked up the discarded knife, holding it to your throat. He glared down at you, a cold, calculating look in his eyes. “Lay. Back. Down. Unless you want me to slit your throat, cut the rest of your body up, and use your blood as lube to fuck your corpse?”

Your eyes widened at his words, your hand freezing mid air, before quickly falling back to your side. Upon receiving another pointed glare from him, you laid back down, mindful of the knife that was back in his hands. You wanted him — no, needed him to fuck you — you, not your future possibly no-longer-breathing corpse.

Upon ensuring that you weren't up to anymore tricks, he once again put the knife away — out of your reach, but not out of his. Heeseung shrugged off his boxers, his cock immediately slapping against his stomach. It left a trail of precum, which he gathered on his fingers, before wrapping that same hand around his dick. He started to slowly pump it, using his own precum to slick it up.

Noticing your almost pitifully needy expression, he let out an amused scoff, before holding out his hand under her mouth. “Spit.” He ordered in a gruff voice.

Your eyes widened slightly at his command, before you hesitantly obeyed. Gathering a wad of saliva in your mouth, you spit it into his hand, watching with hooded eyes, as he used it to jerk himself off faster.

Once he was done, he spread your thighs again, letting out a confused grunt at how much more force he needed to use as compared to last time. He glared up at you. “You and I both know you want this, princess. So stop trying to deny me what I hunted you for. Or else…”

You bit your lip to suppress a whimper. Were you sick for getting even wetter at his words? Definitely. Should you tell him to stop and possibly escape whatever he was going to do? Obviously. Will you do it? Absolutely not.

In fact, an absolutely brilliant idea struck your magnificent brain. You decided to not obey him. Him, the renowned serial killer, Ghostface. Were you basically signing your own death certificate? Well… no harm in finding out, right?

You tried to close your legs shut, something which immediately earned you a nasty glare from him. His jaw clenched tightly, as he forcefully shoved your legs apart again. His hand reached for the knife, your eyes widening at the sight. “Seems like someone hasn't learnt their lesson yet…”

You tried to beg him to not hurt you, but the words died in your throat when he pressed the knife to it. A creepy smile adorned his face, as he caressed your face in a gentle manner, a sharp contrast to the knife to your throat. “Let me spell it out for you–” Right as he said those words, he grabbed your wrists tightly, holding you under him firmly, the knife lifting from your throat. You got confused for a second, before a scream tore out of you.

He was carving something on your stomach.

He shallowly carved his initials onto your stomach, laughing as you screamed. “Squirming will only make it hurt more~” He almost sang, his tone causing you to sob.

He was finally done, watching the blood flow out of the wound, almost moaning at the sight. “Fuck baby, do you even realise how hot you look right now?”

You hated it, every single bit of it. You didn't want him to fuck you anymore, hell, you felt ashamed of yourself for ever wanting it. You felt disgusted beyond words by yourself, for having him carve his initials on your stomach to make you realise the kind of guy you were dealing with. He wasn't some hot fictional guy from the books you read, he was an actual serial killer — someone who could quite literally kill you as and when he pleased.

Heeseung seemed to sense your inner monologue. He snickered. “Suddenly regretting everything baby? That's cute… it's as if you believe you had a choice in this in the first place. Cute.”

You wanted to scream, cry, sob — all at the same time. How did you even manage to get yourself into this mess?

You didn't have much time to ponder, as he suddenly sliced his knife through your panties, finally ripping them off you. He shrugged off his own boxers, rubbing the tip of his cock along the arousal coating your puffy folds. A shiver ran down your spine, causing you to bite down on your lip. You hated it, you didn't want it — but your body couldn't deny how good it felt.

Heeseung wasn't any less affected than you. He let out a groan, his eyes shutting briefly. “See how good that feels baby? You think you don't want it, but your body says something different. See how your pussy keeps dripping all over my cock?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, tears welling up in them — tears from exactly what, you didn't know. Was it embarrassment? Pain? Pleasure? Neither did you know, nor were you keen on finding out.

With his bottom lip pulled between his teeth, he slowly pushed himself in, groaning from how easily he slid in, thanks to your slick. He let out a rough noise from the back of his throat. “Look at how your cunt is sucking me in like a slut. You sure you don't want this, baby?”

His knife had returned to your throat, his other hand gripping your hip. You could only bite your lip to muffle a whimper, your tears having broken free. He felt — good. You just wished this happened under different circumstances. When he wasn't cutting you up or threatening your life as Ghostface, maybe.

He bottomed out, burying himself to the hilt. He let out a groan, his eyes falling to your stomach. They widened, noticing something other than his initials he had just carved on it. There was a bulge on your stomach. “Holy shit…”

As if in a trance, he pressed down on it with his hand that wasn't holding the knife, watching as you involuntarily arched your back. He let out a laugh in disbelief. “Would you look at that? Had no idea you were this sexy, princess.”

He didn't wait to see your reaction, pulling out slowly, before slamming back inside. He watched your body jerk at the force, the bulge disappearing and reappearing. It was so, so hot.

He put the knife away, just out of reach of you. He gripped your hips with both hands, once again pulling almost completely out, watching as the bulge disappeared, before slamming back in, watching it reappear. He effectively tore a moan out of you this time, watching in amusement as you quickly slammed a hand onto your mouth, your eyes looking mortified. It was as if you were still trying to convince yourself that you didn't want this.

You were so cute. So. Fucking. Cute.

He pulled out again, pushing back in with much more force than before, setting a fast pace. He watched with a perverse amusement, as you let out a choked scream, flailing your arms above your head aimlessly, as if looking for something to grab on to. He fastened his pace, grunts leaving his throat with every thrust.

Your screaming was gradually turning into moans, the undeniable pleasure coursing through you making your head spin. It didn't help how the room was filled with wet slapping sounds from where the two of you kept connecting, the sting from the cut on your stomach barely there anymore. You felt hot, an insatiable thirst in your pussy, being quenched by his unforgiving pace.

His thrusts never once faltered, the bruising grip that he had on your hips was starting to hurt — just a bit. He let out a small groan, his eyes once again falling on your stomach, the bulge disappearing and reappearing in it at a comically fast pace. “Hah — look s’fucking cute like t-this — just lying there like a pliant little whore — taking my cock — fuck–”

He was cut off by your pussy clenching around him, his groan cutting through the constant wet slapping from where you both kept connecting. Encouraged by your reaction, he sped up, reaching an almost animalistic pace.

Your head was starting to go blank from his pace, the way he continued to pound into your sobbing cunt had you seeing stars. His name left your mouth in a breathy moan, causing his eyes to pop out, him almost spilling his load inside you right then and there.

Without stopping his unforgiving pace, he grabbed your jaw in one hand, his nails digging into your cheeks. “Say it again — c'mon baby, moan my name again — let me hear you, fuck–”

He was cut off by you whimpering, the unmistakable sound of his name leaving your mouth for the second time. With a growl, he gripped both of your thighs, throwing your legs over his shoulders. The new position allowed him to reach deeper, hitting your spot with every thrust. It had you seeing stars, uncontrollable moans and his name falling from your lips like a mantra.

He reached one of his hands down to rush harsh circles on your hardened bundle of nerves, trying to force an orgasm out of you. “C'mon baby, cum for me — squeeze my cock harder, fucking cum for me–”

The band in your stomach tightened to an impossible level, ready to snap. He pinched your clit, hard, continuing to rub dizzying circles around it. He delivered a harsh slap to it, causing you to finally topple over the edge.

Your ears were filled with a loud ringing noise, vision going white. You clenched around his length, gripping it in a vice like grip. Your cum flowed around his length, coating it completely. He groaned, as he kept pumping in and out of you, a white ring forming at the base of his cock. The sight had him pistoning out of you at a ridiculously fast pace, before burying himself to the hilt inside you. Warm, thick ropes of cum erupted from his tip, painting your insides white. He slowly grinded his hips, still inside you, ensuring that none of it fell out.

He stayed like that for a moment, before pulling out his softening length with a hiss. He fucked his cum back inside with his fingers, enjoying the way your body racked with shudders, little whines escaping you from the sensitivity.

He slowly sat up, admiring your spread out body. He brushed his hand through your hair, rubbing the sweat off your forehead. “You know,” He started, looking down at you with an unsettling smile. “I never fucked anyone I was going to kill before. Never felt attracted enough to them. But you–” He hesitated for a second, before speaking again. “I used to have a crush on you back in college. Remember when I bumped into you once? It was on purpose. I needed an excuse to talk to you. It really hurt me when I realised that you weren't interested in doing so, you know? You were the reason I never went out with anyone, either.”

You gulped, staring back at him. He had an unreadable expression on his face. “I started this — this killing streak, to get your attention. But then I started enjoying it too much — fantasizing what you would look like, all cut up and bleeding prettily for me, begging for me to let you live. It got me so fucking hard, you know? Jerked myself off to that thought so many nights. Until tonight — I knew I had to get you — kill you. Play with you a little first. Didn't think it would escalate to this though.”

He grinned, his eyes holding a kind of craziness that sent a chill down your spine. “Maybe I won't kill you…” He murmured, his hand caressing your cheek. “I’ll just… keep you. My pretty little toy, mine to use and play with, as and how I feel like. Isn't that right, princess?”

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wileycap · 10 days ago

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Hakoda the Grief Pirate it's time for Hakoda the Grief Pirateeee

Kya is killed, as in canon. Unlike canon, Bato is killed too. This means that rather than join the war, Hakoda goes mad with grief and gathers a few ships' worth of men - desperate, brutal men who want to repay the cruelty of the Fire Nation in kind. Not soldiers, not sailors, killers.

And he takes Katara.

The first place he goes is the Northern Water Tribe. He gets an audience. He goes to Chief Arnook and the elders and says: either I leave here today with a master for my daughter, or none of us leave this room alive.

Katara gets a master.

As in canon, Katara is a prodigy. With a year to focus on her waterbending and drilled by a man wearing her father's face who tells her "we're all going to die doing this" and "but we'll bleed them a thousand times over for every one of us" and most importantly he says "we're going to avenge your mother" - growing up under that man, Katara becomes terrifying.

Sokka is left alone. The last bit of love in his father's heart was spent on him, though he doesn't know it. It was spent on leaving him. It was spent on sparing him from seeing what his father would become.

Sokka goes out often, looking for traders and sailors and ships. He finds no news and too little fish. Until one day, an iceberg cracks open.

The boy is young and Sokka hasn't been a big brother for a while now, but it turns out that it's like riding a penguin - you never really forget. So when Aang gets kidnapped by some ponytailed jerk, of course he goes after him.

That he only manages to ruin Aang's escape and get them both captured is beside the point, okay? The Fire Jerk cheated.

(Appa follows them, if you're wondering. Aang doesn't seem to be in any real danger. Zuko isn't an especially merciless captor, no matter how he tries.)

Sokka finally gets some news. The Frost Wolf is believed to be a Northern raider (to protect his tribe from reprisals) and he is feared. He leaves only one survivor in each of his raids. He tasks them to deliver a simple message: the seas are no longer safe for the Fire Nation. He replenishes his crew with convicts and pirates. They say he has a crazy mechanist working for him. They say that an icy fog follows where he goes, blocking out the sun and chilling Firebenders to the core. They say he can't be killed.

"So, these guys of yours -" Sokka began and paused to let the answering "they're not my guys!" wash over him, "do they say anything about a girl?"

The Prince's ears reddened. "I don't listen to that kind of filth."

Which means you have listened, Sokka might have said if he felt like teasing. He didn't.

"Not like that! A girl, a little younger than me. Have you heard anything about that?"

Sokka held his breath. This was it. Of course, it didn't mean anything if Zuko hadn't heard...

"No." The Prince's voice was unusually quiet. Zuko's good eye glinted in the orange light of the torches.

Sokka couldn't help that his exhale caught in his throat on the way out, it wasn't - it was just a shock, he reasoned, it didn't mean anything that Zuko hadn't heard...

Zuko stood up and made to walk out. He stopped at the door.

"I'm sorry," the Prince said. "I have a sister, too."

The door closed and Sokka was left alone and with questions. Questions like:

How did he know?

The trip to the Fire Nation is long. Any experienced commander could have told Zuko to limit his interactions with the prisoners. To rotate out their guards and never have their meals brought by the same person if he could avoid it. Any experienced military commander would have seen the risk of two child prisoners, one of who is particularly genial and charming while the other is funny and sarcastic.

Iroh, one of the most experienced military commanders alive, encourages Zuko to learn all he can about his enemy. It's an advantage, you see.

(And if the watch lists are edited to put crewmembers with children into frequent and close contact with the prisoners - well, that's Iroh's prerogative. He is a General. And if there are a few minor navigational errors that lenghten their journey, well, that he knows nothing about. He's a General, not an Admiral.)

Meanwhile, Princess Azula is tasked with putting an end to the Frost Wolf's provocations. It would be terribly inconvenient if she were to have frequent encounters with another bending prodigy, about her age and wearing blue robes and a mask. They should make out about it.

Eventually, they'll all have to reckon with their monstrous fathers and murderous siblings.

#atla fic #atla au #avatar the last airbender #hakoda #katara #sokka #zuko #aang #iroh #uncle iroh #azula #atla

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ghostsprincess · 8 months ago

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I can't stop thinking about how much you would miss Simon while he's gone....

This is a continuation of part one and part two.

warning: adult language

💀

You were dreading going to work. Your arms felt heavy as you applied your makeup with a pout on your lips. No matter how hard you worked at it, your eyeliner looked a little smudged and your lipgloss was dull.

Simon was leaving tonight.

He'd never been inside your apartment. He'd never seen you in anything but your work clothes. He only interacted with you on nights when you had a shift at the pub. But you thought about him so much, it was like he had seeped into every aspect of your life. But he was leaving, and you knew he wouldn't give you any details. But it had to be for work. A new military assignment. All you knew for sure was the gnawing feeling in your gut that he would be risking his life.

Most of your shift has passed before he squeezed his shoulders through the doorway and found a stool at the bar. There was a smile plastered on your face all night, but it wasn't until you saw him that it was genuine.

"Simon," you sighed, already reaching for a pint glass to keep your fingers busy when pure happiness bubbled up inside you.

"Hi, love."

Everytime he called you that, his soft eyes lingered on your face. You didn't know when anyone would look at you that way again. His drink was set down, and his money was pushed away. You wouldn't take it. He drank his pint slowly, glaring at any other man whose gaze lingered your way for more than the barest few seconds. Than you let him know it was time for your shift to end.

Tonight both of you were silent. When you reached for his hand, he wrapped his fingers gently around yours. When you stood on your front step, shivering in the damp night air, he wrapped you up in his grasp.

"Ya' be good, love. Take care of yourself." His voice was so deep and warm, you shivered even more. "Tell Soap if ya' need something. He knows to take care of ya'."

There were so many questions brimming in your mind, but they were all silenced when his lips skimmed along your temple. You whimpered before Simon put a foot of space between your bodies, an intensity in his eyes you'd never seen before. Maybe he already knew what he meant to you by this point, but you couldn't say the words as tears stung your eyes.

"Please stay safe," you whispered, and he nodded toward your door.

"Get inside, love. I won't be gone long."

But he was.

At first, you smiled when Soap or Gaz showed up at the bar at the end of your shifts. They weren't anywhere near as imposing looking as Simon, but you knew your ex boyfriend wouldn't be lining up to mess with either of them. They seemed to rotate who walked you home. Conversation was easy with both of them, and they never touched you. When you asked them about Simon, they assured you he knew how to handle himself.

But one week turned into two and then three. You were starting to worry. "Have you heard anything from Simon?" you asked Soap one particularly cold night.

"Nah. He'll be back when he gets back. Try not to worry too much."

You paused before you asked him, "What did he say when he asked you and Gaz to make sure I got home safely from work?"

Soap's face split into a grin in the glow from a streetlight. "Hey, now that's between friends, ain't it?"

You weren't exactly sure what he meant, but you could feel your brow pucker with concern. "You really think he's okay?"

Soap laughed heartily. "That feckin' arsehole ain't gonna to miss the chance to keep walking you home from work. Trust in that much."

You nodded and unlocked your door, bidding him a good night before closing and locking it as tears burned your eyes.

Next thing you knew, Simon had been gone for six weeks. It was hard to keep up the chitchat with Gaz and Soap when each time you saw them, it was a reminder of who was missing. What if he never returned? Who would even inform you if something happened to him? Were you supposed to fret like this and curl into a tight ball alone as you fell asleep for weeks longer?

You daydreamed about what it would feel like to kiss Simon. You imagined his warmth snug against you in bed, heavy arm wrapped around your body. You thought about his voice, rough but sweet, telling you that he felt the same way you did.

But two months was a long time to go without his meticulous attention. And while it made you ache to see him again, perhaps it was having the opposite effect on him. Maybe he hasn't thought about you much, if at all. He was probably busy working around the clock, dedicated to the task at hand. His mind wouldn't be on the silly bartender back home who could barely handle herself around him.

It was hard to smile at work tonight. It wasn't very busy now that winter had fully arrived. Everyone seemed to prefer to huddle up at home this late when the wind was blowing. You'd prefer to be there right now too, instead of pouring a double whiskey and a glass of wine.

You were getting really close to the end of your shift, and there was still no sign of Soap or Gaz. Occasionally they arrived just in time to walk you home, but usually they got here early enough to plop down on a stool for a drink or two. You were longing for your bed, and the idea of having to hang out and wait for the escort you probably no longer needed felt daunting.

Your hands were tired from polishing the glassware, stacking it up below the bar top to help you pass the time. When the door opened, the brief rush of cold air made you shiver as you turned to greet the newcomer. But he was familiar in a way that made a smile break out on your face as a shot glass landed a little hard on the shelf when it slipped from your fingers.

"Hi, love."

He was back. He looked terrible. Bruised cheeks and a black eye decorated his face, but seeing him in person was still better than your best daydream. All you wanted to do was touch him.

"Simon!"You rushed through the opening in the bar, launching yourself into his arms. "I missed you." Without thinking, you ran your hands gently along his face. Without another word, you pressed your lips against his.

💀

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley cod #ghost simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley imagine #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #ghost imagine #call of duty #ghost riley #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghostsprincess

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cherry-leclerc · 2 months ago

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lust ☆ fc43

genre: smut, angst, unreliable narrator(s), pathological liars, forbidden “love”, douchebag!franco, journalist!reader, mentions of sexuality

word count: 16.6k

lust (noun) — intense, often uncontrolled, sexual desire or craving, but can also refer to a strong desire for something else, like power or material possessions.

nsfw warning under the cut!

18+...unprotected sex, f!receiving, oral sex, missionary sex

inspired by red sex (re-strung) [rakhi singh]

cherry here!... don’t ask me who’s lying because boy i don’t even know lol this is messyyyy—welcome to the twisted world of lust mwah!

“Logan Sargeant is out, Franco Colapinto is in!”

Face mask dried up. Towel tied up. The Sound of Music plays. You let out a muffled scream, eyes growing wide with shock.

“Are you serious?”

Lissie nods, jumping onto the open space beside you on the bed, grabbing a chocolate covered pretzel and popping it into her mouth. “As serious as a heart attack.”

“Woah,” you say, letting out a sigh, sympathy washing over at the thought of someone’s dream coming to an end. “That…woah.” A beat. “Wait. How do you know?”

The brunette wiggles her brows theatrically. “I don’t—it’s a rumor.”

You roll your eyes, shoulders drooping as you go back to relaxing. “You’re so silly, Elisabella.”

By now, you’ve reached for the control and switched off the television, opting into the idea of a book. The one you’ve been dragging all over the world for the past few months, but you haven’t managed to actually flip through a single page. And it looks like today isn’t the day, either.

Lissie scoffs, ripping the novel straight out of your hands. “I’m providing you with the juiciest piece of information, and you’re taking it with a grain of salt?” Bewildered, she skims through the pages, using it as a fan, then tosses it into the unknown, making you frown. “I’m telling the truth!”

“Are you, though?” you challenge. “I mean, you said it yourself—it’s a rumor.”

“Yeah, and rumors are the truth,” she retorts quickly.

“Not always,” you push back, wagging a finger as she pushes it down, making you want to crack a smile. “It could also be nothing but a hoax.”

“Since when?” As soon as you open your mouth, she’s quick to slap a hand over your lips, causing the mask to break. Lissie! you squeal against her hand as she lets out a snort and a poor apology. “You’re just choosing to ignore it because you were rooting for the American.”

Finally, pushing her away, you stick your tongue out. “The American has a name. Plus, the sport has treated him like dirt, how could I not cheer him on?”

She pops another pretzel, crumbs falling onto her lap. “Look, I know you’re being an empath and all, but that’s life for ya.”

And you know she’s right, but over the course of time, given the very few chances you’ve gotten to interview Logan, you’ve come to realize how much of a softie he is and you like that, because in a way, you see yourself in him. “When is the news coming out?”

Buzz! Buzz!

Darting her eyes down to her phone, she lets out a sad smile, and you know she feels just as bad as you.

“Looks like it just did.”

The paddock has been swirling with anticipation ever since the news and it’s safe to say that every journalist has their eyes set on the smiley Argentinian who enters it without a single care in the world. Camera’s flash, people stare, and he seems to like it. Why wouldn’t he?

“I heard he likes to be interviewed mainly in Spanish,” Lissie hums besides you, spectating just the same as everyone else. Sipping on her iced tea, she squints, watching as the brunette disappears against the crowd. “Diva.”

You laugh. “How so?”

“He thinks his fans interact more with him in his native language, but that just can't be true—can it?” Another sip. “Probably not. Nobody speaks Spanish in this sport.”

“Carlos? Fernando?” you question with a soft smile, one that she ignores.

“Excluding drivers,” she clarifies. “He’s just looking for attention because he knows he can.”

Spinning to face your friend, your brows pinch together with curiosity. “Can what?”

Lissie snickers, biting down on her straw. You’ve always been this way—naive. She sees things you don’t, and sure, that adds to your charm, but sometimes, she genuinely worries. “Get it.” When you fail to understand, she lets out a dramatic sigh, patting your head like a dog, causing you to blink with wonder. “Attention. I’m referring to attention.”

Heat surfaces towards your face as you look away, brushing the embarrassment off. “Duh. Of course, that's what I was thinking….”

Minus the constant cheers for him, there's silence where you two stand, taking part in people watching as if your lives depended on it. And somewhere in between the line—the thin, thin line— he turns to face in your direction.

Instantly connecting his gaze—with you.

As if it's a daily occurrence, your breath hitches, making you flinch with surprise. He seems to notice—the effect he's made on you—and this gets a smile out of him, loopy and mischievous, all at once. You don't like the way he's looking at you, like he knows you. Like he can tell you things about yourself that you haven't figured out yet. Overall, you hate it.

Especially with how fast your heart is beating.

“Damn it.” The Brit groans. “Even I miss the American. This lad just seems to be full of himself already, don’t you think?”

Except, you don't, because your mind is no longer in control and you're no longer sane. It appears all of that has gone out the window the moment he's walked into the paddock, chased by girls. And you despise the way you can feel yourself becoming one of them.

Oh yeah, you murmur, still not looking away, but he has, already signing a bunch of merch. You blush, shaking your head in complete daze. “Way too, uh…full of himself, indeed.”

Franco Colapinto is one of a kind.

He never takes anything seriously, never lets his mistakes bother him for too long. He thinks lingering in moments like those is stupid and unnecessary, and he'd rather just have fun. Very few get it, but that’s not something he cares about, to be quite honest.

He had gotten the call last minute. He was in Brazil with…friends.

And without a doubt in mind, he accepted to drive for Williams. Things apparently haven't been working out for Logan, and while he felt pity for his distant friend, he couldn't help but feel ecstatic to get the chance to drive a Formula One car. This was his dream.

And it all went down the way he had pictured. All eyes were on him, not a singular second passed without someone turning to look. He can tell some were confused, he can tell some were shocked, but he enjoyed every last bit of it.

He loved the way girls stared, admiring him in ways he’s gotten quite used to. He loved sending sly smiles and seeing them burn up in return. He loved knowing he’s figured out things that other guys haven't had the time of day to figure out themselves.

He just loved the attention.

“I’ve had a blast, uh, driving with those I’ve looked up to ever since I was a little boy,” he says with a sheepish smile, eyes crinkling as Will nods, taking notes and raising the microphone. Franco chuckles. “I can’t wait to continue.”

He gets along with everyone and they all want to be his friend. This is normal and he likes that he’s fitting in with ease. Though, for some odd reason—

“I don’t think they like me much,” he admits once the interview is over, making Will quirk a thick brow, turning his attention to where you and Lissie stand, waiting impatiently for him.

The journalist snickers. “You’re joking, right?”

Only, he’s not. He knows when people tolerate him and you two aren’t one of them. He doesn’t know why he suddenly cares given he doesn’t really know either of you, but he just knows that he does. Very much, actually. Scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, the brunette looks away, ignoring the laser being aimed at him, particularly from the British girl.

He doesn’t say anything after that, just makes his way closer, watching as you whisper something to your grumpy friend before flashing him a warm smile.

“Oh God, he’s coming.”

“Relax,” Lissie quips, standing straight. “We can’t inflate his ego, remember?”

“What ego?” you hiss, palms sweating as he inches closer. You gulp. “I have to be nice, I’m always nice!”

“Yeah, well not this time, you aren’t,” she declares adamantly, causing you to shake your head.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do this, look at him, he’s smiling at us!” Flashing a dopey grin, you hear her sigh, obviously disappointed in the fact that you’re blindly giving into his games. Then, he’s in front of you two, extending his hand out as a formal introduction.

“Hi, I’m Franco—”

“We know,” Lissie cuts him off, a slight edge in her voice. He blinks, completely frazzled by her tone. Shrugging, she mocks a smile of her own, downright confusing the fuck out of him. “Welcome, mate.”

“Thanks?” he mumbles, shaking her hand deliberately slowly as her eyes remain as sharp as knives. He’s intrigued by now, as to why she’s treating him this way. Then, to his right, there you are. Fragile. Shy. Round eyed. Not a single thought behind them. Feeling his personality come right back as if nothing, the Williams driver sends a wink. “Hola.”

“H-hola,” you return, copying him, but your accent is mediocre, at best. It’d be lame if you weren’t so beautiful. You cough, clearing your throat as you lend your hand into his, and immediately, you feel a pull. Not physically, no, but rather—energetically. It’s a scary thing, but something tells you not to question it and that this is all a part of his charisma. “I’m—”

“Not interested.” At once, both you and Franco turn to face Lissie who stands with her hands on her hips, tapping her foot strictly. “She’s not interested.”

“I wasn’t—” he tries to speak, but she’s fast to shut him down.

“Yes. You were.” Rolling her eyes, she tugs you back from your wrist, making you let out a yelp by the sudden clutch. “Look, how about you mind your business and we’ll mind ours, yeah?”

“Lissie…” you warn with a slight crack, ignoring the rush of blood. Biting down on your lip nervously, your eyes flicker back and forth, feeling the cool weather suddenly suffocate you with shame. “He hasn’t done anything.”

“He was about to, though.” A scoff. “I’ve heard all about you and your games—Franco.”

She says his name in a way that makes you aware that she isn’t fond of the idea of him in any shape or form. And he seems to pick up on that too, eyebrows raising with amusement. “Have you now?” Cocking his head to the side, a smile starts to spread. “And what exactly have you heard about me?”

“That you're nothing but a deceiving flirt,” she responds without missing a beat—zero pressure, zero problem, zero intimidation. Flustered, you fiercely start to shake your head, but it's too late, Lissie is on a roll. “I know your intentions aren't genuine, so how about we save ourselves the trouble and keep this professional. It's not like you'll be seeing much of us, anyways.”

“Yeah?” he questions, accent deep and raw, making you squirm, and of course he picks up on that too.

The brunette girl sighs, feigning indifference, or maybe it was real, who knows. “As you may have noticed, Will interviewed you, right?” Still, he says nothing, standing there with a blank expression. She lets out a sour chuckle, one that even catches you by surprise. “It's going to stay that way.”

“I still need an interviewer for my Spanish debriefs, who's to say it's not going to be you?” he challenges, focusing on her now and enjoying the twist in her face.

“I don't speak Spanish, so no—it won't be me, thank God.”

“You don't?” he asks, clearly shocked.. “I thought you were Latina—”

“Oh, so you're quick to jump to conclusions, too?” Rolling her jaw, you can tell your best friend is close to the breaking point. And while you've seen it before, you haven't seen it much, but you were pretty certain it wasn't going to make her look any better. Plus, people were starting to stare, and that alone was making your skin itch and shift uncomfortably, wishing to vanish into thin air. “You really are a know-it-all.”

Franco ignores the dig. He ignores the murmurs.

But he doesn't ignore you.

“What about you?”

“Me?” you squeak, looking around as if there might have been someone else. Like a blushing mess, you open your dry lips, feeling a catch in your throat. “I, uh…I, um.” You don't. Oh, definitely not. But the way he's looking at you makes your head spin, and the need to answer correctly makes you believe this just might be it. What exactly? That you don't know yet, but it.

A firm nod. I do.

“You do?” Lissie and Franco say in chorus, and while she's bewildered, he's over the moon.

Another nod, this time more secure. “I've been practicing.”

“Since when?” the Brit interrogates, not choosing to believe what you're saying.

You gulp, lips wobbling into a slippery smile. “Ever since the rumors started.” Her face darkens, clenching her jaw. “Since I heard he might be entering the grid—I wanted to be r-r-ready, just in case…”

Lissie snarls. “So you do believe in rumors.”

A wince. “Lissie, I—”

“Would you be interested in conducting my Spanish interviews?” Franco asks, vibrant eyes dedicated to you as your heartbeat spikes. He smiles charmingly, eyes squinting in a way that makes your body feel the need to jolt. “I like you.” A beat. “You're sweet.”

He thinks I'm sweet, you cheer to yourself, keeping a straight face on the outside. Besides you, Lissie pokes your hip, and you know what that means—decline his proposition. There's got to be a million different reasons as to why this probably isn't a good idea, you're sure she has them ready to lay out to you with a whining noise like I told you so. But in a moment like this—where you can't even seem to comprehend—you choose to ignore them.

Snapping your berry lips into a thin line, you just slightly—ever so slightly—nod, making Lissie disinflate and Franco grin brightly.

And dear God—were there signs.

You've been avoiding him for the past few days and the problem is he doesn’t know why.

At first, he thinks you're intimidated by the idea of being caught with his presence—maybe it was too much to handle for you. He liked thinking that to be true. Then, he thought maybe you were backing out. Perhaps Lissie had said something that made you come to a realization, and sure, he can easily find someone else, but it needed to be you.

Why?

Well, because he liked knowing he could get a pretty girl to choose him over her best friend.

It was all about power for him. Power, fun, and games.

So, when he crosses with you in the hotel he didn’t think journalists like you could ever afford, he takes a chance to cage you in and get some answers. And that just so happens to be in an elevator.

Crap, you think to yourself as he enters, ever the giddy guy he is. He presses a button—fifty. And he doesn’t say anything at first, but when you fail to acknowledge him with a greeting, he looks over with those brown eyes that make you wish you were blind. “I didn't know you were staying here,” he chokes out, gently inhaling your soft perfume. It makes his eyes flutter, just for a minute.

Forcing a light hearted laugh, you shake your head. “I'm not. I'm just…visiting a friend, that's all.”

And just like that, his stomach drops. Were you here for some rendezvous? Was it with someone he knew? And yes—yes—it must be because the entire grid was staying on the fiftieth floor.

“Cool,” he murmured, gritting his teeth, passing time by counting every floor. “Cool, cool, cool—can I ask who?”

Taken aback, you giggle awkwardly, resting against the metal wall. Brown orbs are aimlessly looking for an answer as you struggle to give it up. You lick your lips, shrugging as if no big deal. “Carlos.”

“What?” he screeches, eyes practically flying out of their sockets, making you flinch. Running a hand quickly over his rosy face, Franco tries his best to calm down. “I'm sorry, but…” he trails off, cringing. “Isn't he old enough to be your dad?”

“Huh?” you mutter with genuine confusion. Then, it dawns on you what he was thinking. The tip of your ears burn bright red as you laugh nervously, waving a finger strictly. “I-It's not like that.” He nods robotically, attention still unsteady and not at all convinced. “He's just giving me private lessons.”

Franco's jaw drops, not making sense of what you're saying. Because while he doesn't know you to the full extent quite yet, he hadn't had that impression over you. Here you seemed kind and innocent, not…

Again, you realize your choice of words aren't so great, so you play it off with a poor grin. “How's your first week been?”

You're obviously changing the conversation, and he's sort of grateful for that, but he still remains curious about the situation with you and the Spaniard. “Just fine.” Silence. “What kind of lessons?”

He’s overstepping—he's well aware. And he should stop asking questions—he's well aware. And he's trying, he really is, but he just—can't.

Embarrassed, you chew on your bottom lip with a subtle smile, making his jaw tick and his fists clench. Why is he acting this way? Why is he bothered so much? And why does he want to curse out Carlos fucking Sainz?

“Spanish lessons.”

It's said just high enough to be a whisper, and just low enough to let him know that you're somewhat embarrassed by your confession. And still, he lets out a breath, feeling his shoulders relax and the tenseness roll away. A laugh. “Wait—I thought you already spoke Spanish.”

Plump lips open feverishly before you swipe your pink tongue along it. His stomach flips cruelly at the sight that leaves him wondering about your mouth in other places. Places not even the dirtiest would think of. Because seeing as you stand there, like an angel, he pictures what it’s feel like to fuck someone like you.

“I don't…” Your brows knit together with apology. “I'm sorry about lying to you, I really am—”

“I can teach you.”

It's an offer that catches you off guard. Off guard because why would he take time from his busy schedule—for you? But for him, it was a simple one, one that made sense.

One that meant you wouldn't need Carlos—because honestly—fuck that.

Blinking feverishly, you shake your head, as stiff as an animatronic. Embarrassment practically flows out of you as you look away, orbs flying up to where the number fifty flashes, indicating the floor you’ve finally reached. Pressing down on the open door button, Franco smiles at you without missing a beat, making you think this was serious.

He was being completely serious.

“There's n-no need,” you fight back numbly, because the way he's begging with those brown eyes makes you think you might accept just about anything he'd say to you in this weak moment of yours. “I shouldn't have lied, and you deserve someone who actually spe—” You trail off, heat rising to your cheekbones. “I'll find you someone, don't worry.”

“There's no need,” he mimics, but with more confidence in his tone than yours. “I’ll teach you.”

“But—”

The Argentenian rolls his eyes light heartedly, going in for your hand and finally leading you out the tight spaced box, and thank goodness for that, because you're quite sure you would have fainted if you stayed in there for a second longer. He wiggles his brows, making you crack a soft smile. “I’ve taught a bunch of other girls. Teaching you shouldn't be too hard if I've done it a million times before.”

Wincing, you take a small step back, and he doesn't know what for. He doesn't know why you've reacted this way, he doesn't know why you haven't accepted yet, and he doesn't know why he feels the tiniest bit satisfied by it all.

“I think I’ll stick with Carlos for now,” you whisper, still not looking at him. Bewildered, he frowns, not able to hide his shock. “Thanks for the offer, though.”

That said, you leave him there, standing alone, eyes roaming your body and left wondering what you didn’t fucking say yes.

So, he isn’t doing Spanish interviews until later notice.

He sticks to English, he struggles in English, and he lives and breathes English. It's exhausting, it's starting to bore him and you still haven't spoken to him since that day.

He can tell Lissie is over the moon by your sudden detachment from the Williams drivers and that doesn't do him any better. He should have you by now, and the British girl should be warning you, too, but it seems like nothing is happening the way he's used to.

From the other side of the paddock, where you sip on your green juice, trying not to gag from how nasty it was, your friend side eyes you suspiciously before separating her own lips from her straw. “So, uh…”

Blinking, you look up.. “Uh what?”

And she's left it alone for long enough now and the curiosity has finally reached its brim. “What happened between you and what's his name?”

Chuckling, you cross your legs, resting your arms against the table. “You know his name, Lis, there's no need to be dismissive.”

“If I admit that I do know, will you finally tell me what happened?” You think about it, pouting subtly. And you're messing with her—teasing—you both know it. The brunette groans, gently kicking your leg under the table, making you squeak. “Oh, come on, don't be like that.”

“Be like what?” you ask, playing coy for a second longer before sighing. “He didn't do anything wrong, actually. He just…spoke like a boy.”

Thick brows draw in together with confusion. “A boy?”

You nod. “Yeah—egotistical, in a sense.”

Right away, the British girl claps, pointing at you boldly. “I told you so, didn't I?” she cheers, clearly enjoying the fact that she was right and thriving that you've finally realized it.

Twisting your mouth from side to side, you shrug lamely. “You know I hate it when you say that.” A beat. “But yeah, you did.” A certain silence lingers for a split second before you rub your temples harshly. “I just…just—why did he have to be this way?”

She knows what you mean by that—immature. Why did Franco Colapinto have to be immature?

Out of the many years Lissie has known you, from worst to best, she's come to figure out that you hate men like that, but despise boys even worse. They just weren't at your standard, and for a million different reasons. For starters, they think they're Gods. Second of all, they think they could get away with their shitty behavior. And third of all, they probably are some version of God and they probably could get away with just about anything.

And that's why you hate them—because they're easy to fall for, guys like him.

“Who knows,” Lissie responds with a smug expression, one you wish to wipe off. “But think of it as a sign—you dodged a bullet with that one.”

But no you didnt—no, you fucking didn’t.

You wish you had walked a little faster, you wish you had acted a bit soon, and you wish the word no was a part of your vocabulary.

At a nearby cafe, close to the paddock, you went out for coffee. You specifically chose this one because quite frankly, there were less people. It made things easier for you, but apparently for Franco, too.

Ignoring him, you push past, acting as if you had no idea he was standing there, but as soon as he calls your name out in that accent that rolls off his tongue like honey, you freeze, turning to face the truth. The curly haired boy waves. “What are you doing here?”

“Just…grabbing coffee.”

He nods. In hand, he has his own cup, raising it up like a toast before taking a sip. “Ignoring me or something?” Shame fills you up as he's come to notice what you had been totally doing. Waving you off as if nothing, the Williams driver scrunches his nose for a second. “Ah, it's alright, don't worry about it. Can’t say I'm surprised.”

You freeze, narrowing your neat brows with blame.“Wha-what do you mean by that?”

“See ya,” he hums, already heading towards the exit all high and mighty.

In a state of disorientation, you stare at his back before snapping out of the trace he had you in and chasing after like a madwoman. “What do you mean by that?” you yell, panting with the struggle to keep up. Stopping dead in his tracks, Franco grins to himself before turning around with a phony frown like a wallscreen.

“You're being told what to do, what to think,” he speaks up given the distance you have from one another, so you take a couple steps forward before leaving it as it is.

“That's not true,” you mumble weakly.

The Argentinian scoffs, causing you to pinch yourself to make sure this wasn't some nightmare he's snuck into. But no. It's not. “Tell me one thing—and I want you to be completely honest with me.” Doll Like, you blink, nodding to his instructions. He quirks a sharp brow. “Has Lissie talked bad about me to you?”

No fucking doubt, you want to snicker, but something in his mannerism shows that he knows she has, and that he’s just waiting for you to say it. “What does that have to do with anything?”

But he's not letting go, not yet, at least. Closing the final gap between you two, you find yourself, nose to nose basically, with someone as intimidating as Franco Colapinto, which is a weird sight, because usually he's out having fun, and not doing…this. He opens his mouth and it's stupid how you find yourself doing the same before coming to the realization and clamping your lips shut. The corner of his lips quirk with amusement.

Disconnecting from you again, he inches away, leaving you there feeling like a hopeless romantic with her heart caught in her throat. You want to rub your eyes, but you have a feeling that if you do, he might laugh from how much this has already affected you.

Instead, he speaks up first. “You said you’d be honest. Go on now—be honest.”

Pursing your lips, you wince pathetically. “She has.”

You've said the right thing in his eyes, you've given him the answer he was looking for because this makes his point much more valid. And you're starting to realize, yeah. Maybe it is.

“There you go.” Another sip. “She's playing you like a puppet.”

She is Lissie, and Lissie is your best friend. Lissie can't be manipulating you—can she?

“You're right,” you find yourself accepting in a quiet whisper like you can barely even believe it. As if you're having some sort of epiphany. Bringing a delicate hand up to your lips, you shake your head, a trace of sadness lost in your eyes, one he caused for bringing you down to reality. If you're seeing this now, how long has this been going on for? “I don’t have my own opinions because…of her.”

He notices then that he could potentially be ruining a perfectly good friendship, but he also notices that he doesn't seem to care. He never liked Lissie and Lissie never liked him and now…

Now there was a winner amongst them.

Still with a pinched and sour expression, you nod repeatedly. “I’m in—I want to work for you.”

For me, he finds himself replaying your words as a similar glow pours across his features. One that you don't pick up on because you think this was your doing, not his. But none of this actually was, because as it came, you’re as clueless as a toddler.

He plays the role of modesty first, and he plays it well. Forcing a small frown, Franco clicks his tongue softly. “You don’t have to. I get it. Lissie has made you think that—”

“Fuck what Lissie said,” you cut him off, suddenly enraged by what your so-called friend had been doing all along. “I’m doing it because I want to.”

No, you’re doing it because I made you think so, he thinks to himself and bites his cheeks in order to hide his creeping smile. That was the thing—he always knew he had you, before you even knew it yourself.

That day at the paddock, when he first laid eyes on you, your reaction told him. The way you stiffened, the way your cheeks became blotchy. It was a dead giveaway, your infatuation, and that’s something he became interested in. But then, as unexpected as the unexpected can get, you had someone to look out for you.

And that someone was sweet ‘ol Elisabella.

She was right, right off the bat. He was a flirt. He was a no-good. But he hid it well and she knew that—but you didn’t.

Then, for some reason, he lost the plot and you were no longer googly eyed for him. It fucking ticked him off. He kept watchful eyes on you for the time being, watched you come and go as if he was no one to you.

But he knew that wasn’t true. That you probably didn’t believe that lie yourself.

He saw the way Lissie held onto your arm like a protective older sister. As if you were someone pretty little lamb who knew no better than to stay away from someone like him. The way she smiles as if saying—“I won”—is what made his blood boil because that wasn’t the way things were supposed to go.

He was supposed to have you by now.

And sure, there was a bump on the road, and for a minute he thought it might have not worked out—but look at you now.

“I’m tired of being controlled,” you admit as if it all finally caught up to you. “Lissie told me to stay away from you and that’s exactly what I did because that’s what she does best—control me.” Fuming, you throw away one of the coffee cups, one he notices has the Brit’s name written on it in neat cursive. “Well, not anymore, I’m done.”

And I’m all in.

“What did you say to her?”

Once the Argentenian glances up from his phone, he finds himself with an angry looking Lissie who seems just about ready to bite his head off. He kind of wishes she would just cause.

“To who?”

The Brit girl's eye twitches. “You know who I’m talking about.” Letting out a raw groan, she pushes her hair back, suddenly irritated with anything in her way. “Why would you tell her a whole bunch of lies about me?”

“I don’t know, why would you?” he challenges without missing a beat.

This practically gets a snarl out of the journalist, rolling her jaw before speaking. “What are you watching?”

“Nothing,” he answered, but too fast and too defensively.

A chuckle. “No, no, I want to know—what the fuck are you watching, Franco?”

“I already told you, nothi—”

In one swift movement, one that even is too fast for someone like him, she snatches the phone from his grasp before he even has a chance to turn it off. And there, in all its glory, is a naked woman moaning erotically as she self pleasures herself. Lissie scoffs, tossing it back, rolling her eyes.

“You see! You’re too lustful. All you think about it sex, sex, sex.” A beat. “What’s your problem, huh?”

“I don’t have a problem,” he shoots back, digging his phone back into his pocket, grateful that no one is around to witness any of this. “And no. I’m not. I’m just looking out for my friend.”

“Your friend?” Lissie repeats dryly. “Oh, darling, don’t get things mixed up—she is not a friend of yours.”

“Yeah?” he questions smugly, finally standing up and towering above. “And who did she just drop?” And that seems to do it, because in a single second, her eyes slowly begin to water. He grins, eyes crinkling with humor. “Because it sure as hell wasn’t me.”

No one says anything for a minute, no one says anything for two, but as soon as a droplet slides down her rosy cheeks, she’s quick to wipe it away, sniffling like some poor bunny. “You’re a fucking dick and she’s going to realize that sooner or later, you’ll see—”

“She’s going to realize when I want her to realize,” he says, filled with content. “Besides, you shouldn't worry too much.” Leaning down, he grabs her arms, holding her in place and whispers in her ear as she stands there numbly.

I promise I’ll make her feel so good, she won’t even remember calling you her friend.

Your lessons start right away.

There’s no room for mistakes, and yet, you find yourselves making them. You can tell that he’s losing his patience at times, but he always tries his best to hide it. It sort of works, it sort of doesn't, but nevertheless, you feel stupid.

“Say it back to me again,” Franco commands, rubbing his jaw with a slight clench. He’s stressed out, you’ve made him stressed out, and now you want to leave his room.

Licking your lips, you nod gently. You process the sentences one more time before opening your mouth hesitantly. “Mi…”

“Color,” he says, helping you out.

Heat rushes towards your cheeks. “Right—mi color. Mi color favorito es…es…” What was it again? Panicking, you look up at him, and he’s just staring so gingerly, so supportive, and so sweet, and you can’t let him down. “Mi color favorito es el rosa.”

His eyes light up, instantly grinning. “¡Bravo! Yes! You got it!”

“Really?” you ask in disbelief, laughing loudly. “Did I?”

“¡Si, si!” he chants excitedly, and honestly, kind of relieved that you finally got it down after so long. “That was good, you did good, you did so good.”

Something about his praise makes your stomach burn and your thighs press against one another. It’s both humbling and new, all at once. Flustered, you purse your lips, looking away as you toss your hair over your shoulder, searching for any reason to just not make eye contact with him anymore. Because what if he can read your mind?

You shouldn’t be doing that.

He doesn’t typically see you in dresses—especially dresses like this one you’re wearing right now. It’s short—it is hot where you’re staying, after all. Lacey—teasing him into barely getting the chance to see your skin. Dark—a royal blue that bleeds a bit harsher than normal. He thinks you did this on purpose—you did this for him.

Coughing, he watches as you flinch gingerly at the sound, attention back on him like before. He likes that. Your eyes on him, he means. “Won’t lie, it took you a bit longer than expected.” You blush, wobbly lips forming a foolish smile that makes your features soften like a cloud. He grins back. “But you got it, and that’s all that matters.”

“Sure,” you quip. “And for what it’s worth, I really am sorry for wasting your time!”

You were. You were wasting his time. He could have easily been out with friends, meeting new people he probably wouldn’t even remember meeting. But he had to do this. Not for you, but for himself. He couldn’t stand the idea of Carlos teaching you such an intimate language, he couldn't stand the possibility of you rekindling with Lissie and marching off, leaving him to be the loser amongst them both.

Plus, the way you act around him makes him think it’s only a matter of time.

He’s going to get his way with you, he’s sure of it.

“Don’t say that, cariño,” he says, shaking his head. “I want to be here with you.”

Your heart beats fast against your ribcage and a tingle runs along your legs. “I think that’s enough for today, don’t you think? You should rest before your race tomorrow.”

Right. Makes sense. Nodding, the Argentinian stands up, watching you do the same as you fix your dress up a bit and smile gracefully. He leads you down the hallway towards the door, making easy conversation, but as soon as he finally reaches for the knob, he pauses.

“Hey—it’s actually really dark out now.”

You blink. “I suppose it is, yeah…”

Franco tilts his head flirtatiously, even you can tell. “A pretty girl like you probably shouldn’t be walking alone at a time like this.”

You blink faster, lashes fluttering. What was he trying to say? I mean, you knew what he was trying to say, but what was going on? And you’ve never been the kind to…to…God, was the room suddenly spinning?

“I can do it,” you whisper meekly. “I’ll be fine.”

She’ll. Be. Fine. She. Said, he thinks to himself sourly. Did you not catch the hint? Did you not want to take up this opportunity that many girls would die to have? Are you stupid or what?

But he doesn’t want to seem like a jerk, even if he sort of is one, so, instead, he grabs his jacket and opens the doors, signaling for you to go first. This gets a smile out of you, not a tight lipped one or a forced one—a real, genuine smile. Huh? So you’re the kind of girl who likes romantics. Maybe that’s what he needs to be.

He can pretend.

Placing his jacket over your shoulder, he finds you chewing down on your lip, suppressing your smile from growing any wider. Thanks, you mumble as you finally reach the lobby, walking past the people in fancy suits who open doors for you. What were they called? Honestly, who even cares because here you were—with Franco—and nothing could ever have been as important as this moment.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” he starts, hands dug into his pockets. “What ended up happening between you and Lissie?”

You grimace. “What didn’t happen between me and Lissie?”

“You’re not listening!” she yells as she chases after you. Marching up to your suitcase, you angrily start to pick up all your belongings and stash them in with no need to fold anything. “He’s just using you!”

“Stop saying that,” you demand, still not looking at her. “And stop feeding me lies, seriously, you’re starting to sound obnoxious.”

She doesn’t mind you degrading her, she doesn’t mind you belittling her, but she does mind the fact that you’re ready to erase her from your life and draw him in as a replacement. It’s not fair. The Brit girl rubs her eyes feverishly, hearing them squish harshly. “I don’t care, I just want you to realize that you’re making a mistake!”

You freeze, insides burning with fury as you collect your reason, but there seems to be none left. Turning slowly to face her, your lips turn into somewhat of a snarl, making her flinch in return. “You know what? Yes. I have made a mistake, a big one.” A beat. “By ever calling you a friend.”

Lissie doesn’t say anything, but you can tell that she’s deeply hurt. Of course she is. You’ve finally done it.

Chosen someone you just met—over her.

Blinking rapidly, the brunette runs a hand through her long hair, letting out a heavy breath. “Franco will never see you the way you want him to. The way you think he does.” She chuckles, making your blood boil at this point. “For God’s sake! You’ve read the thousand of tabloids surrounding him and his habits. Have you ever—ever—read a good one that has nothing to do with his driving skills?”

And that’s when it hits you. “Lissie—are you jealous?” There’s a string of silence that engulfs you two, letting it hang there for a minute too long. And you just have to, you just have to laugh. “Oh my God, you are!”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are! You have a thing for Franco!” With wide eyes, you clasp a hand over your mouth, muffling the sound that makes her skin burn with irritation at the mere thought of you thinking she would ever have a thing for a guy like him. “How could I not see it?”

“I don’t like him!” she yells, aware that the people next door are probably enjoying these five seconds of drama. “I could never like someone who treats girls like fucking shit, are you kidding me?”

“He’s not like that, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” you continue, picking up from where you left off. “If you actually took the time to get to know him, then maybe things could be different, and perhaps we wouldn’t be here, now would we?”

Lissie groans, eyes screwed tightly. “Fuck you.”

You gasp. “No— fuck you.” You march closer, eyebrows narrowed. “You think you know everything, don’t you?”

“You know what? Yeah. Maybe I do,” she spits, furrowing her brows the exact same way as yours. “And that might explain why I’m conscious about Franco’s nature and you’re not.”

“He’s a great guy!” you exclaim, pushing her back, making her gaze darken.

With the same energy, she reaches and pushes you too. “Fine, then! Get ridiculed, who fucking cares!”

That’s it. She just grabs her bag and walks towards the exit of the room you once shared. But at the very last minute, she turns to face you with soft eyes. Ones that almost—almost—make you break out of this trance he has you in because what if she’s right?

“I really hope you realize what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

You shake your head, ignoring the sting. “She and I just…didn’t see eye to eye, is all.”

Franco stares ahead, feeling the hot breeze push his hair back. The night sky is a mixture of both beautiful and daunting, the vendors are hard at work, and he’s yet to get a solid answer from you. He thought he might know it, but he was sickeningly interested to hear if it was true.

And it was.

“I don’t know how to say this without making her sound unprofessional, but, well, um—she doesn’t quite like you.”

And there it was. He knew that—since day one, he knew that deep down in his bones. He saw the way she glared at him, like a know-it-all, standing guard next to you. It was obvious.

But he can twist this in a thousand different ways if he really wanted to.

“It’s because she’s in love with you, you see that, right?”

Bewildered, you stop dead in your tracks, unbeknownst of the smile that spreads across his lips before he turns to face you with a blank expression. You swallow, but even that suddenly seemed like hard labor. “That’s not …” you whisper weakly, fighting the urge to scrunch your nose with how taken aback you were. “That can’t be…”

He takes a look around, spotting the city lights and the way they surround you like a flashlight. And like that, he can note the slight redness painted across your cheeks, the way your chest rises hard and fast now that you’ve settled with a lie he completely ripped out from the farthest depths of hell. He knew what he was doing, he knew that he was being dishonest for no particular reason—but he just couldn’t have you running back to her to hear all the things he was keeping you from.

A minute ticks by. “I’d say it’s obvious.” He can see you begin to spiral out of control, chewing hard on your thumb now, like an anxious teen. And he sort of feels bad—sort of. “I always thought she looked at you a bit…differently.” He contains a snicker, settling with a small wince. “Compared to everybody else, at least. Come on. Think about it.”

You do. Suddenly every interaction you two ever had is making you second guess. All those times she insisted on sharing a room in order to ‘save money’. The way she’d lace her arm through yours, leaning her head against your shoulder. How she pushed and pushed the idea of Franco being wrong for you. It all made so much sense now that he’s brought it up.

Shaking your head rigidly, you squeeze your eyes shut, choosing not believing any of it, but then again, you know it is—true.

“You’re right.”

His lips flicker upward in the slightest of flickers before falling down.

You rub your eyes. “Wow. I mean…wow.” A beat. “That explains so much.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being—”

Horrified, you nod, fast and hard. “Oh, yeah! Of course there’s nothing wrong with being…” You trail off, looking down to the floor, fixing his jacket that drapes over your shoulder once you feel it slipping. “I just feel so blinded, so…brainwashed, in a way.”

Franco nods gently. “I’m glad you know that. She was trying to keep you to herself.” You share a flinch. “But you don’t want that, no?”

“Want what?” you ask curiously.

He shares a smile, shrugging innocently. “To belong to anyone?”

You blink, not knowing why you feel an odd heat circle between your legs. Maybe it’s the way his voice has gone dark and raw by now. As if he’s just getting over some cold that’s been attacking his throat for the past few weeks. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, as if he’s offering something no one else could ever offer. But he hasn’t said anything, he hasn’t really said anything at all.

“I think I wouldn’t mind,” you find yourself confessing. “If it’s the right person with the right intention, then no. I wouldn’t mind belonging to someone.”

Franco knew you were naive, Franco knew you were the kind to daydream.

He just didn’t think you’d ever be this foolish.

The next time you see Lissie and find her already staring, you’re quick to walk away.

You don’t think you could ever fully explain what you’re feeling now that you know what you know, but there’s something that makes you feel a bit uncomfortable. I mean, the entire time you thought you two were friends—best friends, at that—and now you find out she’s always had a thing for you? It’s just a very hard pill to swallow.

“Welcome to your second official lesson,” Franco congratulates, making you giggle. “¿Lista?”

Dumbfounded, you stare, lips parted. “Pista? Like the car?”

She’ll be worth it, he thinks to himself, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. Once you fuck her, this will all have been worth it.

“Let’s just get started,” he says, smiling tightly, but you don’t seem to notice, already nodding excitedly. It isn’t until halfway through—after he’s bitten his tongue about a thousand times—that you finally reach your breaking point.

“I’m sorry! I can’t!” you wail, covering your face with embarrassment for struggling continuously. “I thought this was supposed to be easy?”

“It is,” he responds, grinding his teeth, then smiling gingerly when you look up at him with surprise. “It is not for everyone,” he finishes off, shrugging lamely. “Sorry. English isn’t my first language.”

“Oh. Okay,” you mutter softly. Sitting up straight, you tilt your head with sudden interest. “Hold on a minute—how did you learn English?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, popping a berry into his mouth.

“Yeah,” you insist, propping both legs against the chair you're sitting on, skirt falling just a tiny bit. He stops chewing, brown eyes glued to the exposed area. “I figure you had your challenges at first.”

“Sure,” he agrees, but he feels like he’s floating.

You haven’t noticed yet, attention drawn to the open window, glow of the sun making you swoon for a second. “What had to happen in order for you to pick it up?”

He stares one more time before looking back at your pretty face, watching as you finally look back at him too. He shakes his head, curls swaying in a way that makes you smile. “I think all the prizes helped,” he admits. “Those were cool.”

“Prizes?”

Franco nods. “An award? A reward? A—”

“I get what you mean,” you cut him off. “I just…what kind of prizes?”

“Well,” he starts, chewing the inside of his cheek before letting go. “For starters, I was lucky enough to have a private tutor.” Attentively, you listen, round eyes devoted to him and this crumb surrounding his upbringing. “Her name was Adelina.”

“Her?” you echo.

The Argentenian bops his head, aware of your interest now that you’ve mentioned a name that appears to be important to him. Now you’re engrossed to the point of no return and he likes to know that you care—that you’re desperate to know, though you’re trying your best to hide it. “She was much older than me, therefore, wiser.” He smiles at the memory of what once was. “She made learning fun.”

“That’s the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He frowns, not expecting you to react this way. “No, it’s not.”

Yawning, you stand up, bending down momentarily to slip your flats back on. “It’s getting late and you still have quali later. You should rest before then.”

He figures you’re right, but he doesn’t like that you get to decide that. You don’t so much as say bye, you don’t promise to find him later in the paddock just like the other times, and he doesn’t like that you get to have the last word.

“Don’t you want to know what the prize was?”

You snort. “A lollipop? A brand new soccer ball?”

“Better.”

Squinting your eyes suspiciously with a bit of humor, you find yourself humming. “What could be better than that?”

“I was a hormonal teen—what could have been better than that?”

You freeze.

And he just…laughs. His eyes crinkle. His nose scrunches. His stomach shakes with the sound of joy. And you just stand there like a deer in headlights.

“I will say, I did learn a lot more than just English from Adelina.”

You don’t even get the proper chance to register any of what he’s saying before he walks up to you, like a wolf teasing its prey. You swallow, taking a step back until your back reaches the door. The brunette tilts his head.

“Would you be interested in me taking the same approach?”

He’s giving you an option—a fucked up one—but still. It’s either yes or no, of course it’s either yes or no. You could either stay or go. He’s letting you decide. And quite easily, you could say you don’t need it, any of it, but like always, the word no doesn’t mean a single thing when it comes to him and his magnetic field.

“Yes.”

“Hey.”

Looking up from your laptop, you purse your lips awkwardly. “Hey.”

Lissie takes a look around, finding a seat next to you before clearing her throat. “You look pretty. Pink is so your color.” You freeze and she continues without realizing. “Anyways, I know you were probably expecting Will, but he's a bit busy with the edits right now, so it looks like you're stuck with me.”

You haven't quite processed what needs to be processed, therefore, you can't hide your reluctance. “I really don't want to see you right now.”

This obviously catches the Brit a bit as expected, but damn. She shrugs, frowning. “I get that you and I aren't on the best terms, but there's no reason as to why we can't remain professional, right?”

You shake your head stubbornly. “Have you always been this annoying?”

She flinches. “I-I-I’m not trying to be—”

But you don't bother sticking around to hear the end of her sentences, because before she knows it, you've snapped your laptop shut and gone up and left, leaving her frazzled by your rudeness.

You in an obvious rush—“The American” can tell.

“Are you in too much of a hurry to not say hi?” Logan calls out after you, making you whip your head quickly, eyes wide with shock to have him standing right in front of you in the one place you could have sworn you would have never seen him step foot in again. He grins, waving boyishly.

“Wh-wh-what are you doing here?” you stutter, an unsteady smile starting to spread as you walk up closer to him now that you know this is actually happening.

The blue eyed boy chuckles. “Can’t I come around and visit from time to time?”

You two were never close—never really buddy-buddy—but you know when to be polite and so does he. It's one of the many reasons you two got along quite well during his time in Formula One.

“How are you, Logan?” you ask, beaming practically from the fact that he actually looks…okay. One would have pictured the opposite.

A tsk. “I’m great.” Another click. “Yourself?”

“Great,” you say, swaying a bit. And you don’t know why you feel so nervous talking to him. Maybe it starts with the fact that you’re close to the guy who practically stole his seat. You gulp. “You look younger.”

“I feel younger,” he responds with humor laced in his voice, glancing around. “I seriously think I was born again after leaving…” A snicker. “After I was asked to leave.”

“Stop it,” you warn, brows drawn together with pity. “What they did to you was uncalled for.”

“You think so?” Logan asks as both of you begin to walk with no clear indication as to where. People begin to stare, dazed and confused. It appears they truly believe someone just rose from the dead, and honestly, you’re beginning to think so too. “But you must really like my replacement.”

And there it was.

Cringing, you peek over at him quickly before looking back ahead. A couple mechanics do a double take, whispering things that make your stomach churn. This will definately be tomorrow's news, if not tonights. “Franco’s cool,” you let out, tension in the air. But he doesn’t feel it—only you.

He nods, blond hair shining against the rays of sunshine. “No, no, I agree.” A loopy grin. “To a certain extent.”

You snort, bumping your hip to his as he remains with a plain expression now. And now—now you’re confused, because now you don’t feel any tension—but he does.

Numbly, your eyes burn down to where he grabs your hand, pulling you behind a wall of tires. You can’t even tell who’s motorhome you’re standing in, all you know is that his eyes are similar...

Similar to Lissie’s.

“Don’t—”

“Just listen to me,” he pleads, buzzing with worry that you might push him away. And boy does it look like it. “Franco’s not the guy you think he is.”

“Lissie sent you here, didn’t see?” you accuse, a storm forming in your cloudy eyes, shaking your head with fury.

And it’s the hesitation that gives him away. Logan shrinks back. “She’s just looking out for you…”

“Looking out for me, how?” you hiss, a sour laughter mixed with it, making him flinch, because as far as he’s concerned, you’re quiet, you’re shy, and you’re not like this. “You know what? No. You tell me—how, Logan?—how is he not what he makes himself out to be?”

He sees it in you then, it hits him all at once, that Lissie was right about the situation. You’re no longer yourself, you’re no longer that sweet, innocent girl. You’ve changed—he’s changed you.

The blond takes a steady breath. “Franco is a good guy. The best.”

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter harshly, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms, indicating your irritation towards him and Lissie.

He continues. “But only when he feels like being one.”

“What are you talking about?” you groan, feeling a migraine rolling in like a tide.

Logan shakes his head, dragging a tired hand across his normally calm features. “When I first met him, I had my first girlfriend—Adelina.”

You freeze.

He licks his lips, animated hands jumping from side to side with his storytelling. “He barely spoke English, really sucked at it. And Adelina was kind enough to start teaching him.”

So this so-called Adelina was a real person, but she also wasn’t a tutor his parents had hired.

A million questions run through your head at the thought of Franco lying to you and all Logan does is wince. “While I was out racing, they’d meet up for a couple lessons. She grew up speaking Spanish because of her parents. And…and I thought it was nice.” He chuckles, as if living the moment once again. “Truthfully, it made me fall more and more in love with her—her kindness, that is.”

“But how was I to know, huh?” he asks pathetically. “How was I to know that a sixteen-year-old would ruin my relationship?” Silence, then he nods, letting out a heavy sigh. “She changed overnight, you know? Started trusting him more than me. I don’t know what he said to her, but it…but it worked.”

“And I get it—Adelina wasn’t perfect either. She was older than him, she should have known better, but fuck.” Blue eyes darken dangerously so, making you squirm, thankful to be somewhere you can run if you really needed to, though you doubt it it’d get that far. “He just has a way with words. He’s…a manipulator.”

“You sound ridiculous,” you speak for the first time since going cold.

And you hate that all he does is chuckle. That all he does is smile. Something about it makes your skin crawl because it tells you that it almost seems like he doesn’t care if you believe him or not, as long as he knows that it’s the truth.

Which it was.

“He’s a good friend, sure—but if he wants you?” A beat. “Forget it. He’ll find a way to have you. He won’t care if that requires sheltering you from everybody else. He won’t care if that requires ending friendships. He won’t care, period.”

“You’re just saying this…”

“Listen, I don’t hold grudges. I don’t hate Franco. I don’t mind that he fucked my girlfreind, I don’t mind that he took my seat, I don’t mind any of it at all anymore.” Pause. “But I know that I once did, and I know what it feels like to go through it.”

You blink.

“What I’m trying to say is that I know what Lissie’s feeling right now.”

“Lissie,” you say with resentment. “Was keeping me from living life. From experiencing things—and you want to know why?” You laugh, shaking your head. “Because she’s in love with me. Because she wanted to keep me to herself.”

“Yeah,” he challenges, grinning smugly. “And who told you that?”

It’s a reality check, all of this. It’s not a nice one, either. Taking a wobbly step back, you watch as he hums to himself, already knowing the answer to his question. Already knowing that he was onto you and your lack of better judgement. You felt the heat rush to your cheeks after that.

Pursing your lips, you push your hair back, you stand straighter, and you look him dead in the eye.

“It was nice seeing you, Logan—but do me a favor? Tell Lissie to fuck off.”

He notices your change in demeanor the second he finds you sitting by yourself.

By now he’s heard all about Logan being in the paddock, but what he doesn’t know is what he has said to you, which is why he thinks a milkshake might help you let it all out.

“I don’t like strawberry,” you whisper, almost as if your voice is gone. “I prefer vanilla.”

Of course you do.

Without thinking twice about it, he throws the sweet drink away into the nearest trash can, claiming his spot next to you as he fixes his hat. “I should have known,” he jokes, looking for a smile, but nope—nothing. “You look pretty, by the way.”

“Why did you lie to me, Franco?”

Okay. So you definitely know something.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he finds himself responding, ignoring the way your head jerks swiftly.

“Don’t feed me with that bullshit,” you snap, reminding him that he can’t do the same as much as he wanted to. No. He needed you to believe him—not them.

“What did he say to you?” he asks carefully.

And you tell him, you tell him all of it, not leaving out a single piece of information that makes your head spin more with every passing second because how could you have fallen for it? Any of it?

“Adelina was my tutor,” he says adamantly. “Why would he say she was his girlfriend?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

The Argentenian clenches his jaw because there is no way he wasn’t going to let you trust them more than him, even if he was actually the one telling lies. “Don’t you find this suspicious?”

You say nothing.

The brunette nods, rolling his jaw as if he’s onto something you might’ve missed. “I mean, you stop talking to Lissie, and now what? She pulls out the big guns? Is she really that desperate to have you back by her side that now she’s gone as far as to make Logan lie to you just to make her look like the good guy?”

Still nothing. He’s losing you, he knows it. He sees it in the way you squint your eyes for a minute before furrowing your brows neatly. So, he does what he knows he does best—play the victim.

“Oye—what’s one thing they both share in common?” When you still fail to say anything, he clicks his fingers, startling you from the sudden sound. “Jealousy.” A beat. “They’re jealous of me.”

This time you do speak. “Why would they be jealous of you, Franco, why?”

“Have you forgotten that they think I’ve stolen something or someone from them?”

“Holy shit,” you whisper, sitting straight as you finally connect the dots. He nearly lets a rude chuckle slip before he swallows it down, frowning instead, along with a sad nod. “You stole me from Lissie. You stole the seat from Logan.”

“Exactly.”

“Oh my God…oh my God. How could I be so blind?”

He wonders the same thing. And genuinely, he begins to worry for your well being, for being so goddamn trusting. But hey—this was all working in his favor, so be it.

Those eyes—the ones that are half as pretty as your body—soften instantly. You’re grateful, you let him know, for being the only one to be honest with you. For taking the time to wake you up, to make you see things that were always right in front of you. They were never really good friends, they were never really good people, and now you know.

And that’s all thanks to Franco.

Somehow, he convinces you to sneak out to the beach with him. He’s had a shitty day in the car, he’s had an even worse meeting with both Alex and James, and according to him, this might help release some stress.

You owe it to me, eh? he teased when you first shook your head, claiming to be too tired. After that, you were quick to run back to your room and grab a thick sweater due to it being past curfew.

The moonlight isn’t beautiful tonight, which is a weird thing to say aloud, so, instead, you keep it to yourself. It’s a full moon, but it’s not white, it’s not yellow—it’s red.

“Scares you?” the Williams driver asks, raising his brows with curiosity. You blush, feeling awfully childish for actually being. Scared, that is. He chuckles, arms propped against the towel he stole from his room, the one that was too small to fit you both, but you managed to make it work. “Do I scare you?” he interrogates and you don’t know why that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Not at all. You’re—you’re.” You aim a ginger smile, one that reminds him close to sugar. “You’re sweet.”

“I was born during a red-moon,” he admits, watching as goosebumps run down your legs, the only area that wasn’t covered because stupidly enough, you thought it wouldn’t be that cold. “It scared my parents shitless.”

“Why?” you ask, interested to know more.

He shrugs. “Some believe it can cause birth defects like a cleft palate. Others think it brings in evil spirits.” He sees the way you squint at his lips, as if looking for a scar of any kind, no matter big or small. He snickers, making you feel ashamed for even searching for one. “I wasn’t born with a cleft palate, in case you’re wondering.”

I wasn’t, you wish to confess, but you know that's not true. Instead, you make a joke—an awful joke. One that doesn’t land for the first few seconds.

“Does this mean evil is within you?” You giggle. “Tell me, Franco Colapinto, were you born to be sinful?”

His jaw goes slack.

Your stomach drops. “I-I-I am so sorry—”

“It’s fine.” It’s not. “Forget about it.”

There’s a pressure in your chest now that you worry you’ve upset him. He doesn’t say anything after that, he doesn’t try to laugh it off, instead, he clears his throat, waiting for you to be washed away by the shore. Why was he wasting his time on you again?

He doesn’t know it. You don’t know it. But the reason your joke got to him is because—you’re right. He was out to get you, he was out to get Lissie, he was out to get Logan—he was out to get anyone who he felt like toying with in one way or another.

But he just doesn’t realize it. His destruction comes naturally, and that? That just might be the scariest thing of all.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat with a mumble, hair dancing against the wind. You feel awful. Maybe it came out harsher than intended, maybe not, but guilt slides down you, nonetheless. “I didn’t mean it.”

“I said it’s fine,” he restates, his features softening as he let out a toothy smile, as if he suddenly thought your joke was funny. It wasn’t, but whatever, fuck you, honestly. “Have you been practicing your Spanish?”

More guilt. “I haven’t…”

He wants to yell. Yeah, he wants to fucking scream because why are you wasting his time? Why is he wasting his?

But no—no. He nearly has you, he nearly has you, he nearly has you.

“No worries,” he reassures, sitting straight this time as he signals around. “We’re at the beach. We’re alone with no distractions.” And this guy—smirks. Devilishly. “Are you ready for your first real prize?”

Heat pools between your legs with eagerness, though you try not to overshow it.

But he notices—he notices everything when it comes to you. And there’s not a single thing you can hide.

“Well,” he teases, shrugging smugly. “That’s if I feel like you deserve it.”

You almost feel like you don’t. You don’t deserve attention of any kind from someone like Franco Colapinto. He’s not only handsome, but he’s also calculated. He’s not only easy going, but he’s also stern. And honestly, you don’t know what side of him you might get.

But you also don’t seem to care, and at this point, you’d take just about any attention.

“Lay down on the towel,” he instructs, a deep rumble mixed with his accent. Swallowing, you do just that, adjusting your skirt so it doesn’t slide up. But that’s not the plan—it never was. A single chuckle can be heard from him before he towers over you, his large hand going down to bunch up the thin fabric, pulling it up your hips. Your eyes grow wide with panic as he coos at you like a baby. “Relax—this is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Technically, yes. You had agreed a couple weeks back, but dear God, was this it? What were you doing? And he just does the best job at controlling your nerves, at making you let loose, because suddenly, your panties being fully exposed doesn’t feel that daunting anymore.

“There you go,” he whispers as he analyzes your breathing the more it becomes a lot less hard. He grins, eyes crinkling. “Mira que innocente.”

“Innocente,” you copy him, furrowing your brows as the word sounds extremely familiar. Just then, you burn up, giggling awkwardly. “You think I’m innocent?”

“And she knows how to use her brain, too,” he congratulates, making you blink with surprise for a second time due to the tone he says it in. “Well, aren’t you?”

You think of lying to him. At making up some crappy story about a first time you’ve never even had, but think—what if he can see past your lie? Oh, you’re sure you’d never leave the house ever again, no, you’d be too embarrassed to look him in the eye ever again.

So, ignoring his questions, you tilt your head against the towel, feeling the back of your head rub against sand without actually getting dirty. You bite down on your bottom lip once before letting go, watching as his breath hitches at the sight. You like that.

“I got it right, didn't I?” The ocean waves crash rapidly. “Where’s my prize?”

He’d be laughing right now if he weren’t so impressed by you. Here he was thinking you were some doll he had to take care of and look at you—you’re just as ready and desperate as him. He likes that.

Without a second to kill, the Argentinian leans down, clashing his lips against yours as your mouth opens pathetically in return, welcoming him in a way that makes his cock grow hard. He doesn’t just use his lips, he also uses his teeth. He doesn’t just stay silent, he also makes noises. He groans as if this is something he’s been craving for quite a while now, but you can’t judge him too much on that—you feel the same way.

You’re left panting the moment he pulls away, staring at you with dark eyes, irises blown out as his chest heaves in a struggle to catch his own breath. Looking up at him, your lips are plumper than ever before. Your nose is rosy and your cheekbones have a certain glow to them.

And would you look at that?

You’re in love.

You never thought a guy like him would notice you past a hundred other girls. In your mind, you never stood a chance, and now this? No one kisses like that and doesn’t fall in love. And you see it—you see it in his eyes. The way they glimmer and glisten as if saying—yes, yes I feel it too.

You smile, a sweet giggle sliding up your throat as your eyes begin to shut with tenderness.

So fucking stupid, he thinks to himself as he smiles back, so fucking easy.

Is this really all it took? If he had known, he would’ve kissed you ages ago and gotten his way and left, but alas, everything happens for a reason, right?

“Say something else,” he encourages.

You purse your berry lip, thinking long and hard because the thought of letting him down seems like too much now. That, and you were curious with what else he’d do to you. “Okay, um, so…soy periodista,” you mutter, tongue jittery. “Y trabajo contigo—Franco Colapinto.”

“Good enough,” he lets out, already sliding down as he comes to view with your white lace. You squirm, fixing yourself so you can keep an eye on him. It takes him a while, he doesn’t know why, for him to to loop his fingers around the thin string and pull down. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to taste you.”

“Wha—”

Just then, he mouth is pressed down against your core, licking up any wetness that was already there, causing more to slither down your legs as you squeal, twisting so much that he physically has to hold you down. You feel his nose brush against places that make you see white, you feel his tongue dive in until it’s practically inside of you, looking for any sign that you might like it. And of course you do—of course you do—he knows what girls like you are into.

“Sabes a dulce,” he murmurs against your thighs, already reaching up to throw them over his shoulders. The way his muscles twitch underneath your calves makes you moan louder, pulling the rest of your dress up and biting down on it to lessen the loud sounds you’re making. Franco chuckles, sending vibrations up your sweaty body. “Don’t do that…no one’s around.”

He’s right. Not a single soul is here, but you can’t quite figure out why your pornographic noise makes you feel wrong. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that you’ve never done anything like this before, and not your first time on the open beach—yeah. Maybe.

Adding a finger in as a test, you let out a yelp, not used to having anyone do that. You lurch up, locking eyes with him before he grins, slipping in another, admiring as you go limp. He’s seen this view a million different times. With blonds, with brunettes, with gingers, with all kinds of girls, but nothing excites him more than you.

And it’s not because he’s in love—God, no—but rather because all his scheming was worthwhile. All his lies, all his irritation…was worth having you like this. Usually, girls throw themselves at him, but you were, truly, truly, truly the hardest to get at, and it wasn’t even your fault.

It was Lissie’s.

He hopes you two make up. After all is said and done, he really does pray now that a rekindling can happen amongst you two. The Brit will probably still hate him, probably write a ton of articles in order to make him look back, but who would ever believe her? Everyone sees him as a bubbly personality. The kind of guy to get shy sometimes. The one who blushes even with the smallest compliments.

Of course no one would believe her.

And you?

You’d probably regret it all.

And he doesn’t even care.

But that’s all a persona—one that works wonders. I mean, shit…it worked on you.

“Oh…” you whimper, as you feel your stomach tighten, seeing all the stars despite having your eyes closed. “Fuck, fuck, Franco, I’m gonna—”

Grunting wildly, he open mouth kisses your pussy all over, collecting the warm liquid that finally spills out of you, growling beneath his breath because he just can’t get enough, because this—

This is what a virgin tastes like.

“God,” he moans as he pulls away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as you try to recollect the rest of your sanity that seems to have slipped away ever since he entered your life. “You taste sweeter than Adelina ever did.”

You flinch—hard.

You think that if you were to ask if you had a slap marked across your cheek, the answer would be yes. He’s too busy telling you how great you were, he’s too busy comforting you, rubbing small circles against your hips as he grins brightly, a small dimple forming in the corner of his lips. And then, there’s you—dumbfounded as ever.

“I used to do this with her all the time,” he continues, drawing shapes on your arms, chuckling to himself, clearly diving back to the past. And realistically, that’s fine. He’s allowed to do that. But in front of you? Your lack of words is what ultimately makes him frown with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Can you not…” You trail off, feeling a sting burn your eyes, forcing them to flutter dramatically.

Are you serious? he wants to ask dryly. Were you seriously getting butthurt over something so long ago? For fucks sake, you two weren’t even together.

Licking his lips, he nods fiercely, faking an apologetic look, but inside, he’s burning with annoyance. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.” Wincing, you gently push him off, fixing yourself and throwing on your puffer jacket. “I’m sorry—”

“I just want to go to bed,” you say weakly, looking down at the sand, spotting a tiny crab crawling away in a hurry. Almost as much hurry as you. You sniffle, scoffing at the fact that you’re crying. How would he ever take you seriously if all you do is act like a child? Wiping away a small droplet, you force a smile that doesn’t quite meet your eyes. “I hope you feel better.”

Right. He was supposedly stressed out after the day he had. Nodding robotically, and a bit lost, he jumps up, grabbing the towel and shaking it off before following after you.

There’s really no room to talk. Or maybe there is but neither of you take it.

Not until you reach your slightly cheaper hotel. Well. A lot cheaper. “Goodnight, Franco,” you say awkwardly, swaying from side to side as he remains as blank as a naked canvas.

“Lo siento,” he says, suddenly agitated. “It was never my intention to hurt your feelings.” And the thing is—he’s telling the truth. He wasn’t looking to do any of that, but the moment he did, it didn’t feel like a big deal either. Girls were just always overly dramatic. But they’re also sickeningly beautiful, so he’d make sure to fix this mess. “Forgive me?”

This is another test of his. To see if you either have some dignity or not.

Newsflash—you don’t.

How you manage to end up in his bed, you don’t know, because last thing you remember, you were at the entrance of your hotel, not his.

Because that’s not what’s important right now.

What’s important is the way he’s talking you through it, saying it isn’t going to hurt, which turns out to be an outrageous lie because honest to God, you feel as if your entire body has been set on fire. A fire he fuels with his praises, calling you things like preciosa and linda. He makes it difficult to speak, so you stick to your whimpers and mewls. You stick with letting him fuck you until you feel ready to pass out.

Back arched, you gasp as the tip of his cock reaches a place even you haven’t been able to reach, no matter how many times you’ve touched yourself. It makes your mind go haywire and his jaw go slack as he lets out a whine that catches both of you off guard.

“You.” Thrust. “Feel.” Thrust. “Perfect.” Thrust.

He’s talking about your body. He’s talking about your tiny cunt that takes him like no other. He’s talking about the fact that later on, he will able to brag on and on about the virgin he fucked in Miami to all of his cocky friends with dicks smaller than the size of their brains.

He’s not talking about you.

He’s not talking about the fact that you’re clinging onto him as if he’s your only savior in this life and the next. He’s not talking about the way you say his name, as if he’s the most special person to you. He’s not talking about the fact that you’re in love with him, and he’s not.

Because that’s not what’s important right now.

“Shit—” He tosses his head back, struggling to breathe as he pounds into you harder, trying to erase the view of you, mouth hung open, sweaty body under his. Because if he thinks about it for too long, he might just come right there and then. “Mierda, mierda, mierda—me tienes jodidamente adicto.”

You don’t know what he’s saying, you’re not that advanced to understand, but something about it makes you grin, glancing up at him as he finally looks down at you, watching you slide higher and higher up the bed from how fast he’s sinking into you.

“F–F-Franco Colapinto,” you stutter, giving it your all to not let your eyes fall shut with how good you feel.

“Yeah, baby?” he encourages, large hands going in to cradle your face against them, making you feel more than sure about what you’re about to say.

Your smile expands. “Te amo.”

Fuck, he grunts one last time, very animal like, and cums into you as you do the same, moaning at the sensitivity and new emotion.

You just never expected—never, ever, ever expected—for him to react this way.

It all happens so fast, him changing. You barely have a chance to register that he no longer has that afterglow, that he no longer wears that smile that millions of camera’s and fan’s love to see. All of it is gone—in the span of a second.

“You don’t know what you're saying.”

You blink, suddenly feeling dirty of being left bare on the bed. Quickly, you grab a nearby blacket and toss it over your body, standing and carefully walking up to him, wearing a wobbly smile, as if you’re still debating whether to fully show it or not.

“Sorry?” you question, bothered by the fact that he's invalidating your feelings. You frown, neat brows knit together. “I’m telling you I love you because I know what I’m saying.”

Franco rolls his eyes, a thing you’ve never seen before, and it’s not something you like, either. It makes him look distant, and cold, and almost…irritated by your existence. By the fact that you’re still in his room, the room he practically begged you to come back to with him.

And deep in his soul, he finally felt it—a snap in him.

Getting rid of the distance between you two, his eyes soften, just like honey. They’ve gone delicate and kind and that’s the Franco you know and love.

But that's just for show—that’s just what he wants you to see.

And now—now he’s done.

You think he’s going to kiss you, like in the movie’s. You think he’s going to confess his undying love for you, too. You think he’s about to prove everyone wrong, those being Logan and Lissie. But that’s not the case, it was never going to be.

“You should’ve listened to them,” he whispered into your ear, making your stomach drop, a strong pain going straight to your heart. A minute ticks by. “You’re a sweet girl,” he says, taking a step back. “I still think so—can’t that be enough for you to live with?”

Your lips open and close lamely. “I-I’m confused…”

“You girls always expect too much from men,” he says, sighing and saying ‘girls’ as if it’s a thing that costs him to respect. Seeing it now, you might think that’s true. “What do you want me to say? That I’m in love with you?”

Silence.

The brunette scoffs, rolling his tongue as he raises a dark brow. “See. This is exactly what I mean. It’s not your fault, though. You were born naive, you can’t help it. It’s adorable.”

This can’t be real. This can’t be real. This can’t be real.

“The rumors,” you whispher beneath your breath, eyes welling with tears. “They were right all along…”

He sighs, crossing his arms. “Cariño, a thousand rumors surround my name on a day to day basis, could you be more specific?”

An eye twitch is what makes a single tear slide down your face, but you’re not crying out of heartbreak anymore, no—you’re crying out of pure anger. You feel a hatred like never before, seeing him standing there all nonchalant.

The fame. The money. The attention. It’s all gone straight to his head.

“That you’re a flirt,” you accuse. “That you’re egotistical. That you’re too full of yourself. That you’re vain. That you’re a player.” You let out a delirious laugh, nearly letting go of the sheets that cover you whole. Mascara stains the corner of your eyes as you shake your head in disbelief. “That you’re nothing but a manipulator who thrives on deceiving those around you.” Your hand shakes with fury as you glare at the Argentinian. “Lissie and Logan…they were right about you all along.”

He can’t even deny that, so he says nothing indeed. But that just angers you even more. Grabbing him by the collar, you yank him down to look at you straight in the eyes of the girl he just broke with zero mercy.

“Lissie was never in love with me, was she?”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Adelina wasn’t your tutor, she was Logan’s girlfriend, wasn't she?”

He doesn't say anything.

Hiccupping, his face becomes far too blurry as your shoulders shake with every sob. It's filled with suffering, and agony, and he sincerely starts to worry about your wellbeing. You don't look good anymore—your eyes are puffy and lifeless, your lips are swollen from how often you keep biting them to try and suppress your tears, your makeup smears tragically, and that…pains him to see.

“You were never going to take me serious, were you?”

A lump enters his throat, cruelly making him realize that for some reason, and for the first time in his life—he cares.

He feels guilty.

But feeling at fault does not make the reality any less true.

Slowly, he grimaces, shaking head full of curls and making you let him go, chucking to yourself. “I’m not mad at you, Franco.” You scoff, rolling your eyes and using the sheets as a tissue. “I’m mad at myself.” This time, you narrow your eyes, sharp and threatening, contradicting your prior sentence. “For letting some boy get in between my best friend and I. For letting some boy feed me lies. For letting some boy drag me to hell and back. For letting some boy think he was a man.”

He flinches harshly at your words that are laced with venom. He’s had this happen to him before—grls cursing him out, girls belittling him for doing it first to them.

So then why—why does this hurt him?

“Don’t you feel funny knowing that people know you for what you are?” you ask, curling a brow. “That all the rumors are true.”

“Not always,” he answers weakly, still not meeting your eyes, too ashamed. “They could also be a hoax, at times.”

“Mmm,” you mumble, thinking back to a couple months ago where you and Lissie had a similar conversation. Christ, were you just as stubborn as him? “Since when?”

All he does is blink. All he does is stare.

All you do is change.

All you both do—is learn a very valuable lesson.

Rightfully so, Lissie kept her distance despite you texting her hundreds of times begging to meet up and talk. To make things right amongst you both.

And honestly, there would have been no chance of sitting in front of one another if Logan had not been the first one to accept your apology, forcing you two to talk about everything.

“Okay, um—” An awkward giggle. “I’m sorry, I don't know how to do this…”Twiddling her thumbs, the Brit sighs, probably just as nervous as you, and Logan snickers during the whole thing. Gulp. “I want to start off by saying that you were right. About—well. Franco.”

Stillness is your enemy because suddenly her lack of words makes your entire world begin to flip on its axis, too horrified to begin and imagine the worst. But Lissie has never been one to hold grudges—well—when it comes to you.

“I know I was.”

Okay, but maybe she’ll put up a good fight for the first few seconds.

You nod feverishly. “Yeah…and I, um, should have listened to you. To both of you.”

“You should have,” she responds dryly, still with her head held up high.

Okay, you deserve this.

“Lissie, I’m so sorry,” you say, firm and desperate, round eyes softening as she remains stoic for a second. “You were just looking out for me, and I was acting childish.” Or two. “And I would understand if you never want to see or hear from me again, but—I really wish that's not the case.”

Or three.

Pursuing her pink lips, the journalist gets up from her place on the couch, making you stomach drop at the thought of her leaving, putting a definite end to your guys’ friendship. But you wouldn't be able to say you were surprised. She had every right to do just that.

And by some miracle, she stays.

Walking up to with eagerness, she happily throws her arms around you, making you laugh and do the same, digging your face into her neck. How could you have ever pushed something as sacred as this away for someone like Franco?

“I forgive you, of course, I forgive you,” she says with enlightenment, smiling from ear to ear. “And I'm sorry you had to go through all that, I hope he rots for the rest of eternity.”

You let out a giggle, pulling back, eyes flickering over at Logan. “Come here, dude.” It's a bear hug, one that suffocates you, but you couldn't have asked for anything better. “Ah. I can't believe I let him get to my head,” you yelp, bumping your hand against your temple over and over again. “I feel so stupid.”

“Stop it,” Lissie warns, brown eyes painted with subtle threat, like an older sister. “How could you have known?”

“Because you told me countless times to stay away,” you return, deadpan.

Logan snickers. “True.”

The brunette girl swats his arms, making him let out a yelp in slight pain. You smile gingerly at the interaction, realizing how much you missed this. “Whatever, you live and you learn, right?”

“Right,” they chorus.

You three spend the next few hours cooped up in Lissie’s flat, ordering shitty pizza from the parlor down the street. It takes like cardboard, you all agree after the first few bites. You beg for an update from both of them, hit with surprise when Logan opens up about seeing someone—Riley, you think her name is—and how he might be joining IndyCar, but only time will tell.

“He’s already had a couple test rounds,” Lissie brags for him, watching as he blushes, nursing his soda. “And he’s fantastic. I really think you have a fair shot at getting an offer. Plus, your racing history is killer, it’ll help.”

“Thank, Lis,” he mumbles timidly beneath his breath. “Oh. Tell her about Marcus.”

“Marcus?” you repeat, clearly interested in knowing more. You lean forward, shimming as she rolls her eyes over at the blond. “Who’s that?”

“No one—”

“Yeah, right!” he yelps. “Only the hotshot you're dating.”

A beat. “Wait, Lis, you have a boyfriend?”

The Brit burns burgundy. “No, no, no. We’ve just gone out a couple times, that's all.”

“Oooh,” you tease. “And what? You love him?” you sing, enjoying the way she withers away with embarrassment. “Oh, come on, Lissie, tell me, tell me!”

“I don't love him,” she groans, digging her face into a pillow and sounds far too muffled. “Fuck you two.”

“I didn't say anything,” he says, chuckling with amusement before getting up to use the bathroom.

Once he's far out of view, you jump to the spot next to her, ripping the cushion out of her hands. She frowns, long hair messy. You wiggle your neat brows. “I swear I won't tell.”

“There's nothing to say.”

“Oh, so it was physical?”

“I will kick you.”

Raising your arms up in surrender, you giggle wholeheartedly, making her start to giggle too. And just like that, it feels like old times.

As if he never even happened.

“Tell me one thing,” she speaks up, gathering her breath. “Did you fall in love with him?”

A rude flinch, then: “I did.”

“But you regret it?”

This you don't have to think twice about. “Of course, I do, are you kidding me? Franco quite literally shattered my heart.”

A beat.

“I told you so.”

You glare. “Seriously?”

Lissie waves her arms theatrically. “I'm sorry, but it's true! Didn’t I?”

She did. She told you millions of times, but you never listened. But God, you really, really, really wish you had. “Wanna hear something crazy?”

“Uh, duh,” she responds, propping her arms to face you.

You laugh, already feeling silly about what you're about to say. “Franco swore you were in love with me and that's why you didn't want me near him.”

She freezes. “What?”

Picking up a slice of pizza that's gone cold by now, you nod, snorting at the thought you once believed something as outrageous as that. “Yeah, he said that you just acted differently around me.” Another bite. “Told you it was crazy.”

“It is,” she mutters, brows furrowed as she watches you chew. “The lengths he would go to just to keep you to himself, Jesus Christ.”

“I know,” you respond. “And I know you love me, but not like that. He was actually sick for making up lies like that without even flinching.” A giggle. “Anyways, now I know that the person you do love is baby face, Marcus Armstrong.”

The Brit blushes, pushes her curtain bangs away from her face. “Leave us alone.”

“Us,” you squeal, getting up once Logan comes back into the living room with a new can of soda. “Where do you keep the cherry colas?”

“In the mini-fridge,” she yells, sighing contentedly as the couch dips once again.

Logan looks behind him swiftly, then back at Lissie who scrolls through her phone.

“I feel bad for lying to her.”

Flicking her gaze back up quickly, the British girl glares hard enough to make him wince and regret saying anything in the first place. “Don’t,” she states, brown eyes darker than ever. “Say that ever again.”

“Why not?” Agitatedly, he runs a hand through his hair, glancing around before narrowing his blue eyes, matching her scowl. “This isn’t what you do when you love someone.”

“Be quiet,” Lissie hisses, inching closer to him, afraid of you walking in and catching their conversation. “I told you that in confidence.”

The blond sighs, going in and holding her small hand against his. In a way, he feels sympathy for his friend at this moment because he's sure being secretly in love with someone is a challenge of its own. She opened up to him about it, told him how she was confused at first, but now she was sure. How she said it all came to be the moment you introduced her to a couple of your hometown friends a few years ago and she realized, yeah, I want to belong to her world.

But what she hadn’t expected was for Franco—out of all people, Franco—to be able to tell how she feels. And sure. Maybe he thought of it as a lie, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that he nailed it right in the bullseye. Lissie just couldn’t—couldn’t—imagine him having you. It was impossible, it didn’t make sense.

But you and her did. You just didn’t know it yet.

“You have to tell her how you feel, she’s going to find out!” he hisses, gritting his teeth, trying to make her understand that would lead them to no good.

“No—she won’t,” she reassures him more than herself. “She wasn’t able to tell that Franco was a douchebag, do you really think she’ll be able to tell that her best friend is in love with her?” A beat. “Even I can admit that she’s a bit dumb.”

“That’s low, Lissie, so fucking low,” he says, taken over by a wave of sympathy for seeing how others view you when you’re not around. “How does that make you any better than him?”

“Please,” she grits. “Franco and I are not the same. What’s my crime? That I haven’t confessed my feelings? And what about him? That he manipulated her, told her lies, fucked her, then left her to figure it out by herself all with a broken heart?”

Who’s the real villain here, Logan, huh?

In hindsight, he is. Franco is the one who caused the most harm.

But Lissie? Lissie’s not that far behind.

“What about Adelina?” he counterstrikes pathetically. “She was never even my girlfriend!”

“Yes, she was.” The brunette tilts her head slowly. “Why are you suddenly backtracking on all of this? I thought you were onboard.”

“I was!” Pause. “I mean, I-I-I am. Fuck…I don’t know.”

But she’s seen this happen before. She’s seen it happen with you.

Lissie squints her eyes, long lashes fluttering dangerously. “Franco got to you, didn’t he?” Logan looks away and that’s a valid answer in her dictionary. Sitting straight, the Brit girl lets out a sigh. “Which side are you on?”

“Yours.” Right? “Franco’s?” Right? A loud exhale. “Shit, I don’t know!”

“She’s lying to you, Logan, can’t you see?” Franco explains, somewhere in Texas. Formula One and IndyCar cross paths here, and while the Argentinian is here to race, well, Logan was here for testing because he thinks—thinks—he might have a shot at landing a strong contract by the end of the month. “She’s good at doing that.”

The blond shakes his head. “Why would she do that?”

“Because she hates me,” he responds as if it were the most obvious answer. “Lissie…she’s never liked me. I swear, I think she might be in love with—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Logan says, cutting him off. But it’s too late—he can tell Franco is skeptical.

“Hold on a minute—am I right?”

“No,” the blue eyed boy responds with such a hurry, that not even the stupidest idiot on Earth would think he was being honest. “Are you cra—no, of course not.”

“Dios, what is going on?” the William's driver mumbled, head growing dizzy from how complicated this has all gotten. And it was all your fault, for being so goddamn alluring. Or maybe it was his. Or maybe it was Lissie’s.

Who’s fucking keeping score anymore?

Logan reaches for the tab, simply looking for a reason to get up and go, but the brunette is quick to grab it, sliding his card against the folder. “Thanks,” the blond stutter, standing up and pushing his chair in. “I can’t tell anymore.”

Franco freezes. “What do you mean?”

“Who’s telling the truth and who’s telling lies.”

“I don’t trust you,” Logan whispers, almost letting out a wince from how hard Lissie is glaring at him now. “But I don’t trust him, either.”

And it’s confusing because you two are such good people, deep down, but the way you both are able to lie, and lie, and lie—

“I couldn’t find it,” you say, barging back into the room, panting softly, mouth open. “I know you said the mini fridge, but I didn’t see anything.”

Both your friends blink blanky, looking up. The journalist is the first to break the silence, giggling to herself. “Don’t worry, I can help.”

“Great!” you cheer, disappearing back in the direction you came from.

And before she leaves, before she goes out of view as well, Lissie leans down, face to face with Logan who shifts uncomfortably.

“Why do you think Franco might be lying to you?” she asks, voice deep with tranquility.

Blue eyes connect with brown ones.

She smiles, a childlike dimple popping innocently.

“Could it be that maybe he's in love—with you?”

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acid-ixx · 6 months ago

Text

young, just us?! (again &. again au)

ft. yandere young justice 98 x gn! reader

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— masterlist !

off-topic, but i've been hyperfixating so much on the young justice (98 vers), that i've been thinking of another timeline where the entire team falls in love with you during one of their trips to the manor. i mean, who wouldn't? they want to know more about your unshakeable, yet warm presence, but they couldn't due to their teammate's indifference towards the first biological child, you.

so someone assertive like cassie slaps some sense into tim drake for his obvious negligence of you whenever you try to talk to him in front of the team, with her harsh tone and squinted glare, just to make it hurt more, that it just leads you finally catching his eyes—

whilst you're unaware of everything happening in the background scene.

cue his interest being piqued regarding you, his obsessive research that spirals into the need to be a constant in your life, and his attempts at bonding with you before it's too late; but with his team of course, because it's now he realizes just how lonely you truly are, with the lack of friends and hobbies only done by yourself, for yourself, in the ghostly manor— whilst all your siblings are out there fighting crime, socializing, with so many adventures that no normal person could comprehend.

tim is familiar with what it's like living in an empty house, before he became robin.

he trusts his teammates, his friends with his life, so it wouldn't be a problem if you were to be acquainted with them; it would be a problem, though, if he soon doesn't quench their thirst to meet with you yet again.

so imagine, one day, you're just out there gardening, humming tunes as always like routine, the next you're being dragged in impulse's arms of all heroes, his hold on you too intimate for a stranger you met once. tim's voice echoes through intangible earphones, lightly threatening the speedster to keep you safe through your fast travel. you're sped from the manor to places unknown, kissed by the air cutting through your body, until you're at their secret cave, surrounded by his teammates, dumbly looking around until a girl rips you away from impulse's arm to hug you tightly.

she acts as a cushion for you to lay your head on, dizzy from the motion enough to make you nearly vomit. but all she does is coo at your swaying head and push her palm on your nape to have you stabilize in hold.

"you okay, sweetie? i swear, if bart got you sick, i'm going to punch him so hard right now."

you're quite unsure how to reply, mind too numb to register the speedster voicing his complaints, or the disgruntled sigh from your brother who shakes his head, commenting under his breath about "keeping affection to a low, for now."

you've never been held this tightly for years, but she beats you through your disoriented tears right after a moment's beat. through your speechless squeaks, she offers you a soft and warm, "welcome, buddy!" her blonde hair glimmers under the light compared to yours.

she calls herself arrowette, suzanne king-jones her personal identity, but insists just as quickly that you call her cissie with your sweet little voice, you nod hazily. everything's happening at a hasty pace that you couldn't even question why nobody's batting an eye at the identity reveal to a civilian, a stranger that is you.

but just as quickly as she introduces herself, your attention is dragged to an all-too familiar, handsome face, his infamous sunglasses resting on his nose, piercings on his eyebrows, and raven sidepart as he shakes your hands and blows you a kiss. a batarang slices through the air and nearly misses his head, you could tell your brother's seething by now.

it doesn't take much for everyone else to introduce themselves after the awkward tension from superboy telling you to call him "baby".

but your mind is still spinning either way, from the daze of impulse's speed, or all the names being thrown into your head, while they all repeatedly shower you with compliments that has you reeling from the foreign domain of affection you've stepped foot on.

just like that, the team takes advantage of your timidness, your eyes plastered on the ground as your face flushes with blazing heat, fighting each other with verbal insults whilst praising themselves in front of you in a battle to assert who's better. it's tim taking your arms and dragging you off to another room that makes for a perfect distraction, apologizing for the sudden intrusion in your life, and how he's willing to make up for the negligence he's caused you from every since he came to the manor— that these people are going to be your new friends.

he says it all so assertively, like he's done his research and the data he's received are all correct, as if he's sure this is the greatest course of action for your life.

the transition from silence to a room filled with chatters, words all directed to you, rather than from a passing glance, their efforts to communicate with someone inept at socializing yet never giving up... well, you couldn't quite comprehend it yet, but tim could see how your face flushes with warmth and the jitters of your fingers from excitement at the implication of new and better... friends.

the taste of the word feeling so distant yet welcomed, he watches the smile slowly plastered on your face and brings his hesitant palms to pat the crown of your head still turned down, tangling his fingers in each strand to ruffle your hair.

it's totally not a way for him to memorize every detail of your being.

"let's, uh... turn our backs away from the past alright, (name)?" he says with an awkward lilt to his voice. you look up through your lashes, and find his pale face incredulously red while his eyes dart around the room. suddenly, you don't feel so trapped right now, and feel yourself giggling at his unsure words and stooping posture.

he panics and gulps, scratching the back of his neck. his eyes still refuse to stare straight at yours.

"— shit, sorry, 'm still not used to this comforting jig, but i'm serious about all this, about making it up to you while it's still early. so, uhm, i hope my friends aren't too... overwhelming for you. they're too excited, that's it."

it's finally at the end of his sentence that his eyes crinkle at the sight of you. you're still standing awkwardly, hesitant to open up yet still willing to make an effort if what he's saying is true.

there's still a shadow of doubt in your head, that this was all a dream, but everything feels so real. his touch feels so real.

it takes a split second for you to reply, still taking in the events that happened to you.

"it's... alright, maybe i'll learn to... forgive you, tim." your whisper sliced through the silent air, breathless, fiddling with your fingers, stepping closer to your brother. he hesitates, but brings his hands to rest on both sides of your shoulder.

his palms eventually made their way to hover on your face, you don't flinch, but you don't bring them closer to you either. it's an air of neutral comfort you're threading on.

"i'm... real grateful that you're willing to put up an effort for me..." it's as if you couldn't fathom that someone so talented, so important as tim drake could notice you and even apologize wholly without excuses. it doesn't take away the years, all the times he turned his back on you, and even mistakenly calling out the wrong name and flat out ignoring you, but if someone like him was willing to try— to even go as far as to have his friends become your friends.

well... who's to say you could deny the slight flutter in your chest at the sweet gestures?

it was you who initiated the hug, burying your head in his slumped shoulders, tears dampening his costume. your brother pats your back, and awkwardly cradles your body in the silent expanse of the room.

you don't feel the haste of his heartbeats, nor the goosebumps pervading his skin.

"thank you..." you mutter, relinquishing the fear that this was all a sick prank your mind has put you through, and embrace the sounds of the door suddenly slamming while your head still rests on the crook of your brother's neck, giggling through tears from bart's high-pitched squeals, the ghostly sounds of greta's overdramatic gasps and cassie's complaints of tim taking all your attention for himself.

from there on out, your presence kind of becomes a staple for the chaotic atmosphere of the team, a voice of reason whenever tim or cassie is too unhinged to deal with the others, they always kept their arguments light for the sake of your happiness. they like to treat you, finding your praises for each individual refreshing and sweet. you're unaware of just how much they truly loved you from the moment their eyes laid on the shadows of your form in the manor.

and you'd rather it stay that way, too invested in the never flitting feeling of being loved.

there's a saying, ignorance is bliss. you're in a state of happiness because this was the first time you had spent your time with someone you could call your brother. you had friends, welcoming from the start, unafraid to display their affection for you. hugs, cuddle piles, pats on your head, kisses on your cheeks, a target for kon's adorable flirting, bart's endless mumblings, even sitting beside your brother is enjoyable as he sifts through the big monitors in front of you, because at least now there's a hand you could fiddle with every time you become too bored.

how could you want to leave them after all this?

at least, in this timeline, you've willingly stepped into your own cage.

a/n: i'm this 🤏 close to disappearing off of tumblr for a year or two again because of my writer's block despite me posting more and more lately. the lack of motivation to write, and forcing yourself to write out the ideas you have in your head bec you're afraid of forgetting is such a shitty feeling. i'm on the verge of a hiatus, my imposter syndrome is at an all time high and i feel as if my writing has been lacking lately. so apologies, i might just quit if i can't get rid of this feeling. otherwise, i think we need more young justice (not the tv show) content, they're like my favorite hero team. i don't know what to feel about this drabble.

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sunni-stuff · 8 months ago

Text

Three days had passed since Jellybean, your rescued stray, vanished. Though an outdoor enthusiast at heart, she'd never missed a meal. Now, your phone tracker beeped, signaling proximity. The crafty runt had escaped, but you were closing in. Jellybean's street-smart ways usually brought her home, yet this time felt different. As you followed the signal, hope and worry battled within.

You traveled alone as none of the townspeople were brave enough to help with your search. The mere mention of the North Woods shook them to the core, earning your request swift declines and slammed doors in your face. Whispers and rumors follow you with every interaction

Secluded and untraceable, his cabin lies tucked away, invisible to prying eyes.

Rumors swirl of his territorial fury. Trespassers beware—this hunter stalks from afar. His domain is unforgiving, and his presence is a constant threat. The lucky ones spot the warning sign; others never see him coming.

Even the butcher, renowned for his toughness, said no, unwilling to even hear you out.

“There’s a man in the woods,” he said, voice unwavering. “You’d be smart to forget the idea.”

The boom of the door closing makes you flinch, jumping back a bit. A man in the woods? Surely not.

Even more absurd than some creep in the woods was the thought that the big, bad butcher was scared of him. This was a man who walked you home at night, who sneered at men and pulled you close to his side when you became uncomfortable. You knew him for a long time and you’d never seen him so much as flinch, but suddenly he was all squinted eyes and hushed tones at the thought of even stepping a foot off the beaten path. It couldn't be true, right?

Well, there was only one way to prove him wrong, and it was the only way you were gonna get Jellybean back. You’re going in that forest, urban myth or not.

Shadows lengthen as you exit your truck. The door closes with a hollow thud. The townsfolk's warnings replay in your mind, urging caution. You scan the area, heart racing. Drooping leaves cast an ominous veil over the forest. The murky depths seem to whisper, both alluring and forbidding.

Anxiety grips you as you take a step further. "Bean?" You whisper, voice trembling.

Silence answers. Twigs crack underfoot, and each snap creates an ominous echo. You cringe, the sounds amplifying your unease. Yet you press on, searching the quiet forest.

Minutes stretch like hours as you quietly call Bean's name, doing your best not to attract any unwanted attention, as the woods loom, hiding unknown dangers. Glancing down, your phone shows her location, unchanged, since she first wandered off. Jellybean's absence at this late hour is unsettling. She never stayed out of the house this long, and not so still, either. You can't help but think the worst, deciding to hurry closer to her, praying to find her safe.

Venturing deeper, the terrain grew wilder. Massive leaves parted, revealing fallen trunks and tilted trees. The more you looked around, the more it became clear that the uncharted wilderness wasn't made for humans.

There was no possible way.

The forest gave little leeway to those travelings through its domain. Predators strayed barely out of sight, lurking in hopes you'd be their next meal. A howl in the distance has you on edge, skin crawling, the feeling of being watched running anxious edges.

"Just keep walking. It'll be okay. The tracker says she's near." You reassured yourself under quite murmurs, trying to will your heart calm.

Then it appeared without warning.

A wolf lurches from the woodland gloom, baring his jagged canines, poised and ready to pounce. He circles you in a slow, menacing loop, foam pooling from his parted jaws. His eyes blaze with a frenzied gleam, wild and driven by something beyond hunger. Some dark, unseen force propels him, and you feel it tightening around you.

You turn and run.

Run as fast as your legs can carry you, tearing through the thick underbrush. Foliage slaps your arms and face, and the weeds clutch at your ankles like skeletal fingers desperate to drag you down. You ignore the stinging scratches, the pounding in your chest. If you fall, if you falter for even a second—you know it’s over.

Run.

The untamed beast snaps its jaws inches behind you, hot breath searing your calves, each bite narrowly missing as he hounds you with ruthless, single-minded determination. You crash through a thicket, branches clawing at your arms, tearing through your clothes, until you stumble onto a barely visible trail where weak shafts of light seep through gaps in the trees.

There’s no time to think. No time to process the sting of cuts or the burn in your lungs, nothing beyond the raw, primal instinct to get the hell away from the rabid creature on your heels.

Then you see it.

A cabin.

Really, a dilapidated shack, its sagging roof overrun with twisting vines, looms before you, barely held together by rotting beams and splintered boards. The whole structure looks one hard gust away from collapse, yet it’s the only shelter in sight. You don’t hesitate, heart hammering in your chest, and charge toward the door.

In your frantic rush, you miss the glint of watching eyes, shining like dark coals from the shadows behind, tracking your every move.

You burst inside, slamming the door shut with a desperate shove, then lean your back against it. Your chest heaves, each ragged breath scraping your lungs as you struggle to catch your breath, the weight of dread pressing down on you even harder than the beast’s pursuit.

The aroma of simmering soup wafted through the air, warmth enveloping you. A cozy scene unfolded: a bubbling pot atop a wooden stove, a modest desk tucked away, and a solitary lantern casting a soft glow. The space exuded an unexpected warmth, soft light pooling over worn furniture and the faint scent of old wood calming your frayed nerves. Your pulse slowed as the familiar coziness settled around you. Then, a gentle brush against your leg pulled you from the haze of adrenaline.

You glanced down—and there she was. Jellybean, her eyes wide and radiant, a few telltale crumbs clinging to her brown fur from some long-forgotten snack.

A rush of tenderness overtook the fading remnants of panic. You reached down, catching the elusive little troublemaker as she gave an indignant squirm. “You little—” The half-hearted scold fizzled, replaced by a sudden, overwhelming need to hold her close. “How—How did you end up here, huh?”

Holding Jellybean close, you feel the weight of your situation settling over you—a stranger in a cabin far from familiar ground, with the last of the sunlight slipping away, trapping you inside until dawn. Outside was darkness thick and impenetrable, the forest itself a living maze you dared not attempt at night.

“Shit,” you mutter, voice barely above a whisper as if speaking too loudly might stir something in the shadows.

Slowly, you move deeper into the space, eyes sweeping over the bare walls and spartan furniture. There’s something unnervingly sterile about the place—no photos, no knickknacks. Not a trace of personality or life. Who would live here? The rumors of some reclusive figure haunting these woods flash through your mind.

No. You shake your head, brushing off the thought. This was probably just some hunter’s shack. Or a place someone from town stayed now and then, just a shelter, nothing more.

Your foot presses down on a loose floorboard, and a loud creak echoes through the stillness. You freeze, heartbeat stuttering. Jellybean’s ears twitch, but she remains calm. Before you can step back, a low groan seeps from somewhere within the cabin, rolling through the floorboards, shivering up your spine.

Your grip tightens on Jellybean, and you hold your breath, listening.

“I-Is anyone there…?” Your voice barely steady. The words hover in the silence, as though the shadows themselves are holding their breath, waiting.

Then, clear as day, you hear it.

“Help… me…”

The voice is thin and broken, barely more than a whisper. Instinct screams at you to ignore it, to sit tight until morning. But something tugs at you. The sound is weak, desperate—human. The cabin feels suddenly smaller, its walls pressing in, urging you to run.

“Please… someone help me…"

A shiver races down your spine. Curse your altruism. You clutch Jellybean tighter, swallowing back the fear rising in your throat.

“U-uh, where…?” The question slips out before you can think, shaky and uncertain.

Silence stretches taut, pressing against your ears. Then, faint and low, a whining sound rises from beneath the floorboards, almost like a wounded animal. Every instinct screams at you to turn back, to stay safe. But you find yourself edging closer to the noise, heart hammering against your ribs.

Your gaze lands on a small, almost-hidden door near the far wall—the entrance to a cellar.

The pleas are louder here, wavering but persistent, each whisper curling up from the depths. “Help… please…”

You should walk away. This is a bad idea. A terrible idea. But, against every sliver of common sense, your hand reaches out, fingers trembling as they brush over the handle.

It turns with a rusty groan, and you pull the door open, revealing a narrow staircase descending into shadow. At the bottom, you catch the flicker of ember light, glowing faintly as if from a dying fire.

The cellar stretches out before you, a vast, dimly lit space far larger than should exist beneath such a modest shack. Shadows cling to the walls, the only light casting a faint, sickly orange glow that barely cuts through the murk. You step cautiously, heart-pounding, but then you glance to your right—and freeze.

The scene hits you with a nauseating force. Men hang suspended from thick meat hooks, bodies bruised and broken, some barely clinging to life, others unmoving, their faces blank and eyes empty. Their battered forms twist slightly in the air, like grotesque puppets left to dangle and rot. You swallow hard, stomach twisting as bile rises in your throat.

But then the horror deepens—recognition dawns. One face after another, familiar, each one seared into memory. The delivery driver who refused to take no for an answer, the lawyer from the pub whose relentless advances wore you down, the pizza guy who loitered outside your job, watching, waiting. All here. Hung like slabs of meat in this nightmarish cellar.

Your mind spins, the details piecing together in a sickening realization. The butcher. He’d warned them off, told you they wouldn’t bother you anymore. But this? This was something beyond any threat, beyond any punishment you’d ever imagined.

How? How had they ended up here? How did any of this exist beneath an unassuming cabin in the middle of the woods?

You weren’t supposed to see this. This was something that should have remained buried, hidden in the depths where secrets go to rot. The enormity of it presses down on you, making it hard to breathe, hard to think.

But then, one of them stirs. The pizza guy, his head lolling weakly to the side, lifts his face. His eyes, clouded and bloodshot, light up with recognition—a desperate spark of life in his hollow gaze. “Help! Please, before he comes back!” he rasps, voice cracking.

He.

The word rings in your mind, cold and jagged. He? Who could do this? Who would do this?

Your voice trembles as the question slips out, a thin whisper in the oppressive silence. “W—who… who are you talking about?”

The cellar door slams shut behind you, the echo reverberating off the cold stone walls, trapping you in the silence that follows. Heavy, methodical footsteps descend the rotting stairs, each step creaking beneath his weight. His breathing is deep, ragged, each inhale and exhale marking his slow, purposeful approach.

Don’t turn around.

Your body locks up, instinct screaming to flee, but your legs refuse to move. You clutch Jellybean tightly to your chest, but suddenly, she squirms, thrashing in your arms in a way she never has before. Confusion twists through your terror—Jellybean has always clung to you, never trying to escape. What was she doing?

With a leap, she slips from your grasp, landing soundlessly on the floor. She pads past you, moving behind you, and the silence is filled with soft, delighted purring.

You don’t want to look. You hold still, desperately hoping that if you don’t move, you’ll disappear, fade into the shadows. But you can feel him standing just behind you, the weight of his presence pressing down like a storm cloud.

And then, a voice. Familiar. Deep, smooth, and thick with a British lilt, edged with something that both chills and soothes you.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, a note of affection clear in his tone as he addresses Jellybean.

Recognition strikes you like a blow. That voice—you’ve heard it a thousand times. The same voice that always offered a warm “good evening” when he walked you home at night. The same voice that laughed as he handed Jellybean her treats at the butcher shop. The same voice that warned you, with a peculiar intensity, to avoid these woods.

The butcher.

---

A/N: I don't usually do long writing stuff... but I've had this one in the drafts for too long and wanted it out. I kind of like how it turned out but I can def improve!

#call of duty #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #sunshine-sunni

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silverskyeline · 9 months ago

Text

'hunger' 18+

worst!wolverine x f!reader (3.9k words) summary: logan can't tear his mind away from the new barmaid at his usual haunt. he tries to resist you, he really does. but when you're both alone in the bathroom, he finds he's not the only one plagued with filthy thoughts. tags: for the 'longing' prompt for logan promptober, set in the bar from the movie, kind of angsty, filthy, pent up logan, alcohol consumption, doggy style, creampie, biting, light choking, pinning wrists, hair pulling, spanking, rough sex, implied age gap, sweet ending.

his usual haunts offer comfort, safe nests tucked away down isolated roads, usually requiring quite the drive to find - it's hard to find places where he's thought of as a stranger. no familiar faces, no conversation, no fuss. just logan, a bottle of whisky and time.

time spent staring into the grain of the old wood on the bar wondering how the fuck he ended up here. he'd stopped keeping count a long time ago, how long he'd been around, been alive. things get kind of hazy after two hundred years. logan had no reason to keep count.

until he saw you.

the bar was busy, as it normally was. he didn't mind it this way, less attention on him, less chances of someone trying to pick a fight with a specific stranger. not that they'd win, but logan had grown too tired for petty fights these days.

he's sat at the bar when the bartender clocks off, switching with someone new, someone he'd never seen before. you walk in and his eyes immediately scan your face, your build, your outfit. it's a habit of his, one he hoped he'd grow out of - but logan has learned that he'll never stop assessing for new threats. it's just in his dna.

but what he finds isn't a threat.

you're easy on the eyes, especially to these tired old hues that have grown accustomed to staring at the same old walls. he drags his eyes back down to his glass like he's forcing himself to look down the barrel of a gun rather than looking at you, before settling on you once more.

logan can't let himself look too much, he isn't allowed nice things, especially not pretty little things such as yourself. he's poison, tainting everything he touches, spoiling it. he's experienced enough heartbreak, enough losses for a lifetime and more.

. . . but what harm can looking do?

a few weeks pass, logan notices you're in every few nights from now on, must have been put on the regular rota. he wonders if you know most of the tips you receive by the end of the night are from him. you're diligent, you work hard, and you deserve more than the minimum wage you're probably getting.

you've never noticed him, or at least, he's never caught you looking in his direction. but he finds himself craving it, willing your eyes to meet his even for a second. the extent of your interactions have been sliding a glass or a bottle in his direction before continuing with your other duties.

it's not even lust on his mind either, he just finds himself captivated by your presence. he wonders about your life, your interests, your dreams. . . though he'd be lying if he said he'd never pictured bending you over against the bar and fucking you senseless.

he is an animal, after all.

he wonders if he should switch bars just to distance himself. he couldn't let himself become comfortable with the idea of you. relying on others was a weakness. besides, what would you be to him but just another person he'd lose someday? it wasn't worth it. you weren't worth it.

fuck.

logan curses himself under his breath for even having this internal debate. you were strangers, this was stupid, it was all fucking stupid. but the mind of a lonely old man is a desperate one, and what logan really craves isn't just eye candy. he craves a touch, that first touch that sparks electricity throughout your every nerve ending, causes goosebumps to ripple along the skins surface. he craves something, anything.

he was so fucking hungry. always so fucking hungry. a rumbling hunger that starts at the pit of his stomach and gnaws through him like a rabid animal frantically trying to escape a suffocating metal cage. it's a hunger he can't satisfy, he knows he can't satisfy. but he'd been alone so long.

surely one bite couldn't hurt?

no, he finds himself shaking his head as he stands from the bar. he'd take a leak, and leave early. it'd only been a month since he first saw you, he could get over this. switching bars wasn't particularly appealing to him, but it was better than having to look at you and feel that familiar ache.

the bathroom door swings open and he walks inside, situating himself at one of the urinals. a few moments later, the door swings open again, logan doesn't bother to look over.

"oh, thought these were empty, sorry."

his head turns quickly. it's you, mop in hand. there's an uncomfortable silence that follows.

speak, fucking speak. "it's fine."

you pause, then nod a little and begin mopping the floor.

his eyes are back on the urinal, swallowing hard. was this really going to be your first conversation? with his eyes glaring into old porcelain, dick in his hand? he tries not to picture you stealing glances at him, but he can't help it. is that what he wants?

maybe.

finishing up, he quickly makes his way over to the sinks, pushing his hands under the cool water and rubbing with soap. his eyes flit up to the mirror. and he catches you.

your eyes lock on one another for just a split second before you quickly busy yourself with the mop again.

but that split second was enough. it was enough to notice how you were looking at him.

"all done," you say with a sigh after a few moments, standing straight and gripping the mop but making no effort to leave just yet.

logan eyes you in the mirror, watches how your eyes dance across the room before inevitably landing on him again. he turns to face you, noting the distance between you both in the room.

you lean back against the bathroom stall divider, eyes drifting across logan's figure. he was tall, big. this is the first time you're really able to look at him, to study the features of his face. this time he's not hiding behind a glass or a bottle.

the hunger in his gaze is obvious, but it's dulled, like he's just barely holding back. you think he looks lonely, there's a distinct air about him that practically screams that he needs to be touched.

you rest your mop against the wall, "you're in here often." you state, it's not a question.

"guess i'm a regular," he replies curtly.

swallowing hard, you continue, "i noticed. i always have to restock the whisky when you come by."

logan pushes himself from the sink and approaches you slowly. was he really doing this? after a month of pining and longing for you, a stranger in a bar, was he really going to give in to his desires? would you let him? the lust was clear in your eyes and he knew he was reflecting it right back tenfold.

"i like a drink." he says with a subtle shrug, just a step away now, eyes never leaving yours.

a small smile tugs at your lips, "i know."

you're not sure what you're really doing. you're supposed to be on shift, designated five minutes to clean the bathrooms. five minutes you'd much rather spend doing someone something else.

you eye the stranger who's been watching you, tipping you. of course you've noticed, you'd have to be pretty stupid or oblivious not to. you've come to expect him at each shift, but his presence intrigued you more than the other regulars. not just because he was more handsome, considerably more handsome.

no, it was those sad eyes that seemed to say a million words while his mouth remained firmly shut that had you curious. even now as he stands before you so silent you could hear a pin drop, when you look into his eyes you can feel a sea of words brewing.

oh how you wanted to open him up, to peer inside behind that rough exterior, to take a peek behind the facade. you're sure you're easier to read than he is.

you're not sure when or how it happened, but he's right in front of you now, his body almost touching yours. you look up at him with a feigned innocent look.

"i've seen you, you know," you mumble bravely, "looking at me."

logan doesn't seem surprised, he brings a hand up to hold your chin, turning your face from side to side to get a proper look at you now that he has you up close. "yeah?"

"yeah," you reply shakily, "thought i was imagining it at first. but by the second night it was obvious."

he smirks, so he's not as subtle as he thinks.

your hands snake down, finding his belt buckle and brazingly begin to unbuckle it. he watches you, eyes fixated on the way your fingers move. he swears he's about to start drooling. but then you move, hands winding up to the buttons on his shirt. you splay your hands across the fabric, eyes widening when you feel what's underneath.

"are you. . . is that-"

logan grips your wrists, not the suit. he wasn't talking about that now, he had to shut you up. he leans in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss as his strong hands keep a firm grip on your wrists. you submit, leaning back against the cubicle divider as you let him slip his tongue into your mouth.

he moans, relishing the taste of you, the taste he's thought about for so fucking long. he brings your hands up, pinning them above your head, shifting his grip so one hand easily pins your wrists, leaving his other hand free.

his free hand plants firmly across your upper chest, the rough pads of his fingers brushing against your collarbone as he explores your mouth with his tongue. you're lost in the sensation, knees going weak as you allow the older man to have his way with you. he needs this, you know it.

"taste so fuckin' sweet," he mumbles against your lips, kissing you between words, "you do this often? let men kiss you in the bathroom?"

you mumble a 'no' under your breath, ". . . just the ones who tip good," you grin.

logan feels himself chuckling, biting your lower lip. oh, he liked you. his hand travels upwards, finding purchase around your neck. you gasp in response, moaning. he eagerly swallows your moan with his mouth, drowning out any sound that threatens to escape.

the kiss grows in intensity, you wonder how long it's been since he's kissed someone. he kisses you like a man starved, like he'd devour you if you let him. and you would, you think, if it felt this good.

his hand on your neck gives a gentle squeeze before running down your torso, palming at your jeans suddenly. you try to whimper in pleasure, but he's silencing you with his lips again.

"shhh, shhh," he whispers against your lips, "feel good? i know it feels good, but you gotta stay nice and quiet." logan can feel the material of your jeans begin to damp and he resists the urge to growl, feeling the way the fabric beneath gives way.

you nod, whispering small affirmatives as he touches you through the material. "just give me more," you whine.

and that spurs him on. in a flash he's pushing you into the stall, stealing a few more kisses where he can before he turns you, pushing your back against his chest. his lips find your neck, pressing hot open-mouthed kisses along the skin he finds there.

you're like putty in his hands, melting back against him as his hand returns to your crotch, rough hands massaging circles against your clothed core. you resist a moan, exhaling shakily instead as you let him use you.

"you wanted this just as much as i did, huh?" he growls into your ear, "need it, need me to fuck you."

you nod quickly as you feel his lips curve into a smirk against your skin.

"yeah, thought so," he nibbles on your earlobe, breathing deeply through his nose as he tries to steady himself, preserve the moment. but how can he when you feel this good beneath his fingers, taste this good on his tongue? "tell me you want it."

"want you to fuck me," you whimper almost immediately, suddenly feeling so very needy. there's a hot ache growing between your legs, one you're desperate for him to fill.

logan laughs, "you can do better than that, honey, know you can."

"please," your voice cracks and you swallow back moans as you squirm beneath his touch, "please fuck me-" it becomes apparent to you at that moment that you don't even know his name. your cheeks flush at the thought of letting this stranger, this older man fuck you in the bar bathroom, but actually, you kind of like it that way.

he nods against the side of your cheek, his stubble scratching against your soft skin, "there we go, attagirl. . ."

with that, he pushes you forward, forcing your hands onto the tank of the toilet to support yourself as he bends you over. his hands find your waist, his hips connecting with yours and slowly grinding his very apparent, large bulge against you.

you let out a whimper, arching your back a little at the sudden contact.

"feel that?" he mumbles, guiding your hips to grind back against him, "feel what you do to me?"

a gasp, "fuck, you're big." you can already tell, the way his bulge is pressing against you, demanding to be felt. you swear you can almost feel it throb through the material.

"yeah i am," logan smirks, he knows he's big, and he knows exactly how to use it.

pulling back slightly, he roughly pulls your jeans down, practically manhandling you, your underwear disappearing with it. he grabs handfuls of your ass before kneading the skin. "look at that, pretty little ass, all for me."

you just have time to gasp before you feel one of his hands connect harshly with your skin, the sound ringing out in the small bathroom of the bar. "f-fuck!" you whine, feeling the sharp sting, knowing there's a bright red imprint in the shape of his large palm on your ass.

there's some jingling, the sound of his belt being moved out of the way, a zipper. you prepare yourself, or at least you try to, but his cock is already slapping against your backside before you have time to steady your hazy mind.

"you gonna take all of me?" he asks, biting his lip as his aching length slaps against your skin, "think you can?"

you nod quickly, looking over your shoulder at him, "mhm!"

"if you say so. . ." he smirks and positions himself, one hand on your hip and one aiming his cock at your tight little hole.

then, all at once he's sinking in. you gasp, he gasps. and fuck, he is big. you feel that sweet stretch, his cock throbbing against your tight walls as it slowly glides inside. you're whining as it slowly fills you, eyes rolling back at the sensation. but he pulls out a little, only to push back in again.

he's working you up just right, mesmerised by the way you take his cock. his eyes are fixed on your tight hole begging him to enter, loving the slick sound as it pushes inside.

"you've been thinkin' about this since you started your shift," logan says confidently, his words confirmed by how you drip around him, "thought about me fillin' you up, nice and full?"

despite the way your cheeks flush bright red, you can't deny it. you've thought about it more than once, fantasised about it in bed, hoping that one day that stranger from the bar would fuck you so good you forget your own name.

you don't need to reply either, because he knows. he knows from the way your wet hole flutters around him, and fuck does it make him harder to know that you've thought about this just as much as he has. he begins to pump into you at a leisurely pace, firm hands on your hips.

"holy fuck, so fuckin' tight," logan grumbles, his deep slow strokes hitting you deep as he bottoms out inside of you.

you try to turn your head, to look up at him, but he grasps the back of your hair, pushing your head down. "nu-uh, keep that head down."

he knows if he lets you look at him, look up at him for too long, he'll lose it. he can't have your soft eyes on him while he fucks you, he doesn't deserve it. he'll take you, just like this, with your head down and your ass up and his cock buried deep inside you.

because he can't describe the shame that swirls in his stomach, that this is how he relieves himself, a quick fuck in a bar. this dirty older man who's seen so much sin, perpetuated sin with his own hands, who longed for the young pretty little thing in the bar. logan doesn't deserve nice things, this he knows.

you feel his thrusts grow rougher, your legs slipping apart as you attempt to hold yourself up, hands planted firmly on the tank of the toilet. you're squeaking softly with each pump, feeling him use you to release his pent-up frustrations. and it felt so fucking good.

with his firm grip on your hair tightening by the second and his other large hand digging into your hip, you begin to bounce back against his motions, sending him even deeper. you both moan in sync with the feeling and you pant softly, cheeks flushing further at the soft 'plap plap plap' of his hips connecting with you, the sound reverberating around the small cubicle.

"that feels so fucking good," you sing, closing your eyes. logan gives a particularly hard thrust, speed picking up. you can't help but smirk, mouth stuck open as you moan softly, he likes it when you talk to him during, huh? "keep fuckin' me, just like that, so good. . ."

he groans, wrapping your hair around his fist as he relentlessly pounds into you. harder and harder, deeper and deeper, you're sure you'll have bruises littered over your body before the day is through.

"harder!" you cry, feeling your legs tremble. you're not gonna last long like this, and by the way his cock is twitching inside of you, he isn't either. "i'm gonna cum, you're gonna make me fuckin' cum!"

another groan slips from his lips, gritting his teeth as he uses you, watching you take his throbbing cock beneath him. "look so pretty like this, bent over, takin' what i fuckin- shit. . . takin' what i give you."

your body grows hotter, sweat forming on your forehead, each impact pushing you forward roughly. you're really not gonna last long.

he begins to hunch over, his chest flush with your back as he huffs against your neck, fucking you like a rabid animal. you're squealing now, the pleasure swirling in your lower stomach, threatening to send you crashing into bliss. at this point, you don't fucking care if someone walks in and finds you like this, sees his feet planted behind yours underneath the stall. in fact, the thought of the risk sends a bolt straight to your gut.

"yes yes yes," you mutter, feeling your orgasm approaching steadily. you swear you can feel him in your guts. you begin to flutter around him, begging for release, knowing it's going to completely destroy you.

logan can't even form words, just grunts slipping from his lips against the side of your neck. and then he feels it, his cock twitches, his mind reeling with the imminent release. he needs this, oh he fucking needs this.

he bites down on your neck, teeth sinking in slightly as he feels himself release deep inside you, his cum spilling out in strong waves. you feel your knees buckle, but a strong hand planted on your tummy helps keep you upright as he fucks his release deeper into you.

the animalistic nature of his thrusts combined with the sensation of his hot cum painting your insides sends you flying over the edge, your orgasm milking him as you clamp around his aching cock. he slams his hand against the stall wall with a loud metallic bang, splaying his fingers across the metal as if to ground himself as his thrusts falter.

his tongue lazily licks the indents of his bite mark against your neck, groans easing their way from the back of his throat. you can hardly catch your breath, legs still shaking from such an intense release. it's hard to think straight with his dick still buried deep inside, feeling it twitch with every aftershock.

you both stay like that for a solid minute, panting, coming down together. he's planting soft kisses along your neck as your breath slowly comes back to you.

he pulls out, stepping back as he stuffs himself into his jeans. you collapse onto the toilet seat, shakily pulling your jeans and underwear back up as you look up at him. it's clear he's looking to leave, a distant look in his eye, maybe a little shame creeping into his features.

standing on trembling legs, you lean up, giving him a surprisingly soft kiss. your hands take over his, helping him back into his jeans, zipping them up, clasping the buttons together and buckling his belt. all the while your lips are on his, slowly, passionately intertwining together.

you pull back, buttoning your own jeans as you continue to look up at him. ". . . does that count as your tip for the night?" you joke with a smirk, hoping to see a flash of his smile again, hoping to alleviate some of that shame he's carrying.

and there it is, a small smirk on his lips as he glances away. "maybe."

the shame seems to settle, begins to dissipate. it feels less like satisfying an urge and more like. . . exploring something new. his eyes drift back to you.

"i'll see you tomorrow?" you ask, tilting your head.

he blinks, suddenly remembering time exists outside this small space seemingly crafted just for the two of you. "yeah," he says, quietly.

"good," you pat his chest before moving past him, leaving the stall. you stand, looking back at him. a beat, "or, you can meet me after my shift ends?"

his eyes widen, taken aback. fuck, had he forgotten how to do this? his eyes flit to the side, before making up his mind. he gives a firm nod.

you smile before leaving him in the bathroom, returning to the bar through the door.

logan stands there for a few moments, running his fingers through his hair. he smooths down his shirt, feeling the suit beneath, a stark reminder always of his past.

but maybe he could begin to take a few steps forward. maybe he deserves more than to suffer forever, forced to keep everyone at arm's length. maybe he could allow himself this small happiness, a date, or whatever this was.

maybe it was time to satisfy his hunger, his loneliness, for good.

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sourle · 2 months ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/sourle/782612631264673792/falls-through-the-roof-you-know-i-just-wanna?source=share

Oof- now that I think about it- if I was in a situation like that with the Reader like that- honestly.... Smash-

OKAY BUT FR NOW- like just imagine the Reader but with different survivors now- uggfhhh- i love situations like that cus it has so much drama but also shows what and how different survivors would and could react if they were put into a situation like THAT with the reader-

(Lucky taph-)

(btw, you don't have to do this request if you don't want to, and if you want to, take your time 😌👍)

Spaces

Get yo nasty azz on!

WARNINGS: a bit suggestive, i think? Just the cast getting mushed between your chest

Note:

Ohohohoho

Rubs my hands together*

Noob

Oh they are full on FLUSTERED

This non-binary would not survive one second vro🙏

After it they would be a stuttering mess

They can't look at you, not the same way at least

Gosh they wonder if they would be able to be trapped like that with you again

WHAT WHO THOUGHT THAT

They're crumbling and would be spotted staring at you chest RESPECTFULLY

Elliot

Oh he does not expect it at ALL

He's blushing, confused, flustered, all mixing emotions, no negative ones.

He'll quickly get out the tight space and breath heavily to either control himself or he's been holding his breath while squeezed between your chest

Oh he will definitely STARE with Noob, RESPECTFULLY

Bro still hates you but damn he can't deny LMAO

Shedletsky

WOAH WOAH WHAT

Oh he's both embarrassed and flustered

Both due to getting mushed between your chest

He pulled back before saying 'fuck it' in his mind and rest his face between it

Bro succumb

Maybe from that one interaction alone he's questioning if he truly hates you lol

Builderman

Being the shortest has it perks huh?

He's full on embarrassed about it

He can't think, he malfunction

He refused, in denial, that he enjoyed it

Will push you away the moment his face gets between those chests like you're full of germs

Dusekkar

Why is his fire burning hotter?

He's embarrassed and flustered, yet he just floats higher to be face to face with you

He's not dealing with it, nor does he want to think about it

He does think about it after like what if he didn't float up

Two time

They're just standing still

Not moving

Fella is smiling, either giddily or just from flustering

They does not mind at all

They actually enjoys it and would sniff

You quickly throw them out of the hiding spot

Chance

He doesn't know if he's lucky or unlucky

But if they're told to make a bet, he's lucky

WHY IS HE NUZZLING FORWARD BRO YOU FREAK

They don't mind and will not move even after the killer is gone

It's up to you if you wanna push him off or not

But if you do they will look like a kicked puppy

Guest 1337

Will pull back instantly out of respect

Bro is not staying, he will go out and fight with the killer from sheer embarrassment alone

Safe to say he did think about it once afterwards

007n7

Oh like Noob, he's full on FLUSTERED

He short circuits, he doesn't know if he should pull away or not

He's a stuttering mess, apologizing a lot

He expressed that he's embarrassed but gosh does he want it inside

Note: I've done Taph before, so i won't do him here

#lemon rambles #lemon writes #ask #anon ask #soups ask #forsaken #forsaken x reader #yearning for a touch au #>tags devider<#noob #elliot #shedletsky #builderman #dusekkar #two time #chance #guest 1337 #007n7

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frenchkisstheabyss · 9 months ago

Text

♡ Softer, Softest ♡

♡ Pairing: mafia!boss!san x stripper!chubby!fem!reader

♡ Genre: smut/angst/fluff

♡ Summary: A fun night of stripping takes a turn when an encounter with a particularly unpleasant customer leaves you in tears, running to your boss seeking comfort and protection. Both things he’s more than willing to give.

♡ Word Count: 3.6k-ish

♡ Warnings: explores themes of body insecurities, reader has her arm grabbed (nothing violent but brutal violence against the person who grabbed it), mentions of blood/injuries (not yours, babes), kissing, heavy body worship, san’s obsessed with you, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), clit sucking, nipple pinching, a lil manhandling, hair pulling, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, low key mirror sex, pet names (baby, pretty).

♡ A/N: Hello my loves, I wrote this little fic for any of my chubby darlings out there who might not know or might need reminding that their bodies are gorgeous, worth loving, and desirable. I also really love myself a hot criminal and who better than San? K, let me shut up now. Just know I love you. Your body’s amazing. Never forget that ❤️

Midnight. Friday. The back alley of a strip club. The best in town. The strip club, not the alley. It’s a dark, starless night. The smell of fresh rain hangs in the air, the aftermath of a sudden downpour that left the ground slick with rain. Music from inside the club bleeds through the cracks of a heavy steel door. A neon red EXIT sign hangs overhead. The door creaks on its hinges as it swings open, sending the music blaring out into the night and with it comes a body. The blur of one at first, flying through the air, and then the weight of it. The heavy thud of bruised flesh and cracked bone colliding with the asphalt.

The man on the ground is unremarkable, nothing about him worth noting except the mangled nose that gushes blood down his face, leaking into the cavernous gash that is his busted lip. He said the wrong thing to the wrong person and now he can’t speak at all, only mumble. A brushed leather Dolce and Gabbana shoe collides with his cheek. His blood splashes scarlet against the pitch black soles, a horrible crack emitting from his jaw as more pressure’s applied. Now this man? He’s remarkable. He’s muscular, defined in every way so that, even through his black dress shirt, you can read the broadness of his shoulders. His features are sharp and intense. The kind you either fall for or fall victim to. There’s no in between. He’s a handsome devil but a devil all the same.

“You look like shit” San sighs, effortlessly kicking the man onto his back. He rolls his sleeves up, kneeling beside the man like a hunter inspecting its fallen prey. He stares down at him, emotionless, void of anything close to that thing we call remorse.

The man heaves in a breath of air before coughing it back out. “Mmm s-s-sorry” he croaks, “I didn’t know she was anyone fucking special.”

San grips the man’s face, grinning in a way that isn’t the least bit friendly. He squeezes tightly, forcing jagged teeth to press into the soft flesh of the man’s cheeks. “Well now you do.”

This is your boss and you, tucked away safe and warm in his office, are something special. But a part of you knew this already. You downplay it when the other girls point it out. You pretend not to notice the clear signs of favoritism but they’re there in even the smallest interaction between the two of you. Since day one San’s been your protector, your admirer. You’ve denied it a million times, convincing yourself you’re simply making more of things than what’s there. Still, after everything happened you couldn’t fathom running into the arms of anyone else.

You were dancing like any other night—working your section and getting your tips—when some asshole grabbed you by the arm, demanding your presence in one of the private rooms. Usually you could count on security to drag him out but on weekends the club gets packed and things slip through the cracks. Sadly tonight you were one of them so, like a proper lady, you told him to kiss your ass and sent the tip of your stiletto crashing into his balls. You might be a stripper but that doesn’t mean you’re some thing that men can treat however they wish. It’s a lesson he had to learn the hard way and you were happy to teach it to him. Two shots past drunk and embarrassed by your rejection he snapped, spewing the most vile things you’ve ever heard about yourself—about your body.

It isn’t news to you that you’re one of the bigger girls here. San says that’s what makes you special, why customers come in to blow a check on you and you alone. He’s right, your bank account says so. The customers love you, they eat up every inch of your plush body. By all means you should feel like the baddest bitch in this building, simply because you are, but in that moment his words had reduced you to nothing. A few seconds ago you were twirling around the pole like a goddess now you found yourself scurrying back to the dressing room with tears in your eyes.

At least that’s where you intended to go. Somewhere along the way you changed course, riding the velvet lined elevator to the third floor where San’s office sits at the end of a long hallway. At the time you hadn’t considered how much this might escalate the situation because, quite honestly, you didn’t care. More than feeling hurt, you were pissed the fuck off. Your tears were of anger and, whether you felt it at the time or not, you wanted that motherfucker to pay for it.

This place you work at. There’s more to it than what’s on the surface. It’s easy to get so distracted by the luxury and the lights and the pretty girls dancing that you miss the truth of it all. In fact, that’s the point, but you know a mafia front when you see one. You aren’t oblivious. You know what this is, who San is, and maybe that’s exactly why you were tapping at his door. A damsel in distress in black lace lingerie.

San’s heart dropped when he saw his favorite girl in tears. He stopped everything, sending his men away so he could place all of his focus on you. Resting his jacket over your shoulders, he gently cradled your cheeks, brushing the tears away to ask quite simply, “Who did it?”

You explained everything, how that asshole grabbed you and the things he said, and San’s anger grew quietly, simmering beneath a surface of calm. He took a seat at his desk, setting you down comfortably in his lap, and pulled up the security cameras. “Tell me when you see him, okay, baby?” he instructed sweetly, his palm massaging the smoothness of your thigh.

You nodded, struggling to focus on the screen with his hand on your thigh and him calling you “baby”. San touching you wasn’t a rare occasion but it was always something light. A hand on the small of your back or fingertips grazing your arm. Never this purposeful—this intimate. You couldn’t help imagining how it might feel if he gripped a little harder, moved a little higher. You felt your heart begin to race, your temperature rising the longer you sat there in his lap.

“That’s him” you sniffled, spotting that familiar face on the screen. San studied the screen a moment before turning back to you. “I’ll take care of it” he promised, his hand riding your thigh and coming to rest at the gentle curve of your hip. “And no more crying, baby. You’re too pretty to cry.” Too pretty to cry? Oh, but you were crying, absolutely weeping, only between your thighs this time.

San disappeared from the office, leaving you too lost in the lingering haze of his touch to even think about your insecurities, but that only lasted so long. Alone in the quiet of his office, the self doubt began to creep back in. You tried to distract yourself by exploring your surroundings—the impressive collection of vintage whiskey, the gorgeously framed art hanging from the walls—but nothing could distract you from how uncomfortable you’d become in your own skin. It didn’t help that the office was lined with mirrors, reflecting glimpses of your figure with every turn.

At last out of distractions, you turn to face the mirrored image of yourself, letting San’s jacket slip to the floor. You strike a pose, a half hearted copy of something cute you might do on stage, and watch the way the fat of your body squishes together here or there. You strike another then another then another but they’re there in every pose. Your face, your belly, your sides, your thighs. Your weight shows in all of them. Pinching your lower belly you think of how the other girls have had work done. Maybe if you got some done yourself…

“I left him out back. Clean him up before someone sees” San says, pushing through the door, his phone pressed to his ear.

You jump a bit at his arrival, scrambling to grab the jacket, but San slips in behind you, closing his arms around your waist before you can retrieve your safety blanket. You tense at first but find yourself settling into his embrace as if it’s the most natural place for you to be.

“So, what was that?” he asks, resting his chin on your shoulder. His breath tickles your neck as he inhales your perfume and the sweet scent of honey and jasmine fills his lungs. You smell as beautiful as you are, as beautiful as everything about you is.

“How’d everything go?” you press, quick to change the subject. Noticing a series of tiny red scrapes on the knuckles of his right hand, you carefully take it into yours, assessing the damage.

San shrugs it off like it’s nothing. It still stings but it’s far from the worst pain he’s ever felt. “I said I’d take care of it. It’s been taken care of.”

You giggle at the contrast of something so menacing being spoken by someone so regal. “San, you make it sound like you killed him.”

He leans into your neck, his lips grazing your skin on their way up to your ear. You shiver at the contact and his hold on you tightens, your bodies pressed flush against each other so that you can feel his bulge pressed into the plush of your ass.

“Killed him? Almost” he whispers, “I answered your question so it’s only fair you answer mine, isn’t it? What were you doing? I came in and you were…” San pinches your belly, his fingertips planting adoration where there was once doubt.

“I…uh…I was…” you stutter, searching your brain for a believable lie but you can’t find a single one.“There’s this doctor, a few of the girls have gone to him to get some work done, and I was just thinking, I don’t know, maybe...why am I even telling you this? You don’t care and anyway, it’s silly.”

“It is silly” he agrees, notes of that quiet, controlled anger you witnessed earlier resurfacing, “But you’re wrong to say that I don’t care. I care about how you feel about yourself, I care about you. You must know that.”

“I mean, I know you care about me. You care about all of the girls” you say, hesitant to accept this as a profession of anything in particular.

San spins you around, pinning you between the warmth of his body and the cool mahogany of the desk. “I don’t care for any other woman the way I do you.”

There it is, a profession of something very particular. He’d hoped that you’d seen it by now. He wonders if he didn’t do a good enough job of showing you. It’s been so long before you, years even, that he had feelings like this for anyone. The world he operates in doesn’t allow for soft spots. Soft spots are how you make mistakes and when mistakes are life or death you can’t afford to make them but he couldn’t help himself with you. You caught his eye the day you walked in for your audition and you’re all he’s been able to see since. You’re so delicate, so beautiful, a perfect contrast to the toughness of his life. It’s why he protects you—why he always will.

“Your body…” he says, his palms racing up and down your curves, “It’s perfect. There’s nothing about it that needs fixing. If you let that doctor touch you I’ll break both of his hands.” San’s gaze is heavy with lust, months of longing just begging to be satisfied. It burns him up inside, sets fire to his very being, and being kissed by the flames of that need is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

“Is that the way you romance women? With threats of violence?” you tease, draping your arms across his shoulders.

“Sometimes but usually it’s like this” he whispers, pressing his lips to yours. His tongue parts your lips, twining around yours to deepen the kiss. His movements are careful and deliberate. The kiss intoxicatingly slow.

San grabs you by the hips, lifting you onto the desk and you let out a little squeak of surprise as he sets you down. “You’re so fucking cute” he grins, spreading your thighs to fit perfectly between them.

“You think so?” you say so innocently it only makes him want to ravage you more.

Tangling his fingers in your hair, he tilts your head to look back at the mirror, “Don’t you?”

An unexpected wetness soaks the lace of your panties at the sight of your shared reflection. Nothing has changed about your body. It’s the same one you were picking apart, the same one you were doubting, and San loves everything about it. He praises it with his hands, with his fingertips, with whispered confessions of everything your body needs to hear.

”I watch you sometimes when you’re dancing” he says, effortlessly doing away with your bra, “I know I shouldn’t but I can’t help myself when you look the way you do. It’s like you’ve put a spell on me. My little witch.”

San captures one of your breasts, kneading the plump flesh in the palm of his hand. He pinches your bud between his fingers, tugging at it just enough to make your breath catch in your throat.

“But I don’t have any magic” you whimper, tugging at the buttons of his shirt. They pop open one by one, revealing a body that had to be sculpted by some divine feminine deity. You push the fabric away, your fingertips delighting in the perfection of her creation.

San’s free hand reaches between you, stroking your clit through your panties. He groans at how soaked you are, your juices leaking through the lace to coat his fingers in your juices. “You do have magic, baby” he whispers, tucking your panties to the side, “It’s right here.”

“Aah, Sannie” you moan, your hands sliding down his abs as his fingers stretch you open.

Your body falls back, a sharp chill coursing through you as your bare back hits the desk. San sinks his fingers deeper into your core, his cock stiffening at the sight of your body moving as hypnotically as it does on the pole. Only now it’s for him and only him. This is how San likes it, how he’s always wanted it to be. Him with his fingers buried deep into the warmth of your pussy, your walls greedily clenching around them, and you spread out across his desk, your gorgeous body on full display and your lips spilling out moans meant for his ears alone.

Kneeling between your legs he pulls your panties aside harder this time, nearly tearing the fabric as he knots it in his fist. He brings his thumb to your clit, toying with it just to see how your body twitches with every touch. “How can a girl be this perfect?” he says, nearly salivating, “Even your pussy’s gorgeous.” There’s an audible wet sound, another sweet whimper escaping your throat, as his fingers slip out of your core and his tongue takes its place.

“San, wait…” you beg, grabbing at his hair, but you’re too late. Your attempt at pacing yourself is useless. His tongue’s already filling the space between your walls, wiggling and curling against your sweet spot. His dark hair knots around your fingers, your hips raising to ride every wave his tongue sends washing over you.

San drags his tongue up through your petal soft folds, swirling it around your clit before diving into you again. He suckles at your clit, gently at first then faster, more ravenous. His gaze flicks up to you, taking in the way your belly jiggles and your breasts bounce. He’s drunk on your juices, already addicted to the way you coat his tongue. You taste like heaven and look like it too. It takes all of the self control he has to pry his mouth free of your pussy, snatching your panties down as he does.

Standing back up, he grips your thighs, spreading you open to watch the arousal drip from your pussy, leaving pretty little drops on his desk. Your eyes are glued to him as he unzips his pants, letting his cock fall right between your legs. The swollen tip throbs against your lower belly, leaking precum, warm and sticky, on your skin. You rock your hips, clenching around air, craving friction from that deliciously veiny cock of his.

“You want it, baby?” San teases, tapping the head of his cock against your clit. His length slips between your folds. They’re so smooth, so slick. Toying with your pussy’s like splashing in a lake. You’re wet enough to drown in.

“I want it, Sannie, aah, fuck…” you moan, your eyes widening at the realization that his tip’s pressed to your entrance now, stretching you the faintest bit.

“Then tell me how perfect your body is. Tell me you love it.” He pushes in an inch more, stopping to leave your hole spread wide around his cock, still needy and deprived.

The stretch has the room spinning, a single taste of him already making you want more. “My body’s, mmph, beautiful” you manage as he gradually feeds you more of him, “I love it.”

“Don’t stop. Keep telling me. Make me believe you” San demands, thrusting into you so hard that he bottoms out.

You cry out at the force of the thrust, your lashes fluttering away tears, “I love, aah, my body. I love my body. It’s beautiful. It’s…it’s…”

Tucking his hands behind your knees, San pushes them to your chest, snapping his hips against you hard enough that your thighs jiggle around him. All of you does. Every stroke of his cock makes you tremble and he’s hardly able to keep still himself. You’re so tightly wound around his cock that he can feel all the finer details of your walls. They’re glued to him, sucking him in every time he even thinks about pulling back.

Through heavy lids you watch the man you’ve only ever known to be a mountain crumble to pieces all because of you. San’s muscles are slick with sweat and a glossy haze dances over his eyes. His fingers are digging into your thighs, completely devouring them. He does what he can to swallow his moans but it’s impossible when you’re making him feel like his entire soul’s being snatched from his body.

“You feel so fucking good” he grunts, planting breathless kisses up your leg, “Come here.”

San props your ankles up on his shoulders, hooking an arm around you and sitting you up so that you’re close enough to kiss. He grinds against your sweet spot, forcing his tongue down your throat so that every moan you set free echoes between his cheeks. Gripping the back of your neck, he slams into you, harder, faster, forcing your body to give into him. He fucks you until your eyes are rolling back, your mind too blank to recall anything that happened before this moment. There’s no thought of the incident, no thought of your insecurities. High on euphoria, your body feels beautiful, every inch of it.

“S-San…” you whine, a familiar pressure building behind your belly. Your fingers begin to tingle as they cling to his muscles, searching for any stability they can reach.

“You gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” he coos, not letting up on you, not even for a second.

Pulling his arm away he lets you fall back on the desk. With one hand cupping your breast and the other circling your clit, he watches you fall apart in the palms of his hands. For so long he’s had to watch you from afar, pretending that he wasn’t utterly obsessed with you, but now you’re all his. His pretty, moaning, teary eyed girl pouring your cum down his cock while you repeat his name like it’s the only word you know. He’s so singularly focused on watching you hit your high that his own takes him by surprise.

Grabbing him by the wrist, you lock eyes, a weak smile forming on your lips. “Fill me up, Sannie” you whisper, your voice sexy even in its brokenness.

San’s body shudders and you feel a new fullness inside of you. The warmth pools deep within you at first, cascading down your walls the more he empties himself into you. “Fuck, baby” he pants, catching himself before his body doubles over. He came so hard his ears are ringing and holding onto you is all he can do not to fall. You sit up to stroke his cheek and he kisses your wrist lovingly. You stare into each other’s eyes for a minute that lasts an eternity, letting yourselves get lost in one another’s gaze.

San breaks the trance with a kiss, holding you like one would the most precious thing they own. “Tell me, baby, how do you feel now?”

You contemplate his question, your attention drifting back to the reflection in the mirror. It’s all there. Your face, your belly, your sides, your thighs, and San looking at you like you’re the prettiest girl in the world. You turn back to him with a smile, “Beautiful.”

#ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez angst #ateez x female reader #choi san x you #choi san smut #choi san angst #choi san x reader #choi san fluff #chubby reader #plus size reader #ateez x chubby reader

1K notes · View notes

rosedpetal · 10 months ago

Text

Behave

Summary: Bucky shows you what happens when you test him.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: smut.

Minors, do not interact.

Masterlist | Part II

You didn't mean to be so overbearing, but you just loved him so much.

"Doll, you have to stop giving the stinky eye to these women. It's getting embarrassing." He whispered on your ear, his grip tightening just a little bit on your arm as he smiled for the people schmoozing at Tony's gala event. "Seriously, when did you get so jealous?"

"Jealous?" You scoff, adjusting the skirt of your long dress, softening the slightly wrinkled fabric. "Barely. I just wish you didn't look so smug with all those single bitches fawning over you."

"In my time, we used to call them spinsters." Bucky raised his eyebrow at you.

"Well, that's just sexist."

"And calling them bitches is not?"

Your glare made him shut his mouth, a little smirk threatening to tug at the corner of his lips.

"I get it, okay? I'm being too much. It's just that I'm so obsessed with you. Why can't I just be one of those wives who barely wait for their husbands to drop dead?" You sighed, adjusting his tie.

He chuckles, a low rumble reverberating through his chest. He trapped your chin between his thumb and index finger, amused at you. "You're crazy, you know that? But it's okay. Your psycho side is almost as cute as your clingy and needy one."

You roll your eyes. "Gotta admit, though. You looked really hot over there talking to them and signing autographs and all. If I didn't want to stab your guts off, I'd be horny... " You paused. "Okay. I'm horny either way."

"Behave." Bucky hissed, looking around to see if anyone was paying attention to the two of you. At the sound of your little crazed giggle, he snapped his head back to you. "How much have you had to drink, by the way?"

"I didn't drink that much. I don't know what's taken over me, okay? You're just... Ugh!" You groaned, and Bucky blinked, a little taken aback. "You're hot. Are you taken?" You playfully bat your eyelashes at him and he chuckles.

"Well, I do have a wife. But she's quite small, so I think you can take me from her if you want to." He smirked, rubbing circles on the small of your back.

"Ugh, you're married? I bet she's a fucking witch."

Bucky shakes his head, getting his lips close to your ear. "Honestly... My wife is quite crazy. Sometimes I'm scared at how unhinged she can be when she's jealous."

"Is she hot, though?"

"Oh... She's so hot. Just thinking of her has me feeling all types of way... But she's also quite needy. It gets on my fucking nerves. I swear, that woman could drop on her knees to beg for my attention."

"Is begging the only good thing she can do on her knees, though?" You purr.

Bucky checks again for any nosy listeners, relaxing a bit as he realizes you're too are safe.

"Well... She also prays really well, just like a good girl should."

Your could feel your gaze becoming a little unfocused, your core warming up. "I wanna choke you so bad."

Bucky's face and neck turn a little red. "Jesus, baby. What has gotten into you tonight? Is it all because I dressed up?"

"Maybe. Do you think it's possible for humans do go into heat?"

"Oh. I don't know, are you?"

"Breed me. Breed me. Breed me." You chanted on his ear, and his grip on your hips tightened almost painfully.

"Stop right this second." He hisses. "I do not need this right now. Are you trying to get me hard in public, you little shit?"

"Is it working?"

"You're going to pay for this."

"Are you gonna give me your belt tonight?"

"Y/N-"

"What? Is this too kinky for you? Is the idea of marking my ass with your leather belt too much for your poor brain to handle right now, baby?"

Bucky closes his eyes, fists clenching on his sides. Then, he grabs you by your waist, pulling you to the nearest room he could find.

He swiftly unlocks the door, assessing the small supply closet you two are in. It's not ideal, but it'll be enough. His hand fly to your throat, pressing on it slightly, eyes darkened with desire, his slacks tight and uncomfortable. "Filthy little tease. You enjoy riling me up, don't you? Do you think you'll get away with this little stunt you just pulled, huh?"

His vibranium hand snakes under your dress through the slit on your thigh, his eyes darkening at how soaked your underwear is. "Tsk. Does being a little slut make you wet, baby?"

You whimper, completely overtaken by lust, his digits teasing your clothed clit. "You can try to give me shit for misbehaving, but you love how obsessed I am with you, isn't that right? You crave my attention. You thrive on how needy I can get for you."

Bucky's eyes darken, the beautiful expansion of his blue irises only getting noticed by you by the moonlight reflecting through the small window.

"You're giving me fucking butterflies, Bucky. What the fuck? Wasn't that supposed to stop after we got married?" Your brows furrow, your indignant tone making a little snicker escape him. He hooks his finger on the waistband of your panties, a sharp tug being enough to rip your underwear.

"I didn't vow to bore you 'til death do us part, doll. I'll never stop making you feel this way." He whispered, gaze softening at you. Time seemed to stop as he inched closer to you, lips brushing against your red painted ones. "I fucking love you, you unhinged little thing."

"Love you too, baby." Your eyes close shut, mouth hanging open as he fingers you in the supply closet, swallowing your moans with his tongue, bucking his hips on your hand as you palm him through the straining fabric.

Reaching down, you swiftly undo his slacks, pulling them low enough just to free his twitching cock, guiding the thick head to your entrance.

With how lubricated you are, he only has to spit on his cock and moisten the length with his hand, a low growl leaving his mouth as he sink on your heat, inch by inch.

There's a moment of silence as you two lock eyes, your weeping pussy welcoming him with a tight grip that he swears it makes him harden, if that's even possible.

Your head falls back with the first shallow thrusts, a small gasp leaving your lips. Bucky's gritting his teeth, pulling you up, your legs wrapping around his middle. Then, he slams into you.

You can't even speak, getting your walls bullied repeatedly by your husband's thick cock. "F-fuck! Bucky, ohmygod, wait!"

He smirks, not slowing down a second. "I told you were gonna pay for being a menace tonight. What's the problem, baby? What happened to the slut who told me to breed her just a few minutes ago? Where is she? Huh?" He circles his hips, buried deep inside you, making you see white. He swats your thigh, his voice rough. "Answer me."

A little, humiliating whine escapes you, and he chuckles again.

"See, baby? How I can fuck the brat out of you? How you should think before riling me up? How you can't back up for your little antics?" His vibranium thumb circles your clit, the coolness of it only serving to make you orgasm quicker.

Bucky moans at your walls clamping violently on him, a grip so deliciously tight it makes him wanna pull his own hair. So he tugs hard at your locks instead, exposing your neck for his greedy lips as he comes inside you.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes smut #buck barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic

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thedivinetarot · 10 months ago

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Light of my life, fire of my loins, my sin, my soul

Who is your future spouse?

☆How to chose the perfect pile?

1) Clear your mind.

2) Take a deep breathe.

3) Ask the question in your head.

4) Open your eyes and the picture that you are drawn to the most is your pile.

☆ Before you get into the reading you have to know the following:

- Please, please and I will say it again please do not think of anyone while you are choosing. Not your Ex or current boyfriend or even your crush. And I will say it again DO NOT THINK of any man as your future spouse if you want to have an accurate reading.

- This is a general reading so take what resonates and leave the rest. The future is not set in stone and the energy can change. This reading does not substitute any medical or professional help.

- I might do part 2 for this reading.

Stay safe ❤

Arya

Pile 1 - Bram stoker's Dracula

☆Where are you coming from? Your current love life:

I see that this pile have been lonely for quite some time and they are wondering if they will truly find someone. I see that you guys are overthinking everything about your love life and you are leaving no space for divine intervention. This pile’s energy is quite sad and tormented? You perhaps tell yourself that you don't need anyone but you truly want to build something stable and long lasting. I see that you feel stuck on I'm independent I don't need anyone mindset. Not because you really like being independent but because you are afraid of getting disappointed. The problem with this pile is the fear is literally paralyzing you and sabotaging any potential connection that can fit into your life. I'm also seeing that you might be someone who have been rejected and the pain of rejection is still vivid in your core memory. I see that you truly want love and to be loved! You might have a crush on someone with virgo or taurus placements. Or you might feel drawn to those type of men who embodies this archetype. I feel like you are kind of traditional towards dating. You might have had strict family or you really have a strong opinion regarding dating or hookup culture. This is your pile if you have strong virgo placements, water placements or the description fit you perfectly.

Who is your future spouse?

Pile one you might be manifesting your twin flame to be in a marriage with them? This person might enter your life so soon and above all you might get to know him online? I see that he might like your photos if you post yourself or he might just DM you through social media? This person is so grounded and stubborn. He is so earthy and stable in a generous way. He is the perfect mix between fire and earth. He is so childish or he aim to see infinite possibilities. I see that he is doing shadow work or he has been to therapy before. I see that this person is either a heartbreaker or been heartbroken many times. He is so naive or he seems naive? He might prefer texting over phone or video calls. There's an emphasis on his hair. He have curly and dark hair. His eyes are sleepy or he have sleepy eyes. There's something about his face, you see those people who have sleepy faces? Like they just woke up? I guess he might have that. He might look innocent and angelic. Like his aura is so comforting and serene. I also see that this person look younger than his age with hazel eyes. His style looks chill, like you see those guys who wear comfy hoodies? He might be one of them. I asked when will you meet him and the cards told me that you may meet him 6 months from now. You might be on a journey of self discovery when he enters your life. You might be losing weight and if you are not trying to lose weight; you might be trying to get in shape. I see that you are going to meet him after doing a lot of shadow work and inner reflection.

Pile 2 - The Addams couple

☆ Where are you coming from? Your current love life:

This pile is my daring and flirty pile. You might like your solitude but you flirt for fun. I see that most interactions that happen between you and the opposite sex are online. You might like to post spicy photos of yourself. Or send nudes to total strangers in public. You might like to take initiative in relationships. Even if you are a woman/female; you simply don't care about the traditional roles. Especially on who get to initiate to whom. If you like someone you are going to get them, I see that this is your moto. Also this might be your pile if you are stuck on a decision regarding travel. You might want to travel but you are juggling too many responsibilities and this is holding you back from actually pursuing that goal. If you are a man (since the dominant energy on this pile are men or masculines) you might be posting photos or nudes of yourself online. I see many risky photos and poses and if you are not a man or masculine then you might be doing the same action. You really value your own space; I see that you are protecting your peace at all costs. I mean yes you might like to flirt for fun with others but nothing really is serious and you are not looking for something serious either. This is your pile if you have significant leo or Aries placements.

Who is your future spouse?

Your future spouse is someone that you are going to meet through group project. At first as I said about your current energy, you are not looking for something serious so when you meet that person you'll find it kind of confusing. I see that you might be blinded at first. Like you might not notice them and if you are working with them you might not be attracted to them. They are not your usual type, they might be smart and quick thinker. This person knows how to take care of themselves. He might also know how to take care of women in general. Men might call him simp but he is no simp he is just so kind and empathetic towards women's needs. He is so determined, I see that once he put his mind on a goal he doesn't stop when he is tired, He only stop when he finish. I see that he LOVES to conquer a good challenge. He likes to to be assertive and he is looking for someone assertive too. He want his equal, his queen. He might look like he suit you? Wait let me rephrase it. You see that two people who are not dating but everyone in workplace ship them? You two might have intense chemistry. This person look like a heartbreaker. Eye color range from brown to gray or just those two colors. His hair is so silky or wavy. He have this confused look when he talk to you? He might even drag his feet while he walk, or he might look tired when he walk.

Pile 3 - Nosferatu

Where are you coming from? Your current love life.

Well, looking at the cards this pile is in their sweet feminine energy who wants princess treatment and to be spoiled. If this is not the case then this piles are for mothers or you are a mother or pregnant. If you are not pregnant and you are the girl who is in her feminine energy then I see that there's someone who wants to pursue you and he is so damn confident about it. I see that you guys are so confident in yourselves. Perhaps, you are someone who is working on their self esteem and self worth. I see that whatever the case you are in. It is going to pay off. For my girlies who are being pursued by someone I see that this person is very serious about you. He want to marry you quiet literally. This person sees you as his wife or future wife. I also see that this connection is meant to be and is distant to happen even if you are not aware of it. This person is quite civilized and diplomatic. He want to make you happy and cherish you, but if you don't want him it is your choice at the end of the day. I see a lot of happiness in this pile. Guys happiness is your middle name, since the energy or the cards I'm pulling are all yellow and yellow means happiness in tarot. Another energy I'm picking up on is that this pile doesn't really want to be strong and independent. Unlike pile one who is pushing themselves to be that way, this pile is accepting the fact that you want to be a stay at home mother or a rich wife of a rich dude. Most people in this pile are Venus dominant, have taurus or libra placement or have venusian energy in general. You guys might be the pretty girl in your friend group and everyone enjoys looking at you.

Who is your future spouse?

So right off the bat what I'm seeing is someone who have a lot of options. You know that one man who is wanted by every woman because of how friendly and charismatic he is? This man has this energy. It looks like this person is someone who has been heartbroken before and now he keeps his options open by befriending many girls and keeping his options open. He have the cup of love and he is so eager to give it to someone, I'm also picking up on someone passionate and eager to explore life. This person is sooo romantic in a cheesy way. I see that many times he attempted to get in a relationship but got afraid and back off from pursuing something serious. This person believes in manifestations or he tried manifesting an SO or future wife or this person really believes that he can create the reality he wants. This person gives off the vibe of a knight in a shining armor or a Disney prince tbh. This person look like a literal baby or he have baby features. He might have round or oval face. This man can be a little overweight or fat with blonde hair and blue eyes. He is so cute I'm seeing a picture of someone who look adorable and sweet. This person gives off the vibe of "I look good as a husband". But in general this person look so childish and baby like. Could look younger than his actual age? Or this person might be younger than you, but not so much like a couple months younger. He is so friendly or he have a lot of female friendships. This man gives off the ENFJ vibes Idk if you know mbti but you can Google it if you want to. He is so emotionally mature and caring. His energy is so nurturing. I asked the cards about when will you are going to meet him and they said he will enter soon into your life and one of the signs is a female around you is going to give birth or you are going to meet a pregnant woman or one of your relatives/friends will get pregnant. There's a NOTE for this pile specifically; if you are being pursued by someone this person is your future spouse. And if you are not being pursued by anyone then you might know who your future spouse is. And if you don't have anyone then take the reading with a grain of salt but you can enjoy it anyways.

Pile 4 - Hollywood couple

Where are you coming from? Your current love life:

This pile is truly stuck. I feel like I'm bored and desperate I want to cry. Like guys what is the matter? There's both boredom and stagnation. You might be someone who is really bored with how things are in your love life. I'm picturing a girl about 16 to 18 years old who want to be open to love but there's a man in her life (could be a male caregiver) who is very strict and structured. This man literally destroyed your well to date anyone. I feel like you are discouraged by the idea of love and I feel that you are unbalanced in a way? Like you are trying to protect yourself from getting hurt but at the same time you want love so freaking bad. I'm clinching my jaw and I feel like I want to scream and yell and kick things around me. Pile four why are you so angry? Please calm down! There's nothing in this life that deserve all this anger. Please take a break and go balance yourself and life. You are still young and have no experience and life is still long in front of you. I see that you might be waiting for something to happen; for someone to come in and rescue you from your life but nothing really happens so you pour all of your anger and resentment on yourself. Please stop hurting yourself and go find a hobby or something that can help you channel this anger and resentment. I'm picking up on someone who is bottling up their feelings and not really trying to express them. I also feel headache, do you have headache pile four? Are you bloated too? You might have significant leo and Aries placements. A little Taurus placements and sun, mars and sagittarius dominate. I feel like you are waiting and waiting but the waiting itself got bored of you lol. And you end up feeling devastated and angry. This pile’s energy is so rageful, please do some meditation or workout to get rid of that anger. You might also be scared of change? And overwhelmed by the idea of change? You might be someone who doesn't really like things to change and stick to a specific routine. Anyways let's get into the reading.

Who is your future spouse?

This person is very hardworking and workaholic. I see that the main focus in his life is his career, money and stability. This man is a little bit selfish, and he became like that because of how much he suffered. This person suffered from poverty, or he was very poor. He might even get kicked out of his family house so he can work and get them money. This person got bullied a lot by his peers and saw a lot of cruelty in his life, I feel so sorry for him. This person might be closed off emotionally, it is like he is trying to shelter himself from any possible heartache because of what happened in his childhood. I also see that when you meet him he might not be ready for anything serious or he might not really have healed fully from what has happened to him. There's an age gap here, he might he older than you or more mature. Like 4 years older. He might also be a co-worker of you? Or acquaintance If it is not then he might work with you in your field. The main challenge he is facing is stability, he want stability to be able to marry you. My advice for this pile is don't try to force things out if this person is not ready for commitment. He hasn't healed yet and his main focus is on the material. He might even use you if you attempted to help him financially so please don't. What really amazed me in this pile that this man is so materialistic, his love language can be gift giving. Now his appearance; this person look so cocky and confident. He have hazel eye color and sharp features. This person's back look hot or beautiful. He is not that tall, he is medium height. His hair is dirty blonde or chestnut brown. A foreigner? He might not be from your country. This man is possessive to be honest. If you met him after he get his ish together he will spoil you rotten but if not then don't try to help and heal him. You might meet him at the end of November to the most of December.

Post date: 25th/Aug/2024 - Sun

*Feedback is appreciated

#tarot community #free divination #free tarot #tarot reading #pick a pile #pick a card #tarot pac #witchy #witchblr #occult #divination readings #divination #future spouse #tarotblr #tarot cards #metaphysical #spirituality

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vibelladonna · 4 months ago

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✑ 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓈 𝜗𝜚 𝑔𝑒𝑜 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝓎𝓊𝑔𝑜

Here we go again—since my most popular fanfic just happens to be about kinks, I might as well keep feeding the masses, right?

Kinks, round two, featuring the second-best guys, really the first-best guys in my opinion in the TKATB fandom. You know, the ones everyone secretly (or not-so-secretly) wants to romance but, unfortunately, the game just refuses to let us have.

Boo hoo. Tragic. Heartbreaking.

We’re out here, thirsting over a handful of drawings and barely-there dialogue, while the game just sits there like, "Nah, you get scraps at best." Like, oh, cool, thanks. Totally what I asked for. Not like I wanted actual interactions or anything.

Nope, just gonna sit here, simping in silence.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions.

You know the drill—I blended a bit of canon with my headcanons for Geo and Hyugo. Kept it to just four kinks to keep things short and spicy, then topped it off with a little sweet treat at the end.

Hope you enjoy! [ 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ]

Starting off, I’ve noticed that TKATB fans have their unique preferences when it comes to Sol or Hyugo.

Geo fans? They love a strong, silent, towering wall of a man who could probably carry all their groceries in one trip and still have a free hand. He’s dependable, steady, and intimidating in a hot way. But when it comes to suggestive content, some struggle to picture it—he’s asexual, after all.

As an asexual writer myself, I get it… and yes, I just called myself out. No excuses.

Hyugo fans, though? Y’all are wild. He’s a short shit menace, runs on sugar, and has the energy of a raccoon that found an energy drink. Cute? Absolutely. Safe? Questionable. There’s something about that playful, borderline-chaotic vibe that makes him irresistible—like a gremlin you can’t help but love.

Ngl Hyugo deadass scares me compared to Geo.

✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜

Naturally, I have to start with my husband—Geo, aka Subaru Oogami. Now, let’s be real, if I actually called him that to his face, he’d hit me with the nastiest side-eye known to mankind. But do I care? Absolutely not. I play too much.

Geo is mysterious, sure, but let’s not act like he’s some enigma wrapped in a riddle. He’s smart, tall, and built like a damn fortress, and yeah, no one in their right mind wants to be on his bad side. But honestly? I cannot take him seriously. Like, okay, sir, you’re glaring at me—what now? You gonna keep staring? Blink twice if you need help.

Honestly, it’s more fun to make it a game at this point.

His style, like my guy stays rocking ripped black jeans, what appears to be fishnet tights (??), a dark purple hoodie, and underneath that baggy hoodie, I thought he was wearing some kind of undershirt.

But no. You know what it is? A tight, white workout shirt. I had to double-check, and yeah, that’s definitely a compression shirt. Why does he layer like this? I don’t know. Maybe he’s secretly a gym bro. Maybe he just likes the aesthetic. Either way, I support him.

Alright, onto the real question: Can you see Geo as kinky?

Uhhhhhh... no? But also, maybe? Listen, most asexuals know about the freakiest topics known to humankind (we do our research, don’t ask why).

That’s the reason why I headcanon him into some non-sexual bondage thing.

But Geo himself? He’s not out here scheming, plotting, or forcing anything—he’s more of a “handle things on his own” kind of guy. That said, if you offer or if he really wants to show appreciation for you... yeah, he’s got a bit of a freak in him. Not the overwhelming kind—just enough to keep things interesting. He’s calculated about it, never too much, always just enough to leave you wondering.

✑ Hella Vanilla (Soft Dom Baby!)

Now for Geo preferences!

Look, I’m really trying my best not to write Geo too close to Crowe, but let’s be honest—they’re both vanilla. The difference? Geo is vanilla with a capital V. Crowe at least has some experience, while Geo?

He’s new to all this.

Like, be nice to him, he’s still figuring things out. That being said, don’t think for a second that Geo’s gonna let you take full control. Oh no, he’s independent. You can tell him how you want to be touched, how you like to be held, but he’s stubborn—he wants to learn on his own and figure out the best way to please you himself. Trial and error, but make it hot.

Soft Dom Energy. That’s Geo. He can be broody, moody, and mad at everything, but when it comes to you, this is the only time he lets himself be vulnerable. He’s surprisingly affectionate, and during an intense make-out session?

You will not be able to breathe.

This man is obsessed with littering kisses all over your skin, like he’s trying to memorize you with his mouth. And let me tell you, do not try to push him away. I mean, you can try, but the second he’s out of breath, looking at you with those intense-ass eyes, he’s pulling you right back in.

It’s almost desperate, like he physically needs you. And when you’re on his lap, instead of taking it further, this man will deadass just stare at you, call you pretty, rest his head on your chest, and hug you. Like sir??? That’s illegal???

This is why Geo is the definition of a Soft Dom. It’s not about control—it’s about connection. He doesn’t just want to do things to you, he wants to make sure you feel everything. His dominance is all about guidance, care, and making sure you know just how much he worships you.

And don’t get it twisted—just because he’s soft doesn’t mean he’s weak.

He still has control. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and he takes his time. Yeah, he can be mean, a little asshole-ish sometimes, but listen… poor Geo just has trust issues. Deep-seated daddy issues, confirmed by Fantasia herself.

As for kinks? Light bondage, teasing, and lots of sensual play. Everything with him is slow and intentional because it’s not just physical—it’s emotional.

He gets in your head before he ever gets in your bed.

✑ Body Worship / Size

Geo is the kind of man who doesn’t need to say how much he loves you—he’ll show you instead. And when it comes to you? Yeah, he’s obsessed.

He’s 100% into body worship. All shapes. All sizes. Every single inch of you. Geo doesn’t just admire you; he memorizes you. Every dip, every curve, every little detail that makes you you—he knows it.

It’s in the way he touches you, his fingers dragging slowly over your skin like he’s mapping out something sacred. It’s in the way he kisses you, lingering at the places you don’t even think twice about—your shoulder, your wrists, the space behind your ear—just because he can.

And the most insane part? This is all before he even considers taking it further. Sex isn’t even on his mind at this point. He just wants you close.

Also, Geo absolutely has a size kink, and you cannot convince me otherwise.

The man is huge. Tall, broad, and built like he was specifically designed to make everyone feel tiny in comparison. And if you happen to be taller or close to his height? I’m so sorry, but that does not save you.

Geo will find a way to make you feel small—whether it’s the way he looms over you, stepping just a little too close so you have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes, or how he deliberately slows his movements, reminding you just how much bigger and stronger he is.

And let me tell you—he eats that shit up.

Not in an obvious way, though. Geo isn’t Crowe; he’s not gonna outright tease you about it. But the moment he catches on how do you react?

Oh, he leans into it.

Casually backing you into a counter like he just happened to move that way, dropping his voice a little lower when he speaks, making you hyper-aware of just how much space he takes up.

And then—the worst part?

When you say something to him, he doesn’t just answer like a normal person. No. Geo has to lean down, real slow, get right in your space, eyes heavy-lidded and unreadable before letting out a low, amused “Mm?”

Sir. Sir. You heard me the first time.

And he knows. He knows exactly what he’s doing. The little shift of his lips, the faintest smirk in his eyes—he gets a kick out of watching you react. He won’t admit it, but he definitely enjoys making you flustered.

Now, about his strength. Because Geo isn’t just big—he’s ridiculously strong. And instead of being normal about it, he’s just out here carrying you whenever he feels like it.

This man is a Great Dane in human form. Yes, I get why people compare him to a cat—he’s broody, standoffish, and acts like he doesn’t care. But the second he’s comfortable around you? Boom. Massive, clingy, overgrown puppy. A whole 6’2” worth of muscle that has zero concept of personal space.

Like picture this: You’re in the kitchen, minding your business, when suddenly—boom. A wall of man is right behind you, hands casually gripping your hips, chin resting on top of your head. "What you doing in here?"

Sir. SIR. You nearly throw the spatula. You didn’t even hear him come in, and now he’s just standing there, pressed against you like your own personal shadow. And the worst part? He does this constantly.

Geo will randomly sneak up behind you, wrap his arms around your waist, and rest his chin on your shoulder—unbothered. He’s not even trying to start anything; he just likes being close to you. Like some big, scary-looking human-weighted blanket with zero boundaries.

And honestly? He thinks it’s cute.

(It is cute, but we are not feeding his ego.)

Now, let’s discuss his obsession with carrying you. Because Geo will carry you. And no, not just when it’s "necessary." This man will find any excuse to pick you up.

Can’t reach something? He lifts you. Feeling lazy? Over his shoulder, you go.

Trying to argue with him? Congratulations. You have been physically removed from the conversation. He doesn’t even struggle.

"Geo, PUT ME DOWN."

You could be fighting for your life, yelling at him to put you down, and he’s just walking away, completely unbothered.

"Nah." And the worst part? He’s lowkey smirking.

This man is carrying you like you weigh absolutely nothing, while you’re over here kicking your feet in protest—and he is loving every second of it. I swear to God, you’re his weakness.

Right, let’s talk about Geo’s weaknesses.

Because for all his composure, all his brooding, mysterious, cold-hearted bastard energy, the man is insanely sensitive. His chest? His stomach?

Absolute weak spots.

You don’t even have to try hard—just a light brush of your fingers along his torso, and suddenly, boom. His breath hitches, his muscles tense, and his whole body betrays him. And oh, he hates that.

Geo, who prides himself on being unshakable, unreadable, completely in control, and yet? A simple touch has him slipping. Just for a second—but it’s enough. Enough for you to see it. That momentary flicker in his expression, the way his brows furrow like he’s fighting off a reaction.

Geo is not immune. And if you really want to break him? Focus on his chest. And since he is an asshole that also means that he is petty.

Like what you’ll do to him he will absolutely do it right back at you in the unexpected moment so— that’s how he ended up becoming obsessed with your body because you simply just could not stop touching him which I don’t blame you so.

Like doesn’t even matter even why, he’s obsessed—no possessive… of your body like he would never tell you what to wear personally, but he would definitely like to keep it for his eyes view, depending on what you’re wearing.

Trust me on this like he doesn’t even need therapy as long as that you’re exist, and that’s enough. There is not a single session where his hands aren’t on you in some way. And the worst part?

Half the time, he’s not even aware he’s doing it.

It’s absentminded.

Resting his palm over your chest while cuddling? Check. Idly tracing patterns against your skin while zoning out? Check. Acting like a human-weighted blanket with grabby hands? Double check.

But when is he aware of it? Oh, he’s shameless.

Like I know, I’m rambling at this point. I’m supposed to be talking about kinks but like let me ramble—please after all the researching I have done for his character???

Also, Geo is so touch-starved, it’s almost pitiful.

This man hates people. Hates when they fawn over him. Hates when they get too close. He keeps his distance, keeps himself cold, and it works. It suits him. Until you come along and absolutely ruin him.

Because now? He notices everything.

You, brushing your hand against his? Feels like a goddamn brand. He’ll be scrubbing the memory from his brain while on his morning run, furious that it’s still there.

You, touching him even casually? Oh, he’s doomed.

And of course, because Geo is the worst, his response is to be even more of an asshole to you. His usual indifference turns cutting. His words get sharper, his tone a little meaner—we love a toxic man. I’m lying. But does that stop him from wanting you? No.

Geo wants his hands on you. Constantly.

Kissing, touching, staring—he’s got to feel you under his fingers. And the best part? He doesn’t even bother to pretendlike it’s anything other than pure obsession.

You ask him, “Why are you so obsessed with touching me?” And he gives you that look. The one that says, “How dare you ask something so stupid.” The one that could reduce you to ash if it were any more intense.

His face is unreadable, as if you’ve just asked him why the sky is blue or why pizza is delicious. And then, with all the seriousness in the world, he mutters in that tone of his, “Feels nice.”

Like it’s a universal truth—as if you were the crazy one for not getting it. Duh. Yeah, he's intimidating. Yeah, he's moody. Yeah, he gives off serious "I’m a brick wall with emotional issues" vibes. But when it comes to you?

Oh, he’s a whole different kind of animal.

He’s a soft, body-worshipping, touch-starved menace who refuses to let you out of his grip. Ever. And you know what? It’s kind of cute, in an incredibly irritating way. He’s like a big, clingy puppy with a very dangerous bite.

And when it comes to sex? Forget it. Geo’s not just here to do the bare minimum. No, no. He’s going to make sure you feel every single second of it.

Geo? He’s slow. He’s deliberate. He’s the kind of guy who’s in no rush because he wants to savor it.

The way your body clenches around him, the way your breath catches when he pushes deeper. The way your lips stretch to fit him and your little hands look like they could barely wrap around his.

Every single tiny detail drives him absolutely insane, and he’s not going to rush through any of it.

He’s going to take his sweet time.

And Geo’s Version of Aftercare: Affectionately Rude

Listen, if you’re expecting Geo to be the type to light candles, whisper sweet nothings, or pull you into a warm, cozy embrace post-intimacy, I have some unfortunate news for you. That is not happening. Not in this lifetime, not in the next.

Soft blankets? No.

Gentle forehead kisses? Absolutely not.

Deep emotional talks? He’d rather perish.

But!—and this is important—he’s not about to treat you like some random one-night stand either. He might be an asshole, but he’s not that much of an asshole.

So what does Geo’s version of aftercare look like?

Step 1: The Bossy Bathroom Break

Before you can even catch your breath, he’s already on it. “Go to the bathroom.”

If you protest, he doesn’t argue—he just picks you up like a damn sack of flour and drops you off there himself. “I’m not carrying your ass to the ER for an infection. Move.”

Step 2: The No-Nonsense Cleanup

When you get back, he’s already waiting—arms crossed, tossing you a towel like it’s a mandatory post-battle debriefing. “Here. Clean yourself up.”

Oh, you’re tired? Sore? Struggling to move? Tough luck. Geo isn’t about to baby you, but if he sees you wobbling, he’ll just exhale through his nose, snatch the towel back, and do it himself. And of course, he won’t say why—he’ll just grumble under his breath like it’s some massive inconvenience, but his hands?

Ridiculously gentle.

Step 3: The Hoodie Toss

Cleanup done? Great. Now brace yourself, because a hoodie is coming straight for your face. “Get dressed.” No further explanation.

You’re putting on his clothes, and that’s final.

Step 4: The Food Situation

Geo’s not completely heartless—let’s get that straight. He knows you’re probably starving after he just ruined the living shit out of you, so he’ll either begrudgingly make you something himself—while fucking complaining the entire time or order takeout like a responsible adult.

And listen, I’m willing to bet that he’s shirtless while he’s doing this. Not for your benefit, of course—no, Geo doesn’t do things just to be nice. It’s probably because he’s too lazy to put a shirt back on after throwing his hoodie at you earlier.

But hey, I’m not complaining. NEITHER OF YOU

Just… be careful. You might think you’re sneaky, watching him from the bed, enjoying the view as he moves around, all toned arms and broad shoulders. But trust me—he will catch you staring.

And when he does? That knowing scoff of his will be downright insufferable.

“Like what you see? Take a picture, simp."

And just like that, any last bit of dignity you had left?

Gone.

Step 5: The Accidental Softness

But here’s where it gets interesting.

At some point, you notice it. The way his hands—big, warm, and calloused from years of archery—start slowly running over your sides. Not in a calculated way, not in an obvious way. Just absentmindedly. Like he’s not even thinking about it, just feeling.

And for all his gruffness, there’s something about the way he touches you that feels different. Like he’s grounding himself. Like, without even realizing it, he’s making sure you’re still there.

His fingers trace over your skin, gentle but firm, almost possessive. As if he’s silently reminding himself, Yeah. This happened. You’re mine. You’re still here.

And the moment you point it out?

Oh, he snaps out of it so fast. LIKE DUDE STOP RUINING THE MOMENT!!

You’re forced to sit on the living room, couch, waiting for Geo begrudgingly ordered or what he cock on the couch because—God forbid do not eat in this man’s bed he will curse you out, which I don’t blame him. I hate people eating in my bed, too.

When you pause, squinting at him.

“The hell are you looking at?” he mutters, catching your stare.

“You were touching me.”

Geo barely reacts, just raising an eyebrow. “…And?”

A smirk tugs at your lips. “So you do care.”

His jaw tightens, and for a second, it looks like he’s about to argue. Instead, he exhales sharply, shoving your food container or plate closer to you.

“Eat your damn food.” But here’s the theme as he’s looking away. You can tell the redness on his pale face so you definitely did something.

Classic Geo. Affection? Accidental. Care? Hidden under layers of attitude. But at the end of the day, he’s not letting you go.

And what’s the best part of all this?

He’s not letting you go anytime soon.

✑ Bondage (my fav…)

Y’all knew this was coming. I mean, how could I not talk about Geo and bondage? It’s honestly one of my favorites, and you’re about to see why.

Geo? He’s the type to be meticulous about it. We’re talking intricately tying your wrists and ankles—none of that rushed stuff.

He’s all about making sure the ropes are perfect, each knot tight and precise, just the right amount of pressure on your skin. The way the ropes caress your body as he pulls them snug—there’s something almost artistic about it.

He’s not just tying you up; he’s painting you with every knot and twist, his hands slow and deliberate as they move over your skin.

And then, when he's done, Geo doesn’t rush it. Oh no, he stands over you for a few moments, just watching. And he’s not watching with concern or any weird sense of urgency. Nah. He’s watching you squirm—studying you, as if he’s seeing how you react to being bound in his ropes, how you shift and struggle.

He loves seeing how the ropes hold you in place, watching how you can’t move the way you want, like you’re completely at his mercy.

His eyes—those unreadable, sharp eyes—never leave you, and in that moment, it’s like everything is just about you. The way you tug at the restraints, the way your body shifts trying to find some freedom, the soft little gasps as you move.

And he’s loving every single second of it.

He’s a tallllll guy, so the way you’re all tied up beneath him just makes him feel even bigger, like you’re trapped in his world, and there's no escape. And don’t even get me started on the way he’s so smug about it. He knows exactly how much control he has, and he’s not shy about relishing in it.

And just when you think he’s about to do something, he’ll pause—making you wait. Because if there’s one thing Geo loves more than anything, it’s the anticipation. That long, drawn-out pause before he decides to make his next move.

Oh—oh my god, let’s talk about sensory deprivation—because Geo has a bit of a thing for that. And guess what? It goes hand-in-hand with his extensive love of tying you up.

Geo’s collection of soft rope, however his silk ribbons is practically a work of art. Seriously. He’s got them all—every color you can imagine. But his favorites? Dark purple, black, and maybe a bit of red for that extra flair.

You know the red ribbon that always be in his hair? 🤭

You know, the same ribbons he uses to tie his hair? Yeah, those ones. But here’s the thing: those same ribbons are going to be used to tie YOU up.

It’s almost like a twisted little fashion show, except this time, you’re his model.

Add little more fun ask him take pictures of you, I’m sure he’s willing to comply. I’m pretty sure he’s gonna be hesitant at first, but trust me it’s a fair trade.

He loves the way the silk glides through his fingers as he ties you up, each knot like a little secret, a personal touch only he knows. And then, once you're tied up and helpless, that's when the fun begins.

Again, he’s all about the build-up.

He’ll take his time, letting the anticipation hang thick in the air, like you both know what's coming but he’s not in any rush. He might even brush a finger over your skin just enough to tease you, before pulling away like he’s got all the time in the world.

He does. He always does.

And once you're all tied up, there’s this weird moment where everything is heightened. Without sight, without sound, every little thing Geo does to you feels more intense.

You can feel the air shift when he moves, the heat of his body close by but never enough. You hear the slightest sound, and your entire body tenses, wondering what he’s going to do next.

Then, just when you think you can’t take it anymore, he’s there, his fingers brushing over the silk ribbons, admiring how they look against your skin.

And that? That’s when he smirks HE DOES IT WHEN HIS BOBY IS FACING AWAY FROM YOU. Because he knows exactly how much this is driving you wild, and he’s not even close to done.

And trust me, you’ll be squirming in more ways than one.

✑ Katoptronophilia

Let’s talk about Katoptronophilia, or as it’s commonly known, mirror sex.

Oh yeah, Geo is totally into it, he have to be, and honestly?

I’m shocked you didn’t see this coming. The man is a walking contradiction of brooding intensity and twisted fascination with aesthetics, and mirrors?

I’m not saying that he see himself as perfect, but he definitely wants to keep up his clean appearance.

Well, they’re his perfect tool for both.

Geo? He has mirrors everywhere in his place. It’s almost a little excessive, honestly, but then again, it makes sense. He’s constantly checking his reflection, especially after those private workouts.

MAYBE a few flexes here, a few glances there—just to make sure his ‘I’m too cool to smile’ vibe is intact, right? But here's the twist: it’s not just about his reflection anymore.

Geo loves watching you in front of a mirror. He’s not obsessed with his own reflection, oh no. He’s captivated by you—your movements, your expressions.

He loves it when you catch yourself in the mirror, when you get distracted by the way your body looks. It’s like you’ve given him an excuse to slip in behind you, without a single word.

Imagine this, theses are my delusions: You’re putting on a simple gloss, just trying to get ready for the day, glancing at yourself in the mirror.

But then… you feel him.

Geo’s presence is like a shadow that makes the air a little thicker. He stands there, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him, but you’re too focused on your lips to notice. He watches as you press the gloss on, lips glistening, your reflection sparkling under the light.

And then, the moment you don’t expect it, his hands are on your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder as his eyes trace the mirror. His voice is a low, teasing murmur, almost playful: “You look good. You know that, right?”

You think he’s just commenting on your outfit. Oh no.

Geo’s temptation? To mess it up.

That’s right, his eyes flick down to your lips, and the only thing stopping him from ruining that glossy shine is his overwhelming urge to keep you distracted. His lips are close to yours, and he can practically taste the anticipation, his hands tightening around you just enough to remind you he’s there.

It’s like he gets a kick out of making you aware of the fact that he’s behind you, studying your reflection. And maybe just a little bit more into watching you lose control of that mirror.

For example, It was one of those rare, lazy days where neither of you had any pressing work to do, and Geo was not thrilled about it. The man is built to be active, always on the move, constantly lifting or running or pushing himself to the limit. But today? He was stuck at a slower pace, and honestly?

He was grumbling about it.

You, on the other hand, were doing your best to get him to actually relax—something he hates with a passion, but deep down, he knew he needed it. So, with a few gentle suggestions, you managed to convince him to settle down on the couch. But knowing Geo, it didn’t take long for things to take a turn.

There you were, sitting in his lap, your back against his broad chest as his face buried into your shoulder. He was mumbling into your skin, the low hum of his voice sending shivers down your spine as his arms wrapped tightly around you.

He was trying, trying so hard to be calm, but the proximity, the way your body moved just slightly under his hands—it made it harder for him to focus.

The thing was, Geo couldn’t stay still for long.

Not when you were close.

So, as you shifted in his lap, trying to get more comfortable, he couldn't help but tighten his grip, pulling you just a little closer. His face pressed deeper into your neck, the weight of his body felt warm and heavy, his breath ghosting along your skin.

"Stop squirming," he mumbled against your ear, though there was an edge to his voice—one that made it clear he wasn’t as relaxed as he let on. His fingers began to trace over your sides, gradually finding their way lower, guiding your movements with soft but firm pressure.

And then, you noticed it—right in front of you two, the full-length mirror.

It was like the universe had set it up just for this moment. You caught a glimpse of yourself, your body moving against his, his fingers rubbing in time with your shifts. The reflection only made it worse—made you more aware of the fact that every tiny movement of your body, every little gasp or twitch, was being mirrored, amplified, observed.

Geo was watching you carefully, studying your reflection as much as he was focused on how you were guiding him. He could see your fingers fidgeting on top of his hands, guiding him where to rub your clothed pussy, where to touch—each motion becoming more deliberate as you tried to maintain some semblance of control.

“Geo, please…” you breathed, unable to help the way your own body responded, shifting to meet his touch. Geo’s breath hitched, his eyes flicking between your reflection and your face, watching as you squirmed in his arms.

There was something electric about this—something that pushed all his patience to the limit, something he couldn’t ignore. His hand moved again, more firmly now, following your lead as you guided him, your body responding to every slow, deliberate movement.

The way the mirror captured everything—the way your body arched against his, the quiet moans slipping from your lips, the way your eyes locked with his in the reflection as you both lost track of time—it was almost like you were both trapped in a moment, caught between the pleasure of the present and the art of watching you unfold.

Geo might’ve been the one leading the way, but you were the one showing him just how much control you had, even in a moment like this.

Now watching his bare cock lined up on your stomach as you sat on his lap, reaching way past your belly button, talking about just how small you are compared to him, and wondering how he’s gonna make it fit.

As the minutes ticked by, the air in the room thickened, almost like it was holding its breath. The only sounds were the soft rhythmic movement of your bodies pressing together, and the small, breathless noises that escaped you as you rode him.

Geo watched you with those predatory eyes, his grip tightening around your waist as you squirmed above him, just enough to drive him insane. He was nothing if not patient—insufferably patient, in fact—and he knew exactly how to draw this out. Every movement you made, every quiet whimper that slipped past your lips, only served to fuel his sick little plan.

He wasn’t going to let you win. Not yet.

Your hands gripped his shoulders, and you felt the heat of his breath on your neck, each exhale making your skin prickle with anticipation.

But you couldn’t hold back anymore, could you?

You were close, so close to the point where you needed him to take control, to make it stop. You were whimpering now, clinging to him, begging for him to take over.

Geo’s lips sighed into that knowing look. He could hear it in your voice—how you were unraveling on his cock. He keeps you close until his abdomen is drenched in your slick, chuckling under his breath when you whine.

And he loved it. His thumbs traced slow circles over the plush flesh of your waist, the pressure light but deliberate.

Every time you tried to hold back a mewl, he'd hum in response—low, condescending, almost amused by your desperation.

"Giving up already?" he’d tease, his voice like velvet, coated in that dangerous edge of satisfaction. "Pathetic."

But the truth was, Geo was bone-tired.

Not in the sense that he was worn out, but in the way that only you could fill the void for him. He didn’t need anything but you, right there, straddling him, your body pressed against his. His face buried into your neck, savoring the warmth of your skin, the sweet, familiar scent of you that drove him wild. It wasn’t about control anymore.

It was about feeling you, grounding himself in the sensation of being with you, connected in the most primal way.

And still, even when you were frozen, not moving an inch—your body so deeply connected to his—he felt it. The pressure, the way you clung to him, the way it was making both of you dizzy. It was too much.

You were too tight, too perfect, too intoxicating.

And then, just when you thought it was too much to bear, when you were on the edge, your mind fogged with lust, Geo pulled away.

Just a little. Enough to make you ache. Enough to make your whole body tremble in frustration. You could feel the absence of him like a physical pull, and your breath hitched. The tease was unbearable.

He wasn’t done with you yet. Not by a long shot. Geo enjoyed watching you suffer, toying with you, letting you think he was finally going to let you have your release. And then, when you were this close—he'd pull away again, dragging out the torment.

Just enough to send you spiraling into your own frustration.

And that? That was when he felt alive—pressing himself up away from the mattress, just enough to lift you off the bed too with ease. He doesn’t waste time, picking you up like you're weightless and pulling you flush against his chest, your arms snaking around his neck and your legs wrapping tightly around his waist.

You’re not going anywhere—not that you’d want to.

And that’s when he goes to town, fucking into you with a brutal, relentless pace. Every thrust is calculated, every movement intentional, as he watches the mess you're making in the mirror.

You can see everything—the way you squirm, the way your lips part in breathless pleasure, the way your body trembles against him. And just when you think you can’t take anymore, he’s there—pushing you further, harder, faster. You sink your nails into his shoulders as he held you close, the sting of your grip only making him press into you deeper.

Geo doesn’t just push you back onto the mattress—he somewhat shoves you, forcing you to feel the weight of his strength as he pins you down.

There’s no hesitation, no softness, just raw, unrelenting dominance. His hand presses firmly against your stomach, palm splayed out possessively, applying just enough pressure to remind you exactly how deep he is.

And then, because he’s an absolute menace, he leans down, voice a low, mocking drawl right against your ear.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his tone dripping with condescension. “Taking me so well… like you were made for this.”

He watches your reaction with that signature smirk—half amusement, half arrogance—because he knows he’s wrecking you. And when you’re struggling to respond, barely holding yourself together?

Geo just chuckles, pressing down on your stomach a little harder.

“C’mon,” he taunts, voice dark and teasing. “Where’d all that attitude go? You were talking plenty of shit earlier.”

Oh my god, am I actually into degrading?

Then, that beautiful moment when you cry out his name, torn between wanting him to keep going or begging him to stop. It feels so damn good you can't decide.

Your body shakes and trembles, not sure whether it’s from the pleasure or the overwhelming sensation of being so completely consumed by him.

You tell him you’re in control this time.

You insist you’ll fuck him this time—you’re going to win.

But deep down, you know how it ends every single time. No matter how much you try to convince him, Geo always wins.

Who wouldn't want a man like that, who knows exactly how to leave you breathless, on the edge of losing yourself?

And frankly, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

✑ 𝒽𝓎𝓊𝑔𝑜

Here’s sweet baby boy Hyugo—Hyugo Sugimoto !Honestly, writing him is lowkey a challenge, especially compared to someone like Geo, but since I have a soft spot for the brothers more than the main leads (yes, even with all their complex personalities), I’m doing it for y’all.

But anyway, let’s talk about Hyugo.

He’s literally the sweetest person you’ll ever meet, hands down. Even though his outfits are on the simple side, his youthful energy just makes him glow.

He’s got this oval-shaped face, a bit baby-faced, and his sky-blue eyes are sparkling with that innocent charm. His lips are thin, but there's this softness about him that makes you want to believe he's just the nicest guy ever.

But, and here’s the thing—don’t let that sweet face fool you.

We all know the cutest, most innocent-looking ones can hide some serious secrets, right? They say looks can be deceiving, and trust me, with Hyugo, that’s an understatement.

So, the big question—can you see Hyugo as kinky?

For me? Hell yeah, absolutely.

For others? Maybe they think he’s just sweet and harmless, but I’m not taking any chances. After the stuff he pulls in the game? Nah, I’m not falling for that "good boy" act. That man’s got layers, and some of them are not nearly as innocent as they seem.

I mean, let’s be real, the guy knows how to get exactly what he wants without ever breaking a sweat.

✑ Switch (Sub side…)

Now, let’s dive into baby boy Hyugo's preferences, shall we?

Just like his best buddy Sol, Hyugo is a switch—and when I say switch, I mean capital S to the H—A. SWITCH. No questions asked.

Now, imagine my surprise when I learned he used to be a virgin, and the dude did it with a man?

Yeah, he's a switch.

I have no idea who's doing the bending (or maybe that’s the whole point, right?), but I’m calling it like I see it. Hyugo can take both roles and absolutely slay in either of them.

Meanwhile, Sol's out here second-guessing every text he sends, wondering if he's being too much or not enough, texting wrong men for validation. We love him, but come on, bro. Hyugo, on the other hand, is living his best life.

Like, imagine this: Hyugo, all giggly and kicking his feet, waiting for you to reply to his sweet dinner invitation text. You send back a “Can’t wait!” and he’s over the moon, practically bouncing off the walls. He’s so happy you’re with him, it’s honestly the cutest thing ever.

And when you’re together? Oh, he holds your hand like it’s the most precious thing in the world. He’s got that combination of shock and glee—like he can’t believe you’re actually here with him.

You’re tugged into his side with every step, and he’s showering you with little kisses on your temple, just so happy to have you close.

Like, Hyugo is a sweetheart, but don’t let that fool you. Beneath that cute, giggling exterior is a switch who knows exactly what he wants—and trust me, he’s not afraid to get it.

Hyugo? Yeah, the moment that door to your apartment clicks shut behind him, he’s a completely different person.

All that sweet, baby-faced charm? Gone.

He transforms into someone much wilder, more needy. It’s like the minute he's in private with you, he’s letting down all his defenses.

And yeah, most of the time, Hyugo’s a sub. He’s got that soft, touch-starved side that craves affection and care. He wants you to baby him, in the way only you can—gentle, but with that touch that makes him feel seen and wanted. You can tell he's a little starved for it, much like his brother Geo.

However Hyugo knows how to hold it back a little more, unlike his best buddy Sol. No offense to Sol, but he’s just a tad more... obvious about it, right?

Anyway, Hyugo? It’s like a delicate balance of needing you while still holding on to his cool exterior until it all comes crashing down.

Now, don’t get me wrong, like I said Hyugo loves when you baby him.

He may not openly admit it, but the way his eyes soften when you shower him with attention? Yeah, it’s more than enough evidence. He might even have a little bit of a thing for being pampered and cared for, but I won’t dive into that—not my cup of tea. Mommy kink.

But that doesn’t mean his desires stop there. Oh no, once you’ve got him behind closed doors, the sweetness can turn into something else entirely.

Because let me tell you something—Hyugo does NOT do slow and sensual. The second he hears anything remotely related to sex, it’s like flipping a switch. He’ll be pounding into you like it’s the last time you two will ever touch, and he’s not exactly taking his time. There’s an urgency there, like he’s starving for you in the most primal way.

And your breasts? Forget about it.

You cannot keep him off of them. He’s all over them, kissing, sucking, mouthing at them like they’re the best thing in the world. Hyugo’s hands are never far away, especially when they’re roaming, taking every chance to squeeze, kiss, or just touch whatever he can get his hands on.

But here’s the thing: he loves being told what to do. He thrives on direction, on being guided, and the more you tease him, the more he wants.

Deny him just a little, though?

Oh, that’s when he gets even more worked up. Being denied? It’s like a whole new level of arousal for him, something about the frustration only makes him more desperate.

Hyugo’s a mess in the best way—he craves attention, craves being controlled, and craves all of you. So when you finally give in and take control, he’s lost to the feeling, ready for whatever comes next.

And trust me, you will feel it.

✑ Semi-public (My lord…)

Hyugo? Baby, he’s got a serious thrill-seeking side, and it shows.

The boy is daring, and when he wants you, he doesn’t waste time hiding it. You think he’s just a sweet, baby-faced guy? Think again. He’s into semi-public situations, and he thrives off the danger of it. No place is off-limits for him, even the college roof—the place he loves to hang out at when he needs some space, away from the rules and prying eyes.

But with you? He doesn’t care about the risk.

When he’s on that the college roof, staring out at the world, there’s a fire in his eyes, and the second he gets you alone, the rules don’t matter. He wants you ‘right there’, right then, and you can bet he’s not shy about it.

The thrill of being seen, even just for a second, turns him on more than anything. He wants the world to know you're his, and he’ll do anything to get a taste of that danger. The whole atmosphere is thick with anticipation, the tension between you so palpable that it almost crackles.

And when it comes to foreplay?

Don’t even get me started on how obsessed he is with dry-humping. The second the two of you are close, it’s like an instinctual need for friction. You can feel the heat building as he presses into you, his body grinding and frotting against yours.

There’s no subtlety here—he’s desperate for that contact, desperate to feel your body move against his. Every little roll of his hips, every grind, is a game of inches as he gets closer and closer to losing control. He’s completely lost in the sensation, like he can’t get enough.

And then, when he can’t stand it anymore, when that desperation peaks and you’ve been teasing him just enough—he rips your clothes off. Right then. Right there. It’s not even about taking his time anymore; it’s all about the raw need. He’s done holding back, and in that moment, all that matters is the frantic urgency to have you, to touch you.

There’s no question in his mind—he needs you now.

Like that boy will get off any way he can if it means getting that release. And it’s not even about subtlety, he just needs to do it.

Now, for a fun little twist: He’s definitely into pegging. I’m not saying he’s screaming for it every minute of the day, but when the right time comes, he’s all about it. There’s just something about it that turns him on in a way nothing else can. He will beg you to fuck his tight little asshole until he makes a mess.

But honestly, that’s Hyugo—always a little more complicated than you might think.

And when it comes to moaning? That boy whines and moans like a fucking bitch when you’re going at him. It’s like every little sensation sends him spiraling into this blissed-out mess. He just can’t help it, and you’ll quickly learn that his whimpering is one of the sexiest sounds in the world.

But don’t get it twisted—he loves being treated right.

He loves that softness, that attention.

But there’s a part of him that wants to be pushed a little, taken advantage of in a way that leaves him desperate. You can take your frustrations out on him, just a little. He won’t break. He might even love it more than you expect.

When it comes to degradation, Hyugo’s not into anything too harsh, but call him your slut? Oh, you’re speaking his language now.

That little spark in his eye will light up every time you remind him who he belongs to. He won’t admit it, but he loves being labeled that way, that submissive title making him feel just a little bit more desperate, a little more needed. So yeah, don’t be fooled by the baby-faced charm—Hyugo is a lot more than he lets on.

Treat him right, give him what he craves, and you’ll be surprised at just how wild he gets when you push his buttons.

✑ Overstimulation

And then there’s overstimulation.

Sometimes, it’s not even intentional, but it’s inevitable with Hyugo. You feel so damn good above him, your body responding to every touch, every thrust. He’s chasing that high, pulling you closer to the edge again and again until your body can’t take it.

And Hyugo’s a man who knows what he wants and may ur may not beg for it, and he loves when you take control, especially when it comes to pulling his soft hair.

The way his breath hitches whenever your fingers tangle in his hair—that’s his weakness. He’s yours, every inch of him, and he’s not shy about showing it. Each time you yank his hair, you can hear the shameless moans slip from his lips.

It drives him crazy, his body reacting to every tug, and it only fuels the fire between you two. He’s not just giving—he’s taking, fully immersed in the feeling, and you can tell by the way his tongue works at your trembling walls.

And let me tell you, this man is all about cunnilingus.

There’s nothing soft or shy about it; Hyugo’s a big eater, and he’s hungry for you. When his lips press to your pussy, it’s like he’s starving, devouring you like he hasn’t eaten in days. His arms wrap around your thighs, holding you in place as he feasts on you.

He licks, sucks, and nibbles with a feverish intensity, working his way through every inch of you, as if he’ll die if he doesn't get every drop.

Sometimes it feels like it’s too much, his tongue relentless, but you can’t stop the heat it builds. You’ll squirm and tug at his hair, urging him on, and he just pulls you closer, deeper into the sensation.

Hyugo’s eye contact is deadly. When he wants you, he’s not looking away. His hand grips your jaw, tilting your head, forcing you to look at him. He demands that you keep your eyes on him, guiding you with his fiery gaze.

Those eyes of his? Thoes soft eyes turns Intense. Piercing. He’s studying every little thing about you—the way your pupils dilate with desire, the flutter of your lashes as he pushes you further, deeper.

The intensity of his gaze makes it all feel so much more real. He doesn’t need to say a word; his eyes speak louder than anything.

You’re a shaking mess in his arms, your muscles aching, your mind overwhelmed with the pleasure he’s giving you. But that’s the thing about him—he won’t stop.

He doesn’t care about your begging, about how much you can take; he wants to see you lose yourself, to feel you break into a thousand pieces in his arms.

And when you finally do, he’s yours.

Completely, utterly yours.

✑ Role play

Oh, baby boy is all about the roleplay.

And no, let me clear that up right now, he's not into anything dangerous or dark—no gunplay, no assassin fantasies (he never even brings up his questionable word side to you, thank you very much).

But when it comes to the playful stuff? Oh, he’s all in. His absolute favorite? Cops and robbers. But here’s the twist—he loves being the one arrested.

There’s something about you in charge, giving him that commanding look, your fingers brushing over the cuffs, the way you look him up and down like you’re about to throw him in the back of your car that drives him wild.

Humiliation? Oh, Hyugo lives for it. You can see it in his eyes when the teasing starts, the way his entire demeanor shifts—there’s a naughty little spark that lights up in his gaze whenever you call him out.

You both know the game, and you’re always more than happy to play along.

It starts simple enough, just a teasing glance or a casual remark. But the more you push him, the more he wants to be pushed. You lower your voice, your hand brushing over his thigh as you lean in, whispering in his ear, “Such a good little whore for me, huh? You can’t get enough of it, can you?”

His breath hitches, a flicker of a smirk crossing his face as he tries to hold it together. But, oh, you know better. The words trip over his tongue as he fumbles, his voice dropping a little—just enough for you to hear the hesitation, the vulnerability he’s trying so hard to keep under wraps.

“W-wait, I didn’t… I didn’t say—” His words stutter, barely escaping, and you can already see the flush rising in his cheeks. The little twitch at the corner of his lips betrays him, and the smug grin you're wearing only deepens.

Gotcha.

“Oh, but you’re looking so cute right now, all flustered. It’s adorable how easily you fold under just a few words.” You can’t help but tease, watching him squirm under your touch. His cheeks are flushed, his breath uneven, and his eyes are flickering, darting away, trying to avoid the weight of your gaze.

But you won’t let him escape.

You never do.

He tries to play it off, shifting uncomfortably, biting his lip as he avoids looking you directly in the eyes. His fingers twitch at his sides like he wants to reach for you, to make it stop, but he can’t. Not yet.

“You know,” you continue, letting the silence stretch before adding, “you look so cute when you try to act like you’re not loving every second of this. You’re my slutty little toy, and you know it, don’t you?”

The words sink in, and you watch his entire body tense. His throat works as if he’s about to protest, but all that comes out is a frustrated little moan. “S-stop… I’m not—”

“You’re not?” you cut him off, raising an eyebrow, “Then why are you blushing so much? Why do you look like you’re about to come just from me saying those words?”

He stammers, unable to form any coherent argument, his voice cracking with embarrassment. “I-I didn’t… you can’t—”

You lean in closer, your breath hot against his ear. “It’s okay, Hyugo. I know you’re mine. You’re just too cute when you try to act like you’re not my little slut. You’ll never be able to hide that from me.”

And with that, his face burns even brighter, his attempts at deflecting your words turning into soft, desperate whimpers. It’s game over for him, and he knows it. His body betrays him every single time.

You can’t help but love watching him squirm under the weight of your teasing, his mouth opening, but no words coming out as he struggles to keep his composure.

This game? You’re always the winner. And Hyugo?

Well, he’s always more than happy to play.

✑ Cheirophilia

Hear me out—Cheirophilia.

Oh, Hyugo? That boy lives for touch. He’s naturally affectionate, always finding little excuses to run his fingers along your skin, tracing lazy circles on your palm, interlocking fingers, brushing his knuckles against your cheek like he just hasto be touching you at all times.

So let’s be real—he’s got a thing for hands.

And not just in the oh, I like holding hands kind of way. No, no, this man will obsess over your hands. The shape of them, the way your fingers move, the strength of your grip. He notices everything.

How your nails look when they drag across his back, how soft your palms feel when you cup his face, how effortlessly your fingers wrap around his throat when you push him down and remind him exactly who he belongs to.

Hyugo melts when you play with his hands, too. Run your fingers along the lines of his palms? He shudders. Press a kiss to his knuckles? He’s giggling like a schoolgirl. Lace your fingers with his and tighten your grip just slightly? He’s already giving you those fuck-me eyes.

And don’t even get him started on watching you use your hands. The way you gesture when you talk, the way your fingers curl when you beckon him closer—he’s hanging onto every movement, completely entranced.

If he’s sitting across from you, he’ll grab your hand mid-conversation just to absentmindedly play with your fingers, pressing them to his lips like it’s second nature.

But in the bedroom? Oh, baby, you’re in trouble.

Hyugo adores watching your hands work on him. Gripping his hair, clawing at his back, holding him down—he’s watching every single twitch of your fingers with rapt attention.

He lives for the moment when your hands tremble just slightly from the pleasure, when you grip the sheets so hard your knuckles turn white, when your fingers sink into his shoulders, desperate to hold onto something while he ruins you.

And let’s be real, he loves having your hands around his throat. Not too rough, just enough pressure to make his breath hitch, his pulse racing under your fingertips. He’ll grin at you, eyes dark with mischief, voice breathy as he teases, “Tighter, please. You know I can take it.”

And you already know Hyugo’s got stamina for days.

He’s insatiable, always riled up and ready to go again before you’ve even caught your breath. One round isn’t enough—hell, two barely cuts it. If he’s spent one session melting under your touch, panting and begging for more, then the next?

Oh, he’s flipping the script, pinning you down, and making sure you remember exactly who he is.

And he takes his time with it.

Who’s spreading you apart, just fucking staring until you’re squirming?

Hyugo.

"No, pretty girl, let me look." His hands hold you still, thumbs pressing against your trembling thighs, watching with those hungry, sky-blue eyes—eyes that burn with amusement and desire as you try to close your legs.

But he won’t let you. Not until he’s had his fill, memorizing how ruined you already are before he even touches you properly.

Then, when you whimper his name, he just grins. "There she is." And then he’s diving in, suckling, licking, dragging his tongue over every inch like he’s starving.

Who’s got the nastiest mouth on him when your thighs are tossed over his shoulders, his cock pounding into you, relentless?

Hyugo.

"Hear how good you takin’ me, honey?" His voice is deep, ragged, lips curling into that cocky little smirk when he feels you tighten around him.

"Tryin’ to squeeze every last drop outta me, huh? Greedy thing." His fingers dig into your hips, holding you down, making you feel every inch of him, and he’s watching you—eyes locked onto the way your face twists in pleasure, the way your hands grasp at the sheets, at him.

And let’s be honest, who’s absolutely wrecked the moment he feels your walls start to flutter around him?

Hyugo.

"Fuck—lemme inside one more time, yeah? Will ya let me, beautiful, please?" His breath is hot against your neck, lips brushing against your ear as he pleads, as he begs.

"Wanna have me leaking outta you for days, please—" His body trembles, overwhelmed and desperate, rutting into you with everything he has left. And when you finally give in, whispering his name, he shatters.

And afterward? He’s all clingy and cuddly, wrapping himself around you, arms locked tight like he never wants to let go. He buries his face in your neck, pressing lazy kisses against your skin, murmuring, "Was I good for you? Made you feel good, yeah?"—and the way he says it, voice soft, needy, full of quiet vulnerability, makes your heart ache.

But oh, when he’s the one pushing your buttons?

That’s when the real game begins.

Hyugo lives for a power play. He’ll push and push, teasing you with every filthy little comment, every smug remark slipping from his lips, knowing exactly how to make you crack.

The more you try to act unaffected, the harder he digs in. Hands wandering, lips ghosting over your skin, voice dropping into something slow and deliberate, thick with amusement.

"Aww, what’s the matter, babe? Tryna act all composed? Cute—" His fingers lace with yours, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles, all innocent, but his grin says otherwise.

"But you know I see right through you, don’t you?" His lips brush against your ear, and he laughs when he feels the shiver that runs down your spine.

You pretend you don’t care.

But Hyugo? He knows better.

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