#I am out of practice with brush pens

[emblazonet]

Some smol Morrowind TR landscape sketches (top is Andothren)

[orphicmusings]

giving a sleepy, overworked viktor head late in the lab..? and because hes so tired he's just dumb and needy....???? (ig somno if you squint)

18+ ᴍᴅɴɪ

“what do i have to do to pull you away from that?” you sighed, practically hanging off the back of your lover’s chair. you took a quick glance at the clock in the corner of the room, soon to approach midnight. viktor answered you with a simple, deflective hum and you rolled your eyes. if he didn’t complain about the exhaustion making his chronic pain flare up, you would have pulled him away from that desk with your bare hands and throw him on the nearest plush surface. you sighed again, a little louder this time, a little pointed.

“am i boring you, love?” he rasped, exhaustion heavily coating his voice and thickening his accent.

“you really can’t take your eyes off that thing for just a second?” you leant down over his shoulder, exasperatedly nodding toward his project. “not. one. second.” he answered, not even raising his eyes to meet yours, focused entirely on scribbling down what looked to be an equation.

oh. you took that as a challenge.

wordlessly, you gently nudged the wheels of his chair away from its place flush against his desk. he barely noticed, only giving you a slight furrow of his thick brows. you rounded the chair in front of him and slowly sank to your knees. “not one second?” you tilted your head coquettishly. at your words, he allowed himself to spare a glance at you, kneeling before him, under his desk. his breath hitched in his throat, trapping his response in his chest. a glance was all he could afford if he wanted to focus. even in the dim lamplight, you could see the faintest brush of pink across his cheeks. smirking triumphantly, you carefully reach up for the zipper of his pants. he loudly clears his throat when he feels your fingers so close.

“darling.” he called as a warning, stopping short in his work but still refusing to tear his eyes off of it.

“you want me to stop?” you asked earnestly, though you were sure you already knew the answer. he fixed you with a look. a permissive look, but a firm look, like an ‘i can’t resist this but i also won’t endorse it’ kind of look. you bit down on your grinning lip and pulled his pants down entirely. you could feel him tensing his muscles under your hands, willing himself to keep his focus on his work. you slowly pulled his cock from his constraints, giving it a single kiss on the head.

a soft groan rumbled in his throat, one hand dropping his pen and moving to cover his mouth. he could not look at you. he could not look at you. if he looked at you, he’d be done for the night, his brain would be absolutely fried and, oh, goddammit. your cheeks are hollowed, pretty plump lips wrapped around him, mischievous eyes glinting up at him. “fuck.” he groans again, closing his eyes and letting them open in your direction, finally. you braced your hands on his thighs, making sure to dig your nails into the pillowy flesh of his good leg. you finally got those pretty whines to come out. “evil…” his chest rises and falls heavily with each labored breath, becoming more and more ragged the more you fill your mouth with him. “evil woman.”

you giggle as much as you can with him on your tongue and it vibrates oh so good around him, causing him to toss his head back and whimper, “please…” one hand blindly reaches for your hair, gently tangling his long fingers in your locks, guiding you. oh, you’ve got him now. “oh, god, please don’t stop…” you will yourself to take him as deep as you can, and he hisses as he feels his cock hit the back of your throat. he opens his eyes to check on you, pulling you off for a moment. he takes the brief respite to tilt your chin up and give you a few quick kisses, babbling things like sweet girl and i love you so much and i’m sorry for neglecting my poor little darling and i could never say no to that pretty face in between. you can’t help but giggle at his sleepy verbage, more mushy than usual.

“that’s cute.” you take his hand off your chin, threading your own fingers through his. looking at his achingly hard cock. “i wasn’t done, though.”

he gives you one of his cocky, lopsided smiles and pats his lap. “no, no you weren’t.”

[cybersunnie]

knock, knock! who's there?

RAFE CAMERON sets his sights on the baker's granddaughter.

includes fem!baker!reader / reader has a nickname ("honey") / rafe being an unreliable narrator / dialogue heavy / offensive language ("bitch", one fatphobic comment not directed at reader) / wc 984

Every Wednesday, his dad would say, “Rafe, go get the door.” Make yourself useful. And like a dog, he often did as he was told. 

This little routine started right after Midsummer. Some sorry excuse of a bakery from the Cut captured Sarah’s attention, and she had been hooked ever since. Rafe didn’t understand why. Not in the slightest. There were more qualified bakeries in Figure Eight that weren’t made from the hands of dirty Pogues. He was sure their dad didn’t understand either, but if Sarah wanted something, Sarah got it. Always. 

But holy shit, this grandma was testing his patience. Knock! Knock! She had been knocking non-stop. Was she always this annoying? Rafe scratched his temple, his jaw tight. Knock! Knock! He rolled his eyes.

She sure must be in a hurry. He was surprised the old bitch was still alive, let alone walking. All frail and trembling and one step away from a heart attack. 

He hated that that would be his future. If he lived that long, that was.

Knock! Knock! “Yeah, yeah, coming!”

Rafe swung the door open. She was lucky she was an old lady because he would have—

Not an old lady.

No, it was just a lady. The baker's granddaughter, if he wasn't mistaken. He had seen you at the Midsummer, but you were a Pogue working, and he was a Kook celebrating.

His fingers loosened around the doorknob, his gaze locked on your face. For once, the voices were quiet. 

You stood on his family’s front porch, holding a box with a clipboard tucked under your arm. The wind picked up, sweeping past you and into his home. A scent of something sweet filled his nostrils. He couldn't tell if it came from the baked goods or you. 

With ease, you gave him a practiced smile. “Hey, I've got an order for Sarah. Two chocolate strawberry cupcakes and a half-dozen chocolate matcha cookies. Is she here?”

Rafe stared at you. "Uh, yeah. But you know, I'll pay for it."

He usually did, anyway—not by choice, but because his dad wanted him to.

"Okay, that'll be twenty-five dollars." You extended your hand.

"Twenty-five? It was twenty last week."

You tilted your head, still smiling. He knew how Pogues like you worked. It was a mask to hide your true intentions. "Inflation. Prices have gone up, so we had to adjust."

Skeptical, he looked you up and down. "Inflation, huh?"

You raised your brows. "You don't know what inflation is?" 

He scoffed, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek. He’d much rather deal with your grandma right now—at least she wasn't such a smartass.

Rafe reached for his wallet and grumbled, "I know what inflation is." He handed you the exact change. "You better not be lying, Pogue."

"I'd never lie to a loyal customer's brother," you assured, taking his money and offering the box of baked goods. He didn't believe you for a second. As he grabbed the package, you took out the clipboard from under your arm and faced it to him, clicking the pen. "Sign here, please."

He skimmed over the delivery receipt. “Am I gonna see you ‘round here more often?”

“Maybe. If your sister keeps buying.”

"Can I at least get a name?"

There was a pause. You could hear the birds chirping, and the leaves rustling. Rafe lifted his gaze to meet yours, waiting. 

You pulled the clipboard to your chest. "Everyone calls me Honey."

"Honey?" he huffed, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. "That's cute," he commented half-heartedly.

You hummed, and he swore he saw your professional composure slip. You looked annoyed—maybe even flustered. As he handed the pen back, his fingers brushed yours, the mere touch electrifying.

He opened his mouth to say something, but Sarah appeared behind him before the words could form, her voice cutting through the air, “And I’ll be taking this, thank you very much!” She snatched the box from his hands and flashed you a smile. “Hey, it’s you. Where’s your grandma?”

Rafe sighed through his nose. He had hoped to have you to himself.

He noticed your shoulders tense. "She's at home. Doing deliveries isn't easy for her nowadays."

No shit. That old bitch was pushing ninety. 

He stayed silent.

Sarah nodded, her lips pursed to the side. "Well, tell her Wheezie and I said thank you for the treats."

"Will do.”

He waited for you to meet his gaze, but when you did, he said nothing. Rafe simply watched. You had a pretty face for a Pogue. Soft and delicate, unlike your sharp tongue. What a waste.

Soon, your perfected customer service smile slipped. You turned around, murmuring something about Kooks under your breath as you walked away. He leaned against the doorframe, unable to help but notice the sway of your hips with every step you took.

His sister's voice snapped him back to reality. "What was that about?"

When he looked at her, she was already stuffing her face, a touch of frosting on the tip of her nose. There was a knowing look in her eyes. It pissed him off. 

Change the topic. Deflect. 

"You're gonna get fat if you keep ordering that shit."

Sarah shrugged. "Whatever." And just to spite him, she took a bigger bite and started walking towards the kitchen. "Wheezie! The cupcakes and cookies are here!"

Rafe ran a hand down his face, eyes finding your retreating form. 

Honey. Oh, how had he never noticed you before? 

You were always there. Midsummer. The Boneyard. It was too bad you lived in the fucking Cut because that meant you were just like them. Those Pogues—scrappy, uncivil, liars. Not even your pretty face could redeem that part of you. But maybe, just maybe, you were different.

Rafe shut the door softly, his hand lingering on the knob. He just needed to figure you out.

sunnie speaks! i love my baker!reader and how she makes him spiral <3 also, lmk what you guys think because idk how i feel about this LMAO i doubt i'm going to write a part 2, but i'm open to exploring this dynamic!!! let's chat about rafe cameron / baker!reader

if you like my work, consider following @sunniefics to stay up to date on all my future fics!

[auras-moonstone]

how you get the girl — ethan landry

word count: 3,654

pairing: hockey player!ethan landry x fem!reader

summary: because of ethan’s reputation as a man-whore, y/n doesn’t believe he wants a serious relationship with her. so, ethan and chad make a list so that he can get the girl.

warnings: fluff.

author’s note: i’ve been reading lots of hockey rom-coms, so i needed to write about it. i’m obsessed with ethan as a hockey player😫

ETHAN DIDN’T KNOW HOW BADLY HIS ACTIONS WOULD COME BACK IN THE FUTURE TO BITE HIM IN THE ASS. Being captain of the Blackmore hockey team and certified pretty boy, girls were practically—and quite literally sometimes—throwing themselves at him, and he would lie if he said he didn’t love the attention. It would be easier and shorter to name the girls he hadn’t hooked up with than naming the ones he had. That gained him the reputation of being a playboy, and he didn’t mind being called that, to be completely honest. Or at least, he didn’t until Y/N came into his life.

She was Tara’s best friend, and since said girl started dating Ethan’s best friend, Chad, the four of them began spending lots of time together. At first, the boy flirted with Y/N because hitting on attractive girls was like second nature to him, but then he got to know her better and the unexpected thing happened—Ethan was swept off his feet. But his reputation was his karma, and Y/N didn’t think he was being serious with her. She would laugh and brush it off because no matter how gorgeous Ethan was, playboys weren’t Y/N’s type, so she would decline every attempt of him to make her go out with him.

“Why not? Just one date” Ethan said on his fifth attempt of the day. They were on the Blackmore hockey rink, and instead of using his break to drink water and rest, Ethan went to talk to Y/N.

“Exactly. You want just one date, get me inside your bed and tomorrow you’ll move onto some other girl. I really like you�� she said, and before he could smirk in victory she added. “But why ruin the friendship we have for sex? Besides, one night stands aren’t my cup of tea.”

“Then let’s make it an every day thing” Ethan said.

“Nice try, Eth. We know you don’t do repeats” she stated.

“I could!” he argued. “And besides, I’m not asking for sex—I mean, at the end of the date, if you want to, I’m not gonna reject the offer—, I’m done with hook ups, I want something more.”

Y/N laughed “Okay, try it, but not with me. I’m sorry, Eth”

The girl stood up and made her way towards the exit of the rink, leaving a disappointed Ethan behind. She would lie if she said she didn’t want to try things with him, but the truth also was that she didn’t trust him when it came to relationships and she didn’t want to get her heart broken by him.

Chad got off the ice to find his best friend sitting on the bleachers, gaze fixed on the stairs, looking like a sad kicked puppy. It’s not a sight seen often, Ethan was usually an over-energetic puppy, always happy and with a smile on his face.

“Hey, man. What’s wrong?”

“Y/N rejected me.” Ethan played with his hockey stick, not wanting to meet his best friend’s eyes.

“I’ve never seen you like this after a rejection” Chad frowned.

“Well, not to brag, but it doesn’t usually happen.” he said, making Chad chuckle. “But it’s different this time. Y/N is not someone I want for one night, or for something casual. I want everything with her.”

“Wow” Chad took a breath, shocked by the confession. “And she said no?”

“She says she doesn’t want to ruin our friendship” Ethan said.

Chad scoffed “Why would that happen?”

“She doesn’t trust me and thinks I’m not boyfriend material. I really am serious about her, Chad. I swear. I would never hurt her. I wish she could read my mind”

“Don’t you dare give up, then. Words aren’t enough, show her you really like her”

“How?”

Chad smirked. “Grab a pen and a napkin, we are going to make a list so you can get the girl.”

one: get her favourite coffee

ETHAN WOKE UP A BIT EARLIER THE FOLLOWING DAY TO GO TO Y/N’S FAVOURITE COFFEE SHOP AND GET HER ORDER. He convinced Tara to drag Y/N straight to class, not letting her get the coffee, and to text him once they were in the classroom. Once he got the text, Ethan entered the class, all eyes on him, and set the cup in front of Y/N with an adorable grin.

“Good morning. You look gorgeous as always” he kissed her cheek and simply left the room.

Y/N stared at the drink completely astonished, ignoring the glares coming from the female population and the smirk her best friend was giving her. There was something scribbled with black sharpie—it was simple, but it made her stomach combust. Have a great day, beautiful! Love, Ethan. And three hearts poorly made—which she thought was utterly adorable—next to his name.

“You got him in a leash” Tara laughed.

“Don’t be silly, we know what he wants” Y/N brushed it off.

“Come on, Ethan doesn’t do romantic stuff for anyone, not even to get laid.”

“It’s just one coffee, Tara. Let’s not be dramatic.”

But Tara knew, and Y/N too, that the little gesture was a lot when it came to Ethan Landry. Yet, a coffee cup wasn’t enough to gain the girl’s trust.

two: show her you’re interested in her interests

WHAT IS THE THING Y/N ENJOYED THE MOST? EASY: BOOKS. Ethan knew exactly which one he should start with. In fact, he had bought it the first time Y/N mentioned it. He didn’t know what it was about, but he was sure it was a rom-com that referenced other rom-com movies.

“Ethan!” Chad said in a loud voice, startling his friend. Ethan looked up to find his best friend, Tara and Y/N staring at him. The latter had her mouth wide open.

“What?” he asked absentmindedly. He had been so immersed in the book he hadn’t heard them arrive.

“We called your name countless times, man.” Chad laughed.

“Sorry” Ethan closed the book and looked at Y/N. “Um, I may have a man-crush on Wes Bennett.”

Y/N chuckled, sitting in front of him and ignoring the way her heart was beating rapidly. She wanted to take a picture of Ethan with the book and set it as her lock screen “Welcome to the club.”

“I can’t stand it anymore, I need them to kiss. I need Wes to get the girl” he groaned.

A grin took over her features “Which part are you at?”

“They are going to hang out at Michael’s house” Ethan replied, which made her smile wider. “What’s that smile for? Oh god, what is going to happen?”

“I’m not going to spoil it! Just want to say… buckle up”

“You can’t say that! I can’t continue reading until tomorrow, I have a test!” Ethan panicked.

“Look at you, invested in a rom-com” Chad bumped his shoulder.

“I just wanted to see if it lived up to Y/N’s hype” Ethan said, making her turn into a blushing mess. “It does.”

“You aren’t even finished” Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. “Did you know there’s a sequel coming? And its playlist isn’t very optimistic”

“What?! You just ruined my day. I don’t want to read it anymore” he crossed his arms.

Wanting to mess with him, Tara grabbed the book. “So you wouldn’t mind if I-“ she stopped talking when the boy took the book from her hands.

“Yes, I would mind”

“Wait, are you annotating it?” Y/N said when she saw the colourful post-its.

“Yeah, it’s pretty fun. Anyways, I have to go to class, see you later at practice?”

“See you” Chad said. Before leaving, Ethan kissed Y/N’s forehead.

“What is going on with him?” Y/N asked.

“Showing you he’s serious about you. What are you waiting for, Y/N/N? I thought you liked him” Chad said.

“I do, a lot. But I’m not sure I’m really what he wants. What if he’s just interested because I’m the only girl who has rejected him? What if I finally say yes and then that interest is gone? How am I supposed to recover from that?”

“Y/N…”

“There’s nothing I’d like more than to call him mine, Chad. Trust me. But being just another girl on his list would kill me. I don’t want to lose him, okay? I don’t know if I’m willing to risk our friendship.”

three: woo her with your hockey skills.

WHEN PRACTICE WAS OVER AND CHAD AND ETHAN DIDN’T LEAVE THE RINK, Y/N WAS CONFUSED. The boys skated towards the bleachers Tara and her were sitting in and smirked at them. Chad grabbed a bag from a corner and gave it to them.

“Put the skates on, ladies”

Y/N wanted to laugh when Ethan grabbed her hands and guided her around the ice, but she thought it was so cute that she didn’t have the heart to tell him she knew how to skate perfectly well.

“Okay, I think you’re ready to do it on your own, but go slowly” Ethan said as he finished explaining her how to slide in the ice.

“Losers don’t do it slowly, Landry.” Y/N scoffed.

“You will hurt yourself, Y/N/N. Don’t be stubborn, it’s dangerous.” Ethan sighed.

Y/N smirked “Oh yeah?” she skated flawlessly towards a corner, and came back with a winning smile. She even did a little spin to show off.

“H-how?” he asked breathlessly, frozen in place with a look of shock.

“Took skating classes when I was little” she explained.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I was blabbering instructions like a fool”

Y/N shrugged “I couldn’t, you looked so excited”

“You’re evil” he shook his head as he let out the cutest laugh Y/N had ever heard. God, her infuriation was just getting worse with every little action he did. She didn’t know how much longer she would be able to contain herself. She needed him to stop.

So her face turned serious “Ethan…”

Ethan fluttered his eyes close and then looked at her with pleading eyes. “Please don’t. I know what you’re going to say. Just hear me out. I know that my reputation is horrible, and I get why you don’t trust me. But I have never been more serious about something the way I am about you. I really wish I could erase every hook up, but I can’t and I don’t want my past to define my future. I know it’s hard to believe, but I haven’t been with anyone since I fell for you. I haven’t even thought about anyone else since I fell for you. I want to keep showing you how much I like you.”

Y/N was speechless. He had known Ethan long enough to know he was being serious and completely honest with his words. Maybe she had judged him too much, maybe he had truly changed. And now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen him with a girl in ages. Maybe diving into a relationship wasn’t the safest option, but it was worth the try.

four: get her flowers

DURING HER LUNCH BREAK, Y/N WAS SURPRISED BY THE HOCKEY PLAYER, who on one hand was holding red tulips and on the other one food. Like always, his presence brought attention and whispers, but none of them cared. Something had shifted between them since that afternoon at the rink, and they both could feel it.

“Thank you, Eth” she smiled gratefully. “You know, I had a feeling you would bring me lunch, so instead of bringing mine, I brought yours. I owe you flowers, though.”

“Thanks” he laughed. “Do you like them?”

“They are beautiful” she nodded, her cheeks the same colour as her flowers.

“When you get home, you should look for the meaning of red tulips” he winked.

For the rest of the day, Y/N had been in a haze. Every time Ethan crossed her mind, blush appeared on her cheeks and the corners of her mouth lifted up.

“My god, was I that annoying when Chad and I started talking?” Tara asked when they entered their dorm.

“Yes, you were, T.” Y/N chuckled, remembering her best friend’s love-sick smile every time Chad texted her. “You still are, by the way.”

“Anyways, I love seeing you like this. And I’m glad you’re willing to give Ethan a chance.”

“Me too. I’m not going to lie, I’m a bit scared that he’ll get bored of me, but I’m really determined to risk it.”

“He’s not going to get bored of you, Y/N/N. He doesn’t like you because he’s into the whole ‘Only girl who had ever rejected him’ thing. He’s into you because you don’t see him only as a hot hockey player, but you also see how sweet and caring he is. You’re not interested in using him to become popular, you see that he is much more than his popularity. And that is why he likes you.”

“Well, shit. Now I feel bad for rejecting him multiple times.” Y/N slumped to the couch.

Tara laughed “Don’t. It’s understandable why you were cautious with your feelings. He knows that he isn’t a saint. By the way, did you know that Chad and him made this list with things to do to win you over?”

“Really?” Y/N laughed. “That makes sense, he’s being really sweet this week. Well, more than usual, because he’s always super sweet.”

“I found it on their fridge, they are so silly. It’s called ‘Ethan and Chad’s infallible list on how to get the girl’. I took a picture”

Y/N took Tara’s phone and laughed at the list. There were a couple of items crossed out and with a tick, and the one that said ‘Woo her with your hockey skills’ had a little note to the side that said ‘Backfired. My girl is a skating genius, made me look like a fool’, which made her laugh. Then, on the ‘Give her flowers’ there was an explanation note that said ‘My pick: red tulips. Means declaration of love’.

“Fucking hell, he’s so… ugh! I really want to kiss him”

“Lucky for you, that’s item six” Tara said over her shoulder.

“The thought of them brainstorming and writing this down is adorable” Y/N laughed.

“It really is” Tara nodded. “You should wear Ethan’s jersey to the game tomorrow. You don’t know how many times he told us he has dreamt about it.”

Y/N smiled, her heart fluttering. Ethan had shown her how much he liked her, and she thought it was time to show him how much she liked him. “You know? That’s an excellent idea.”

[💖]

five: publicly state you’re only into her.

ETHAN KNEW THE BEST TIME TO EXECUTE ITEM FIVE WOULD BE THE NIGHT OF THE GAME. The ideal scenario would be to get that puck on the net and dedicate it to Y/N, and if he wasn’t that lucky, he would settle with blowing kisses and winks at her. Though when he went out on the ice rink and he caught sight of her, his mind went blank, his body stopped working for a couple of seconds and if it weren’t for Chad steadying him, he would’ve collapsed to the ice.

He quickly skated towards her seat, which was in the first row, right behind the glass. “Beautiful, you can’t just come here in my jersey without any warnings. You want me to have a heart attack?”

A sweet laugh bursted out of her “Sorry. Red tulips are your way of declaring your love, I thought wearing your jersey could be mine.”

Ethan’s breath hitched “Um, I’m about to jump up this glass so that I can kiss you.”

The girl shook her head and laughed “After the game, pretty boy. If you win, you might get an extra reward.”

And hell if those words didn’t encourage Ethan to play his best. The game was brutal, both teams were acing it and the match was about to end in a tie, until Ethan scored the winning goal a few seconds before time was over. The Blackmore bleachers erupted in screams of triumph, and the players united for a group hug.

Tara and Y/N instantly went looking for their boys. The last one scowled as she saw a puck bunny making sexy eyes at Ethan and she clung to his arm. The boy couldn’t have looked more uncomfortable, he pulled his arm away, only for the girl to find another way of touching him.

“You have been acting so hard to get lately. Don’t you think a winner deserves a kiss?” Y/N heard the girl say.

“You’re absolutely right. Now, back away so I can kiss the hell out of him.” Y/N said, throwing daggers at the girl, who looked at her in a mix of surprise and annoyance. “And can’t you get a hint? He’s uncomfortable.”

Ethan gaped at her. She had never looked so hot—standing there with his number on the back of the jersey that fitted her like a dress, knee-length boots that weirdly turned him on, and with a scowl on her face as she got all territorial on him.

“And who are you?” the puck bunny scanned her up and down with a frown.

“His girlfriend. Now, can you leave? I have to congratulate my man” she said harshly. As soon as she said that, Ethan was sure he was about to drop onto his knees and let her do whatever she wanted to him.

“Girlfriend?” Ethan smirked as the puck bunny left. “I like the sound of that.”

“Good” Y/N smirked back, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Now, are you ready to cross out items five and six? You know, one bird two stones.”

“Hell yes”

Their lips moved hungrily, and the kiss was way too heated and inappropriate considering their surroundings. But they couldn’t stop it, their desire was diesel and they had been playing with fire for months.

“I promised you a reward if you won, right?” Y/N said against his lips.

“Isn’t this the reward? This is more than I could’ve asked for. You, finally being my girlfriend and kissing me while wearing my jersey.” his eyes were dark and lips swollen. His beauty was out of this world.

“You scored the winning goal, babe. You deserve a special reward” she licked her lips. “Let’s go to your car.”

He nodded eagerly, and as they reached the car, he dared to ask “What do you have in mind?”

She opened the back door. “One kiss isn’t enough. How much time do you have until you have to go to the bar with the guys?”

“What guys? What bar? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” he acted clueless and she let out a giggle. “In fifteen, but they’ll survive if I arrive a bit late. I want to be with my girl for a while.”

“Okay, then get in the car so we can make out.” Y/N bursted out laughing as Ethan carelessly threw himself on the backseat of his car. “You need to learn about the art of subtlety, Eth.”

“Oh that’s rich coming from the girl who attacked me in the middle of the arena.” he said grabbing her waist to guide her to his lap.

“Attack you? That’s not what I did” she scoffed.

“Yes you did. You attacked me with a kiss and then you led me to my car to corrupt me” Ethan said in a fake innocent tone.

“Corrupting the former man-whore?” Y/N arched an eyebrow.

Ethan’s eyes darkened “You’re right. Maybe I am the one corrupting you. I mean, you couldn’t even wait for us to get home to attack me again?”

“You’re insufferable. You’re so lucky you’re hot.”

“I am hot?”

Y/N nodded, looking at him. His muscled arms were spread on the top of the seats, grin plastered on his face and cheeks still rosy from the cold temperature of the arena.

“The hottest. And the best thing? That you’re mine.”

“Just yours, love.” he smiled sweetly, resting his forehead on hers.

“That list of yours is pretty… infallible, right?” Y/N joked.

“I can’t believe you know about the list” Ethan hid his face on her neck.

“You sticked it on the fridge and Tara took a picture” Y/N replied.

“Fucking Chad” Ethan groaned. “So, what do you think?”

“Well, it worked, right? You got the girl.”

“Yes, I did” he smiled hugging her tightly. “Should I do one on how to keep the girl?”

Y/N laughed “I don’t think you need that. Rumour has it, she’s totally in love with you.”

“Oh yeah? Lucky me, because I’m totally in love with her too.”

[notherpuppet]

What are the questions you hate??

Okay so I don’t really HATE anything (so far) but how bout an FAQ? There are some asks I’m kind of tired of answering lol. Such as;

• “FEED ME” For one thing, it’s not even an ask 💀 So I don’t love this energy, it’s -2 charm for me. Whilst I’m grateful that folks really like the art I share (like SUPER GRATEFUL!!) I am not particularly enchanted by a demanding aura

• “when is ____ coming out”? The answer is always “I don’t know” because I draw for FUN and I draw in my FREE TIME and that varies. So for the foreseeable future, unless I EXPLICITLY state otherwise, you can expect my next post to appear on your screen whenever I post it 🥰😘

• “what programs do you use”? I don’t have a problem AT ALL with inquiring minds, I just get this ask a lot and I’ve already answered it a few times (for the inquisitive minds, please consider checking the tag ‘answers’ on this blog to find information. I’ll tag this ‘faq’) Anyway, I use pens, paper, my iPad, Apple Pencil, and Procreate. I often use brush packs made by Shiyoon Kim and Kyle Webster. I find brush packs on the creative market as well. wanna learn Clip Studio Paint, but haven’t gotten to it.

• “advice on improving in drawing”? This is a beautiful question, and I’m happy there are people who want to improve their drawing skills! I am one of you. I frequently use “YouTube university” where I will find drawing focused channels that teach you this very thing. Andrew Loomis books on drawing are like textbooks that break down the fundamentals really effectively. Like any skill, you have to research, study, and practice. The more you do of each, the better you will get. I’m trying my best to improve and master the craft eventually. (A fool’s errand haha) anyway, have fun!

• “can I fandub this”? The answer is yes!! And I hope you have a lot of fun!!! Please credit me and no monetizing. 🥰 Also, please no posting on twitter (X) or meta (instagram, facebook), as I feel uncomfortable with the Gen AI social media platforms.

• “can I make fanfiction/fanart/cosplay based on your fanart?” FUCK YEAHHHHHH!!! I LOVE people being creative. We’re all having fun in this fandom and I think it makes life more exciting when we create! Same with fandubs, please credit and no monetizing 🥰

• “do you do commissions”? I am not accepting any right now, but that can change! Please trust that if/when I do start taking commissions, I will be letting y’all know!! And I really appreciate that you’d want to commission me 🥹♥️

• “in your comic, will ____ happen?” I’m not just gonna TELL you that lol. But clarifying what’s ALREADY happened is always a welcomed ask :)

I just want to thank everyone who tunes into this blog!! I really have a great time creating fanart, fanfiction, and comics and I’m VERY SHOCKED that what I’ve made has had the reception it has. It’s fun to be in this fandom with you all!

THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO SENDS ME SWEET ENCOURAGING MESSAGES ILYYY 🥹💖💘💞💓💝

[delusional-day-dreamer]

Last Friday Night - n.m

‣ nika muhl x reader!

‣ paige version of this fic

‣ wc: 1953; sorry this is so short and lowkey not that good?

‣‣ synopsis: you and nika have kept your relationship on the dl for a while now, but what happens when your inebriated selves slip up on kk’s live? pretend the ncaa's lift on cannabis for athletes happens before the start of the 23-24 season! (so sorry for the inactivity but I just got back from camp and am ready to feed y'all)

‣‣‣ a/n: so i actually thought of this fic idea when i tried a weed pen for the first time (it's legal in ca) and i passed out with half my clothes on, no fan, forgot to brush my teeth and take my makeup off, and accidentally left a small heater on in my room that ran for four hours and turned my room into a furnace before my mom came in and turned it off and woke me up to yell at me 😊!

8:42 am

To say that you and Nika were in trouble by the events of last night was a little bit of an understatement. Both of your phones were blowing up by your respective coaches, teammates, close friends, and all of your social media accounts.

As you scrolled through your tiktok, text messages, instagram tags, and just about everything else on your phone while laying next to Nika's sleeping figure in her bed, it only reaffirmed one thing in your head.

You and Nika majorly fucked up.

12:07 am; where it all went wrong

With your volleyball season and Nika's basketball season being in their respective peaks during this time of year, you had barely gotten a chance to spend time with your girlfriend alone. The two of you were either travelling for away games, at practice, in class, hanging out with your friends or teammates, or busy studying. Needless to say, you missed Nika. A lot.

Which, combined with the weed pen you were hitting periodically, loosened your inhibitions to a whole new level inside of Ted's fairly crowded bar.

It wasn't jam-packed, but there was a decent crowd of older college students for a Friday night in October, especially since Halloween was soon to be approaching in two weeks.

Normally, you and Nika weren’t big on PDA, at most you would hold hands or give small pecks around the team, considering the fact that the two of you kept your relationship very much on the down low, not so much a secret as very private. You never denied any allegations but basically never posted together on your own, unless the two of you ended up in the background of someone else’s pictures.

Social media had a lot of speculation, edits, rumors, etc, surrounding the two of you, as you had no connection to the team as a volleyball player yet still hung out with them regularly. But either way, you and Nika always just minded your own business and kept everything very hush hush. Except for tonight.

Nika was sort of sober, she had done two shots with some of the other girls while you mostly just smoked a few times, not wanting to get super high, but just enough to let the tingly sense of giggly euphoria wash over you.

Yet one thing you failed to consider when choosing weed over alcohol for tonight was the fact that it made you incredibly horny. That, combined with the fact that you and Nika hadn’t spent any time together in the last three weeks, let alone have sex, were the leading factors of tonight.

The rest of the basketball team was spread throughout the bar, some were at a table not far from the two of you, messing around on KK's live, while others were dancing, drinking, or mingling with their other friends.

Which left you and Nika alone, squished together in the corner of the bar top. You were leaning with your back against the wall, standing in between Nika's spread legs from her position facing you atop the stool. Her hands were holding onto your bare thighs, occasionally removing her left to take a small sip of her drink before dutifully returning to your legs.

"I'm just saying Niks, we could definitely sneak out without anyone noticing, everyone's too busy doing their own thing," you attempted to convince your stubborn girlfriend, sweetening the notion by rubbing your hands up and down her jean-clad thighs.

As D1 athletes, it was obvious that the two of you had toned and muscular bodies, but one of Nika's features you found most attractive were her muscular thighs she built from her time in the gym and on the court, especially the way they would wrap around your head while eating her out.

"We'll leave soon bebo don't worry. Besides," Nika leaned into your ear, her warm breath sending shivers down your spine. "I already promised I would make up the last three weeks to you tonight yeah? What's another hour ljubavi?"

You bit your bottom lip as Nika pulled back, thudding your head on the wall behind you as your eyes trailed over the small smirk Nika held, now using her fingers to draw small circles on your thigh.

"Fuck, you're driving me crazy like this Nika," you reached your right hand over to the bar top, desperate to take another hit of your pen to ease the influx of horny thoughts running through your mind.

Before you could bring the vape up to your mouth, Nika grabbed your waist and pulled you into her, and despite her sitting position, you still only had a good two inches over her.

"You're not gonna share bebo?" Her teasing eyes gleamed up at you as she licked her lips in anticipation.

You immediately knew what she meant by that, the two of you doing it all the time whenever you're smoking or vaping together (y'all have seen the watermelon pic of her and let's be frl, they're college students, it's NORMAL).

You smirked at her suggestion, leaning into her before taking a deep inhale of the weed, allowing as much of the smoke to enter your lungs as possible before using your left hand to grab Nika's jaw, pressing your open lips against hers to shotgun the smoke into her mouth.

You didn't even wait to finish exhaling all of the smoke and taking another breath before enveloping Nika's lips into yours hungrily, eagerily gripping her waist with the hand still holding the vape.

You kissed her passionately, deepening the kiss as you slipped your tongue into her mouth, the mixture of the rum and coke she was drinking earlier and the earthy taste of weed making your head spin.

You continued to make out for a few minutes, gently pulling away while tugging her bottom lip with your teeth, gazing down at her closed eyes and blissful expression.

"You finally ready to go home Niks?" You teased, licking your swollen lips at her finally needy expression.

"We're getting the fuck out of here, right now," she rushed out, flagging down the bartender to pay off her tab and the second she got her credit card in hand, interlocked her fingers with yours to drag you out of the bar.

Completely unbeknownst to the two of you, KK and her live had been at the table diagonal to you the whole time, and while her body covered the two of you behind her while sitting, the only shield you had quickly disappeared when she stood up, leaning over the table to steal some of Ice's food when it had been set down, completely exposing you to her two thousand viewers, who were no doubt screen-recording.

The camera clearly caught your lips against Nika's blowing smoke into her mouth before leaning in to kiss her, and despite the two of you being on screen for less than a minute, it was enough to cause an internet commotion.

KK's eyes scanned over the comments as she sat back down, blocking your frames as she shoved a few fries in her mouth. Her eyes widened at the sudden influx of comments about you and Nika, leaning in to figure out what was going on.

"I, what? There's no way y'all," she whispered to the table of Paige, Ice, Carol, and Jana. Paige leaned in from KK's right side, trying to figure out what had happened.

Covering the camera slightly, KK, and everyone else, turned around to witness you and Nika's little makeout session ending and the flirty whispers exchanged.

"Unfortunately tonight's live is gonna have to end here girly pops, and if you think you saw something, no you didn't!" KK exclaimed as she quickly turned off the live, the table erupting with laughter at the situation. The whole team had placed bets on how long it would take you and Nika to fumble, and half of them had just lost a hundred dollars at your shennagains.

The walk back to Nika's apartment was brief, filled with flirty touches and short pecks to tide the two of you over until you finally entered home, Nika immediately pushing you up against the front door, moving her lips down your neck and around your collarbones with gentle grazes of her teeth and soothing licks.

"Niks please, stop teasing," you breathed out, grasping Nika's hair tightly from her scalp with your hand, pulling her face up to yours to gaze down at her with a pleading expression.

"Aw, my poor bebo," she cooed, mocking your horny desperation for her, but thankfully Nika wasn't that cruel.

She led you over to her bedroom, slamming her bedroom door behind her as she pulled your shirt over your head, unfastening the bra clipped behind your back all while reconnecting your lips as she laid you down onto the bed.

You moaned into her mouth as her long fingers bunched your skirt up by your waist, rubbing gentle circles on your clit through your panties.

Before you even had the chance to ask for more, she slid the fabric to the side, running her fingers through your slick before inserting two of her fingers, curling them up into you as you let go of her lips to throw your head back, moaning loudly at her ministrations.

"Oh my god Nika, right there baby, fuck," your leg wrapped around her waist tightly as you clenched around her fingers, bucking your hips up to match her movements. Your hands making their way around her neck and back, pressing her body firmly up against yours.

Normally you wouldn't be so close to finishing within a few minutes, but the weed from earlier created a delirious fog that clouded your brain and with the way Nika's fingers were both pressing into your g-spot and rubbing your clit, your orgasm was quickly approaching.

"Fuck I'm so close Niks, please just need a little more," you whimpered into her ear, moving your lips down to nip at the sweet spot under her ear.

Her other hand responded quickly to your begs, twisting and tugging firmly at your nipple as she mindlessly muttered every dirty thought that crossed her mind, knowing how deeply her praises affected you.

"Doing so good for me bebo, always such a good girl. You gonna be my good girl and come for me? Just let go for me ljubavi."

Her words were the final thing to push you over the edge, the tight coil in your stomach snapping as you immediately arched your back into Nika, an endless string of moans and curses falling from your mouth as you let your orgasm wash over you fully.

"God Nika, I don't think I can even feel my legs right now," you giggled in her embrace as she slowly eased her fingers out of you, sucking the remnants of your orgasm off them before wrapping them around your waist, laying you over her as she laid onto her back.

"Hm, fucked you that good huh?" She smirked, using her clean(ish) hand to brush the slightly sweaty strands of hair that had fallen in front of your flushed face.

"I don't know why you're getting so cocky Mühl, haven't even had my turn with you yet," you teased, running your fingers over her stomach, tugging at the remaining fabric on her body.

"Thought you just said you can't even feel your legs bebo?"

"Good thing I don't need them to fuck you then yeah? Don't you think my fingers and mouth will be enough for you Niks," you retorted, shuffling your body down the mattress so you could finally have your way with Nika.

9:13 am

Instagram

y/n l/n posted a story

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ homecoming

chapter summary: While giving a guest lecture at your alma mater, you run into two people you never expected to meet.

word count: 9.4k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: the ending of this is kind of the set up for every other chapter; you'll see what i mean when you read it :)

warnings/tags: reader wears glasses, shy!reader, mention of absent parents, oral (f!receiving) fluff, slight angst

series masterlist - chapter 2 → chapter 4

“When two particles interact, they become linked, no matter how far apart they are. Changing one affects the other instantaneously, faster than light…”

Your voice faltered as you glanced at Logan, who sat at one of the desks, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you with a small, amused smile. He wasn’t even trying to hide how much he adored you. You could practically feel it radiating off of him.

You froze mid-step, letting out a soft sigh. “This isn’t going to work,” you said, taking off your glasses and rubbing the bridge of your nose.

Logan raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “What’s not gonna work, sweetheart?”

“This,” you gestured toward him, exasperated but fond. “You’re looking at me like my husband, not a bored college student who probably only showed up because there’s free food after the lecture. How am I supposed to practice if you’re just… swooning at me?”

Logan leaned back in his chair, chuckling. “Swooning, huh? Don’t think anyone’s ever accused me of that before.”

You crossed your arms, trying to appear stern, but the warmth in his gaze made it impossible. “I’m serious, Logan. I need honest feedback, not… whatever this is.”

Pushing himself up from the chair, Logan walked toward you, his hands finding your waist as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Alright, darlin’. Give me fifteen minutes. I’ll make it more realistic for you.”

“Logan—” you started to protest, but he was already heading toward the door, a sly grin on his face.

When he returned, you were taken aback. Logan had enlisted some of the younger students—Rogue, Bobby, and Kitty, among others—and had them seated in the classroom. To keep things authentic, he had provided them with snacks and, you suspected, strict instructions to act as uninterested and distracted as possible. Rogue was already doodling on her notebook, Kitty was whispering something to Bobby, and Jubilee was tapping her pen loudly on the desk.

You frowned, looking at Logan as he leaned casually against the wall near the door. “You know I already teach them, right? This isn’t exactly a new audience.”

Logan shrugged, that trademark smirk playing on his lips. “Yeah, but they’re good at actin’ like they don’t care. Go on. You’ve got this.”

Rolling your eyes, you adjusted your glasses and turned back to face the room. The students quieted down a little, though their expressions remained deliberately bored. With a deep breath, you launched back into your explanation, this time ignoring Logan’s soft chuckles in the background.

---

Later that evening, after the impromptu lecture had ended and Logan had dismissed the students, you found yourself in the library, curled up in one of the oversized chairs with a book. Logan entered quietly, his presence impossible to miss as he sat down on the arm of your chair.

“You did great, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and warm.

You glanced up at him, a small smile on your lips. “You think so?”

He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “I know so. You’re brilliant. Just had to make sure you believed it.”

Feeling a little less shy, you reached up to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “Thank you, Logan. For always believing in me.”

His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “Always, darlin’.”

For a moment, the world seemed to still, and it was just the two of you, together in the quiet.

---

“Well, if there are no more questions…” Robert, one of the faculty at Stanford, looked out into the audience, giving a polite nod toward the murmuring crowd. “Alright, thank you, Mrs. Howlett, for coming all this way for us.”

The room began to stir as students shuffled in their seats, gathering their belongings. A few polite claps echoed, mingling with the hushed sounds of conversation. “There are some food and drinks out in the hall if you’d—ah, no point,” Robert trailed off as half the students ignored him, funneling toward the exit.

You stood by the podium, your heart still racing slightly from the presentation. Public speaking wasn’t your forte, but Stanford was your alma mater, and you’d been determined to deliver a polished talk. From your vantage point, you spotted Logan lingering near the back, his arms crossed, a half-smile tugging at his lips. He didn’t bother to hide the pride in his expression.

As the room emptied, Logan made his way toward you. His heavy boots echoed in the quieting auditorium, his presence grounding as always. “Told ya it’d go fine,” he said as he stopped in front of you.

You smiled, still a little flustered. “Yeah, well… you’re biased.”

Logan snorted. “Sure. But it doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” He reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear with a surprising gentleness. “Proud of you, darlin’. Bet half of them couldn’t keep up, but that’s their loss.”

Rolling your eyes, you adjusted your glasses. “Thanks, Logan. That was—”

“—adorable? Endearing? Downright brilliant?” he offered, smirking.

“Not what I was going to say,” you replied with a laugh, shoving his arm lightly. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

He stepped aside to let you lead the way, trailing comfortably behind you. Once outside, you were both met with the sharp, sunny California afternoon, a stark contrast to the cool Westchester climate you were used to. The warmth in the air was matched by your mood—light, content, maybe a little relieved.

But before either of you could make it to the parking lot, a voice called from behind.

“Excuse me! Y/N?”

You froze mid-step, the hair on your arms standing on end. Logan instantly noticed your shift, his body tensing as he placed a steadying hand on your lower back. Turning slowly, you were met with the sight of an older couple, a man and a woman in their late fifties or early sixties. The man wore a sharp suit, the woman a tasteful blazer, though they both looked somewhat uncertain, hesitant.

The woman took a step forward. “Hi… I—I know this is sudden, but…” Her gaze searched yours for recognition, but there was none. Her voice softened. “We’re your parents.”

Your stomach dropped.

The words hung in the air like they weren’t real, their weight pressing down on your chest. Your first instinct was to laugh, to brush it off as some cruel joke, but their expressions didn’t shift. They were hopeful. Nervous.

Logan’s hand tightened ever so slightly against your back, a subtle reminder that he was there. You swallowed hard, taking a shaky breath as your mind struggled to catch up.

“I—I don’t…” you stammered. “Why now?”

The man, your supposed father, winced. “That’s a fair question. We—well, we’ve always regretted not reaching out sooner.”

“Sooner?” The word caught in your throat as you tried to process. “I’ve been alive for twenty-seven years. You could’ve called. Written. Literally anything. But you didn’t. And now, suddenly—”

“We’re sorry,” the woman interrupted softly, her eyes glossy. “We want to get to know you, if you’ll let us. Maybe… dinner? Tonight?”

You flinched at the suggestion, glancing at Logan. His jaw was tight, his gaze scrutinizing, but he didn’t speak, letting you handle this at your own pace. For a moment, you wanted him to step in, to tell them off for their audacity. But you shook the thought away, taking another deep breath.

“I’ll think about it,” you finally managed, your voice flat. “Can I… get back to you?”

They nodded quickly, a mixture of relief and sadness flickering across their faces. “Of course,” your father said. “Here—” He handed over a business card, the expensive stock and minimalist design further underlining the contrast between their lives and the one you’d known.

After a few more polite murmurs, they walked away, leaving you standing there in stunned silence.

---

Back at the hotel, you paced the room restlessly while Logan sat on the edge of the bed, watching you with a mix of concern and quiet protectiveness. Finally, he broke the silence.

“Darlin’,” he said gently, “you don’t owe them anything.”

You stopped, turning to face him. “But what if I do? They’re my parents, Logan. My parents. And I don’t even know why they gave me up. What if it was something… unavoidable? What if they’ve changed?” You ran a hand through your hair, your glasses slipping slightly down your nose. “What if I’m just being a coward by not hearing them out?”

Logan stood, crossing the room in two strides to stand in front of you. His hands rested on your shoulders, grounding you. “Coward? No. You’re not that. But you don’t gotta torture yourself trying to fix somethin’ that ain’t your fault.”

His words soothed a little of the storm inside you, but they didn’t erase it entirely. “I know,” you murmured, leaning into his touch. “But if I don’t go, I’ll always wonder. I just…” You hesitated, looking up at him. “I don’t want to do it alone.”

His expression softened instantly. “You think I’d let you?” he said, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “If you decide to meet ‘em, I’ll be there. No question. Always.”

The weight in your chest lifted slightly. With Logan, it didn’t feel as scary. You nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it. Dinner.”

Logan pressed a light kiss to your forehead. “Alright, sweetheart. But just say the word, and we’re outta there.”

---

You fiddled with the edge of your dress, keeping your gaze down from your ‘parents’ across the small restaurant table. The world around you was warm and inviting—the soft clatter of plates, the low hum of conversation—but it might as well have been silent. Your parents, the very people who had abandoned you as a child, now sat across from you, smiling as though they’d earned this moment.

Logan, ever your anchor, sat beside you, his hand resting lightly on your knee under the table. The subtle pressure was calming, a wordless reminder that he was here, that you weren’t alone in this. You took a steadying breath and finally looked up to meet their gazes.

“So,” your mother began, her tone almost too casual, as though she were trying to bridge a lifetime of absence with small talk. ���How long have you and Logan been together?”

You hesitated, glancing at Logan. He gave you an encouraging nod, his expression unreadable to anyone but you. “About a year and a half,” you said finally. “We got married six months ago.”

“Married already?” your father said, raising an eyebrow. “That’s… fast, isn’t it?”

“Not when you know it’s right,” Logan said smoothly, his voice low and steady. He leaned back in his chair, his arm now draped along the back of yours. Though he appeared relaxed, you could sense the subtle tension in his posture. He was watching them, every word and movement, like a hawk.

Your mother smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “And where do you work now? Still at Stanford?”

“No,” you replied, shaking your head. “I teach physics at a school in New York.”

“Physics,” your father repeated, his tone carrying a trace of surprise. “That’s impressive. Your grandmother always did say you were smart.” He sipped his wine, glancing briefly at Logan. “And Logan? What do you do?”

“I’m a teacher too,” Logan said simply, his gaze unwavering.

Your mother tilted her head, clearly not expecting that answer. “Oh? What subject?”

“History,” Logan replied. His tone was polite enough, but you could tell he was tiring of the scrutiny.

You shifted uncomfortably, eager to steer the conversation away from Logan. “What made you decide to reach out now?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended but firm.

Your parents exchanged a quick look, and your mother’s smile faltered. “Well,” she began, folding her hands in her lap, “we’ve been thinking about you for a long time. And after your grandfather passed recently…” She trailed off, her expression turning somber.

Your chest tightened at the mention of your grandfather. Though your grandparents had divorced long before you were born, you’d had a close relationship with him growing up. Although, it had fizzled out when she died, he still made sure to send you letters every holiday.

Your father cleared his throat, his voice gentler now. “He left something for you in his will. A substantial inheritance. We thought it was important that we deliver the news personally.”

You blinked, stunned. “What?”

“He wanted you to have it,” your mother added quickly, as if that somehow justified their sudden reappearance in your life. “He left… quite a bit of money. Enough to make a difference.”

The words hung in the air like a lead weight. You glanced at him, and his jaw was set, his eyes sharp as they flicked between your parents.

“So, let me get this straight,” Logan said, his voice low and cutting. “You didn’t want her. Didn’t care enough to reach out for twenty-seven years. But now that there’s money involved, you’re here playin’ happy family?”

Your father bristled, his gaze hardening. “That’s not fair.”

“No?” Logan shot back, his tone daring him to argue. “Sounds pretty accurate to me.”

Your mother opened her mouth to respond, but the ringing of Logan’s phone cut through the tension. He pulled it from his pocket, glancing at the screen. “It’s Jean,” he muttered to you, standing. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

As Logan stepped away, your parents exchanged another look before your father let out a quiet scoff. “That’s who you married?” he said under his breath, though he didn’t bother to lower his voice enough for you to miss it.

Something in you snapped.

“That’s who I married,” you said sharply, your voice louder than you intended. Both of them turned to look at you, startled. “The man who’s been there for me every single day. Who loves me, supports me, and makes me feel like I matter. Unlike the two of you, who couldn’t even be bothered to stick around when I needed you.”

Your mother’s eyes widened. “We—”

“No,” you interrupted, standing now, your hands trembling. “You don’t get to explain. You don’t get to waltz into my life after nearly three decades and act like you care. You gave me up. You made that choice. And you don’t get to make me feel guilty for not wanting to play along with whatever this is.”

The restaurant was quiet now, other diners casting wary glances your way, but you didn’t care. You grabbed your bag, your heart pounding. “If Grandpa wanted me to have the money, fine. But don’t pretend you’re here for me. You’re here because you know you have no claim to it, and you’re hoping I’ll feel sorry enough for you to share.”

Your father’s face hardened, but your mother looked close to tears. As you turned to leave, you caught sight of Logan standing just outside the restaurant’s glass door, his expression unreadable. You knew he’d heard every word, his enhanced hearing ensuring he hadn’t missed a thing.

When you stepped outside, his arms were around you instantly, pulling you close. “You okay, darlin’?” he murmured, his voice low and steady.

You nodded against his chest, the weight of the confrontation beginning to lift. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I am now.”

Logan pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his grip tightening slightly. “Proud of you,” he said simply, and those three words meant more than anything else in that moment.

As you walked away from the restaurant together, hand in hand, you felt lighter. Logan was your family now, and with him, you had everything you needed.

---

Logan paced quietly near the small dresser in the hotel room, the dim light catching on the hard line of his jaw. You sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing your dress over your knees, the faint hum of the air conditioning filling the space. The weight of the confrontation had lifted slightly, replaced by a strange, bittersweet relief.

“Feel okay?” Logan asked, his voice soft, breaking the silence. He stopped pacing, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed as he looked at you.

You nodded, offering a small smile. “I think I do. It’s like… I finally said everything I’ve wanted to say for years. I’m not sure I even care about the inheritance. It’s just nice to have it out.”

Logan stepped closer, his movements measured, his eyes searching yours. “You were incredible back there,” he said. “I meant it when I said I was proud of you. Standing up for yourself, for us—it wasn’t easy, but you didn’t back down.”

His words sent a warmth through you that had nothing to do with the room. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You felt the bed dip slightly as he sat down beside you, his arm coming to rest around your shoulders. He didn’t rush you, just sat there, his presence solid and grounding.

“You sure you’re fine?” he asked again, his fingers brushing against your shoulder in a light, comforting touch.

You tilted your head to look at him, your glasses slipping slightly down your nose. “I’m sure,” you said firmly this time, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips. “Especially with you here.”

Logan’s eyes softened, a small smirk forming as he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “You’re stronger than you think, sweetheart.”

His hand slid from your shoulder to the curve of your waist, his thumb brushing against the fabric of your dress. The touch was subtle, almost absentminded, but it sent a shiver down your spine. You leaned into him, your breath catching as his lips found the corner of your mouth.

“Logan,” you murmured, a hint of hesitation in your voice.

“Hmm?” His lips moved along your jaw, slow and deliberate, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re good, right? Tell me to stop if you need to.”

You shook your head, your hands finding his chest. “I don’t want you to stop.”

That was all he needed to hear. Logan’s lips claimed yours fully, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck. The kiss was slow but deep, his tongue teasing against yours, drawing a quiet moan from your throat. His other hand slid lower, skimming the edge of your dress before tugging it slightly higher, his fingers brushing the bare skin of your thigh.

“You’re wearing this damn thing to kill me, aren’t you?” he muttered against your lips, his voice rough with need.

You flushed, a soft laugh escaping. “It’s just a dress.”

“It’s more than just a dress,” Logan said, his hand gripping your thigh, pulling you closer. His lips moved to your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there. “It’s you in it.”

Your breath hitched as his teeth grazed your pulse point, your hands clutching at his shirt. “Logan…”

"Let me take care of you, darlin’," Logan murmured, his voice low and intimate. Before you could respond, he was guiding you back onto the bed, his hands sliding up your legs, pushing the fabric of your dress higher. His touch was firm yet deliberate, each movement precise and confident, like he already knew exactly what you needed.

The hem of your dress bunched at your hips as Logan settled between your legs, his rough hands warm against your thighs. His eyes met yours, the intensity there enough to send your heart racing. "Still okay?" he asked softly, his voice steady, but his grip tightened slightly, grounding you.

You nodded, breath hitching slightly. "I’m fine, Logan. Really."

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "Good. ‘Cause I’m not stoppin’ unless you tell me to."

His hands pressed your thighs open further, his gaze locked on the spot where your panties were already damp. He hooked his thumbs into the fabric and dragged it down slowly, the rough pads of his fingers grazing your skin and making you shiver. The cool air of the room hit you, but Logan’s warm breath soon replaced it, and you squirmed in anticipation.

"Patience," he muttered, his tone edged with teasing as his hands slid back up your legs, spreading them wider. His lips pressed to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, leaving a trail of kisses that grew closer and closer to where you ached for him most.

"Logan," you whispered, your voice barely audible. It wasn’t a plea—it was a need, a longing you couldn’t contain.

"Yeah, sweetheart, I know," he murmured, his breath hot against you. Then his mouth was on you, his tongue moving with slow, deliberate strokes that had your hands clutching at the sheets. Logan worked with a practiced precision, the rough scrape of his stubble against your skin contrasting perfectly with the soft heat of his tongue.

Your head fell back against the pillows as a quiet gasp escaped your lips. The tension in your body began to melt away, replaced by a wave of warmth and pleasure that only he could give. His hands gripped your thighs firmly, keeping you in place as he delved deeper, his tongue exploring every sensitive spot with maddening care.

"You taste so fuckin’ good," he said against you, his voice a low growl that sent a fresh surge of heat through your body. He glanced up briefly, his lips glistening. "Could stay here all damn night."

You bit your lip, your hands reaching down to thread through his hair, the soft strands catching between your fingers. "Logan," you whispered again, more insistently this time. The sound of his name seemed to spur him on, his tongue circling that sensitive bundle of nerves before sucking gently, drawing a shuddering moan from you.

His hands tightened on your thighs, holding you steady as your hips jerked reflexively against his mouth. Logan groaned low in his throat, the vibrations sending another jolt of pleasure through you. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow, just kept up the steady rhythm that had your body trembling beneath him.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he muttered against your skin, his voice rough, his lips brushing the slick heat between your thighs. "Love hearing those sounds you make."

You swallowed hard, your breaths coming in shallow gasps. "Logan... please," you murmured, your fingers curling tighter in his hair, urging him closer.

"Please what?" he rasped, his lips pressing kisses along your inner thigh before returning to where you needed him most. His tongue flicked over your clit again, and you nearly cried out, your back arching off the bed.

Your voice was barely above a whisper. "Don’t stop."

Logan smirked against you, his hands shifting to grip your hips, pulling you closer to his mouth. "Didn’t plan on it, darlin’."

He was relentless, his tongue teasing and stroking in ways that made your head spin. The sensation built steadily, your body tightening as the heat coiled low in your belly. You couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel as he worked you over, his stubble rough against your skin and his tongue unyielding.

"Oh- Logan," you gasped, your thighs trembling against his shoulders. He hummed in response, the sound low and guttural, his hands flexing against your hips.

The tension inside you snapped suddenly, and your entire body arched as a wave of heat and pleasure crashed over you. You cried out, your fingers tugging at his hair as you rode out the aftershocks, your thighs quivering in his grasp. Logan didn’t stop until you were squirming, pushing weakly at his shoulders as the sensation became too much.

He finally pulled back, his lips and chin glistening as he looked up at you with a satisfied grin. "There’s my girl," he murmured, his voice soft but edged with pride.

You let out a shaky breath, your head falling back against the pillow as you tried to steady your racing heart. Logan moved up the bed, settling beside you, his hand brushing against your arm as he leaned in to press a kiss to your temple.

"You good?" he asked, his voice quiet, almost tender.

You nodded, your breath still uneven. "Yeah. I’m good."

Logan stretched out beside you, pulling you close until your head rested against his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat grounding you. His hand rubbed slow circles on your back, his other arm draped over your waist.

"Meant what I said earlier," he murmured, breaking the comfortable silence. "You were amazing tonight. Stood your ground, didn’t take any crap. Made me proud, sweetheart."

A small smile tugged at your lips, and you tilted your head to look at him. "Thank you," you said softly, your voice steady now.

Logan leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You don’t gotta thank me for telling the truth."

You settled back against him, your body relaxing completely for the first time all evening. Logan’s hand stayed firm on your back, his thumb tracing idle patterns against your skin as the quiet settled between you.

In that moment, there was no past, no lingering tension from the confrontation earlier. Just you and Logan, tangled together on the bed, his presence steady and unshakable.

---

You walked into the kitchen, the scent of freshly baked cookies still wafting in the air. Your eyes immediately caught Logan, mid-action, reaching for one of the chocolate chip cookies you and Jean had finished less than 30 minutes ago.

Before he could take a bite, you hurried over, grabbing his wrist. "Wait! I wanted that one!"

Logan looked down at you, raising an eyebrow in mild amusement. "There’s more right here, darlin’," he said, nodding toward the plate piled high with cookies on the counter.

You shook your head stubbornly, crossing your arms while keeping your hand on his wrist. "But I don’t want those," you said. "I want that one."

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. "They’re all the same, sweetheart," he teased, holding the cookie just out of reach and starting to lift it toward his mouth. "Bet you wouldn’t even know the difference."

"I would," you shot back quickly. "That’s the one I want, Logan."

He smirked, his lips curling around the edges of the cookie as if to bite into it anyway, just to prove a point. Your eyes narrowed, and you acted on pure instinct.

Leaning in quickly, you pressed your lips to his, a fleeting but deliberate kiss. The move startled him just enough to loosen his grip, giving you the perfect opportunity to snag the cookie out of his hand.

"Ha!" you exclaimed triumphantly, taking a step back and holding the cookie aloft like it was a trophy.

Logan blinked, recovering from the surprise, and his smirk deepened into a full grin. "Did you just—" he started, shaking his head as his laughter spilled out. "That’s dirty play, darlin’. Using a kiss to steal it? You’re lucky you’re cute."

You bit into the cookie with an exaggeratedly smug expression, savoring the sweet, warm taste. "Lucky has nothing to do with it," you replied between bites.

He stepped toward you, a playful gleam in his eyes. "You know that’s not gonna fly, right? No one steals from me and gets away with it."

You tried to dart around the island, but Logan was too quick. He caught you easily, one arm looping around your waist to pull you close. You squealed, half-laughing, holding the half-eaten cookie out of his reach.

"Let me finish it!" you said, your voice muffled by laughter.

"Not a chance," Logan murmured, his nose brushing against your cheek. "Not after that stunt."

"Logan!" You wiggled in his grip, still laughing, trying not to crumble what remained of the cookie.

He dipped his head closer, murmuring low against your ear, "Fine. You win. This time." Then, with one swift motion, he stole a bite of the cookie you were holding, his smirk more self-satisfied than ever as he pulled back.

"Hey!"

"What? Just evening the score," he said, popping the stolen bite into his mouth.

The playful bickering turned to more laughter as you stayed in the kitchen, Logan’s hold never loosening entirely. Jean walked in a moment later, glancing between the two of you, her hands on her hips.

"You two do realize there’s a whole plate of cookies, right?" she asked, her tone laced with amusement.

"It’s not about the cookie, Jean," Logan replied smoothly, casting you a wink that made your cheeks heat. "It’s the principle of the thing."

Jean rolled her eyes. "You two are ridiculous. But at least now I know who I should’ve made extra for."

Still tucked against Logan’s side, you shot her a sheepish grin. "It’s his fault," you said, trying—and failing—not to laugh.

Jean just shook her head, smirking. "Sure it is," she said before grabbing a cookie and walking out of the kitchen, leaving the two of you tangled together in the aftermath of your very serious cookie standoff.

Logan’s grip stayed firm as he kissed your temple, murmuring, "You’re somethin’ else, you know that?"

"Is that a bad thing?" you teased, nibbling at the remaining bite of your cookie.

"Not even close," he said with a warm grin, his thumb tracing a slow, reassuring pattern against your waist.

---

Logan grumbled at his desk, glaring at the stack of papers in front of him like they owed him money. Being the history teacher wasn’t exactly his dream job, and grading exams just reinforced how much he hated it.

"How the hell do you mess up World War II?" he muttered under his breath, flipping through yet another exam where half the essay was about Napoleon. "Wrong war, wrong damn century."

Arms came around his neck from behind, your soft sleep shirt brushing against his skin. “You’re gonna tear that paper from how hard you’re grippin’ it.”

Logan’s scowl softened as your voice cut through his frustration, and the stiff set of his shoulders relaxed just a little. He glanced over at you, leaning against him with sleepy eyes and tousled hair, clearly fresh from bed. You were wrapped up in one of his old flannel shirts, sleeves hanging past your hands, paired with soft, fuzzy sleep pants. The sight alone made him feel warmer.

“Kid deserved it,” he muttered, though his tone had lost its bite. He held up the offending exam. “Wrote about Napoleon in World War II. Napoleon. You believe that?”

You huffed a quiet laugh, lips brushing against the edge of his ear as you leaned closer. “Maybe they figured he’d make a comeback.”

“Yeah, well, if he did, he’d still lose.” He dropped the paper onto the growing pile with a grunt and tilted his head back to look up at you. “What’re you doin’ up? Thought you were out cold.”

“I was,” you murmured, fingers absentmindedly tracing the line of his jaw. “You weren’t there.”

Logan stilled for a moment, his sharp gaze catching yours even upside down. That quiet admission—so simple, so soft—always hit him deeper than he cared to admit. He reached up, catching your hand in his larger one, and brought it down to rest against his chest.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, voice lower now, rough around the edges like it always was when he spoke to you. “Go back to bed. I’ll join you in a bit.”

You stayed still, your other arm still looped around his neck as you leaned more of your weight against him. “You’ve been at this for hours,” you said softly, glancing at the remaining stack of exams. “You’ll fall asleep right here at the desk.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Logan said with a slight smirk, but when you didn’t let go, he sighed. “You don’t quit, do ya?”

“Not when it comes to you,” you answered with an ease that made his chest tighten.

A small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he turned in his chair, his hands landing lightly on your waist to steady you. “Alright, darlin’. You win.” He stood, forcing you to step back slightly, though he kept one hand on your hip as if afraid you’d float away otherwise. “But if I see Napoleon showin’ up in another World War II exam, I’m quittin’ this job.”

You grinned, taking his hand as you tugged him toward the bed. “I’ll talk to Scott. Maybe he’ll give you a raise.”

Logan scoffed. “Yeah, I’ll hold my breath.”

The bedroom was dimly lit, moonlight spilling through the partially open curtains. You crawled back onto the bed first, curling up under the comforter as you waited for him. Logan, meanwhile, paused just long enough to strip off his shirt, leaving him in just his sweats before he settled in beside you. The bed dipped under his weight as he pulled you close, his arm sliding under your head to tuck you against his chest.

You melted into him easily, your cheek pressed to his bare skin as you sighed contentedly. “See? Isn’t this better than failing kids for Napoleon?”

“I wasn’t failin’ him,” Logan murmured, his lips brushing the top of your head. “Gave him a mercy D.”

You couldn’t help but giggle quietly, and Logan felt the sound reverberate against him. “Mercy D,” you repeated. “You’re such a softie.”

“Watch it,” he warned, but there was no heat in it. His fingers absentmindedly traced patterns along your back through the flannel, and for a while, the room settled into silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of blankets and the steady rhythm of your breathing.

You broke the quiet first, your voice soft and muffled against his chest. “Why do you still do it?”

Logan blinked, looking down at you. “Do what?”

“Teach history.” You tilted your head slightly, “you don’t seem to like it much.”

He exhaled slowly, his hand stilling on your back. “Someone’s gotta do it. Better me than some idiot who doesn’t know the difference between Normandy and Napoleon.”

You smiled faintly at that. “Fair point.”

Logan’s voice softened as he continued. “Most of these kids—hell, they don’t know half of what happened before they were born. I figure if they’re gonna learn somethin’ about the past, it might as well be from someone who’s lived a lot of it.”

You looked up at him then, your gaze searching his face in the dim light. Logan didn’t look away, but there was something guarded in his expression, like he wasn’t sure why he’d admitted that much.

“You’re a good teacher,” you said softly, your fingers brushing against his chest.

Logan snorted. “Yeah. Tell that to the kid who thinks Napoleon was stormin’ the beaches at Normandy.”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his chest before settling back down. “Well, I think you’re great.”

Logan didn’t respond right away, but his arm tightened slightly around you, pulling you closer as he pressed a kiss to your hair. “Get some sleep, darlin’,” he murmured. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

You smiled against his skin, letting his warmth lull you back to sleep. Logan stayed awake a little longer, though, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as his fingers traced absent patterns against your back again. He didn’t say it out loud, but moments like this—the quiet, the warmth of you beside him—were the reason he stuck around at all.

For someone who’d lived lifetimes, this was the only one that mattered.

---

As you were walking from your classroom to your office, Jean called out your name telepathically, “someone’s at the front door for you.”

You frowned and made your way over to where a man in casual clothing stood outside. “Hello?” You asked, Jean holding the door only halfway open.

“Are you Y/N Howlett?”

“Yes.” You responded, moving slightly closer to Jean for comfort.

The man held out an envelope, “you’ve been served.”

You stared at him, stomach dropping at the words. Slowly, you reached out and took the envelope, the weight of it far heavier than just paper. Your fingers barely curled around it before the man turned and walked away without another word, leaving you and Jean standing in the doorway.

Jean looked at you, her brows furrowed in concern. "Are you okay?" she asked softly, her voice carefully even.

You didn’t respond immediately, your eyes still on the envelope as if opening it might explode your entire life apart. "I..." You glanced at Jean, trying to ground yourself in her steady presence. "I don’t know."

“Come inside.” She placed a hand on your back and guided you gently through the door.

Once inside, she closed it behind you and walked you to one of the couches in the main hall. Her calm, methodical movements gave you enough time to focus. "Do you want me to stay while you open it?"

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Yeah. Please."

You tore open the envelope, unfolding the crisp papers inside. The legal jargon was an immediate headache, but the gist hit you quickly enough.

Your parents—parents you’d met just once at Stanford, a month ago—were contesting the will of your grandfather. You skimmed the words, anger brewing beneath the shock. The lawsuit wasn’t about you. It was about the inheritance your grandfather had left to you. Money you hadn’t touched—didn’t want to touch. Money your mother and father were determined to get their hands on.

“What is it?” she asked gently, leaning over a bit.

You sighed, lowering the papers slightly. “They’re suing me for the money my grandfather left. The same money they showed up to tell me about last time.” You shook your head, blinking furiously to keep your frustration and embarrassment in check. “I told them I didn’t want it. I never even filed anything to claim it.”

Jean frowned, her gaze hardening in sympathy as she processed what you said. “That’s awful, Y/N. I mean… that’s your family.”

“Not really.” You laughed bitterly, though the sound lacked humor.

Jean put her hand on your knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Hey, we’ll figure this out. Do you want to talk to someone about this? Scott can—"

"Logan," you cut in, almost reflexively.

Jean paused but nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Okay. Do you want me to get him, or—?”

"I’ll go." You stood abruptly, still clutching the papers. “Thanks, Jean. For… sticking with me through that.”

“Always.” Jean watched you head out before leaning back on the couch with a worried sigh.

---

Logan was in the garage, predictably half under his motorcycle. He was wiping his hands with an oil-streaked rag when he heard you approach. As he sat up, he took one look at your face and tossed the rag aside.

“What happened?” he asked immediately, his voice rough but threaded with concern.

You held up the papers wordlessly, struggling to hold his sharp gaze. He took them from your hands, skimming through quickly, his brow furrowing as he absorbed the contents.

“Christ,” he muttered after a long moment, his fist tightening slightly around the edges of the papers. “They’re suin’ you? For money that’s yours?”

“Money I didn’t even want,” you added, sitting heavily on the bench by the wall. Your hands tangled together in your lap, a nervous habit you couldn’t quite break.

He looked at you, anger darkening his expression, but it wasn’t directed at you. It never was. “They think you’re some kid they can push around,” he growled, folding the papers and setting them down before crouching in front of you. His large hands found yours, prying them apart gently. “But you’re not. You’re a hell of a lot stronger than they give you credit for, sweetheart.”

Your chest tightened at the way he spoke to you, so firm yet so gentle all at once. “I don’t want to deal with this,” you admitted, your voice small. “I don’t want the money, Logan. I never did.”

“You won’t have to.” His grip on your hands firmed, grounding you. “We’ll fight this. They ain’t takin’ a damn thing from you.”

You nodded slowly, letting his words soothe you, though doubt still nagged at the edges of your thoughts. “What if they win?”

Logan’s jaw flexed, his sharp features hardening with resolve. “They won’t.”

“Logan, I—”

“Hey,” he interrupted, his voice low but insistent. He pulled you forward slightly so that your knees brushed his shoulders. “Trust me, Y/N. This’ll get sorted. I ain’t lettin’ them screw you over, okay?”

You searched his eyes for any trace of uncertainty but found none. Logan, as always, was unwavering.

“Okay,” you said softly, exhaling as you leaned your forehead against his.

The moment stretched quietly before he broke it, pulling back just far enough to press a kiss to your temple. “C’mon. Let’s get this over to Chuck. He’ll know what to do.”

You hesitated, though his calm tone bolstered you. "You don’t think it’s… embarrassing?"

Logan leaned back on his heels slightly, cocking an eyebrow at you. “Embarrassing? Dealin’ with greedy parents? Not even close.” His smirk softened into something fonder. “You ain’t gotta hide stuff like this from me, darlin’. Or from the team. We’ve all got somethin’ messy in our pasts. Ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed of.”

His reassurance worked its way past your anxiety, easing the knot in your stomach a bit more. "Okay," you whispered again, squeezing his hands. “Let’s talk to Charles.”

Logan stood and pulled you with him, his arm immediately going around your shoulders as he guided you inside. Whatever fight lay ahead, you knew you weren’t facing it alone.

---

Logan leaned against the dresser, shaking his head. “No.”

You gave a mock pout, holding up the pastel blue sweater that matched your sundress. “C’mon, Logan. It’s just for today.”

Logan crossed his arms, leaning against the dresser with a look of pure defiance. “No way. Not wearin’ that.”

“It’s Easter,” you reasoned, trying not to laugh at the sheer stubbornness etched onto his face. “The kids are excited, and it’s a pastel color. You’ll look festive. Besides,” you added with a teasing tilt of your head, “it matches my dress.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Festive? Darlin’, I ain’t the ‘festive’ type.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” came Jean’s voice from the doorway. She leaned against the frame with a smirk, her arms crossed. “I think you’d look great in it, Logan. Adds some softness to your usual gruffness.”

Logan shot her a glare that only made her smirk widen. “Nobody asked you, Jeannie.”

You hid your smile behind the sweater, trying to keep the peace. “Jean, don’t make it worse,” you murmured, though your tone was light.

“I’m just saying,” Jean replied with a playful shrug before disappearing down the hallway, leaving you alone with Logan again.

“See? Even Jean agrees,” you said, holding the sweater out to him again. “Come on, Logan. Just for a little while?”

He huffed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’re not gonna let this go, are ya?”

You shook your head, your smile growing. “Nope.”

Logan stared at you for a long moment, his expression softening despite his obvious resistance. It wasn’t the sweater he was giving in to—it was you. With a grumble, he snatched it out of your hands. “Fine. But if anyone takes a picture, I’m burnin’ it.”

You bit back a laugh as he pulled the sweater on over his usual white undershirt. The pastel blue clashed hilariously with his rugged demeanor, but you had to admit, it looked... sweet on him. The way it matched your dress only made it better.

“There,” Logan said, tugging at the hem like it might suffocate him. “Happy?”

“Very,” you said with a warm smile, stepping closer to adjust the sweater’s collar. “You look good.”

He grumbled something under his breath but didn’t stop you. Instead, his hands found your waist, pulling you close enough that you had to crane your neck to look up at him. “You owe me for this,” he muttered, though there was no real bite to his tone.

“Oh, do I?” you teased, resting your hands on his chest. “What do I owe you?”

Logan leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’ll find out later,” he said, his voice low enough to send a shiver down your spine.

Your cheeks flushed, but you managed to keep your composure. “Well, let’s see if you make it through the egg hunt first.”

He groaned, pulling back enough to look at you. “Wait. Do I gotta do that, too?”

“Yes,” you said firmly, laughing when his head fell back in exaggerated defeat. “The kids will love it. And you look adorable.”

Logan shot you a flat look. “Adorable?”

You grinned, standing on your tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Yup. Now come on, let’s go before Rogue eats all the candy.”

Logan shook his head, muttering something about how he’d never live this down, but the small smile tugging at his lips told you he didn’t really mind. Not as long as it was for you.

---

You and Logan sat across from the lawyer Charles had recommended. The room was quiet, save for the faint rustle of papers as the lawyer flipped through the documents. Logan leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, a scowl set deep on his face. You sat with your hands folded tightly in your lap, your glasses slipping slightly down your nose as you watched the lawyer with a mixture of apprehension and exhaustion.

“Well,” the lawyer finally said, setting the papers down on the desk in front of him. He adjusted his own glasses, his expression professional but sympathetic. “The good news is that the will is clear. Your grandfather left the inheritance to you and only you. Your parents’ claim has very little legal ground.”

Your shoulders sagged slightly, but the tension in your chest didn’t fully ease. “But they can still drag this out, can’t they?” you asked quietly. “Even if the claim isn’t strong?”

The lawyer nodded. “Yes, they can file motions, request hearings, and essentially make this as difficult as possible for you. It’s not uncommon in cases like this.”

Logan growled low in his throat, his impatience bubbling to the surface. “So what do we do to shut this down for good?”

The lawyer glanced at him, unfazed by Logan’s tone. “There are a few options. You can contest the claim in court, which could take time but would likely result in a ruling in your favor. Or,” he paused, looking at you, “you can choose to forfeit the inheritance entirely. That would require specific legal filings, but it would end the dispute.”

You blinked, the weight of the decision settling heavily on your shoulders. “I don’t want the money,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “I never wanted it. I didn’t even know about it until my parents showed up at Stanford.”

Logan’s hand slid over yours, grounding you. “You don’t have to decide now,” he said, his voice softer than before.

The lawyer cleared his throat, his expression cautious. “There is one other matter to consider. If you choose to forfeit the inheritance, it wouldn’t simply revert to your parents. According to the terms of the will, the funds would be held in trust for any future heirs—your children, specifically.”

Your head snapped up, and you stared at the lawyer in disbelief. “Future children?”

He nodded. “Yes. It’s an unusual clause, but your grandfather was quite specific. If you don’t claim the inheritance, it remains part of the family estate and will be managed until it can be passed down to your descendants.”

Logan’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, and you glanced at him, your cheeks warming at the faint surprise in his expression. You hadn’t explicitly talked about children with him yet, though the thought had crossed your mind more than once.

“That’s… a lot to process,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “I didn’t even know he thought about me that way. We weren’t close at the… end.”

The lawyer offered a small, understanding smile. “It’s not uncommon for people to make decisions like this in their wills, even if they weren’t directly involved in someone’s life. He may have wanted to ensure you were cared for in some way.”

You nodded slowly, your thoughts swirling. Logan leaned forward, his gruff voice breaking the silence. “Let’s say she forfeits. What’s to stop her parents from tryin’ to get their hands on the money anyway?”

“There are legal safeguards in place,” the lawyer replied. “The trust would be managed independently, and your parents wouldn’t have access to it. It’s airtight.”

Logan grunted, seemingly satisfied with that answer, but his focus shifted back to you. “What do you wanna do, sweetheart?”

You hesitated, your gaze dropping to where his hand still covered yours. “I don’t want to go to court,” you said softly. “I don’t want the money, and I don’t want to fight with them. If it can go to… someone else, to the future, then maybe that’s the right thing to do.”

Logan’s thumb brushed over your knuckles, his voice steady. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

The lawyer nodded. “I’ll start drafting the necessary documents. It’ll take a little time, but once it’s filed, your parents won’t have a legal leg to stand on.”

“Thank you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

As the meeting wrapped up and the lawyer left the room, Logan turned to you, his expression softening. “You okay?”

You nodded, though your chest still felt heavy. “Yeah. It’s just… a lot.”

He pulled you into his arms without hesitation, holding you close against his chest. “You did good, darlin’,” he murmured against your hair. “Don’t let this mess get to you.”

You closed your eyes, letting the warmth of his embrace chase away the lingering tension. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“For what?” he asked, pulling back just enough to look down at you.

“For being here,” you said, your gaze meeting his. “For always being here.”

Logan’s lips quirked into a small, crooked smile. “Where else would I be?”

You laughed softly, the sound shaky but genuine, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead before leading you out of the room.

As the two of you walked into the kitchen, Logan pulled out a bottle of mango juice from the fridge and poured you a glass. His movements were calm and deliberate, a quiet reassurance that everything was going to be okay. He set the glass down in front of you, leaning against the counter as you took a sip.

"You doin' alright now, sweetheart?" he asked, his gaze steady on you.

You nodded, holding the cool glass in your hands. “I think so. I just hate that it had to come to this.”

Logan reached over, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “Ain’t your fault. They made their choice, and you made yours. That’s all that matters.”

You managed a small smile, his support giving you the courage to push forward. But the lawyer’s earlier words lingered in your mind, and after a moment of hesitation, you decided to voice the thought that had been nagging at you.

“Logan,” you said, your voice soft, “did it… bother you? What he said about the inheritance going to future kids?”

Logan arched a brow, folding his arms across his chest as he watched you. “Bother me?” he repeated, his tone questioning.

“Yeah.” You looked down at the mango juice in your hands. “We’ve never really talked about that, and I just—”

His hand was under your chin before you could finish, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “Does it bother you?” he asked, his tone gentle but intent.

You bit your lip, feeling your cheeks warm. “I don’t think so,” you admitted. “I mean, I’ve thought about it before, but I didn’t want to push. I wasn’t sure if that was something you…” You trailed off, unsure how to phrase it.

Logan’s lips curved into a small smirk, his gaze softening in a way that was meant just for you. “Darlin’, I’ve thought about it plenty. Didn’t bring it up ‘cause I didn’t know if you were ready for that kinda talk.”

A soft laugh escaped you, nervous but sweet. “Guess we’re both good at overthinking things.”

Logan’s hand slid around your waist, pulling you closer until your hips bumped against the counter. “I’m not the kind to plan much of anything,” he said, his voice dropping to that rough, affectionate tone that always made your heart flutter. “But you… you make me wanna think about things like that.”

Your chest tightened with a mixture of nervousness and joy as you briefly rolled your bottom lip between your teeth. Logan’s other hand brushed against your cheek, his thumb sliding lightly across your skin, grounding you in a way only he could.

“Darlin’,” he said softly, his voice low and filled with warmth, “you don’t gotta look so nervous. We’re on the same page.”

You let out a soft, shaky laugh. “I know. It’s just... I didn’t think this conversation would come up like this.”

“Didn’t exactly expect it over lawyer talk,” Logan admitted with a small smirk. His hand cupped your cheek, pulling you just a bit closer. “But you think too much sometimes. There’s no rush, no pressure—none of that. But if you’re askin’ if I see it... yeah. I see it, sweetheart.”

Your gaze flicked up to his, caught in the sincerity of his words and the steady way he was looking at you. His eyes, weathered from lifetimes of heartbreak and battle, were now soft and filled with something you could only describe as hope.

You smiled, this time more genuine, a warmth spreading through you. “Me too,” you murmured.

His lips quirked into that crooked grin you’d come to love, and his hand slid to the back of your neck, tugging you forward until your lips met. The kiss was slow and unhurried, a promise sealed in silence. When he pulled back, he kept you close, his forehead pressed against yours.

“No better time to start than now,” he rumbled, the faintest hint of a playful edge slipping into his tone.

Your breath caught, your cheeks instantly flushing. “Logan,” you whispered, voice laced with equal parts shock and anticipation.

He chuckled, that deep, throaty sound sending shivers down your spine. In a swift, effortless move, he lifted you off the ground, one arm supporting your back while the other braced under your knees. You gasped, your hands instinctively wrapping around his neck.

“Logan!” you squeaked, your heart racing as he carried you like you weighed nothing.

“What?” he teased, his smirk widening as he began walking out of the kitchen. “Thought we were on the same page.”

You buried your face against his neck, laughing softly. “We are,” you admitted, your voice muffled against his skin. “You just caught me off guard.”

“I’m full of surprises,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple.

As the two of you reached the bedroom, the door creaked as Logan kicked it open, a certain ease in his movements that you envied sometimes. He set you down gently on the bed, leaning over you with a wolfish grin that made your heart do a somersault.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice suddenly softer again, no teasing this time. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing the edge of your glasses like it was instinctive for him to touch you this way.

The love in his voice and the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing anchoring him to this world—stole whatever doubt you might have had. You nodded, your hand curling around his wrist to keep his touch against your skin.

“Yeah,” you whispered, smiling. “I’m sure.”

Logan kissed you again, deeper this time, his arms wrapping around you like he never wanted to let go. And for that moment, nothing else in the world mattered.

this is still 2005! next chapter is also going to be 2005 and then after every chapter will be spanning 1 year!

(although i am now realizing that my timeline is a bit off but just roll with it)

[emilys-bangs]

wandering hands | e.p

Tags: fluff, established relationship, r is putting on makeup, no use of yn, clingy emily

Summary: Doing your makeup didn’t usually take much time. However, with a certain brunette wrapped around you, her head in your neck as you try to get ready, it proves to be quite the challenge.

Word count: 0.9k

Doing your makeup didn’t usually take much time. However, with a certain brunette wrapped around you, her head in your neck as you try to get ready, it proves to be quite the challenge.

“Em,” you laugh as she squeezes your waist. Her hands are warm, soft, her fingertips digging your shirt deeper into your skin. Her shirt, but that’s besides the point.

“Hmm?” You can feel the vibration of her voice when she speaks into your collarbone. The ends of her hair tickle your skin and you breathe in, just a little too sharply.

“You’re distracting me,” you murmur, briefly closing your eyes as her lips travel up your jaw. Emily smiles against your skin, her hand coming up to lightly cup your neck.

“Am I?” She whispers, low and teasing. Your pulse stutters beneath her fingertips and she grins. She’s warm against you, each of her thighs laying over your crossed legs, trapping you in place as her hands wander, dip under your shirt and over your skin.

The makeup brush shakes in your hand—ever so slightly. Emily’s lips press into your cheek, soft and sweet. 

You sigh.

She smiles.

“Let’s just stay here tonight,” she murmurs, gently taking the brush from your shaky grip. She drops it on the floor, slips her fingers into your hair and tilts your face toward hers.

God, those brown eyes.

“I can think of better stuff for us to do than go to some boring party, can’t you?” Her voice is warm honey as she bumps her nose against yours, pleading, her fingers tightening in your hair.

Your skin grows warm from her proximity. Your breath catches, but you try to remain firm. 

“Pen’s hosting it for us,” you remind her. With your other hand free, you can’t help but let it wander, too. You start at her waist, feeling the gentle curves beneath your palm as you go up, up, till you reach the hard line of her jaw and the plush softness of her lips. 

Emily’s lashes flutter, a soft exhale escaping her lips and fanning across yours. You smile as she tugs on your hair just a little, the hitch in her breath telling you she’s just as affected as you are.

“Nobody told her to, though,” she grouches, her lips jutting out in a pout.

She looks adorable.

You laugh and close the meager distance between you two, pressing your lips to hers and kissing the pout off. 

Emily immediately hums, her warm hands cupping your cheeks as she shifts on your thighs and practically onto your lap. With her lips against yours and the soft silkiness of her hair between your fingers, you find it damn hard to find a legitimate reason to go.

Your brain fogs when she lightly digs her teeth into your bottom lip, a gentle, teasing nip before she pulls back, mouth flushed pink. Her eyes glint at your too loud breaths, your chest lightly heaving as you suck air back into your lungs.

Emily drags her thumb across your bottom lip. “But if you want to go, I guess,” she shrugs fakely in compliance, but you see the coy smile peeking out. Her thumb travels down to your jaw, sweeps back and forth across your pulse as she looks at you, waiting for you to refuse.

Truthfully, the appeal is starting to grow dull. But you promised Penelope.

“I still wanna go.” You say, but it doesn’t have much effect with the way your voice is breathless.

Emily sighs heavily and picks up your discarded makeup brush. “Shame,” she murmurs, taking your face in her other palm. 

Your hands fall to her waist as she takes over doing your makeup. She hums softly as she drags the brush over your cheekbones, your temple, your jaw, a murmured French song slipping past her lips. She’s gentle, her touch light and practiced as she finishes up your eye makeup, her soft breaths hitting your skin as she leans into you.

You’re preoccupied with the way her tongue peeks out in concentration as she carefully draws your eyeliner, one hand steady on your jaw and the other resting on your cheek.

Her lashes are impossibly long, casting dark shadows that kiss her cheeks. Unthinkingly, you slip your hands under the hem of her flimsy tank, your fingertips meeting warm skin. 

Emily hums and removes the eyeliner brush from your skin, leaning back to look at you in mock disapproval.

“Who’s the one distracting me now?” She murmurs. Her steady brown eyes meet yours, bright and shining with affection. The corner of her lip is pinched, and you know she’s biting back a smile.

You smirk. “Just giving you a taste of your own medicine, Prentiss.” You skim your knuckles across her ribcage and she takes in a sudden breath.

“Brat.” She drops the eyeliner and leans in close, her chest brushing yours as she takes your face in her hands.

“Asshole,” you return, your tone nothing but loving as she kisses you again. Her lips turn up in a smile against yours and you smile back, gathering her tank top between your fingers.

Needless to say, you two are the last to arrive at Penelope’s party.

*My first emily x reader! I hope you enjoyed <33 I’d possibly like to write more for her, so if you’ve got any requests, pop in my inbox and let me know!

[meanbossart]

Hey, I was wondering if you had any starter tips for digital art? I'm a traditional artist and have been for years, but I was recently given a tablet and clip studio. I am having SUCH a hard time getting anything to look right: shaky lines, flat/too soft pieces, just an absolute childish mess every single time. I see all these gorgeous digital pieces and have NO IDEA how to get there.

Heya!

So, it's been a very very long time since I transitioned from traditional to digital art, but I DID do proper traditional for a few years; we're talking ink pens, color pencils, markers, watercolor, fancy papers, the works. I did some acrylic painting too but only monochrome (and before anyone asks, these works no longer exist so I can't share them) all that to say that I do have some experience with the former and definitely felt the learning curve when I changed to a tablet.

To get the unhelpful advice out of the way first: It's a different and unfamiliar medium, and there is probably nothing significant that you're "missing" about it except time and exploration. There are pillars to digital art just like there are in traditional art, but when it comes to personal process everyone has their quirks and habits - you gotta mess around and find what works for you. I suggest looking up tutorials and speedpaints on youtube even if you know all the basics or if the style you see doesn't appeal to you; just watching how others do their thing might help you figuring out how you would like to do yours!

Now, for the more practical advice:

-I don't know what kind of tablet you got, but assuming it's a non display, that's an extra hurdle you have to get over in developing the eye-hand coordination necessary to use it. This feels very alien at first but it shouldn't take longer than a few weeks to feel completely natural.

-On that note, if there is a significant size discrepancy between the tablet and the screen you are looking at, that might mess you up. Try adjusting the size of the CSP window so it fits the size of the actual drawing surface you are using more closely.

-Every drawing tablet's pen has pressure settings that can be tweaked to your liking, I for one always make it a little softer than the default.

-BRUSH STABILIZATION! That's a setting every individual brush (and almost every tool, I believe) on CSP has. It does as advertised: stabilizes your brush strokes. A lot of people like this set between 8-20 depending on the brush, and it can make a huge difference to the way you draw.

It is usually always visible in the tool properties, but if not, you can toggle it on through the "sub tool details" menu by clicking the little wrench symbol on the bottom right.

Hopefully this has been helpful at all. Good luck!

[theonottsbxtch]

POWER OVER YOU | FC43

an: i don't encourage this type of behaviour i promise i just somehow always end up writing the most unhinged things ever lol

wc: 8.8k

warnings: emotional abuse, mental manipulation, age gap (older!reader), exploitation

The first time Franco flirted with her, it was live on camera, in front of millions.

It was bold. Reckless. Utterly ridiculous.

She barely flinched, her practiced professionalism taking over as effortlessly as the hum of engines in the paddock. She dismissed it as a rookie’s desperate attempt to make waves, the kind of bravado that burned bright but fizzled out under the grind of a Formula One season. A boy playing games in a world of professionals.

But that boy had the nerve to smirk at her like he knew something she didn’t.

“Maybe one day, you’ll be answering my questions,” he’d said, leaning into the mic, his voice dripping with that unmistakable Latin charm that made headlines and broke hearts before the ink on his contract was even dry.

She had laughed it off then, smooth as glass, redirecting the conversation like the master she was. Years of experience had given her an edge that no rookie could rattle. Yet as the weeks passed, something shifted.

She caught herself replaying the moment in her mind. Not his words—those were easy to brush off. It was the look in his eyes. The way they lingered a second too long, daring her to react. He wasn’t like the others—those boys who looked up to her, respected her, feared her. No, this one wasn’t afraid.

And that made him dangerous.

She didn’t fall for things like this. She was untouchable. A name spoken in reverence across the paddock, her presence a force even team principals didn’t challenge. Her life was built on control—over her career, her family, herself. She had everything to lose, and yet...

Every time Franco stood in front of her, that same smirk tugging at his lips, she felt it unraveling.

And the worst part? He knew.

By the midpoint of the season, the tension was palpable. She told herself it was nothing—just a passing distraction in the relentless chaos of the Formula One calendar. Franco was making headlines, not just for his undeniable talent but for his charisma, the sort that could light up the dullest press conference.

The fans adored him. The media buzzed around him like moths to a flame. And he, with his easy charm and devil-may-care attitude, soaked it all in. Yet somehow, amidst the whirlwind of attention, he always found time for her. A glance. A comment. A fleeting touch on her arm as he passed her in the paddock.

It wasn’t just cheeky anymore. It was calculated.

“Am I going to see you at the afterparty tonight?” he’d asked once, leaning casually against a stack of Pirelli tyres, his fireproofs unzipped to his waist, revealing a damp racing shirt that clung to his chest.

She didn’t look up from her notepad. “I don’t do afterparties.”

“You should. It would be fun.” Franco’s voice dropped a notch, just low enough for her to catch the suggestion laced beneath the words. “I think you deserve a little fun.”

Her pen paused mid-sentence, and that was enough for him. He smirked and walked away, leaving her to question why her pulse had quickened, why her skin felt warmer beneath the Mediterranean sun.

She hated him for it. Hated the way he wormed his way into her thoughts, the way her mind replayed his voice at night when the house was quiet, her children asleep, her husband on a late call in the other room. It wasn’t real, she told herself. Just a trick of the adrenaline that came with this world, the intoxicating rush of speed and spectacle.

But as the summer races rolled on, so did his games. Each one bolder than the last.

In Baku, he brushed past her in the media pen, close enough that his hand grazed the small of her back.

In Singapore, he made a comment about her red dress, murmuring something in Spanish she didn’t quite catch but didn’t need to. The look in his eyes said it all.

And in Austin, after once again finishing in the points, he sought her out before the press conference. His champagne-dampened hair clung to his forehead, his grin still wide with the thrill of victory.

“Maybe this deserves an interview,” he teased, stepping just close enough that she could smell the sharp tang of champagne and sweat on his skin. “You know, something exclusive. Just you and me.”

She forced a laugh, masking the way her breath hitched. “You’ve already had your time in the spotlight. Go celebrate with your team.”

“Oh, I plan to.” His gaze dipped for the briefest moment before snapping back to hers, filled with a heat that made her heart pound. “But I wouldn’t mind celebrating with you too.”

This time, she couldn’t hide the blush that crept up her neck. Franco saw it—of course he did. And as he turned to walk away, he glanced over his shoulder and winked.

For the first time in her career, she felt like prey.

That night the hotel room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning. She perched on the edge of the bed, phone pressed to her ear, smiling at the sound of her daughter’s sleepy voice.

“Goodnight, Mum,” the little girl murmured, her words heavy with the weight of sleep. “I love you.”

“I love you too, darling,” she replied, her tone soft and warm. “Be good for Daddy tomorrow, all right?”

Her husband’s voice came through next, deep and steady. “Everything okay over there?”

“Yes, all fine,” she said, though her mind flickered to the chaos of the paddock, to Franco and his maddening smirk. “Just the usual madness.”

“Well, don’t let them work you too hard,” he said, his voice laced with familiar concern. “You need rest too.”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him, glancing at the clock. It was late, and exhaustion tugged at her limbs. “Give the kids a kiss for me. I’ll call again tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, love.”

“Goodnight.”

She ended the call and set the phone down on the bedside table, exhaling a long, steady breath. The day had been relentless, as they all were, and all she wanted was a moment of peace. Clad in a simple pair of pyjama shorts and a loose tank top, she crossed the room to pour herself a glass of water.

The knock at the door startled her.

It was firm but unhurried, the kind that demanded attention without urgency. She hesitated, her heart giving an involuntary flutter. It was late. Too late for anything routine.

Curiosity got the better of her, and she padded barefoot across the carpet, unlocking the door.

Franco was there.

Still in his team polo and slim-fitting jeans, his dark hair slightly tousled, Franco leaned casually against the doorframe, his eyes gleaming under the dim hallway lights.

“Evening,” he said, his voice low and smooth.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice sharper than she intended, though the crackling tension between them softened the edge.

“Wanted to see you.” He tilted his head slightly, his gaze sweeping over her. “You look beautiful.”

She stiffened, glancing down at herself. Pyjama shorts, a plain top, no make-up. Hardly glamorous.

“Don’t flatter me,” she said, though her tone lacked conviction.

“Not flattering,” he countered, stepping forward before she could stop him, the door clicking shut behind him. “Just telling the truth.”

She swallowed hard, acutely aware of how close he was now. The air between them seemed thinner, charged. He moved with an ease that was unnerving, like he belonged here, like her space was already his.

“You can’t just show up at someone’s hotel room uninvited,” she said, but even to her own ears, the protest sounded weak.

“Then kick me out.” His voice was a challenge, soft and steady.

She didn’t move.

Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against a stray lock of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. The touch was light, almost imperceptible, but it sent a shiver down her spine.

“You’ve been running through my mind all night,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Her breath hitched, her resolve cracking under the intensity of his gaze. “You’re out of line.”

“Maybe,” Franco admitted, stepping closer still, his presence now overwhelming. “But I think you like it.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat as his hand trailed along her arm, his touch igniting every nerve in its wake. The space between them dissolved, and she realised she wasn’t stepping away.

Didn’t want to step away.

His hand moved slowly, almost reverently, as though savouring the moment. Fingers rough from hours gripping a steering wheel trailed up her bare thigh, his touch sending a molten heat through her veins. She sucked in a sharp breath, her eyelids fluttering involuntarily.

It was maddening—humiliating, almost—to feel so undone by a simple touch. She was stronger than this. She had built a career on composure, on unshakeable self-control, and yet here she was, trembling beneath his fingers, her resolve slipping through her grasp like sand.

“Stop,” she managed, though her voice was barely a whisper.

He didn’t stop.

Instead, he took another step closer, his other hand brushing her waist, his palm warm against the thin fabric of her tank top. His breath was a soft caress against her cheek, his lips so close she could almost feel their heat.

“Do you want me to?” he murmured, his voice low and intoxicating, the kind of voice that made promises it had every intention of keeping.

Her mind screamed yes, but her body betrayed her. She stayed rooted to the spot, her pulse pounding in her ears, her lips parting ever so slightly.

That was all the invitation he needed.

Franco kissed her.

It wasn’t gentle or hesitant. It was fiery, unrestrained, and filled with a hunger that left her breathless. His mouth claimed hers with an intensity that shattered every barrier she had spent years building. Her hands, which had been poised to push him away, tangled in his shirt instead, pulling him closer.

The taste of him—sharp and heady—only made her want more.

She barely recognised the sound that escaped her, a soft, desperate whimper against his lips. The kiss deepened, and for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. No hotel room, no career, no family. Just him.

But then reality snapped back, sharp and cold. She broke the kiss, her lips hovering against his, her breaths coming in shallow, uneven gasps.

“We shouldn’t do this,” she whispered, the words trembling between them.

Franco didn’t pull away. His lips quirked into a small, maddening smirk that she felt against her own.

“We?” he echoed, his voice filled with quiet amusement. “You kissed me.”

Her cheeks flamed, her embarrassment flaring like a physical heat. “I didn’t—”

But he silenced her with another kiss, softer this time but no less consuming. His hands stayed where they were, one on her waist, the other resting just above her knee, holding her firmly in place as though daring her to argue.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against hers, his voice was a whisper in the charged air.

“Tell me to go, and I’ll leave,” he said, his thumb brushing a slow, agonising circle against her thigh. “But if you want me to stay...”

She didn’t finish the thought, but he could see the war raging in her eyes.

“Say the word.”

Her chest rose and fell against his, her breaths shaky as the weight of his words hung in the air. She knew what she should say, what the right answer was. But the way his thumb stroked her thigh, the heat radiating from his body, and the fire still simmering in her veins after that kiss… logic had no place here.

She didn’t say a word.

Instead, her hands tightened in his shirt, pulling him back to her, and their lips collided again, this time with a desperation that bordered on frantic. His hands roamed with purpose now, sliding up her thighs, over the curve of her hips, and under her tank top. His touch ignited every inch of skin it found, and she arched into him, a soft gasp escaping her as his fingers traced the bare skin of her waist.

Franco backed her towards the bed, their kisses never breaking, never slowing. His lips left hers only to trail down her jaw, to the sensitive spot just beneath her ear. She tilted her head instinctively, granting him access, and when he bit down gently, her knees nearly buckled.

“God,” she whispered, the sound barely audible, her hands clutching at his shoulders for support.

His low chuckle sent a shiver through her. “I’ve been thinking about this all season,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Her heart pounded at his words, the sheer intensity of his focus on her making her feel dizzy. She should’ve stopped this—could’ve stopped this. But as his hands slipped beneath the hem of her shorts, as his lips found hers again, her resolve crumbled completely.

She fell back onto the bed, his body following hers with a fluid grace that made her breath hitch. Franco’s weight was warm and solid above her, his hands exploring with a careful yet insistent hunger. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word made her forget everything else—her name, her career, the rules she had so carefully crafted for herself.

The rest of the night was a blur of heat and passion, their bodies tangling in a way that felt both forbidden and inevitable. He was everything she shouldn’t want, yet in that moment, he was the only thing she needed.

The following morning The shrill ring of her phone jolted her awake. Disoriented, she fumbled for it on the nightstand, her heart pounding as reality flooded back in sharp, unforgiving waves. The warmth of the body beside her—the body that shouldn’t have been there—brought everything crashing down.

She glanced over her shoulder and saw him lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, watching her with a lazy, satisfied smirk. Her stomach churned, and she quickly turned away, her eyes locking on the screen of her phone instead.

Her husband’s name flashed across it.

A knot formed in her throat as she pressed accept, forcing her voice to sound steady. “Good morning.”

“Mummy!” her daughter’s excited voice chirped through the speaker. “Good luck today! Daddy said you have another race.”

Her chest tightened. “Thank you, sweetheart. Are you ready for school?”

“Uh-huh!”

“Both of them are,” her husband’s voice cut in, calm and steady, utterly unaware of the chaos that had unravelled in the past twelve hours. “They wanted to call and wish you luck before we headed out.”

She swallowed hard, her eyes darting to the man in her bed, who was now stretching languidly, clearly amused by her discomfort. She turned her back on him, clutching the phone tighter. “That’s sweet of them. I’ll call again tonight, okay?”

“Of course,” her husband replied. “Have a good day, love.”

“You too,” she whispered, her voice barely audible as guilt clawed at her chest. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

The call ended, and she set the phone down with trembling hands, her mind spinning. She felt sick—sick with shame, with regret, with the weight of the choice she had made.

“We’ve made a mistake,” she said softly, her back still to him.

“Oh, no.” Franco’s voice was smooth, far too composed. “We haven’t made a mistake.”

She turned to face him, her brow furrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line. “We can’t do this.”

He sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist, his smirk growing wider. “Can’t? That’s not what you said last night.”

Her cheeks burned, but she didn’t waver. “This was wrong. It can’t happen again.”

His expression darkened, a flicker of something dangerous passing through his eyes. Then, to her horror, he reached for his phone on the bedside table, unlocking it with a swipe of his thumb.

“Oh, but we were just getting started,” he said, his tone casual but laced with malice.

She stared at him, confusion giving way to dread as he held up the screen for her to see. It was a photo—a candid shot of the two of them tangled in bed, unmistakable and damning. Her blood ran cold.

“One phone call,” he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur, his smirk curling into something more sinister. “And your career is gone.”

He snapped his fingers, the sound sharp and mocking.

Her breath hitched, her hands clenching into fists. “You wouldn’t—”

“Wouldn’t I?” he interrupted, tilting his head slightly, his confidence oozing with every word. “You’re smart enough to know how much I have to gain. I’m untouchable now. No team would dare sideline me, not with you on my side.”

Her chest tightened, panic swirling in her stomach as his words sank in. He wasn’t just a cocky rookie with a reckless streak. He was calculating, dangerous, and he knew exactly how to wield the power he’d taken from her.

“You don’t scare me,” she said, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

He leaned in, his face inches from hers, his smirk never faltering. “No?” he murmured. “Then why are you shaking?”

She hated him in that moment. Hated the way he had stripped her of control, the way he had turned her own mistake into a weapon. But most of all, she hated the flicker of doubt in her chest—the part of her that feared he was right.

The weeks that followed blurred into a surreal nightmare. Every time she stepped into the paddock, she felt his eyes on her. Watching. Waiting. The weight of his presence had shifted from seductive to oppressive, the once thrilling tension between them now a suffocating reminder of the line she had crossed.

And the worst part? Franco knew it.

At first, his demands were subtle. A flattering mention in an article here, an offhand comment about his impressive maturity during interviews. She told herself it was harmless—easy favours to buy silence. But it didn’t stop there.

“You’ll want to lead with this,” he told her one morning, sliding into the seat opposite her in the press lounge. He pushed a folded piece of paper across the table. “It’s a great angle.”

She didn’t even need to read it to know it was about him.

“Stop showing up uninvited,” she snapped, her voice low enough that the other journalists around them wouldn’t hear.

He only smirked, leaning back in his chair. “You should be thanking me. That’s the kind of insight people pay for.”

She stared at him, her jaw clenched, but he didn’t flinch. He never did.

“Clock’s ticking,” he said, his voice calm and maddeningly confident. “You wouldn’t want your editor hearing about… us, would you?”

Her stomach twisted. She snatched the paper and left without another word.

The next day, his name was front and centre in her column.

The exploitation only grew bolder.

After a chaotic race weekend in Brazil, he approached her in the paddock as the crews packed up for the night. The lights of the arena glinted off his sweat-dampened skin, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of another top-ten finish.

“I’ve got an idea for our next exclusive,” he said, his tone casual but his words barbed.

She barely looked at him, her hands tightening around her tablet. “We don’t do exclusives. I’m impartial.”

He chuckled softly, stepping closer. “Impartial?” Franco repeated, his voice dripping with mockery. “Come on, don’t ruin the fun now. Write it.”

When she didn’t respond, his tone sharpened, dropping to a low whisper. “Or do you want me to remind you what’s at stake?”

Her breath hitched. She hated the weakness he brought out in her, the way her body betrayed her with fear and frustration in equal measure. But she nodded. She always did.

The article went live the next day, an in-depth feature on the rookie sensation, full of praise and insights that made the racing world buzz. His face was plastered across every headline, his name chanted louder by fans at every circuit.

And he made sure she knew it.

She couldn’t escape him, not on the track, not off it. Every time she thought she could reclaim some semblance of control, he reminded her just how easily he could destroy her.

“You’re good at this, you know,” he told her after a post-race interview, his hand brushing hers as he handed back the microphone. His lips curved into that infuriating smirk. “I couldn’t have planned it better myself.”

Her professionalism was cracking, her mask slipping more with every encounter. The guilt of lying to her family, the shame of letting him dictate her career—it was consuming her. Yet she couldn’t stop.

Not when his smirk carried the weight of an unspoken threat.

The nights were the worst.

Under the harsh glare of the paddock lights or in the sterile silence of press rooms, she could maintain some semblance of control. But when the sun went down and the doors to her hotel room locked behind her, he always found her.

And she always let him in.

A week after the Brazil race, she paced her hotel room, her nerves frayed and her head spinning. The TV in the corner was on mute, but the images were unavoidable: him, stepping onto the track, his face lit with triumph, her words from that morning’s feature being quoted on screen. Her name tied to his glory yet again.

She turned away, running a hand through her hair, but a knock at the door stopped her in her tracks.

She didn’t need to look to know who it was.

When she opened it, Franco stood there with that same cocky smirk, still wearing the outfit she saw him earlier, the team shirt clinging to his chest. His hair was damp from a shower, and he carried the faint scent of cologne and adrenaline.

“You’re insatiable,” he teased, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, closing the door behind him. Her voice was firm, but her resolve wasn’t.

“I couldn’t stay away,” he said smoothly, turning to face her. His gaze dropped to her bare legs, the hem of her silk robe brushing her thighs. “And clearly, neither can you.”

She hated how easily he could disarm her, how her pulse quickened when he stepped closer. “This is a mistake,” she murmured, even as her body betrayed her, leaning into him when his hands slid around her waist.

“Say that again,” Franco whispered, his lips brushing her ear, “and I’ll stop.”

Her breath hitched. She said nothing.

His mouth found hers, and the rest of her objections burned away. It was always like this—intense, fiery, and utterly consuming. He kissed her like he was claiming her, his hands roaming her body as if he already owned it. And in those moments, she let him.

For all the guilt, the shame, the fear of what he held over her, she couldn’t deny the thrill of it—the way her pulse raced when he touched her, the way he made her forget everything but him.

The next morning, she stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, the faint marks he’d left on her skin hidden beneath her blouse. She felt like a stranger, someone unrecognisable from the poised, confident journalist she had been just months ago.

Her phone buzzed on the counter. She picked it up, already knowing it was him.

Great feature. We’re trending again. Be ready for the next triple header.

Her fingers tightened around the device. She wanted to throw it across the room, to smash it into a million pieces. But instead, she typed a reply: Fine.

Her reflection sneered back at her, and for the first time, she hated the person she saw.

Las Vegas was a circus, as it always was. The glitz, the glamour, the impossible tension. He thrived in it, playing the cameras like a virtuoso. Every wink, every sly smile, every clever soundbite only amplified the buzz around him.

And she was part of it, just as Franco had planned.

That night, as fireworks lit up the sky over the strip, he found her on the balcony of her hotel room. She didn’t even flinch when he slid his arms around her from behind, pulling her against his chest.

“You’ve been quiet,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder.

“I’ve been thinking,” she replied, her voice cool but distant.

He turned her to face him, his hands trailing down to rest on her hips. “About us?” he asked, his lips quirking into a playful smirk.

“About what happens if this gets out,” she said bluntly, her gaze locking with his. “About what you’d do with that photo.”

Franco’s smile didn’t falter. “I told you before, I wouldn’t do anything… unless you made me.”

She swallowed hard, her heart pounding as his thumb brushed the curve of her jaw.

“And you haven’t made me,” he added, his tone softening, almost tender. “Yet.”

It was a lie, of course. Everything about him was a lie, crafted with the precision of someone who knew how to manipulate people to their breaking point. But when his lips met hers again, when his hands explored her body with that same maddening confidence, she didn’t stop him.

It wasn’t always passion. Sometimes it was spite—her way of reclaiming control, of saying if you’re going to ruin me, I’ll ruin myself first. But even in those moments, when she swore she hated him, the thrill was undeniable.

The danger, the secrecy, the power struggle—it was intoxicating.

And that terrified her more than anything.

There were two races left of the season and she knew something was wrong the moment she walked into the paddock that morning. The usual buzz of race-day excitement was different—charged, oppressive. People stared as she passed, whispers trailing in her wake like a shadow.

Her heart raced. Her hands tightened around the strap of her bag, her chest heavy with dread.

When her phone vibrated in her pocket, she pulled it out with shaking fingers. There were dozens of notifications—texts, emails, missed calls. All from colleagues, her editor, even friends she hadn’t spoken to in years.

Then she saw the headlines.

SCANDAL IN THE PADDOCK: F1’s Most Powerful Journalist and the Rookie Star’s Illicit Affair!

Her breath caught in her throat. She clicked on one of the links, her vision blurring as the images loaded.

Her. In bed. Bare skin illuminated by dim light, her face unmistakable, her body tangled with Franco’s. Another photo of her standing by the window of a hotel room, wearing nothing but a robe that hung loosely off her shoulder. The intimacy, the vulnerability—it was all there for the world to see.

“Jesus Christ,” she whispered, her voice cracking as she stumbled into an empty corridor. Her stomach churned, the bile rising in her throat as she scrolled through image after image.

Her phone buzzed again, his name flashing on the screen.

She answered it with a shaking hand. “What the hell have you done?”

“Me?” Franco’s voice was sharp, defensive. “I didn’t do shit!”

“Oh, really?” she snapped, her voice rising. “Then explain why there are pictures of me all over the internet, pictures you took without my permission!”

“I didn’t leak them!” he growled, his frustration matching her fury. “My iCloud got hacked—this isn’t on me!”

“Not on you?” she spat, her hand tightening around the phone. “You took them, you kept them, and now my life is falling apart because of you!”

Her chest heaved as she paced the corridor, her free hand trembling as it raked through her hair. She felt like she was coming apart at the seams, every word from him only fuelling her rage.

“Look,” Franco said, his tone softening, “we’ll handle this. I’ll make a statement, say they’re fake or something—”

“Fake?” she interrupted, her laugh sharp and bitter. “Everyone knows they’re real. Do you have any idea what this is going to do to me? To my career? To my family?”

As if on cue, her phone buzzed again. This time, it was her husband.

Her stomach dropped. “I need to go,” she muttered, cutting him off before he could respond.

She answered the call, her voice weak. “Hi.”

There was silence on the other end, heavy and damning. Then came his voice, low and cold. “I saw the photos.”

She closed her eyes, her throat tightening. “I—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, his tone sharp. “Don’t insult me by trying to explain. I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

“It wasn’t supposed to—”

“To what?” he snapped. “Get out? Be exposed? Do you think that makes it any better?”

Her hand gripped the edge of a table, her knuckles white. “Please,” she whispered. “Please don’t—”

“Don’t what? Let this affect the kids?” His voice cracked, fury giving way to something far more painful. “They saw the news, you know. They don’t understand it, but they saw. And I had to lie to them, to protect you. But I can’t keep doing this. I can’t let you see them right now.”

Her heart shattered. “You don’t mean that,” she whispered, tears blurring her vision.

“I do,” he said, his voice firm. “Until you sort this mess out, I don’t want them anywhere near you.”

The line went dead.

For a moment, she stood frozen, the phone still pressed to her ear. Then the weight of it all crashed down on her, and she let out a scream of pure rage, throwing the phone against the wall. It shattered, the pieces scattering across the floor like the fragments of her life.

Behind her, he stepped into the room. She hadn’t even noticed his arrival, but now he stood there, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed.

“Well,” Franco said, his tone light, almost mocking, “sounds like you had an eventful call.”

She turned on him, her eyes blazing. “Get out.”

“Let’s not be hasty,” he said, stepping closer. “I can help—”

“Help?” she snapped, her voice breaking. “You’ve done nothing but destroy me. My career, my family—everything’s ruined because of you!”

He stopped a few feet away, his expression shifting from smug to something colder. “You’re acting like I planned this,” he said evenly. “I told you, I didn’t leak those photos. Someone else did. But if you’d rather blame me, fine.”

Her fists clenched at her sides, her whole body trembling. “You don’t get it, do you? You’ve taken everything from me!”

“No,” he said softly, his eyes locking with hers. “You gave it to me.”

Her breath caught, the truth of his words hitting her like a punch to the gut.

Franco stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “But don’t worry. You still have me. And maybe, just maybe, I’m all you’ll need now.”

Her stomach twisted, and for the first time, she realised just how deep she had sunk.

She didn’t even hear the door open as the next person walked in.

“Just the person I was looking for.”

The sound of her manager’s voice snapped her out of the suffocating silence. She turned to see him standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable but his posture rigid. Behind him, Franco straightened, the smug veneer slipping into something closer to indifference as he slid his hands into his pockets.

“Give us a moment,” her manager said curtly, glancing at Franco.

Franco tilted his head, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk. “Of course.” He brushed past her, the scent of his cologne lingering in the air. But not before he shot her a knowing look, one that made her blood boil.

When the door clicked shut behind him, her manager turned back to her. His face was pale, the lines around his mouth deeper than she remembered.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice trembling.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “We’ve done everything we can to mitigate the fallout, but the board has made their decision.”

She swallowed hard, her chest tightening. “What decision?”

He looked at her with something like pity. “You’re dismissed. Effective immediately.”

Her heart dropped. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m afraid I am.” His tone was calm, rehearsed, like he’d been preparing for this conversation for hours. “Your credentials are revoked. Your paddock pass has been deactivated. You’re no longer affiliated with the network.”

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“I made sure the hotel is covered until Monday,” he added, almost apologetically. “But after that…” He trailed off, his meaning clear.

She shook her head, her voice finally finding her. “You can’t do this. I’ve given everything to this job, to this sport—”

“And I know that,” he interrupted, his tone soft but firm. “But this scandal is bigger than you or me. The board doesn’t want to risk the network’s reputation, and frankly, neither do our sponsors.”

Her legs felt weak, her vision blurring with unshed tears. “So that’s it?” she whispered. “I’m just… done?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “I’m sorry.”

The words hung in the air like a death knell.

When he left, closing the door behind him with a quiet finality, her knees buckled. She sank to the floor, her hands trembling as the tears finally spilled over. Sobs wracked her body, raw and uncontrollable, the weight of everything crashing down on her at once.

Her career. Her family. Her dignity.

Gone.

She didn’t hear him come back in.

Franco’s voice broke through her sobs, low and measured. “Amore.”

She lifted her head, her vision blurred with tears. “Get out.”

Instead of leaving, he crouched in front of her, his eyes scanning her face. “You’re crying over them?” he asked, his voice laced with mockery. “Over people who turned their backs on you the second things got messy?”

Her jaw clenched, fury flaring through her grief. “This is your fault,” she hissed, her voice shaking. “You ruined me.”

Franco’s expression didn’t change. If anything, he looked almost… amused.

“Stop it,” she snapped, her hands curling into fists. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” he murmured, his tone infuriatingly calm.

“Like you own me.”

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he reached out, his thumb brushing over her trembling lip. She flinched, but he didn’t pull back.

“Shhh,” he whispered, his touch lingering. “You’re spiralling, querida. And that’s not a good look for someone who needs to rebuild.”

Her breath hitched at the intimacy of his gesture, but her fury burned brighter. “I don’t need anything from you,” she spat.

“Don’t you?” he asked, tilting his head. His thumb traced the corner of her mouth, his smirk returning. “Because from where I’m standing, you don’t have anyone else.”

Her hands shot up, shoving his chest. “Get away from me.”

But he didn’t budge. His hands caught hers, holding them firmly but gently, his gaze locking with hers.

“I’ve got you now,” he said, his voice low and steady, the words cutting through her resistance like a blade. “And you’ll see soon enough—that’s not a bad thing.”

His confidence, his control—it was maddening, suffocating. Yet a tiny, treacherous part of her couldn’t deny the truth in his words.

She pulled her hands free, her voice breaking. “I hate you.”

He smiled, soft and infuriating. “No, you don’t.”

The tears fell harder, but this time she didn’t stop him when he pulled her into his arms.

And maybe that was the worst part of all.

By the time her flight landed in London on Monday, the storm of the past week felt like a distant roar, dulled but ever-present. The drive to her house was quiet, the cab driver offering polite silence, though she caught his occasional glance in the rear-view mirror. Her name had been plastered across headlines for days; even here, half a world away from the paddock, she couldn’t escape it.

The house came into view, the familiar brick façade standing as stoic as ever. But as the cab pulled to a stop, her heart sank.

Her husband was waiting at the gate.

He didn’t move as she stepped out of the car, her suitcase dragging behind her. The set of his jaw, the stiffness in his shoulders—it was all wrong. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat as she approached.

“I’m here to see the kids,” she said quietly, her voice tentative.

“You can’t,” he replied, his tone clipped.

She blinked, confusion laced with growing panic. “What do you mean, I can’t?”

He held up a manila envelope, the weight of it hanging heavily between them. “You’re being served.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. She stared at the envelope, her breath catching.

“Divorce papers,” he clarified, his voice flat. “I don’t want you in this house. I don’t want you near the kids until this is sorted. Do you understand me?”

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “Please,” she whispered. “They’re my children—”

“They’re our children,” he interrupted harshly. “And I’m not going to let you drag them into this mess. You made your choice.”

Her hands trembled as she took the envelope. She wanted to scream, to beg, to fight, but the look in his eyes—cold, unyielding—stole the words from her.

“Don’t come back here,” he said, stepping back. “Not until this is over.”

And with that, he turned and walked inside, the door slamming shut behind him.

She stood there for what felt like an eternity, the envelope clutched in her hands, the weight of everything crashing down on her shoulders.

The hotel room she found last minute was sterile and impersonal, the kind of place meant for fleeting stays and forgettable nights. She dropped her suitcase by the door and collapsed onto the bed, her body heavy with exhaustion.

But sleep wouldn’t come.

Her phone buzzed incessantly, the onslaught of notifications a cruel reminder of her reality. Against her better judgement, she opened her browser.

The headlines were relentless: “Scandal Rocks F1: Rookie’s Affair with Veteran Journalist Exposed!”“Power Dynamics Questioned in F1 Affair—Who’s Really to Blame?”“F1 Reporter’s Career in Tatters After Shocking Scandal with Rising Star.”

Each article seemed worse than the last, painting her as a manipulative predator who had taken advantage of Franco’s naivety. The comments were even crueler, people calling her names she couldn’t bear to read twice.

She scrolled through social media, the vitriol stinging like acid. Every tweet, every post, every meme was a dagger to her already shattered sense of self.

But then she stumbled upon something different.

A Reddit thread, buried beneath the chaos, caught her attention: “Anyone else think this isn’t what it seems?”

She clicked on it, her heart pounding as she read the comments.

“I don’t buy it. Have you seen how cocky that rookie is? He’s been flirting with her on camera all season. She never encouraged it.”

“Right? She’s one of the best journalists in the sport. Why would she risk it all for him?”

“Exactly. Feels like he took advantage of her, especially with the way he’s spinning this in interviews. Classic power play.”

“And the leaked photos? Who even keeps that kind of stuff on their iCloud? Feels like he knew what he was doing.”

Her hands shook as she scrolled through the thread, her tears blurring the screen. For the first time, someone—strangers, no less—saw what she hadn’t dared to admit to herself.

Maybe this wasn’t entirely her fault.

But the small flicker of validation did little to ease the storm inside her. She closed the browser, tossing the phone onto the bed.

The room felt unbearably quiet, the weight of her isolation pressing down on her. She curled up on the bed, tears streaming down her face as exhaustion finally overtook her.

When she finally woke up the following morning, her face felt raw from all the tears and her bones stiff from the awkward position she slept in.

She wasn’t a day drinker really but somethings changed.

She sat on the edge of the hotel bed, her fingers hovering over the rim of a half-empty glass of wine. The muted glow of the TV cast long shadows across the room, the low hum of some mindless programme barely masking the oppressive silence when she heard the knock at the door, sharp and insistent.

Her heart leapt into her throat, dread gripping her. Franco? No. Not here. Surely he wouldn’t…

But the knock came again, firmer this time.

She stood slowly, tiptoeing to the door, her breath shallow. Peeking through the peephole, she exhaled in relief. It wasn’t him. It was— Ellie?

She hesitated, unsure of how to feel. Ellie, the young, bright journalist she’d taken under her wing years ago. She cracked the door open, her voice wary. “What are you doing here?”

Ellie offered a tentative smile, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her oversized coat. “Can I come in?”

She hesitated for a moment longer before stepping aside, allowing Ellie to enter.

“How did you know I was here?” she asked, shutting the door behind her.

Ellie turned, her expression cautious. “I went to your house. Your husband answered. He… mentioned you were here.”

She let out a hollow laugh, shaking her head. “Of course, he did. Probably thought you’d come to gloat.”

“I’m not here to gloat,” Ellie said firmly, her voice tinged with something close to defiance. “I’m here because I wanted to talk to you.”

She crossed her arms, leaning against the wall. “Talk about what? How associating with me is going to get you fired?”

Ellie’s gaze softened. “I’m not going to get fired.”

“That’s naive.” she sighed, brushing a hand through her hair. “The network doesn’t want anything to do with me. You shouldn’t either.”

Ellie shook her head. “That’s not why I’m here. I came because… I don’t believe it. I don’t believe you seduced Franco. It doesn’t add up. I’ve worked with you. I know you.”

She blinked, her throat tightening as the weight of Ellie’s words sank in. It had been so long since anyone had spoken to her like that—with trust, with belief.

“I know you didn’t do this,” Ellie continued. “I think he’s the one who manipulated you.”

The tears came before she could stop them. She turned away, covering her mouth as a sob escaped.

Ellie stepped closer, her voice gentle. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you—”

“No,” she said, her voice trembling. “It’s not that. I just… no one’s said that to me. Everyone’s so quick to assume the worst.”

Ellie hesitated before placing a hand on her shoulder. “I know what kind of person you are. And it’s not too late to set the record straight.”

She let out a bitter laugh, wiping her eyes. “It is too late. My career’s in ruins. My family’s gone.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s over,” Ellie insisted. “We can fight back. Tell your side of the story.”

She turned to face her, scepticism etched across her face. “And how do you propose I do that? I’m a pariah.”

Ellie’s expression hardened, a flicker of determination in her eyes. “We go public. But not through the networks—they’re too invested in tearing you down. We do it ourselves. An exposé, a documentary, something raw and unfiltered. You’ve got a following. People will listen.”

She stared at the girl before her, the weight of the idea settling in. “You’d risk your career for this?”

Ellie shrugged. “You risked your reputation for me when no one else would give me a chance. I’m just returning the favour.”

The room fell silent, the air thick with unspoken possibilities. Hermind raced. She wanted to believe it was possible, that she could claw her way back from this abyss.

But doubt lingered.

“Ellie,” she whispered. “If we do this… he won’t just sit back and let it happen.”

Ellie’s jaw tightened. “Let him try. He’s already losing control of the narrative. People are starting to see through him. All we have to do is show the world the truth.”

For the first time in weeks, she felt a spark of something she thought she’d lost—hope.

“Okay,” she said finally, her voice steadying. “Let’s do it.”

Ellie returned to the hotel the next evening, her arms full—a compact camera, a tripod, a microphone, and a laptop. She looked almost nervous as she set everything up, her hands fumbling slightly with the equipment.

“This isn’t exactly the BBC studio,” Ellie joked weakly, glancing at her, who sat on the edge of the bed, clutching a glass of water for a change.

Her lips curved in a faint smile, but the tension in her posture was unmistakable. “It’s fine. Better this way. No filters, no edits. Just the truth.”

Ellie nodded, adjusting the tripod until the camera was level. She attached the microphone and tested the sound, her voice echoing softly in the quiet room.

“Right,” Ellie said, straightening. “Are you ready?”

She stared at the camera, her reflection distorted in the lens. She wasn’t sure if she was ready. But she had no choice.

“Let’s get this over with,” she murmured.

Ellie pressed record, the small red light blinking to life. She settled into the chair opposite her, the notebook resting on her lap.

“Right,” Ellie began, her tone measured and calm. “I know this is difficult, but I want you to tell me what happened. In your own words.”

She exhaled shakily, her gaze flickering to the camera before settling on Ellie. “At first, it was… flattering,” she said quietly. “Franco’s attention, I mean. He’s young, charming, confident. He made me feel… noticed.”

Ellie nodded, her expression encouraging.

“But it wasn’t just that,” she continued, her voice growing steadier. “He knew how to play the game. On camera, off camera—it was all calculated. I didn’t see it at first. I thought it was harmless, just a bit of flirtation. But then…” She hesitated, her hands tightening around the glass.

“Then what?” Ellie prompted gently.

She swallowed hard. “Then it became something I couldn’t control. He was in my hotel room every night. At first, I let him in because I didn’t want to cause a scene and I liked the attention. I thought if I played along, he’d lose interest. But he didn’t. He kept pushing, and I felt like… like I couldn’t say no.”

Her voice cracked, and she looked away, blinking rapidly.

Ellie leaned forward, her tone soft but insistent. “Why did you feel like you couldn’t say no?”

Her laugh was bitter. “Because he had power. Not the kind of power people think—the rookie versus the journalist. It wasn’t about status. It was… personal. Intimate. He knew things about me—about my family, my career, my weaknesses. He knew exactly how to use them against me.”

Ellie’s pen moved swiftly across her notebook, but her focus never wavered. “Did you ever feel like you could talk to someone about this? A colleague, your husband?”

“No.” her response was immediate, her voice sharp. “I didn’t think anyone would believe me. It’s Franco Colapinto. He’s—what do they call him? The golden rookie of F1? And me? I’m the woman twice his age who should’ve known better. Who would’ve believed me?”

Ellie nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. “But you’re speaking now. What changed?”

Her gaze met the camera, her eyes blazing with a mix of anger and determination. “Because I’m tired of being silent. Tired of being painted as the villain in a story I never wanted to be a part of.”

Ellie paused, letting the weight of her words settle before she spoke again. “What do you want people to take away from this?”

Her voice softened, but her resolve remained firm. “I want them to see the truth. I want them to understand that power doesn’t always look the way you think it does. And I want them to know that I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want this.”

Ellie nodded, closing her notebook and turning off the camera. “That was incredible. Thank you.”

She let out a shaky breath, her shoulders slumping. “I just hope it’s enough.”

Ellie reached over, placing a hand on her knee. “It will be. We’ll edit this tonight and get it out tomorrow. You’re taking back the narrative. This is your story now.”

True to her word, the next morning, she was sitting curled up on the hotel bed, her nerves frayed and her stomach in knots. The weight of last night’s confession still hung heavy in the room, and she hadn’t slept much. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the blinking red light of the camera, the words she’d spoken playing back in her head.

A knock at the door startled her, but when she peered through the peephole, relief washed over her. It was Ellie, holding two takeaway coffees and a determined expression.

She opened the door, and Ellie breezed in, setting the coffees down on the small table by the window. “Morning,” she said, glancing at her. “How are you holding up?”

She shrugged, wrapping her arms around herself. “I feel like I’m waiting to step on a landmine.”

Ellie gave her a reassuring smile, unpacking her laptop from her bag. “That’s normal. But trust me, you did the right thing.”

She nodded, though she didn’t entirely believe it.

Ellie set up the laptop, quickly uploading the edited video to her dormant personal YouTube channel where she once posted vlogs about being a journalist in Formula One. She added a brief caption: My Truth.

“Okay,” Ellie said, her voice steady. “Are you ready?”

She hesitated, her fingers hovering over the trackpad. “What if it makes things worse?”

Ellie reached over, placing a firm hand on her arm. “It won’t. You’re not alone in this. People will listen. People already are.”

With a deep breath, she clicked Post. The video went live.

For a moment, they just stared at the screen, the thumbnail of her weary but defiant face staring back at them. Ellie closed the laptop with a decisive snap.

“Now,” Ellie said, turning to her, “we wait.”

She nodded, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Her eyes filled with tears as the reality of what they’d done settled over her. She turned to Ellie, her voice breaking. “Thank you. For believing in me. For… for doing this when no one else would.”

Ellie smiled softly, pulling her into a warm hug. “You don’t have to thank me. You would’ve done the same for me.”

She held on tightly to the girl she’d once taken under her wing, her tears spilling freely now. “I just… I didn’t think anyone would ever believe me again.”

Ellie pulled back slightly, gripping her shoulders. “You’re stronger than you think. And this? This is just the beginning.”

The moment was interrupted by the shrill ring of her phone on the bedside table. Both women froze, their eyes darting to the device.

Her heart sank when she saw the name on the screen. Franco.

Her hand trembled as she reached for the phone, her thumb hovering over the decline button.

“Answer it,” Ellie said quietly. “You need to know what he’s going to do.”

She nodded, her throat tightening. She swiped to accept the call and brought the phone to her ear.

“Amore,” Franco’s voice drawled, smooth and infuriatingly calm. “I see you’ve been busy.”

Her stomach churned. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to congratulate you,” he said, his tone laced with mockery. “That little video of yours? Brave move. Stupid, but brave.”

She gritted her teeth, her grip tightening on the phone. “It’s the truth, Franco. Something you wouldn’t recognise if it slapped you in the face.”

He laughed, low and cold. “Oh, querida. You think you’ve won something here? All you’ve done is draw more attention to yourself. To us. Do you think people won’t pick apart every word you said? That they won’t find the cracks in your story?”

Her hand shook, but she forced herself to stand firm. “They’ll see through you, Franco. You can’t control this anymore.”

His voice dropped, dangerously soft. “We’ll see about that. But let me give you a little advice, free of charge—enjoy the calm while it lasts. Because this storm? It’s far from over.”

The line went dead.

She lowered the phone slowly, her chest heaving.

“What did he say?” Ellie asked, her voice cautious.

SHe turned to her, her jaw tight. “He’s scared. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

Ellie gave a grim nod. “Good. Let him be scared. We’ve got more than the truth on our side now. We’ve got momentum.”

She sank onto the bed, her pulse racing. The fear was still there, coiling in her gut like a snake, but alongside it was something new. A flicker of hope.

For the first time in weeks, she felt like she wasn’t fighting this battle alone.

taglist: @waytooobsessedwithlife @maxivstappen @heli991113

[mordredisacoolname]

BRIDGERTON BROS FALLING FOR A MALE READER

Male reader

HEADCANONS

Characters: Anthony, Benedict, Colin

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anthony

-this boy is in DENIAL

-what do you mean he's in love with a MAN??

-he's so doomed

-you were very tight before

-spent every day together

-he really enjoyed your company, more than anyone, and he didn't understand why

-but when he realized he loved you he started avoiding you like the plug

-you don't understand why

-even tho you made peace with liking men and than fact that you're in love with your best friend, you didn't think he returned the feeling

-so you think you did something wrong

-you try talking to him but every time he finds an excuse to be somewhere else

-he is jealous of every man you talk to

-he doesn't have the right, but he still feels it

-after weeks of avoiding you he realizes the feeling won't go away

-so he with Benedict to a party, and sees you kissing a man

-you mean he has a chance with you???

-he barges to the room, his fist aching to punch the other guy, but he controls that feeling and just orders him to get the fuck out

-you're shocked, both just standing there staring at each other

-anthony steps closer to you starting intensely at your eyes

-"I think..." He doesn't finish the sentence and just kisses you

Benedict

-he first meets you in an art class

-watching your hand gracefully moving the paint brush on the canvas

-his starting is interrupted by lord Granville, asking him why haven't he started sketching

-by the end of the class you compliment him on his painting, making him feel something funny in his chest

-next time you're both in the studio he gathers the courage to talk to you, learning you'll be at the Granville's party next week

-you both meet there and spend the whole night together, you invite him to your studio, just the both of you

-he spends the leading days thinking about you

-"so, you want to pose or should I do it?" You ask him once you've taken out the canvas

-"I'd like to paint you" he saying with a playful twinkle in his eyes

-you settle into the chair in front of the canvas, posing for him

-"you know, I've been wanting to practice some anatomy"

-you understand the hint and take off your top, smiling to yourself

-after he's finished for the day you get up to look at what he did

-"so, what do you think"

-"this is amazing" you tell him

-"well, the muse is all to blame" he gets closer to you, looking briefly at your lips

-"oh sorry, next time I'll make sure to move in my sit and not let you work"

-"I won't be complaining if you were the one distracting me"

-he smirks looking into your eyes

-this waiting is killing you so you lean forward pressing your lips against his

-"we'll see next time" you say and leave him standing alone in the studio, eager for your next session

Colin

-you're a featherington relative visiting your family

-you're the closest to Penelope, always getting along

-you arrive together at the ball, all dressed up

-you're in a middle of a conversation with Pen when a man interrupts you to say hello to Pen

-"oh hello, I haven't seen you before" he looks at you in slight awe

-"I'm Penelope's distant relative, 'name', nice to meet you Mr....?"

-it takes Colin a couple seconds to respond "oh right, I'm Colin bridgerton"

-"the famous bridgerton, what a pleasure"

-"famous? You've heard of me?"

-"of course, Penelope never stops talking about you Mr bridgerton" you smirk at her red face

-"ah, that's nice, I think"

-"well, I shall go speak to other people, enjoy your night, Colin"

-he's absolutely smitten

-your voice, your smile, everything

-he visits the featherington house every day after that night, just to see you

-you talk a couple of time, and once he invites you to play cricket with his brothers

-you have am absolute blast, winning against Colin all the time

-he's usually good at this, but he can't seem to pocus

-except he does focus, just not on the game

-one day you sit together on a bench, watching people pass by

-"I'm returning to my hometown in two days" you suddenly say

-his heart sinks

-"what?"

-"yeah, I don't really see a future here, I thought that I'd find me a...wife, and settle down, but no such luck"

-his mind goes blank, he can't lose you

-he's next day he hurries over to the house, asking for you

-you're in your bedroom reading something when he storms in

-"is everything well Colin?"

-"don't go, stay here"

-"I told you, there's no reas-"

-"stay for me" he tells you before he overthinks it too much

-you're surprised, not because you didn't feel something going on between you, but because he actually said it, you thought it would never happen

-you're kinda relieved Colin presented a reason for you to stay, with him

[blingblong55]

Like this- Simon "Ghost" Riley

Based on a request: Heyy can you do trad Goth reader x Simon Riley.  Do what ever you want as in fluff or anything, I just want this because in a trad Goth myself!🖤🦇 ---- F!Reader, established!relationship, trad goth!reader, fluff?, boyfriend!simon ----

A/N: this was from august and its sadly the first time I see this request, im so sorry for not seeing this sooner <3

The low hum of the electric light fills the room as you sit cross-legged in front of your vanity, carefully applying the finishing touches to your eyeliner. The deep black flicks curl upwards like the wings of a raven, perfectly symmetrical and bold. The process has become second nature to you, a comforting ritual, but today, Simon lingers nearby, his interest piqued.

“Y/N, how do you get those lines so straight?” His deep voice carries over from where he’s perched on the edge of your bed, his elbows resting on his knees, hands loosely clasped. You glance at him through the mirror, his eyes fixed on your movements with an intensity that makes you smirk.

“It’s all in the wrist, Simon,” you tease, wiggling the hand holding the eyeliner pen. “Years of practice and a steady hand.”

He grunts softly, clearly unsatisfied with your explanation. “Looks like witchcraft to me. Tried drawin’ somethin’ like that once for camo paint and ended up lookin’ like a pissed-off panda.”

You stifle a laugh, imagining him hunched over a mirror, fumbling with face paint. “Well, I’m sure you were a very intimidating panda.”

Simon huffs a short laugh, the corner of his lips twitching upward. “You’re takin’ the piss now.” Despite his words, there’s no bite to them, just warmth in his tone.

The mirror gives you a perfect view of him leaning forward, his elbows resting on his thighs as he tilts his head. His gaze roams over the collection of bottles and compacts on your vanity, his brow furrowing slightly.

“What’s that one do?” he asks, pointing a finger toward a small glass jar of black pigment.

“Eyeshadow,” you reply, holding it up for him to see. “It’s for shading, adding depth. Here, let me show you.”

You scoop a little onto the tip of your brush and reach for him. Simon doesn’t flinch, though his brow quirks in mild amusement. “You’re not paintin’ me up like a panda, love.”

“No pandas, I promise,” you say, stepping closer. He lets you lean in, and you gently dab the brush at the corner of his eye. The contrast of your soft touch against the rough edge of his stoic expression tugs at your heart.

He stays completely still, his eyes locked on your face. When you step back to admire your work, there’s a faint smudge of dark shadow enhancing his already piercing gaze.

“Not bad,” he mutters, tilting his head to get a better look in the mirror. “Makes me look a bit dangerous, doesn’t it?”

“You already look dangerous,” you counter, rolling your eyes. “The eyeshadow just makes you prettier.”

He snorts at that, shaking his head. “Prettier, eh? Don’t let Johnny hear you say that.” You laugh, but the warmth in his gaze when he looks at you makes your chest ache in the best way. He reaches out, tugging you toward him until you’re standing between his knees, his hands resting lightly on your hips.

“I like watchin’ you do this,” he says softly, his thumb idly tracing a small circle against your side. “You’ve got somethin’ special, the way you put yourself together. You don’t give a damn what anyone else thinks.”

His words catch you off guard, and you feel your cheeks heat despite the confidence you usually wear like armour. “It’s just… who I am.”

“And I love it,” Simon murmurs, his voice low and steady. “Every bit of it. You make the world a little less dull.” Your throat tightens at his sincerity. You lean forward, resting your forehead against his. “You’re such a softie sometimes, you know that?”

“Don’t tell the lads,” he whispers, a smirk tugging at his lips. “They’ll never let me live it down.”

“I promise,” you whisper back, your smile matching his. “It’ll be our secret.”

tags: @liyanahelena @johfaam0 @froggy-anon @goldenmclaren @ghostslillady @moonsua1 @rvivienner @Krinoid24 @iruzias @night-mare-owl-79  @alxexhearts @juneonhoth @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @strangepuppynightmare @defnotlpuluvyou @enarien @Simonssweetgirl @luvecarson @nellsbobells @willowaftxn83-87 @ikohniik  @nobodys-coffee @strawberrychita @sae1kie @queen-ilmaree @pbcartii @Llelannie @Macnches2 @bbyfimmie @avidreadee123 @talooolaaloolla @skelletonwitch @bitter-majesties @Nyx_Flower @1234beeandpuppycat @sparky–bunny @honestlyhiswife @the_royal_bee @beansproutmafia @soapybutt17 @a-goose-with-a-knife @foxface013 @anonxasian @born4biriyani @thegreyjoyed @mychemichalimalance @marshiely @sleepyycatt  @gh0st-hunt2r @believeinthefireflies95 @noodlezz-bedo @alexaseeraj  @trinthealternate @vampsquerade @azkza @VampyTheGoth @mariededenie

[thewritetofreespeech]

Rhaenyra with prompt 10 plz

Prompt list - 10. Mutual Masturbation [F/F]

--------------------------------🐲-----------------------------------

Rhaenyra sighed as she sat at her vanity. Preparing for bed, but even looking at her own reflection seemed exhausting at this point.

Had she known the burden of taking the crown and wearing it would be so much, she may have just laid it down to begin with.

“Your Grace,” Rhaenyra turned from her reflection and frivolous thoughts, “are you alright?”

“Oh, yes, I am fine.” She told her ladies maid before returning to getting ready for bed. “Just a little tired. That’s all.”

“Hmmm…yes. It has been a long day, hasn’t it.” The young woman came up behind her Queen. Taking the brush and taking over the duties of brushing her long, silver hair. “Any word from Prince Daemon?”

Rhaenyra’s face soured but played it off as if she had hit some knot. “No. Not yet. But we will.” The last part was added as more of a hope than a fact. “I do not wish to talk about that right now. I do not wish to think about anything right now.”

The Queen sighed and slouched in her chair. Her maid chuckled a little and sat the brush down. “Shall I help with that instead, your grace?”

Rhaenyra looked up at the other woman. Her face sincere and non-judgmental. The first face in days she had seen that wanted nothing of her, save Rhaenyra’s happiness. “Yes.”

They come over to the bed and the maid helped her strip out of her nightclothes. “You too.” She ordered. This was not the first time they had done this. Her maid helping her ‘relax’. But Rhaenyra preferred them both to be naked when they did. There was something…vulnerable about it when she was naked and her maid was not. Too much the potential for danger; but perhaps that was her paranoia of late.

“Of course, your grace.” She agreed and stripped out of her simple clothes as well.

They lay on the bed facing each other. A long moment passes over them. Both waiting for the other to move and initiate. No one was sure who moved first, but soon enough they were kissing and the maid’s soft but still calloused hands roamed over Rhaenyra’s body.

Rhaenyra moaned softly into the kiss. Realizing now how devoid of touch she had been since Daemon had left. Her girl’s finger tips brush over a swiftly pebbling nipple. Down her center and over her naval. Finally seeking  purchase between her thighs. “Oh Gods…” Rhaenyra moaned. Hips almost instantly bucking against those practiced fingers.

The digits stroke at her core and moistened folds. Brush over her pearl in a way that makes her shiver. Mind going blank in the fog of passion, just like she wanted.

Rhaenyra’s own hand reached out for her maid and started to touch her as well. “Your grace,” the other woman sighed wantonly, “you needn’t….this is to help you. About what you want.”

“This is what I want.” Rhaenyra told her. Thighs trembling as their panting breathes mix together amongst the whispers of their secret. “Would you deny your Queen?”

The other woman whimpered and leaned in to kiss her Queen.

Their hands continue to touch and fondle each other in the dark. Soon enough, they were rutting against each other like animals. Devoid of the pleasantries of their stations and replaced with the primal urge for climax.

Rhaenyra came first. Apex seizing around her maid’s fingers as her whole body shook. Grasping at her with her free hand while the other toyed with her maid’s clit further to send her over the edge as well.

When it was over, and the fuzzy feeling of the fog had lifted, Rhaenyra turned to slide herself beneath the sheets and felt the bed shift for her maid to leave. “Wait. Don’t go.” The other woman paused, dress in her hand. For a moment looking just a pen drop fearful as Targareyn’s were known to change their mood like the winds. “It is rather cold tonight. I could use a bedwarmer for the evening.”

It was no lie. Dragonstone was much cooler than King’s Landing. Cooler in climate. Cooler in company. Cooler without Daemon here beside her.

Her maid smiled shyly and dropped her dress back to the ground. “Of course, your grace, whatever you need.” She crawled back into bed with Rhaenyra. Coiling about her as the Queen wished before the two fell asleep.

[b00kdiary]

Can we please please please get a part 3 for stay with me where they actually fuck? Love your stuff btw absolutely amazing ❤️

Stay With Me | Rhysand (III)

Rhysand x Plus size reader

It's been a week. Rhysand's patience has worn thin. So has Y/N's.

Warnings: Mature themes (18+), swearing, and smut.

MASTERLIST - 1 and 2

PART ONE PART TWO

Are you awake, darling?

I stared at the note that appeared on my nightstand fifteen seconds ago, the luxurious, broad sprawl telling of who had sent it. The word darling made my stomach coil – like I could hear Rhys purring it in my ear.

I fought my smile as I turned, dropping my bare legs off the side of the bed, and grabbing the quill that had appeared with the note. It was slightly warm, and I envisioned Rhys holding it, smirking like the fiend he was.

I am awake.

Missing me already?

I could feel my anticipation thrumming in me as I sprawled the words before neatly dropping the pen beside it. It vanished the moment I released it, wisped away to wherever Rhys lounged and for some reason, I could practically hear the rumbling laugh that would escape him the moment he read my teasing response.

My smile grew when the note reappeared not even thirty seconds later. I grabbed it with shaking hands, and I could feel the heat blazing through my blood and bones and veins at his words.

I always miss you; you know that.

And while I usually am the most patient male, that patience is starting to wear very thin.

I want you, darling.

He had been patient. So had I. One week since the Hybern attack, one week since I had sustained that injury and Rhysand had taken care of me – in more ways than just my leg. One week of stolen touches and yearning glances and pleasuring myself to quell the urge to seek him out.

I didn't want to be patient anymore. The ache between my legs wouldn't let me be.

Then why aren't you here?

I'm waiting, High Lord.

The note vanished and not even a second later, I heard the distant sound of wings thundering. I felt Rhysand's dark, obsidian power misting over Velaris stretching from the Town house to the House of Wind.

Call it impatience, call it confidence, call it whatever you want but my body was alight at the power of him, the need of him. And as Rhys thundered closer and closer, I took off piece after piece of clothing. My socks, my nightshirt, my underwear, my bra, everything, until I was bare sat upon my bed desperately needing to be touched.

My thighs clenched when Rhys landed on my balcony, the ground and walls shaking with the impact of his arrival. I could see his silhouette outlined by the moonlight and sheet of stars above as he stalked on silent feet toward my door, looking like a God that shouldn't exist.

The curtain parted with a phantom wind, and I felt my nipples pebble and my core soak as it danced into my room, brushing my skin like a lover's touch. Rhys ducked under my door, powerful wings tucked close to his back and violet eyes gleaming like midnight constellations.

"You beautiful, wicked thing," Rhys groaned as he slid into my room, eyes latching onto my naked figure sitting patiently atop my sheets. I felt his magic thrum at the sight of me, eyes razing across my bare flesh. "You couldn't wait two minutes?"

"I waited one week, Rhys," I lifted my chin defiantly, feigning arrogance. Even as every long step he took toward me made me tremble. "I'm a patient female but not that patient."

"Tsk tsk tsk," He clucked his tongue tauntingly at me, his thick brow raised in a challenge. I traced his long, lean angles, the broad muscles of his shoulders, and that infuriating smirk as he came to a stop before me. "As much as I love your eagerness, darling, I didn't say you could undress."

I moaned when his ringed hand came forward, cupping my aching breasts and squeezing it in his palm. His chest rumbled appreciatively as it spilt from his hand, another moan slipping from me when his thumb brushed over my taut, sensitive nipple.

"Perhaps I should punish you?" Rhys mused softly, eyes transfixed on my breasts, his forefinger and thumb clamped around my bud, abusing it, and watching me gasp. I craned my neck up to meet his towering form, cruel amusement in his eyes. "Unlace my breeches."

A firm, powerful command – his High Lord's voice. Gods, it made me wet. Rhys smirked at the spike in my pulse, the pleasure that coiled through me at his authority.

I was more than eager to follow his command, my hands moving to his slacks, tugging furiously at the laces. I could feel his hard length under my fingers, twitching and straining against the material, begging to be let free.

Rhysand released my breast, and I would have whined in protest had he not begun tugging the ties at the back of his shirt, striping the material from his wings and chest, revealing acres and acres of beautiful tan, tattooed skin as he discarded it.

I whimpered as I tugged the last lace, my pussy clenching around nothing as Rhys's thick, hard length slipped free from his pants, slapping back against his stomach, nearly hitting my face in the process. My mouth watered, actually watered at the sight of him.

"This is meant to be a punishment, darling," Rhys chuckled darkly, fingers gently folding into my hair and tilting my head to meet his eyes. He grinned at the heady intent on my face. "You shouldn't look so happy about it."

"You’re about to let me suck your cock, Rhys," I breathed, my voice rasping and hoarse. His hand tightened in my hair, fisting the root as I purred the word cock. I eyed his length, the red angry tip, the small pearly beads of pre-cum, the strong veins that danced on the sides. "How is that a punishment?"

"You're not sucking my cock, my love," Rhys smiled – it was not a comforting sight. No, it was dark and terrifying. I gasped when the tip of his cock traced my lip, his eyes glinting as he pushed it slowly into my warm mouth. "I'm going to fuck your throat."

He slammed the rest of his length into my mouth until he hit the back of my throat, and I was gagging and moaning and choking for air.

"Good girl," Rhys moaned, his cock stretching my mouth until my jaw ached and he seated so far down my throat I could feel every twitch. He pulled out after several seconds, beads of spit and cum lacing my lips and down my chest as I gasped for air. "Such a good girl."

I hummed at the praise, even as I felt my lungs burning from the lack of oxygen. But Rhys tasted so good, and he was moaning so loud as I slipped him back into my mouth, my throat going lax as he shoved his length in until he maxed out.

I gagged, desperately breathing through my nose as his hips rolled, every stroke dragging his pulsing cock in and out, hitting the back of my throat again and again. Rhys growled, a pure sound of pleasure, one of no control as he truly fucked my mouth raw.

Tears streaked down my face, drool dripped down my chin and onto my breasts and Rhys's hand fisted my hair brutally, keeping me in place while he drove his hips into my mouth. I moaned at the feel of him, every ragged breath he took making me that much more eager.

"That feels incredible, darling," Rhys hissed, his voice shaking as his climax neared. His cock twitched in my mouth, and I let my tongue graze along his shaft in a way that had him cursing. "This mouth is better than I had imagined."

I could feel my arousal leaking down my thighs at his words, and my eyes rolled when Rhys bucked his hips forward, burying himself so far, that my nose brushed the trail of hair at his navel. I could smell his sweet scent, addictive enough that it distracted me from the burning in my lungs, the full feeling of him shoved down my throat.

"Fuck," Rhys swore, and I whined as he tore my head back, his wet, angry cock slipping out. Air rushed into my lungs, spit dribbled down my chin and then Rhys was upon me, his head ducking down and crashing his lips to mine.

I could taste the wine in his mouth, could taste the possession on his tongue as he shoved it past my swollen lips and into me, battling and furious and needy. My fingers clawed and scratched along his marble skin, tracing the hard muscles and rippling abs, memorising the perfect feel of him.

"Rhys," I whined against his lips, breathless as his large, ringed hands kneaded along my body, grumbling in approval as he palmed the flesh at my hips and back and thighs, his eyes stark with lust as he pushed me to lie on my back.

"I know, I know," He crooned, a tint of arrogance and appreciation in his voice as he settled onto the bed, his arms bracing his towering figure over me, his hands guiding my thighs around his lean hips. "I'm impatient too, darling. I know you need it; I've got you."

My back arched as he grazed his nose along the side of my neck, his magnificent wings erecting high behind him as he inhaled the sweet, sweaty scent of me. I was breathless as he touched my skin, touched my flesh like I was a dream come to fruition.

"Cauldron, I wish I had time to get my head between these soft thighs," His teeth scraped my nipple, his hands parting my thighs as he rubbed his tip through my soaking wet folds. "I'd have my tongue fucking your sweet hole until you came all over my face. Until you were begging me to stop."

For a second, I nearly begged him to do exactly that, nearly begged for the feel of his tongue and teeth, for the burn of his skilled fingers slipping inside me. But then he rubbed his hard length against me again, smearing my wetness and I couldn't wait another moment.

"Stop talking Rhys,” I snarled, my fingers curling around his short raven hair, dragging his face up to mine. He chuckled at the ire and frustration behind my words, behind my touch as I pressed desperate kisses to his lips, "I want you to fuck me. Now." 

“Such dirty words for such a pretty mouth,” Rhysand laughed against my lips, a hint of violence tinging his tone, his touch, as he toyed his tip against my swollen clit. “I’ll have to think of a better punishment to remedy that. But right now – “

I screamed as he drove his hips forward, shoving his hard, pulsing length into me in one forceful thrust.

“Rhys!”

An explosion of pain and pleasure, like stars erupting through my core as Rhysand forced his way into me, stretching my sore walls, languishing in the wetness of my arousal until he maxed out. Pain and pleasure –  it was all I knew.

“Cauldron, you’re fucking incredible,” Rhys growled into my ear, his hands bruising against my waist as he forced my flailing body against the bed. He pulled out to the tip, the sound filthy as he pushed back in, moaning as he did so. “So fucking incredible.”

“Rhys, oh Gods –“

I was crying out for him as his pace picked up, my walls moulding around him perfectly as he fucked me, that pain fading into pure, unfiltered pleasure. He grunted with every roll of his hips, his lips suckling my pulse point and reverberating his noises against me, through me.

Rhys scraped his canines against the junction of my throat possessively, marking me as he fucked his hips against me again and again, tits and body jolting with every stroke. I keened when he threw my leg over his shoulder, kissing my knee before he sunk so deep, I thought he’d tear me in two.

“Right there,” He panted,  sweat coating his forehead as he grinned down at me. I gasped, breathless as he pressed a hand down on the stomach – pressed down on the imprint of his cock shaped there. “You feel how deep I am, darling? Feel how far my cock is inside you?”

“S-so deep,” I blubbered, my words half caught between a sob and a moan as my walls fisted tighter and tighter, that familiar pool filling within me, filling more and more as Rhys whispered those dirty words and fucked me raw. “It’s so deep, Rhys.”

‘Look at you’ Rhys’s rumbling, arrogant voice filled my mind, mixed in with his stark arousal and overwhelming praise, ‘Crying for me, all fucked out and ready to come around my cock.’

His lips slammed against mine, all biting teeth and furious, exploring tongue and I could feel my orgasm ripping down my spine, feel it building at the apex of my thighs as he hit a spot within me, again and again and again. Something that felt so fucking good.

‘Come for me, darling,’ Rhys commanded through my mind, a bolt of obsidian power sparking along my nerves and through my whole body. I yelped, crying out at that feeling.

He sent another bolt, in tandem with the sweet, brutal roll of his hips and suddenly I was coming.

“Rhys, Rhys –“

White hot power splitting my core in two, strong enough that all I could do was arch my back and curl my toes, letting my body turn stiff and hard as Rhysand rocked into me, longing out the pleasure for what felt like hours.

I was coming and coming and coming. I couldn’t fucking breathe as Rhys ruined me.

“That’s my girl,” He gritted out, kissing my cheek, my jaw, my neck, teeth and spit and tongue as he fucked erratically into me. His climax was close, I was fluttering around him so furiously, that I knew he was close.

“Fill me up, Rhys,” I begged him, my orgasm dwindling and all my nerves endings on fire as he stroked and stroked and stroked. Rhys whimpered – actually whimpered, as I dragged my hand through the inner part of his wing, trembling behind him from the contact. “Want you to fill me up so bad.”

I touched his wing with a whisper of a caress again and again, until Rhys was cursing, until his beautiful body was trembling against me, and he was making noises I would kill, actually kill, to hear again.

“You beautiful – “ Thrust. “Cruel – “ Thrust. “Wicked –“ Thrust. “Thing –“ Thrust.

His hand brushed my clit as he rocked his twitching cock into me, harder and faster now. I felt the dwindling tendrils of my first orgasm before they began erupting like flames as a second barrelled into me.

“Rhys – “ I sobbed his name, scratching my nails along the talon atop his right wing. And as my core exploded with another all-consuming climax, Rhys reached his peak too.

He reached that peak roaring.

“Fuck –“ He curses as his climax hit him, obsidian mist erupting from him and blanketing the room as he halted inside me. I moaned, my walls clenching and unclenching as I felt him spill endlessly inside me, his wings and body tensed and shaking under my hands.

Our moans and releases were furious and strong enough that I felt the posters of my bed shaking, Rhysand’s face buried in the crook of my neck, moaning, and panting for breath as his hips came to a total stop. My walls pulsed, and his cock twitched in response as if our orgasms had become one.

Rhys laughs roughly against my throat, his canines grazing my sensitive skin as he collapses against me, both our chests rising and falling in shattered waves. It reminded me of that first day in the cabin, how he had been so euphoric as I ground against him until he came.

“That was a good day for me,” Rhys sighed, head lifting so his violet eyes met mine. So bright, so happy. “Almost as good as last week when you came all over my hand.”

I blushed, his grin broadening at the sheepish smile I gave him. He dipped his head, kissing my lips sweetly, a satisfied groan rumbling through him as his tongue gently explored mine.

“I hope you’re aware that this means you’re stuck with me, darling,” Rhys smirked, forehead resting against mine. He was still inside me, and it felt more than right. His eyes glinted, daring me to challenge him. “No male will ever touch you again.”

“Is that a decree, High Lord?” I gnawed on my lip, giggling at the way his eyes narrowed. My giggle erupted into a laugh as Rhys began peppering kisses against my cheek and jaw.

“Yes,” He growled, nipping my skin with his teeth, “That’s an order. With the penalty of death for any male who does otherwise.”

“Good,” I grinned, my heart skipping at his dark, tempting words. I cupped his jaw, bringing his eyes back to mine. “Because if another female so much as looks at you, Rhys – I will pluck her eyes out.”

“Fuck, I love it when you get violent,” He groaned, fingers digging into my waist possessively. “It makes me want to do very filthy things to you.”

“I’m all yours, Rhys,” I smiled, a hint of sincerity mixed with lewd intent in my eyes. “Do with me what you will. Unless you plan to be somewhere else tonight?”

His eyes flashed, stars exploding, shadows coiling, and I felt him harden in me again, my walls stretching inch by inch until I was soaked around him.

“I’ll be here, with you,” He whispered, his nose brushing mine and I whimpered when he rolled his hips, stroking his cock inside me slowly. “I’ll always stay with you.”

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[lostintransist]

This Bunny Bites | Part 6

Check out part 1 here. Shout out to @gildui for the use of divider!

Stubble man knocked at the door at a mere ten AM. You squint at him past the bright light that shines into your eyes from beyond his head.

“Da fuck do you want?” You don’t even pretend to be happy to see him.

“Well I have your contract for review,” he waves a stack of papers in one hand.

“And I bet you want to take a seat on my couch while I review it right?”

He pulls a face of ‘Well that’s not a bad idea’. This man knew how to talk himself into someone’s bed, this had the feel of a tactical maneuver. You knew wearing your ugliest jammies to bed last night had been the right move. They covered everything from wrist to ankle.

You roll your eyes, you did not have nearly enough sleep for this nonsense.

“Touch anything and I’ll superglue your fingers together,” you step back and point him to the couch.

Once he clears the doorway you shut the door and engage the deadbolt. You had gotten to sleep about two AM but ten still felt too early to be upright. You make yourself a double espresso with creamer.

“No offer of a drink to your guest?” Stubble jibes from the couch where he has spread out.

“Guests receive manners, invaders will be lucky to escape with their lives,” you slurp at your drink.

You clock the eye twitch at the sound, so many people hated it. You move to one edge of the couch, flicking your fingers to indicate he should move further down. He does, turning to face you on the couch. One leg tucked across the seat he stretches out his arm along the back of the couch. You settle in, legs tucked under you. You place your coffee on the table and pull the contract into your lap.

The document is thick, legal jargon mucking up every sentence. You parse through it, pausing occasionally to finish off your drink before it becomes too bitter to stomach.

You come across a line you will not abide by and glance around for a pen. The man on the other end of your couch notices.

“You needin’ something?”

“A pen.”

He pulls one from a pocket in his pants. You look him up and down, deciding if a pen would obligate you to a conversation.

You take it by the proffered end, careful to not brush him.

“So, do you like what you do for work?” his voice is light as if this question isn’t a trap.

You sigh, “Three questions, that’s what I will give you but only if you keep silent until I am done with this document.”

He shrugs, “Fair enough” Leaning forward he offers a hand for shaking. “I’m Gaz by the way.”

“What an interesting name,” you shake his hand with a cold fish grip. Every choice you make around men is to make them underestimate you, to ignore you, or to manipulate them exactly where you need them to push them off a cliff.

“And your name?” he probes.

“Since it’s on this contract I am going to assume you know it,” you begin to strike through portions of the contract and initial them as you go.

“Your brother calls you bunny.”

“My half-brother lost the right to call me that a long time ago,” you snarl at the paper.

“Half? He didn’t mention.”

“I wonder why not,” you snap, “bet it would make him look better if he mentioned it.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the rage slip through your veins like syrup.

“What happened between you two?”

You glance at him from your peripherals, “You using that as one of your questions? Because I won’t be answering it if so.”

“Nope, just talking out loud,” he smiles at you, a practiced ‘look at how cute I am’ smile.

You humph, turning all of your attention back to the papers. It takes you another ten minutes to get through the last of the document. You set the pen down on the stack and stretch out your neck, finger rubbing into your muscles.

“I could do that for you?”

The glare you toss at him is acerbic.

“You’d have better luck with a man you closeted bisexual.”

His jaw drops open, true shock on his face.

You scoop up the contract and drop it in his lap. “Now if there is nothing else I would like to get back to my day.”

Standing you snag your cup from the table, walk into your small kitchen, and wash the single mug. You place it in the small drying rack. Rubbing your hands over a towel you find Gaz still seated on your couch.

“Don’t you have someone else to bother today?” You toss the towel across one shoulder. If he leaves soon you should have time to vacuum before getting over to Mrs. Johnson’s house.

Once a week you helped Mrs. Johnson clean her bathroom. She had fallen a few months back and could no longer safely clean the toilet or shower. You worked with a nonprofit that connected able-bodied adults with aging people in the community. Mrs. Johnson had been a pinup girl in her heyday and didn’t judge you for how you made your money.

Gaz looks up at you, distressed. “How did you know?”

“Know what?”

“That I like men?”

“Ah,” he must not have told anyone yet. “Call it an educated guess.”

His brows creased together, lips puckering.

“I hate that answer.”

You shrug, not much you can do about his feelings.

“Tell your boss to call me after he reviews the changes. I need to know what the hell is expected of me so I can get ready for it.” You move to the front door, done giving subtle hints.

You unlock and open the front door, waiting for him to get the hint.

He finally does as the sunlight filters into the room. He stands and stops just before you.

“Really, an educated guess?” he sounds as if he still doesn’t believe you.

“Yep,” you pop the p in your word. “Now shoo, I have things to do.”

He leaves, steps barely making a sound as he bounds down the three flights of stairs to the parking lot. What is it with men and not believing you?

Gaz wondered about you clocking him so fast, he had only just confronted the fact himself that he was attracted to men. He thought on it the entire drive back to the house Price had set up for them to use while out here. Parking and entering the house were background functions to the fact someone knew his deepest secret.

He dropped the contract on the table next to the chess game going between Ghost and Price.

“Everything go alright?” Price questioned without looking up. He rubbed at his beard, something he only did while deep in thought.

“Well enough, she made adjustments and requested a call,” Gaz reports. He reviews the board, they were evenly matched at this point.

Ghost tended to win their matches. He had more time in his head to run games since he went out on so many missions while Price tended to get trapped behind a desk and filling out paperwork.

Gaz left them to their game, pulling out his own. Slipping on headphones and taking a seat on the couch he settles into his farming game, a mental break to all the destruction he usually wrought.

Your words rattle the boxes in his mind ‘You closeted bisexual.’ What a way to start a long job.

Part 5 | Part 7

Masterlist | Bunny Masterlist

[tteokdoroki]

so jock yuuji and weird girl reader right? am i right?

weird girl who is the one who initiates any form of hostility. jocks arent jerks by defaults, yuuji definitely not. weird girl sees the world in popular / unpopular, uninteresting / interesting, pretty / meaningful, and general black / white thinking. extremes.

yuuji would just have no idea any of this is going on. like why is she mad at me. i wanted to ask her about the keychain on her bag. whyd she accept my follow request but not follow me back.

i love the dynamic of jaded reader x clueless blorbo!!! where they are both somewhat attracted to eachother the more they observe eachother around campus, but one pulls closer and the other pushes him away!!

jock yuuji def hangs out in the gymnasium instead of going to class btw. plays music out loud on his speakers thru the halls. if u even care. he carries around one of those big ass water bottles and he never got a backpack w him. just showing up to econ with nothing but a drawstring bag of ground down pencils and vibes

𖤐๋࣭ — JOCK BF!YUUJI ENTRY #9. first meetings.

about. a scenario in which the campus’ favourite jock lays eyes on his future freaky girlfriend for the first time.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! sfw, fluff, meet cute, jock bf!itadori, weird gf + fem!reader.

imagine yuuji signing up to one of your classes and he kinda makes a fool of himself on the first day. like he shows up late because practice ran over, his laptop his dead and he doesn’t have a pen but your professor (and it’s taken like two years for you to have gotten on his good side) just lets it SLIDE !!! so you’ve already got your back up with yuuji — thinking he’s some dumb jock here to mess around in your class !!!

he takes the seat right next to you of course, introduces himself to you with a sunshine smile that keeps on burning even when you cut your eyes at him and ignore the poor guy. yuuji even goes as far as to ask you for a pen half way through the lecture — and your heart stops when your fingers brush as you pass one to him. he’s a stupid jock, you remind yourself, he’s probably just making fun of you.

the pink haired jock never leaves you alone after that day!! he says hi to you in the halls at dorms he visits or on the way to the library — his music playing obnoxiously through the speaker he carries even when the librarian politely tells him to quiet down.

yuuji sits with you at study cubicles every week even though you’ve made it clear that you don’t want anything to do with him — but he follows you on Instagram, and asks you for notes from your shared classes, texts you about the socials coming up (even though you never go to them). and even though you think that he’s annoying… itadori is charming in a way.

he’s good to his friends, knows all of his teachers by name, he even studies hard — despite you thinking that he doesn’t.

maybe you misjudged itadori, maybe you were a little too harsh.

maybe you’re starting to think better of him, and he can kind of tell when wave him over to sit next to you during class and lend him the same pen you gave him when you’d first met.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.