#Why is Reputation Important in a Business?

[allertonhoe]

A2 + A5 with rafe please, a bit of angst then fluff at the end !!! also congratulations on 500 !!

thank you!!! hope you enjoy ☺️☺️ really had fun writing this one!!!

prompts: "Please don’t cry. I can’t stand to see you cry" + "Well. Yell, scream, say something. Anything"

content warnings: 18+ MDNI, original afab!reader, men being men/being gross about women,

500 follower celebration!

It was humiliating to say the least. You knew that being Rafe Cameron's girlfriend wasn't always the easiest task. There were expectations of you, one of them being that you had to accompany him to fancy Kook soirées. But tonight, you'd gotten pushed too far.

"Come on," he complained, banging against the locked guest room door. "Please just talk to me. I know I fucked up."

It hadn't been anything out of the ordinary, another obligatory appearance among Figure 8's upper echelon since he was now running Cameron Development. Hanging off Rafe's arm with a cordial smile as he faked his way through small talk with important clients and investors.

At one point, the two of you split off from each other. Being wrangled by one of the other trophy girlfriends to gossip over drinks and 'leave the men to their business,' whatever that meant—something you'd learn very soon. Eventually excusing yourself to the bathroom, you became distracted as you strolled past the billiards room and noticed it was buzzing in conversation.

"Is she that good, Cameron?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you only keep a girl like that around for one reason."

Your jaw dropped at the sexist declaration, especially when you knew there was a good chance this person had probably acted the complete opposite less towards you than an hour ago when Rafe was by your side. It's not that you were ignorant to that type of behavior in these settings, you'd just never heard it so explicitly. 

This was part of why you loved Rafe, though. He was headstrong and fiercely protective of the things that were important to him, which included you. He had a reputation for having a dangerously short fuse, a trait you were appreciative of in this moment. But that wasn't the response you heard at all.

"Seriously, dude? You should brag about your girl more. The stories I've heard-"

"Shut up, Topper."

"No, no. I mean it as, like, a good thing. Those two have the freakiest sex. The stories I've heard. Tell them about that thing she can do when she puts her legs over her-"

"Damn, Rafe. And you aren't sharing any of the dirty details with the rest of us? That's cold, man..."

"My girl's just amazing; what can I say?"

"Enjoy that while it lasts. I wish my wife was still eager and willing like that. Didn't talk back yet, just did whatever I told her because she wanted to keep me around. Made sure I was taken care of like your girl still does, if you know what I mean."

The group of businessmen laughed boisterously as they proceeded with their banter, while your supposed knight-in-shining-armour stood along with them. Actually clinking his glass with the man's who made that comment, not even attempting to clear your name.

Your mind raced as you helplessly watched the scene unfold in front of you. Usually the two of you were on the same page, but right now you could barely recognized your boyfriend. Why didn't he confront them at all? Was he embarrassed over you? 

Your clutch fell from your hand, making your presence known as it hit the ground. Not daring to shift your regard back to the room full of local moguls, their conversation stilling there. Rushing to pick it up and return to the group of naive women you were seemingly better off with, but hearing a familiar set of footsteps follow behind you.

At first, Rafe tried explaining himself a few times. So you stubbornly shut him out and did what you apparently did best—blindly follow his lead like a doting puppy. Getting knowing looks from the same snobby men he’d just been chatting with as he quickly decided it was time to make his exit, your rage not going unnoticed.

Your silence prevailed throughout the car ride home despite his continued attempts to apologize, not sparing him a glance as you stormed into the house and up to one of the guest bedrooms. Locking the door behind you as the disparaging remarks swirled through your brain.

"Baby, let me in," he reiterates desperately.

He kept pounding on the door and you kept ignoring him, not in any mood to spend the rest of the evening rehashing your unsettled conflict. Becoming startled when it suddenly stopped after a few minutes, the quiet only worrying you knowing your boyfriend's unpredictable temper.

And then, in his irrational fashion, the thick wood broke off its hinges like it was no big deal. Barreling into the formerly tranquil room, brushing a hand through his hair dramatically as he caught his breath. Feeling a little resentful that he decided to channel his frustration into that outrageous display instead of actually backing you up earlier. 

"Are you fucking serious?" You grill him, not hiding how unimpressed you were.

"What?" He counters, glancing at the wreckage and waving it off. "Don't worry about that."

You just rolled your eyes, diverting your attention from him as resentment crept back up on you. A tear rolling down your cheek as you remembered why you were in here, avoiding him, in the first place. Rafe kneeling down to bring himself to your level, his thumb wiping it off your skin. 

"Please don't cry. I can't stand to see you cry." He whispered hoarsely. "I'm sorry. You know how the guys can be..."

"It's not that, Rafe. You didn't come to my defense at all when they were all objectifying me. I thought I meant more to you than that..." You detail with disappointment. "I'm just... I'm tired. It's been a long night. I'm gonna sleep in here, or one of the rooms that has a door attached."

"No, baby. Let me make it up to you," he contends further.

Not having any more energy to keep scolding him, you slipped under the covers and got as comfortable as you were able to without changing out of your cocktail dress or taking off your makeup. Feeling a dip at the bottom of the mattress, Rafe reaching out and caressing the shape of your silhouette.

"Yell, scream, say something..." he begs weakly, his voice breaking and barely a whisper as he finished his plea. "Anything..."

He crawled across the bed, lying behind you and placing his arms over your torso. Pulling you as close as he was able to with the comforter still separating your bodies. Shutting your eyes momentarily as you basked in the calm you'd been craving all night.

"I'm so sorry, baby... I should've told them to knock it off, but it's complicated with these guys. They're some of my dad's oldest clients. I can't just lose my shit on them, as much as I might want to." He justifies to you. "Please... I'll let you do whatever you want..."

As he waited for your answer, he moved your hair off the back of your neck and started pecking across the flesh. Pressing delicate, wanton kisses before stopping at your shoulder and resting his chin there, leaving one last chaste peck on your cheek. Trying your absolute best not to give in to his persuasive tactics. 

"Whatever I want?" you echo, catching his grin reappear as your discomfort faded.

"Anything," he coos, prompting you to turn over to face him properly.

"You're definitely gonna regret that," you threaten playfully. 

"Yeah?" he mutters, squeezing your waist possessively.

"Mhmm..." You hum, capturing his lips with yours. Rafe tangling his tongue with your own as he took over control and spent the rest of the evening helping you forget about the disastrous gala.

[arolesbianism]

Thinking abt my dupe ocs again... Maybe Quinn does have hashtag issues actually

[inventopasay]

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[technijianravi]

Critical Windows Update: Apply Patch Now to Prevent Black Basta Ransomware

[mostly-imagines]

Sugar on the Rim vol. I

bruce wayne x afab!reader

aka the billionaires new friend

warnings: implied that reader is a virgin, age gap (bruce is older than reader), mentions of sex, smut in next part

You twist the stem of the wine glass around between your fingers slowly. Your chin rests atop your knees as you stare vacantly at the tiny puddle left of the drink. You could go refill it, but then you’d have to go back out to the main room and man…you really do not want to do that. So you’ll sit here, swiping your tongue across the bumps of the roof of your mouth as if it's a fascinating new discovery.

The creak of hinges has you shooting upright, your back thumping against the stair step behind you. You’re not immediately sure how to act as though it’s normal that you’re sitting in the stairwell outside the fundraiser rather than in it, fraternizing with old and new money alike. You freeze, trying to relax your posture so it doesn’t look like you’re alarmed at the sight of another person, but not so relaxed that you look as bored as you are.

Your neutrality stutters when you glance up to find the host of the fundraiser. The billionaire host of the fundraiser. Bruce Wayne, the billionaire host of the fundraiser. Your posture straightens right back up and your mouth snaps shut as you make eye contact.

Should you stand up? 

No, he’s rich, not royalty. 

You are in his house though—

He looks you over contemplatively, “I don’t know you,” It’s not accusatory, rather he says it like it’s something interesting.

You perk up at that, immediately formulating reasons to justify your presence. “Oh, uh, no—” the words nearly spill out of your mouth all at once. You clear your throat, “I’m just a plus one for my boss—”

“Who’s your boss?” he asks, relaxed. 

“Arthur Mullins.”

He looks to the side, squinting, “Mullins…he’s the executive at Williamson Industries, yes?”

You nod and he returns the gesture, slower, like he’s processing through something. “I’m Bruce,” he says warmly after a moment, holding his hand out to you.

You nod before you can even think to get any words to come out, “I—yeah, I know,” you accept his hand, shaking it as you tell him your name.

There’s a slight glint in his eye when he hears your name, and he repeats it quietly to himself. “A pretty name.”

“Oh, it’s just…” Just your name. But rather than fill him in on that fascinating tidbit, you let the sentence die off.

He smiles kindly anyway, “What are you doing in here? Party’s out there, or so they tell me.”

“I…I’m hiding in here,” you admit sheepishly.

He leans in towards you slightly, lowering his voice. “I’ll let you in on a secret—so am I,” he smiles at you like it’s easy.

Your grin matches his, “It’s your party,”

“That’s why I need to hide.” He tilts his head, “Doesn’t give you much of an excuse though, does it?”

“I don’t know anybody here.”

He puckers his bottom lip contemplatively, “Your boss.”

You shake your head, “I’m just his assistant. I’m pretty sure he just brought me as a precaution in case he needed a designated driver.”

He laughs at that, “Based on the way I’ve seen Mullins’ attempts to operate, his assistant would have to be a hell of a lot more important than just a designated driver.”

Well, he’s certainly right about that. Your boss doesn’t exactly “have it together” per se. He’s an unorganized man with little to justify his importance in Gotham, so he tends to insist on taking on more responsibility than he has any business having. Not to mention, he’s a bit of a try-hard and you’re constantly left to sweep up the pieces of his reputation that he shattered himself. Not to say he’s necessarily unprofessional, he just will do anything and everything to prove he belongs in any given space. It’s honestly a bit exhausting to watch. It’s more exhausting to try and convince him that the exchange went well afterwards.

You nod slowly, eyes on his shoes. “Mr. Mullins has…a unique approach to business. It does usually leave me fairly busy, I’ll give you that.” You take a quick deep breath, plastering on a fake smile. “But that means I occasionally get to go to fancy parties where I don’t know anyone, so..”

“Well then it sounds like you’ve got it all worked out,” he ribs, “Or don’t you agree?”

You smile coyly, “I would never be so bold.”

“I don’t mind boldness. For example, the reason I came in here is because he spotted me.”

You laugh at that, “Mr. Wayne—”

“Bruce.”

“Mr. Wayne,” you suppress your smile as you pause, choosing your words carefully. “I think he’s just networking.” He doesn’t have the money to give.

He nods surely, “He’s definitely just networking.” He really doesn’t have the money to give. You allow just the faintest wisp of a smile to adorn your face as you look down again.

You check the time and realize that you’ve been hiding away for too long and that if he hasn’t already, your boss will notice soon. You sigh quietly to yourself, “I should..”

He turns his head to the closed door where the chatter can be heard from beyond, sighing in defeat as he shakes his head looking back at you. “So should I.”

You feel a bit insecure as you stand, the gown you’re wearing is pretty but it is very much affordable and you’re sure someone as wealthy as Bruce Wayne would know the difference.

If he does notice he makes no deal of it, motioning you forward gallantly to walk ahead of him.

He follows after you, hands behind his back. “Would it be rude of me to ask you to distract him while I run for the bar?”

It’s busy, even for a Sunday afternoon, and you have to sidestep past someone nearly every step you take. You stick next to the windows of the line of boutiques down the road, trying to balance window shopping and not bumping into other pedestrians.

You're in a nicer district of Gotham, truthfully an area you don't quite belong in. So far you’ve only managed to find a couple shops that weren’t several ranges above your budget. 

A call of your name has you blinking rapidly and turning around as if you’re lost. It doesn’t take long for you to pick the six foot two billionaire out of the crowd and it’s only half a second longer before you realize he’s walking towards you. A few people collide shoulders with you as they move past thoughtlessly, no regard for the personal space of the idiot that stopped in the flow of traffic.

You let him approach a couple feet closer before you ask him, “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Wayne?” The presence of his figure in front of you allows for a break from being bumped into, as he seemingly makes for a far more easily seen and intentionally avoided target.

He sways a bit, “Bruce. I’m not sure yet,” he looks down to the couple of bags you’re holding, extending his hand out. “May I?”

It takes you just a moment to move past your surprise at the request, allowing him to hold them for you. “Are you in a rush?”

You shake your head quicker than you meant to, “No, I—not at all,” he gestures his head forward, allowing you to walk before him.

You traipse ahead in silence for a moment before deciding against biting your tongue, “What exactly is it you’re not sure about?”

He raises his voice a bit so you can hear him over the crowd, “Whether or not you’ve got plans on the 19th.”

You look back at him, “What’s on the 19th?”

He stops with you as you admire a set of jewelry inside a window display, “We’re hosting a gala for something or something else, hopefully less boring than the fundraiser.”

You blink, “You’re inviting me?” He nods. “Why?”

“I could use someone who wants to be there even less than I do.”

He said it so casually it takes you a second to even register his meaning. You blink, face contorting defensively, “That’s not—” you can barely make out the smile on his face as he continues on walking.

You shake your composure back together and trail after him, rushing to catch up. “I don’t think Mr. Mullins would be very happy to hear that I’m attending a business gala without him.”

He shakes his head as he scans over the crowd, “He can’t fire you for that.”

“He’ll try.” He would. A petty little man, he is. 

He scans across the rows of clothes leisurely. “Well, then he can speak to me about it. Besides, it wouldn’t be for business.” And then he just lets that sentence linger.

It takes you a moment to recover from those words and begin to start processing the world around you again. After a few more feet down the sidewalk he pulls you gently to the side by your lower arm, out of the rush of traffic, and looks at you dead on, “What do you think?”

You try not to waver under the weight of the eye contact, “I don’t…uh, I don’t really have…” you look down, hoping to get the message across without actually having to say the words.

He glances into the store window next to you and raises his eyebrows, “Well then I’d say we’re in the right place.”

You can’t manage to tell him that this store is definitely far too expensive for you, walking through the door as he opens it for you, albeit apprehensively.

Well. Up close window shopping is more fun anyways. 

The spotless white of the floors and walls has you intimidated, and just as much so by less by the no doubt designer clothes lining the walls. The saleswomen all look pretty highbrow themselves, hair up in tight buns and uniforms chic.

You only break from gawking at the store to look behind you at Bruce. You note the way his eyes roam around blindly, looking for something and clearly having no means to narrow down where it might be. You take one more glance around, immediately finding the women's section with no such difficulty. 

“This way.” You say, nodding your head over to the left. He recovers nicely and lets you lead the way towards the section of dresses. You peer back at him, “You don’t seem like someone that does much of his own shopping.”

Thankfully, he laughs at that. “Well, special occasions.”

You keep your gaze ahead this time, asking as casually as you can, “Is this a special occasion?”

He hums in consideration, “I’d say so.”

You stop upon approaching the dress section, taking in the immediately stunning display of options. 

“What are you doing up here anyways?” you ask, hand brushing across a particularly plush dress.

“Ah, I was headed to a meeting.”

“Oh,” you frown, looking at him. “Don’t you need to go?”

He shakes his head with a puckered lower lip, “No.”

A few seemingly heiresses roam down the aisle mindlessly, not caring much that you’re in their path. 

Bruce sees them before you do, knowing well that they were not going to excuse themselves. “Sweetheart,” he nudges you gently to the side, closer to him as the group passes. His hand remained open-palmed and flat as he guided you to the side, seemingly very careful not to touch you with uninvited boldness. Though you’re quite shaken by the chivalry of the gesture, a brazen touch wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world.

As your arm brushes against a rack of clothing your gaze follows, met with something rather appealing.

Bruce is quick to notice you admiring the sleek black dress that looks like something you’d see a model wearing on a runway. “You like that one?”

“It’s nice, yeah,” you murmur, not really thinking. You flip the price tag over and your face drops. “It’s $800.”

He nods thoughtfully, “We can find a nicer one,” he says, though it’s clear he knows exactly what your problem with the price tag was.

“I can’t—” you restart, “I would never have a reason to wear something this nice again.”

He shakes his head coolly, “That’s alright.”

Your shoulders drop and your head tilts seriously, “It’s not, though.”

“You like it?” He looks you in the eyes, his own searching for a truthful answer.

“I mean, of course, but it—”

He nods affirmatively, “Then we’ll get it. Problem solved.” He turns his back to the rack, casually observing the rest of the store goers. “Pick your size.”

Apparently not one to argue, you thumb through the row until you find one that should fit. 

You sigh, realizing that you’re running out of time to mention that you don’t have $800 to spend on a dress. “I can’t—”

“You don’t need to,” he says simply as he takes the dress off the rack and drapes it across his arm, making his way towards the salescounter.

You try to stop your mouth from hanging open as you follow, “It really is okay, I don’t need—”

His grin cuts you off, just in time for you to hear him mutter, “Sweet girl..” to himself. You stop right in your tracks, feeling very thankful that he’s not looking at you right now because you’re certain the look on your face would give you away.

He still doesn’t face you as he calls out, “Come on,” as he continues on.

Obviously you’re not stupid. You know what type of intentions a billionaire playboy must have with a younger girl that he doesn’t even really know. However, if said billionaire is offering to buy you a pretty dress…no, you’re not sleeping with him because he bought you a dress—of course not—and you’ve made absolutely no promises to do so, so what’s the harm in letting him? Really?

And yeah, maybe it’s a plus that he’s not bad looking, but how is that your fault?

You stand a bit awkwardly next to him as he puts his card in the machine, not even glancing at the outrageous number, and declines the offer for the receipt.

As you exit the store together and stand at the doors as he hands your original two bags back to you along with the new shiny black one that on its own looks like something people would pay for.

“You will be there?” he asks, eyes more hopeful than you were prepared for. 

You nod, gesturing the bag up, “Well you just bought me the dress.”

He shrugs that off, “I would’ve bought you the dress anyways.”

You linger in the midst of the ado wearing a dress that you feel far too overshadowed by, fidgeting with the half empty wine glass in your hand. Unfortunately, this time around you were invited by the host of the event and it would be extra rude to run away and hide. That doesn’t stop you from considering it, though.

A hand sliding across your lower back has you momentarily startled, and for reasons you couldn’t quite verbalize, you’d naturally assumed it was Bruce. The disappointment rings strong when you turn around to be met with the sight of an even older man, who looks considerably wine drunk. 

“Hello there, Miss.,” The words themselves are polite but the salacious smile on his face and the way his eyes have no trouble roaming your body gives you a solid idea of what this conversation is going to entail.

“Hello,” you fake a polite, tight smile and shift your attention to the rest of the room. 

This does nothing to deter him, as he takes a sizable step back into your line of sight. “Having a nice time?” 

The man is clearly from money, if his attire didn’t give it away his attitude sure did. There’s an heir of entitlement around him, like he’s inherently deservant of your attention—a quality you were notably surprised to not have found in Bruce. 

You give him your faux-smile again, this time tighter but half a second longer for the sake of politeness. A rookie mistake.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks, gesturing to the bar.

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say, gesturing your wine glass up.

A momentary flash of irritation crosses his face, but to his credit, he does a better job recovering from it than you would have expected. Though, that’s not really saying much. “Well, pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be all alone here,”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” Both of your heads snap to the side, finding a much more welcome surprise than you’d previously received. 

Your counterpart's posture straightens immediately, “Mr. Wayne,” he fawns, “What a lovely event you’ve thrown. I’m sure the Bernsteins will be appreciative.”

Bruce hums, eyes narrowed slightly. “You are…”

The man startles and rushes to finish off his sentence, “Alexander Watson, senior executive to the accounting department for the research wing of the company.”

He nods slowly, no recognition actually present in his eyes. “Ah. The research wing of the company that just blew fifteen million dollars on prototype self-operating cell phones.”

You’re trying hard to fight the smile creeping up on your face.

“What exactly is a self-operating cell phone?”

Watson’s face drops, hurrying to justify his approval of the proposal’s funding. As he rambles, Bruce’s gaze lowers to where Watson has once again placed his hand on your hip, though he’s not close enough to you for it to rest fully or naturally. You don’t know him well but you can say confidently that he doesn’t look pleased. 

He looks back up to Watson, attitude challenging. “Surely you’re not poking around where you’re unwelcome?”

Watson stutters at that, blinking and shaking his head quickly. “No, no, of course not! I was just hoping to provide the young lady with some company. That’s all.”

“And so you have.”

“I—,” about two steps behind in this conversation, Watson finally decides to retreat, “Yes, good evening, Mr. Wayne.” He bows his head and shuffles away back into the crowd.

“Mr. Wayne,” you smile knowingly, turning to him. “How are you?”

The hardness of his gaze fades quickly as he takes in your appearance, quite liking how you wear the dress you’d picked out.

“Things are looking up,” he smiles, “You look lovely.”

 “Thank you,” you glance over to where Watson has made his way to the bar, likely about to down an entire glass. “Mr., uh, Mr. Watson makes quite the impression.”

His smile turns a bit sullen, “You know last year he tried to convince the board that battery-powered battery chargers were going to be the next big thing?”

You blink, tilting your head, “Thought you didn’t know who he was.”

His eyes are fixed on the wall as he tugs the corner of his lip down, knowing he’s been caught but not really caring. “I’m sorry to have been away for so long, it seems everyone needs my attention at these things.”

“At the gala that you threw? I’d imagine so.”

He rolls past that smoothly, “You’re having a good time?”

“I am,” you say with a confirming head bob.

He regards the room with a numb expression, “You know, I think I’m getting bored with all of this.”

You smile at him, brow furrowed, “It’s only been an hour.”

He looks at you, eyes wide. “It’s only been an hour?” He’s exaggerating his surprise to make you smile, and it works.

“I think we should go,” he says lower.

You stare at him, bemused. “You still have a whole room full of guests.” 

He shrugs, “They’ll filter out on their own eventually.” 

He clocks your hesitation easily, accurately noting it to be more out of politeness than actually wanting to stay at the party. “What, you’re not ready to leave?”

You look around at all the mostly old, posh guests, disinterested small talk evident all across the room. You take a breath, “Alright, yeah. Let’s go.”

He smiles and leads you out a side door and through a corridor that’s significantly longer than you’d expected. 

“Do you always ditch your parties this early?” you ask, following closely.

He makes a sharp right at the next doorway, “If I can manage it.”

You look around at the high wooden ceilings and grand furniture. “Aren’t some of them friends of yours?”

He shakes his head, “My friends aren’t here.”

You frown at that, “Then why do you throw them at all?”

“Why did you show up last weekend?”

You nod slowly, understanding. “It’s your job.”

He returns the nod, adding, “Only difference is, there’s not a chance in hell you get paid enough for the work you do for Mullins.”

For the sake of maintaining your wishful facade of professionalism, you’re going to not acknowledge that incredibly accurate statement. Instead you smile politely and continue on walking. He seems to get the implication, returning it with an even brighter adornment.

“Well, money’s money,” you say wryly.

His smile fades a bit, “You shouldn’t have to worry about things like that.” 

You shrug, “A day in the life,”

He looks sullen upon hearing that, with more sympathy than you’d have expected from someone of his stature. He’s done nothing if not surprise you, though.

“Here,” he says, taking hold of the handle of a glass door. It opens to a garden, lit up beautifully by the moon and outdoor light. A fountain sits in the middle, water rhythmically gushing out of the top and trickling down the sides. The bite of the Gotham night air burns at your cheeks a bit and you find yourself thankful the dress you’d chosen is so long.

Bruce leads the way to an expensive marble bench positioned nicely in front of it, allowing you to sit first before following suit. Your hands find a place in your lap, clasped together awkwardly in an attempt to find warmth through contact.

It takes Bruce less than ten seconds to stand, remove his suit jacket, and drape it over your shoulders before sitting back down. The material is thicker and warmer than you would’ve expected, surely reminiscent of the perks of being owned by a billionaire.

He doesn’t look at you to acknowledge the grateful expression on your face, simply carrying on like it didn’t happen. “Was hoping it was warmer,” he murmurs.

Your focus momentarily goes to the icy cold stone of the bench under your thighs, initially finding it uncomfortable before deciding the coolness actually felt quite soothing. You remove your gaze from the gray stone and turn your head to find Bruce already focused on you.

You start to say something, though you’re not sure what it would’ve been, when he brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down.

Well, he certainly knows what he’s doing, doesn’t he?

His eyes stay on your lower lip as he murmurs, “You’re a pretty girl, you know that?” 

God, he’s a professional.

You look up at him and refrain from saying anything, waiting to see if he follows it up with something that will make you regret agreeing to coming out here with him.

He doesn’t.

You shift, moving your hands off your lap to rest on the stone under you. “You can’t just do this—”

He smiles and lowers his chin to look you in the eyes, “Then what can I do for you?”

“You—” you blink rapidly, “Stop it.”

His coy beam persists, “Stop what?”

You raise your gaze up to him ever so slightly, a pouty expression across your face that you’re trying to sell as serious. “You’re trying to make me nervous.”

“Do I make you nervous?” He tilts his head down further, a ghost of a smile echoing on his lips, “I don’t mean to, sweet girl.”

Your eyes drop to the ground, biting your tongue. “Yeah.”

His simper grows, “I’m serious. I’d hate to scare away a new friend.”

You laugh at that and he perks up a bit at the sound, “What? We’re not friends?”

You cock your head to the side, “You’re the one who said none of your friends are here.”

He hums, “Maybe I spoke too soon.”

“You think so?” You should probably stop flirting so much. 

“Yeah,” he leans in a bit closer, “I do.”

“Why’s that?”

“Maybe I want to be your friend,” his hand finds a place atop yours. 

Your eyes flicker across his face as he closes in, “What if I don’t want to be yours?”

His eyes are on your lips, “I’m sure we can work something out.”

You take a slow deep breath, “Your intentions are blurry.”

He smiles lightly, amused. “We’ll have to clear that up then, won’t we?” His lips are inches away and his voice is soft as he says, “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

You look up at him eyes wide, barely processing his words as you nod. He gently grasps your jaw in his hand, tilting your head up. His other hand finds the back of your head, holding you in place as he kisses you with intention. Your hands hover in the air for a second before holding onto his forearms. 

He breaks the kiss only to give you another sweet one right after. Your mouths remain close when it’s over, eyes still shut, trying to catch your breath. You stay like that for a moment until he kisses you once more on your cheekbone before pulling away. His hands drop to rest on your knees, the weight of them gentle.

He hums lowly, “Sweet thing..”

Being under the heaviness of his gaze leaves you feeling vulnerable. It’s starting to get you concerned with the potential levity and implications of kissing him. The expectations.

“You…” you stare down at where his hands meet your skin, not quite sure that you actually meant to start that sentence. 

“What?” he frowns, brow pinched. Your chin lowers further as your mouth forms a tight line. He shakes his head, “No, it’s alright. What is it?” he asks gently.

It takes a surge of willpower for you to get the sentence out, “You just want to sleep with me..”

He frowns harder at that, pulling back a bit. “No. I’m…” he sighs, “I’m not trying to lure you in just to toss you out right after.”

That makes you look up again. His voice has a sincerity to it that you weren’t prepared for. 

He continues, “I would like to, yes. Yeah. You’re beautiful, of course I would, but..” he looks down at his hands before looking back up at you, “No, that’s not the most important thing to me.”

You break eye contact again, thinking over his words. If that’s not the most important thing to him, what is? You can’t think of what else he could possibly want from you, a billionaire who could have anything he wants..the only thing you could have to offer in his eyes is sex. 

Right?

He exhales, “If you want to leave, I’ll call you a car. No hard feelings.” He nudges your chin up gently so you’ll look at him, but he gives you the freedom to fight against it if you wanted to.

You let him move you.

“I don’t want to leave,” you tell him, looking into his eyes. “What do you want?”

“Whatever you want,” he says it like it’s automatic. You physically can’t help but roll your eyes at the corniness of it. He doubles down, though, “Seriously. Anything.”

You smile in disbelief, shaking your head.

“Alright,” he returns your smile, straightening, “Here’s what we’re going to do. Do you need a ride home?”

You blink at him, “I’m going home?”

“You are,” he nods softly, “Do you need a ride?”

“No.”

He nods again, more like he’s working through something in his head. “Okay. You’re going to go home and think through what you want. If you decide you want to, come back here next Saturday.” he stands up, extending his hand out to you, “Then you can let me know what else you want and we can get to work on that too.”

You start to shake your head, “I can—” 

He drops his chin seriously, “Think on it.”

You relent easily, taking his hand and coming to a stand.

“Alright?” Again, his question is genuine. He does really want to know if you’re on board with this plan. 

Already going against his request, you agree without a thought, “Okay.”

He starts to lead you back over to the garden door with a head nod and a kind smile.

It ultimately was not a decision you had to think very hard on.

You’d considered every scenario of how this could play out and none of them ended with regret as far as you could guess.

You’ll still admit though, there was one scenario you had missed, apparently, which is why you were immeasurably confused when you showed up and he invited you to play chess.

He’s not wearing a fancy three piece suit this time, but his clothes are still very nice. With the sunlight peeking through the windows, you’re able to see the manor more clearly than you had been the other night. It really is a beautiful home, clearly very old and charmed, but there’s a lot of little details of character and history scattered around. There’s portraits and photographs of his parents from when he was young and furniture decorated with trinkets all throughout, kept absolutely spotless and dust free. Everything is neat and tidy but there’s still traces of the house being lived in with the patched throw pillows and worn carpets. Still, it’s very, very placid.

You’ve met new money plenty of times over the course of dealing with countless businessmen for Mr. Mullins but old money is something entirely different. You don’t really have a frame of reference here. New money is almost always brash and demanding, they like things done quickly and correctly the first time around. They’re usually not very interested in hearing what you have to say (even if it would save them a lot of trouble) and prefer it when the assistants women keep their mouths shut. Bruce has proven to be very different from these standards already and you’re not sure where to begin with placing new ones.

You’re about halfway through a second game, and while you’re not awful at chess, you get the impression that he’s easing up on you considerably.

You sit on the floor in front of a short coffee table, the game having no clear lead so far.

“I think this is stressing me,” you mumble, no actual weight behind your words.

“It’s just chess,” he says, not looking up from the board.

You watch him move his knight forward as you ask, “And that’s all we’re doing?”

“As it stands, yes,” he looks up at you, though you don’t return his gaze.

“Yeah,” you sigh, sliding your rook, “But later?”

“Later?”

“Well, you said...” you meet his eyes, “You said you wanted to sleep with me.”

He nods slowly, “I do. Is that alright?”

You consider it for a moment. You already knew that, if you really weren’t okay with it you wouldn’t have come here. And yeah, the idea makes you a little shaky, but in a good way.

“Yes,” you tell him, moving your queen forward two spaces.

“Are you sure?” he presses, moving to sit on the side of the table rather than behind it.

You do the same, sitting on your knees. “Yeah, I just..” you shift your weight, eyes wandering. “I’m not…overly experienced.”

He just smiles at that, like it’s endearing. Your words didn’t quite convey your meaning but your tone did. In any case, he understands the implication. “That’s alright, sweetheart. I’m not going to throw you in the deep end.”

You nod, looking down again.

“You’re nervous,” he comments.

“No, I’m—I mean, maybe,” your voice is barely a murmur by the end of the sentence.

He’s quiet for a moment, observing the way you fiddle with your rings. “What if we get you something pretty to wear? Something that makes you feel pretty. Whatever you want.”

He fishes his wallet out of his pocket, opening and pulling out a lump of cash without even looking. He holds the money out to you wordlessly and you can see from the bill on the outside that it’s at least a couple hundred dollars.

You shake your head instantly, “I can’t take that.”

He doesn’t put the money down but his eyes turn to begging. “Please. I just want you to feel good.”

“Bruce—”

He wavers a bit at that but it’s more of a falter than you’ve seen from him before so it’s easy to take notice of. “What?”

He shrugs barely, “I like when you say my name.”

Your eye contact holds for a moment and your resolve starts to shake almost instantly.

You exhale, “I’m not taking more than a hundred.”

“Two hundred.”

“Bruce.”

He smiles and picks out some of the cash and pockets it, handing you the rest. You don’t comment on the fact that it’s a hundred and fifty more than you’d agreed on.

You look down at the money in your hand like it’s a foreign object, shaking your head. “I don’t even know what to get.”

His thumbs start to rub reassuring circles by the bend of your knees, “Anything you want,” he tells you. “What do you like? Silk, lace, cotton, anything.”

You look up, tilting your head at him with a furrowed brow. “It doesn’t matter what I like, th—”

“It only matters what you like,” He says seriously, lowering himself to meet your gaze. “I’ll love it, no matter what you pick. Don’t worry about that.”

You lean forward a bit instinctually, “Okay.”

His eyes scan across your face in something that you can only recognize as awe.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you whisper.

“I want to kiss you again,” he says, voice even quieter.

Your eyes go to his mouth and you can only manage a nod, lips already parted.

He moves forward not a second later, kissing you with more fire than you’d gotten to see the other night. His hands grab at your waist, squeezing lightly as you hook one hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

You hear the clatter of chess pieces falling over as he moves nearer to you, large frame leaning over you. You push up on your knees, meeting his lips up at his level. His hands caress around your hips as the kiss gets deeper.

You just start to fumble with the hem of his shirt when he takes your hands in his, pulling them away before breaking the kiss.

“Easy, sweet girl,” he smiles, nudging you back with little force.

You groan, “Why?”

He barks out a laugh at that, stroking your hips again. “I’m not fucking you for the first time on the floor.”

“Then let's go somewhere else,” you nod up towards the stairs.

He shakes his head, that soft smile still playing on his lips. “Not tonight.”

You sit back on your heels again, frowning.

He brushes your hair back, murmuring, “No. But for now, I'll kiss you ‘til you can’t think if that’s what you want.”

You really hope you didn’t perk up at that as much as you think you did.

part two

🌾🌽 i heard a rumor that if you like without reblogging your crops will be cursed but hey what do i know 🌾🌽

[sttoru]

clan leader!satoru, whose smile isn’t actually a. . . smile. it serves as a gentle (yet not-so-gentle) threat to whomever it is dedicated to. a lot of the gojo clan members, as well as members from other noble clans, have heard of that infamous smile and know of its true meaning.

ever since marrying you, that smile often finds its way onto his lips. it’s not because of you, but rather because of the ones interacting with you. satoru didn’t ever expect to feel so possessive about someone he initially didn’t care for.

a marriage of convenience is all that your relationship was for. it purely existed for the sake of a connection between two famous families. your first weeks together have been awkward. any form of affection - any touches or loving words - were for the sake of his image.

however that all was fated to change: satoru eventually found himself falling for his wife.

your kind personality, your subtle smiles, the embarrassed expression on your face whenever he teased you in front of others even if it was all a faux display- an act of being all lovey-dovey. your inner and outer beauty was slowly becoming more apparent to the white-haired man.

you don’t know when it started. you can’t recall why satoru is suddenly acting affectionate even behind closed doors. usually, he’d drop the act the second you’re in your chambers. now he continues to compliment you, pepper you with chaste kisses as long as you allowed him to… even refer to you as his ‘dear’, ‘pretty girl’ or ‘sweetheart’ to your face like it’s nothing.

you shrug off your own guards and maids when they curiously inform you about their lord’s sudden change of personality, which was supposedly all because of you.

“ah, my wife,” satoru’s voice echoes above the loud chatter in the main hall. you turn your head and find your heart racing for some reason as he addresses you in that gentle tone.

he makes his way through the crowd, eyes never leaving your face, even as other important figures try to catch his attention to talk business. “i was greatly worried about you,” your husband sighs.

a gloved hand cups your face and satoru leans in, his glossy lips inches from yours. you’d think this was part of the fake arrangement, but there’s this genuine hint of adoration behind his cerulean eyes that you cannot ignore.

“i— my apologies,” you murmur softly, eyes darting around the room while you try to ignore the loud thumping of your heart. “i was simply talking to one of the guards,” you explain and nod your head to the bulky man standing next to you.

the guard respectfully bows to satoru the second you introduce him. your husband doesn’t respond for a single second, his fingers twitching lightly at his side. he can’t stand the thought of you talking to another man while he isn’t around.

is it for your own safety? or is it because he’s jealous and immediately wants to get rid of any man who dares speak to his precious wife? perhaps it’s a mixture of both.

“i see,” satoru replies. his eyes darken for a second before he catches himself. the corners of his lips curl upwards, though the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

that familiar sight makes you nervous. you’ve seen it before, when your husband would subtly threaten others for whatever reason, while hiding his true feelings behind that smile.

“well,” satoru continues, his arm wrapping around your waist. he pulls you against his side and places a kiss on top of your head while glaring at the guard through his white eyelashes.

“thank you for keeping my wife safe,” the clan leader says through that tight smile, trying to keep it as ‘genuine’ looking as possible. he has a reputation and image to uphold after all.

you’re about to say something, but are cut off as satoru adds another comment. “i’m here now, so you can return to your post.”

it isn’t a suggestion. it is an order�� a command. a disguised threat.

the guard immediately picks up on the subtle hint and nods without saying a word before walking back to his spot at the doors. you can hear the faint whispers from others as they also seem to recognise that change in satoru’s demeanour.

it’s not like you’re totally oblivious to what’s happening either. you look up at satoru and place a hand on his chest, trying to catch his attention. “satoru,” you whisper his name.

the white-haired man immediately snaps out of it and excitedly shoots you that boyish smile of his instead of the fake, cold one he wore on his face just a second ago.

“you called, my dear?” satoru tilts his head, bringing a hand to rest over yours on his chest. your eyes widen a bit at the way he seems to relax and look at you with that same devoted gaze.

you don’t think it’s an act anymore. the words die on your tongue and you can’t recall what you wanted to say anymore. those sparkling blue eyes and charming smile have you rendered speechless.

“…it’s nothing,” you mutter under your breath. you have no clue how you’ve managed to turn that once, cocky, overly confident and cold-hearted ruler into a total softie for you. it’s something you still need to process yourself.

satoru doesn’t leave your side for the rest of the night, glaring at the men who pass by, shooting them that fake, threatening smile if they looked like they desired to converse with you.

you’re his wife, and that’s that. he silently wonders when you’ll realise that he actually fell for you. perhaps you are already aware of it, but hide it from him on purpose.

whatever the case is, satoru will make sure that you know his true feelings for you. one day he will tell you those three words explicitly— if it wasn’t obvious enough through his sudden change of behavior.

[beloveds-embrace]

duke au angst, but könig isn’t a knight. He’s either not in it and reader just sinks into a pit of depression and withdrawals so much that rumours start speculation around the ton that reader is either dead or murder and it starts to take a toll on john reputation (they start going after why him, simon, johnny and kyle are so close) or a könig is an Austrian duke/way closer to royalty and when he’s over for business with John and/or simon, he and the reader hit it off (much to the boys dismay) and reader plans on leaving without a word, leaving nothing more than a vague letter that details why and a set of divorce papers (helped achieved by könig) and by the time they realise their mistake readers already living the high life in austria

….okay but the first one’s got me downright obsessed, anon 😩 second one too and i feel like i will absolutely end up caving and writing it later but for now, have this!

Angst dukedom post

Non-angst dukedome post(no konig in this one)

No but seriously, there is only so much you can take. Between everyone’s dismissal of you, the lack of any meaningful company, the loneliness- it was only a matter of time before you just… can’t do it anymore.

The change, though it starts slow, is impossible to hide. You stop having dinner with John, finding no solace in the taste of lukewarm, half-heartedly prepared food. You tell yourself it’s not worth it- the stilted conversations, the empty looks, the way his eyes always drift to anything but you. He’s too busy sharing hidden glances with Kyle, exchanging quiet touches with Johnny when he hand delivers the food, speaking to Simon with an intensity that has never been for you.

You stop attending the endless galas and balls you are meant expected to attend as the Duchess. You withdraw from the tea parties, from every suffocating event where you were paraded as nothing more than an ornament on Duke Price’s arm. You withdraw from the public eye itself.

Instead, you drift through the duchy, through the rooms that are suddenly empty when you arrive. You drift to and fro, in a haze of lonelinthat and slow-setting exhaustion.

The maids whispered of you before, but it used to be out of your earshot; now, you can hear them clearly, none of them afraid of being punished when not even your own husband can stand your sight. They mutter about how sickly you look, how your eyes are dull and lifeless.

She’s wasting away.

Maybe it’s for the best.

No one can love someone who fades into the walls.

But of course, the whispers aren’t just within the duchy. Rumors ripple out beyond the duchy’s walls-

The Duchess has gone mad, they say. Locked away by her husband, for her own good.

She ran away in the dead of night, they say. Couldn’t bear her husband’s coldness. Maybe he drove her to it.

He’s always with Duke Riley, isn’t he? Or the butler. Or the chef.

Poor thing. No wonder she vanished.

All of it gnaws and bites at John’s reputation, at yours, but he never comes to you and it doesn’t surprise you at all. He would rather find a way to bury it all then simply check on you. The facade has always been more important, and he keeps it with half-hearted excuses half-believed by some and dismissed by others.

But they are relentless, and soon they taint every interaction he has. No one meets him without a hint of suspicion in their eyes. How much of it is true, they seem to ask. What did you do to her? Is she really gone? She was a good woman, how could you do that to her? There is more scrutiny now on the time he spends with Simon, with Kyle, with Johnny. He starts to avoid public events himself, unwilling to face the relentless gossip that hangs over him now like a dark cloud.

Eventually, you stop dressing for the day, leaving your hair unkempt, your gowns crumpled and out of style. No one comes to check on you, the maids happy at having less work, and you tell yourself that you prefer it that way. No eyes to judge. No lips to lie. The solitude is nothing new, even if it’s never been this severe before.

Time blurs, too. You stop looking at the newspapers when they stop being delivered. The days mean nothing when every morning brings only a new kind of numbness, and some days you spend entirely in bed, too tired to even think about taking a step outside.

Yet, even with your noticeable absence, nothing changes. No one knocks on your door, not even once. No one checks to see if you’re eating, breathing, surviving. You feel so achingly lonely.

John doesn’t approach you once. You have become a specter, more distant than ever. And though he and the others feel a creeping sense of guilt- Kyle finds himself lingering outside your door, only to turn away with clenched fists; Johnny’s jokes die in his throat when he hears your name; Simon stares at the spot you used to take during the dinners and lunches he’d join; John stares at the very few portraits of you that line the walls and wonders how he’d even go about approaching you- none of them move to truly mend the gaping distance between you. They regret their neglect, but they do not know how to fix it. Or maybe they are simply too late.

dukedom au masterlist Part Two: Fix-it

[orangeblossomsintheair]

ILLICIT AFFAIRS (1/3) | CS55

summary : “Bossy, isn’t he?” The voice is smooth, warm, and laced with amusement. You glance to your left and—of course—it’s Carlos Sainz. You freeze, your brother’s voice echoing in your head like a siren: Run. RUN.

wc : 9k

an : sorry for the lack of updates recently.. ehem.. anyway. rally driver carlos sainz. im making this a thing now.

“You’re staring,” Carlos says, voice low and gravelly. His smile is wolfish, sharp enough to cut through your resolve.

You blink, forcing yourself to focus on something other than the way his fireproofs cling to his frame or how the red of his suit gleams in the harsh light. “You’re filthy.”

“Occupational hazard,” he replies, shrugging. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes. Amusement? Challenge? It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.

Because you’re Charles Leclerc’s little sister, and that means Carlos Sainz Jr. is completely, irrevocably off-limits.

Charles would kill you both if he knew. He’s warned you before, in that brotherly-but-deadly-serious tone only he can manage.

Carlos is reckless, he said.

Carlos is trouble.

Carlos is not for you.

But damned it all, he looks good.

The kind of good that sinks its teeth into your chest and doesn’t let go. Mud-drowned, sweat-stained, grime-smeared.

Carlos Sainz Jr. wears chaos like it’s tailored for him.

By all accounts, you have no business so much as glancing twice at him.

Preciously guarded, perfectly poised, the crown jewel of your family’s otherwise tumultuous legacy.

Carlos doesn’t belong in the world that your family envisions for you. He’s nothing like the men you’ve been told to admire. His name carries weight, but for all the wrong reasons.

His reputation is as red as the suit he wears, all sharp edges and unapologetic flame. A bold, glaring warning sign.

—

The first time you meet Carlos Sainz is at the FIA WRC Prize-Giving Ceremony, a glittering vortex of champagne, sequins, and self-importance. The kind of place where you’d half expect someone to announce their yacht has feelings and everyone to applaud.

You’re standing near the bar, clutching a cocktail that tastes like fruit and regret, watching as yet another impeccably dressed couple glides by, all pearly smiles and whispered deals.

You’ve perfected the art of looking like you belong here. Chin up, shoulders back, face set in that careful neutral expression that says, Yes, I am both fascinated and entirely above this conversation.

Your dress, while beautiful, feels like it’s plotting against you.

It’s a designer masterpiece, sure, but also a silken cage, clinging to you with a vengeance. Moving feels like negotiating with an overly aggressive boa constrictor.

You’re mid-sip when a familiar warmth presses against your side, accompanied by the unmistakable scent of Dior cologne and something ineffably Charles.

He slides into your personal space with the precision of a Ferrari in a hairpin turn, arm looping over your shoulders in a practiced, casual gesture

“Hey,” you murmur, tilting your head just enough to catch a glimpse of him. He’s all sharp lines and understated ease, looking like he belongs here more than you feel like you ever will.

“Hey,” he replies, voice low, steady. You know what that particular combination usually entails.

“Charles,” you start, “why do I feel like you’re about to ruin my evening?”

“Because I probably am,” he says, his tone far too smug. “What’s with the silent brooding act? You’re usually better at pretending to have fun at these things.”

You shoot him a sidelong glance. “It’s not brooding. It’s observational detachment. Very sophisticated.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, clearly unimpressed. “Observational detachment looks a lot like you wishing the floor would swallow you whole.”

You huff. “Look, not everyone thrives in a room full of egos and overpriced cologne. Some of us are just trying to survive without tripping over a waiter or accidentally insulting someone’s investment portfolio.”

Charles chuckles, a low, warm sound that makes you feel both comforted and mildly insulted. “Relax. Nobody’s looking at you.”

“Wow, thanks for that, Charles. Truly, your support is overwhelming.”

“Anytime,” he says, patting your shoulder like you’re a child who just learned how to tie their shoes.

Before you can deliver a properly scathing retort, a ripple of energy rolls through the crowd.

It’s subtle at first, a shift in the air, but then the room practically pivots in unison. You wonder for a second if someone's giving out free caviar.

Instead, you follow their collective gaze to a man.

He strides into the room with the kind of confidence that should be illegal. The tailored suit, the tousled hair, the jawline that could cut glass. It's like someone combined a Greek statue and a high-stakes poker player and gave it legs.

“Man of the hour,” Charles mutters, his voice tinged with something you can’t quite place. Disdain? Wariness? A general sense of foreboding?

You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head toward him. “Friend of yours?”

Charles snorts. “Hardly. That’s Carlos Sainz Jr. Rally royalty. He's won the last 3 seasons. Toyota’s golden boy. Ferrari’s got some partnership thing with them next season, which is the only reason why we’re even here.”

You glance back at Carlos, who’s working the room with maddening confidence. “So, he’s basically Rally’s Verstappen?” you ask, your curiosity slipping out before you can stop it.

Charles gives you a look. “Don’t.”

“What?” you say, feigning innocence. “I’m just asking.”

“You’re not just asking,” he counters, his eyes narrowing. “I know that look. That’s the ‘who’s that guy, and how do I make him notice me’ look.”

“Excuse me,” you scoff, turning to face him fully. “I do not have a-”

“Don’t even try to deny it,” he interrupts, holding up a hand. “I’ve seen you use it. Monaco. Italy. That time in Barcelona with-”

“Alright!” you hiss, your face heating. “Fine. Maybe I’m curious. He’s… magnetic.”

Charles rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, magnets also attract negative things. Stay away from him.”

You smirk, leaning a little closer. “What’s the matter, Charles? Afraid I’ll charm him?”

“No,” he says flatly. “I’m afraid he’ll charm you. And then I’ll have to deal with whatever disaster follows.”

“Relax,” you drawl, giving him a playful nudge. “I’m not that easy to charm.”

“Yeah, sure,” Charles mutters, clearly unconvinced. “Just don’t do that thing where you get all… wide-eyed and clever. Guys like him eat that up.”

You’re about to respond when you feel it— a gaze.

You glance up, and there it is.

Carlos’s eyes are on you. It’s brief, almost imperceptible, but it sends a spark down your spine.

Charles notices instantly. His grip on your shoulder tightens. “Don’t,” he warns again, his voice low and dangerous.

“I didn’t do anything!” you protest, trying to suppress a smile.

“Exactly. And you’re not going to,” he says, steering you toward the opposite end of the room like a bouncer removing an unruly guest. “We’re going to stand over here, away from trouble.”

You laugh, unable to help yourself. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“And you’re being predictable,” he shoots back, his jaw tight. “Trust me, mon cher, you don’t want to play with fire.”

You glance over your shoulder, catching one last glimpse of Carlos as Charles practically barricades you with his presence. “You know,” you murmur, smirking, “sometimes you’re more fun when you’re not acting like dad.”

Charles glares at you. “And sometimes, you’re less annoying when you don’t flirt with people I don't even want to see once in my lifetime.”

“The fact that they annoy you is half the fun,” you say sweetly, earning a groan from him.

“God help me,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair. “You’re going to kill me one day, I swear.”

—

“Alright, sœur,” Charles says as he adjusts the cuffs of his tuxedo. “I need to head out for some Ferrari business. Do not make me regret leaving you alone.”

You raise an eyebrow, sipping your cocktail with mock innocence. “Charles, please. What trouble could I possibly get into in a room full of racing legends and corporate sponsors?”

He levels you with a look so sharp it could shave ice. “I have seen you talk your way out of detention, past bouncers, and into a free round of drinks on three separate continents. You are a wildcard, sœur.”

“Flattering,” you reply, setting your glass down. “But seriously, I’ll be fine. I’ll stay right here by the bar, sipping my little fruity drink, not bothering anyone.”

“Promise me,” Charles says, and his tone is so dead serious you have to bite back a laugh.

“Promise,” you reply solemnly, holding up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

Charles doesn’t look convinced. “No cocktails that magically refill themselves.”

“Understood.”

“No sneaking out the back to avoid small talk.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“And absolutely, under no circumstances, are you to talk to Carlos Sainz.”

At this, you can’t help but grin. “Ah, so we’re naming names now.”

“I mean it,” Charles says, leaning in closer, his voice dropping. “He’s not for you. He's the kind of guy that makes people do stupid things.”

You tilt your head, amused. “Are you warning me or complimenting him?”

Charles groans as he steps back, hands on his hips, his expression a mix of concern and mild irritation. If he had a clipboard, you’re pretty sure he’d be writing up a contract for you to sign in blood just so he can rest easier.

“Alright,” he says. “Repeat it back to me. What are the rules?”

You sigh, adjusting the strap of your too-tight dress. “Charles, I’m not five-”

“Rules.” His tone is firm, his eyes narrowing like he’s daring you to argue.

You roll your eyes but indulge him anyway. “I will stay here, I won’t get drunk, and I will absolutely not talk to Carlos Sainz.”

“And?”

You blink. “And… I won’t commit arson?”

He glares at you, unimpressed. “You won’t look at Carlos Sainz.”

“Charles-”

“Not even a glance. Not even one of those polite ‘oh, I accidentally made eye contact across the room’ things. Nothing. He doesn’t exist to you. Got it?”

You try to keep a straight face but fail miserably. “What happens if he sneezes near me? Do I ignore that too? Should I call security?”

“Sœur, this is not a joke,” he huffs, his hands moving to your shoulders like he can physically shake the mischief out of you. “Carlos is… he’s trouble.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Trouble? Or, like, annoyingly charming?”

“Both!” Charles exclaims, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “And don’t give me that look. I’ve seen what happens when you’re around guys like him. You think they’re all charming smiles and nice suits, and then next thing I know, you’re calling me to help you get out of some ridiculous situation-”

“I called you one time,” you interrupt. “And that was because the guy had a pet snake, and I panicked!”

“And who ended up having to rescue you from the snake guy?”

“Okay, fine, you made your point,” you mutter, crossing your arms. “I won’t talk to Carlos. Happy?”

“No,” Charles says flatly. “But I have to leave anyway. Ferrari’s calling.”

“Wow,” you deadpan. “Abandoning your defenseless sister in the lion’s den. What a hero.”

He leans in close, his eyes locked on yours. “I’m serious. Stay here, don’t drink too much, and if you see Carlos coming, you run.”

“Run? In this dress? Are you kidding me?”

“Figure it out,” he snaps, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before walking off. He glances over his shoulder twice—twice—as if expecting to catch you breaking a rule the moment he’s out of earshot, before narrowing his eyes at a man who isn’t even Carlos but looked at you for half a second too long.

You wait until he’s fully gone before exhaling in relief.

“Bossy, isn’t he?”

The voice is smooth, warm, and laced with amusement. You glance to your left and—of course— it’s Carlos Sainz.

You freeze, your brother’s voice echoing in your head like a siren: Run.

RUN.

“I was beginning to think he’d never leave,” Carlos adds, a mischievous grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You blink at him, momentarily caught off guard. “You were… waiting for him to leave?”

“Only because he kept looking at me like I’d stolen his wallet,” Carlos replies, leaning casually against the bar. “Or his car. Or his sister.”

You open your mouth to respond but close it again, realizing there’s no good way to play this off. “He’s just… protective.”

Carlos chuckles, his eyes scanning your face with a kind of slow, deliberate curiosity. “I noticed. So, did you make him that promise? No drinks, no sneaking out, no talking to me?”

“Absolutely not,” you say, deadpan. “I told him I’d only talk to the nice drivers.”

Carlos clutches his chest like you’ve just shot him. “Ouch. Harsh.”

“I’m just being polite,” you say, your lips twitching into a smile.

“Well,” he replies, leaning closer, his voice dropping slightly, “if this is you being polite, I think I would very much like to see what happens when you are not.”

You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “You’re trouble.”

He grins wider. “So I have heard.”

You glance around, half-expecting Charles to materialize out of thin air and haul you away, but thankfully, the coast is clear. “If Charles sees us talking…”

“I will tell him I was complimenting his suit,” Carlos says, completely unbothered.

“Complimenting his suit?”

“It is the diplomatic approach,” he says with a shrug. “Besides, I am not here to talk about your brother.”

You feel your cheeks heat slightly but manage to keep your tone light. “Oh? And what are you here to talk about?”

Carlos tilts his head, considering. “I was going to ask what you are drinking. But now I am more curious about what it takes to make you smile like that.”

You blink at him, caught completely off guard. “Like what?”

“Like you have just outsmarted someone,” he says, his grin softening.

You narrow your eyes playfully. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere.”

“Likely not,” he admits. Carlos leans against the bar, his grin firmly in place, the picture of someone who knows they’re being just a bit too charming for their own good. “Alright then,” he says, folding his arms casually, “if flattery is off the table, will you take honesty?”

You arch a brow, intrigued despite yourself. “Honesty? Bold move. Let’s hear it.”

He tilts his head, pretending to think. “Honestly… I do not think I have ever seen someone look so uncomfortable in such an expensive dress.”

Your mouth falls open in mock offense. “Excuse me?”

“You look stunning,” he says quickly, his voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flip, “but also like you are plotting the designer’s bankruptcy for making it impossible to sit down without no strategy.”

You try to fight the grin tugging at your lips, but it’s hopeless. “That obvious?”

“Painfully.” He gestures toward your drink. “That is why you are sticking to cocktails, am I wrong? Easier to hold when you cannot sit.”

“First of all,” you say, narrowing your eyes, “I’ll have you know this dress is art. Secondly, yes, it’s also a medieval torture device.”

Carlos laughs, the sound warm and rich. “I knew it. You should have gone for something more comfortable. Like a race suit.”

“Oh, sure,” you say dryly. “Nothing screams elegance like fireproof overalls.”

He raises a brow, amused. “I pull it off, no?”

“Debatable.”

Carlos gasps, hand to his chest. “You wound me.”

“Maybe you deserve it,” you tease, swirling your drink. “Coming over here and making fun of my dress. Bold move for a guy who was scared of my brother five minutes ago.”

“I was not scared,” Carlos protests, though his grin gives him away. “I was being… strategic. Big difference.”

“Strategic?”

“Of course. If I had approached with him still here, I would not have had a chance to make you laugh like this.”

You blink, caught off guard by the way his words land. Playful, sure, but with just enough sincerity to make your heart skip a beat. You glance down at your drink to recover. “You really don’t give up, do you?”

“Not when it is worth it,” he replies smoothly.

You roll your eyes, though you’re still smiling. “You know, Charles warned me about you.”

Carlos leans in slightly, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “Did he, now? What did he say?”

“That you’re trouble.”

He grins, clearly delighted. “Smart man, your brother.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I’m starting to think he undersold it.”

Carlos’s gaze lingers on you for a moment, his smile softening. “And yet, here you are. Still talking to me.”

“Out of politeness,” you counter, though your tone is anything but serious.

“Ah, of course,” he says, nodding solemnly. “Politeness. Nothing else.”

Before you can respond, a familiar figure catches your eye— Charles, weaving his way back through the crowd, his sharp gaze already scanning the room.

Carlos notices too.

He straightens slightly, his grin turning almost boyish. “Looks like the bodyguard is back.”

You feel a pang of panic and glance at Carlos. “You should probably go before he-”

He holds up a hand, cutting you off with a wink. “Relax.”

Before you can protest, he pulls a small card from his pocket and slides it across the bar toward you. “Call me sometime. You know, if you ever need a break from all the rules.”

Your eyes widen, and you stare at the card like it’s going to combust. “Are you serious right now?”

“Deadly,” he says, stepping back with an easy confidence that somehow makes the gesture feel entirely natural.

You glance back toward Charles, who’s getting closer. “You’re insane.”

“Very likely,” Carlos agrees, his grin never wavering. “But you are smiling again, so I will take my chances.”

With that, he turns and disappears into the crowd just as Charles arrives, his expression immediately suspicious.

“You’re… red,” Charles says, narrowing his eyes at you. “Why are you red?”

“I’m not red,” you reply quickly, tucking the card into your clutch before he can notice.

“You are definitely red.” His eyes scan the room like he’s searching for a culprit. “Did someone talk to you? Was it-” He cuts himself off, his jaw tightening. “It was him, wasn’t it?”

“Who?” you ask, feigning innocence.

Charles groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I leave you alone for ten minutes-”

“Nothing happened!” you say, cutting him off before he can spiral. “I stayed in place, I didn’t get drunk, and I absolutely did not talk with Carlos Sainz.”

Charles glares at you for a long moment, clearly unconvinced. “If I find out you’re lying…”

“You won’t,” you assure him, fighting to keep your expression neutral.

Charles mutters something in French under his breath, his protective instincts still on high alert. But for now, he seems to let it go.

You take a deep breath, trying not to think about the card burning a metaphorical hole in your clutch.

Trouble, indeed.

—

The next evening, you’re sitting on the edge of the couch in the hotel you're staying in for the week, the card in your hand like a magnet pulling your thoughts.

Carlos Sainz Jr.

His name, elegant and bold, hovers just above a phone number.

You’ve been staring at it for an hour, maybe two.

It’s reckless. You know exactly where this could lead. But after weeks of licking your wounds post-breakup, maybe reckless is what you need.

You grab your phone, dial the number, and press call before you can second-guess yourself.

The line rings twice before you hear his smooth, amused voice. “Did not expect you to actually call. Could you not resist me after all?”

You snort, leaning back in your chair. “You’re lucky I was bored.”

“Boredom. My favorite reason to hear from someone,” he says, the grin practically audible. “Let me guess, you are curious too?”

“A little bit.”

“Well, what are you curious about then? My irresistible charm? Perhaps my car collection?”

“How you manage to stay humble, obviously,” you deadpan, sinking back into the cushions.

Carlos laughs, warm and easy. “Touché. So, to what do I owe the honor of your time?”

“Honor?” you repeat, grinning despite yourself. “You’re laying it on thick, Sainz.”

“Is it working?” he teases.

“Not even a little.”

“Well that just breaks my heart,” he says, the amusement still lacing his voice. “So, what’s the plan? Coffee? A five-course dinner? A museum? A chess tournament, maybe?”

“Very funny.” You can’t help but roll your eyes.

He chuckles. “Not doing it for you? Then.. how about something a little more… fun?”

You pause, caught off guard by the openness of the invitation. He clearly doesn't shy away from what he wants. “Define ‘fun.’”

“Well, that depends,” he replies. “Do you like questionable choices?”

You laugh lightly, your shoulders relaxing. “That’s vague enough to sound both exciting and mildly concerning.”

“Only if you're afraid of a little adventure,” he says. “So, what do you say? Feel like breaking a rule or two tonight?”

It’s tempting, more than you care to admit. After the mess of your last relationship, something casual, something fun, feels like exactly what you need.

No strings, no complications, just one night where you don’t have to overthink.

“Fine,” you say before you can change your mind. “But if it’s boring, I’m blaming you.”

Carlos chuckles, confidence palpable even over the phone. “Deal. Wear something you can run in just in case.”

“Run?” you repeat, half-laughing. “What are we doing, robbing a bank?”

“Not unless you want to,” he quips. “Pick you at nine?”

“Make it ten,” you counter.

“Perfect,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll see you then.”

At exactly 10 p.m., you step out of your building to find him leaning against a sleek black car, his arms crossed casually over his chest. He looks up as you approach, his grin lighting up the cool night.

“Punctual,” he says, straightening. “I like that.”

“Don’t get too excited. I had to pull some serious James Bond moves just to get down here without getting caught.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow, his grin already threatening to take over his face. “You had to sneak out? Please tell me this involved climbing out a window, a grappling hook, or at least a dramatic roll through the bushes.”

“Dial it back, Hollywood,” you shoot back, rolling your eyes. “Charles is in the same hotel, so I had to wait until he was distracted. Then it was all service elevators and a full-on sprint through the lobby. Not my proudest moment.”

Carlos lets out a laugh that’s so loud it practically echoes. “A sprint? In heels? I would’ve paid to see that. Did you also hurdle over a concierge desk? Maybe slap on a disguise?”

“Oh, sure,” you say dryly. “I borrowed a waiter’s tuxedo, grabbed a martini tray, and dramatically whispered, ‘The eagle has landed’ into my nonexistent earpiece. Happy?”

Carlos is practically wheezing now. “God, I love this. The mental image alone is worth every risk of me getting yelled at by Charles later.”

“Glad my suffering is your entertainment,” you grumble, though you can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

“It’s not suffering,” he teases, opening the passenger door with a flourish. “It’s resourcefulness. And it’s sexy, honestly. Nothing like a woman who can evade capture.”

Sliding into the car, you’re greeted by the smell of leather and something distinctly spicy- his cologne, no doubt.

You buckle your seatbelt with a sigh. “Let’s just hope Charles doesn’t find out. I don’t need another lecture about ‘dangerous distractions.’”

Carlos rounds the car and slides into the driver’s seat, shooting you an amused look. “Dangerous distractions? That is what he calls me?”

“Paraphrased,” you say, tilting your head. “But yeah, you’re not exactly his favorite person.”

Carlos starts the car, the low rumble of the engine filling the air. “Dangerous, distracting… mysterious? I mean, he is not wrong, no?”

“Sure, if you consider reckless confidence a mystery,” you deadpan, smirking.

The car glides through the streets, city lights flickering like distant stars. Soft music hums in the background, but it’s the easy rhythm of his laugh that keeps drawing your attention.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence, “do you make a habit of this? Sweeping women off their feet with late-night escapades and mediocre charm?”

Carlos glances at you, his grin widening. “Define habit.”

“Something you do as often as breathing, blinking, or inflating your ego,” you reply, deadpan.

He chuckles, one hand leaving the wheel to gesture grandly. “First of all, I don’t charm everyone. I have standards. Second, I don’t see you as a stranger. More like… a riddle wrapped in an enigma wrapped in—”

“Don’t say mystery,” you cut in, groaning.

“Fine,” he says, smirking. “A challenge. And I love challenges.”

You arch a brow. “So what you’re saying is, I’m a Rubik’s Cube in heels?”

“Exactly,” he says, like it’s the highest compliment he could ever give someone.

“Oh, well, as long as I’m colorful and frustrating,” you reply, rolling your eyes.

Carlos grins. “And completely irresistible.”

“Please tell me that’s not your go-to line,” you say, pinching the bridge of your nose in mock despair.

“Of course not,” he huffs, mock-offended. “My go-to line is, ‘Hi, I’m Carlos. Are you French? Because Eiffel for you.’”

You practically choke on your laugh. “That’s horrible. That’s, like, pick-up line rock bottom.”

“Rock bottom?” he echoes, feigning shock. “No way. It works every time.”

“Oh, I’m sure it does.” You shake your head. “On toddlers and tourists.”

“Hey,” he says, pointing a finger at you. “It worked on you, didn’t it?”

“Absolutely not,” you say, your laugh betraying you. “I’m here despite you, not because of you.”

Carlos smirks, his voice dripping with mischief. “Keep telling yourself that, mastermind. But I know the truth- you couldn’t resist the ‘dangerous distraction.’”

You groan, sinking further into your seat. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you,” he says, shooting you a quick, playful glance, “are having the time of your life, admit it.”

For once, you’re not entirely sure he’s wrong.

The car eventually pulls into the driveway of a sleek, modern hotel, its lights gleaming against the night sky.

You turn to Carlos, raising a skeptical brow, putting on your best impression of someone highly offended as he parks in front of the gleaming hotel. “So, this was the plan all along? Fancy hotel, late-night charm, and then…?”

You don’t even have to finish the sentence because his grin, the one that’s already halfway to insufferable, answers for him.

“And then what?” he fires back, leaning one arm against the steering wheel like he’s posing for a GQ article.

“You know exactly what,” you say, narrowing your eyes dramatically.

Carlos gasps, clutching his chest like you’ve just insulted his entire family tree. “Wow. So that’s where your mind went? I bring you here for the view and the ambiance, and you’re already casting me as the villain? Shame on you.”

“Oh, please,” you reply, fighting to keep your laugh in check. “I’m just cutting to the chase. Save us both the trouble.”

Carlos turns to face you and nothing in his face says he's particularly ashamed to admit his intentions. “Look, I could tell you some noble story about how I just wanted to show you the city from a better perspective.”

“But?” you prompt, raising a brow and you cover a laugh when he tuts at your impatience.

“But, I figured you’re too smart for that,” he admits with a shrug. “So yes, I brought you here thinking we would share a night.”

Your stomach flips at the sheer confidence of his answer, but you force the neutral expression to stay. “Bold of you to assume I’d even be interested.”

Carlos leans in slightly, voice dropping to something softer, teasing. “Oh, I’m sorry. Should I have taken the whole ‘call me’ thing as you wanting to discuss philosophy?”

He leans in, smirk turning positively dangerous. “Plus. Trouble’s half the fun, is it not?”

“Yeah, well, I’m not paying for room service if this whole charade involves a well-rehearsed speech,” you shoot back, unbuckling your seatbelt.

“Speech?” he echoes, already stepping out of the car and coming around to your side. He opens your door with an exaggerated bow that is far too ridiculous to be charming but it manages to be anyway. “If I were planning a speech, it would be Oscar-worthy. Full drama, perhaps a soundtrack. But alas, I left my tuxedo at home.”

“Shame,” you deadpan, stepping out. “A tux might’ve added some credibility.”

Carlos shrugs before gently taking your hand. “M’lady, allow me to escort you to… whatever this is.”

“You’re laying it on a little thick, don’t you think?” you say, stepping out.

“Thick is how I do everything,” he replies. “Thick charm, thick dessert layers.. Thick..”

He trails off, wiggling his eyebrows.

You groan, unable to help yourself. “Are you 13, Sainz?”

“Going on 30.”

The elevator ride is like a high-stakes staring contest, except Carlos is clearly cheating by smirking every time you glance his way.

He leans against the wall like a man who’s never faced consequences in his life, while you remain firmly committed to ignoring him.

“I could get used to this silence,” he finally says, breaking it. “Very... peaceful.”

You don’t even look at him. “If you wanted peaceful, Carlos, you picked the wrong girl.”

His laugh echoes in the small space, low and entirely too confident.

—

The suite is jaw-droppingly beautiful, the kind of place you’d expect to see in a movie where the protagonist definitely can’t afford it.

Floor-to-ceiling windows frame a cityscape so gorgeous it feels like you’ve just walked into a tourism campaign.

Even Charles doesn't splurge this much on hotels. Much less hotels to spend a one-night stand in.

“Alright,” you admit grudgingly as you step onto the balcony. “This is… adequate.”

Carlos sidles up beside you, resting his elbows on the railing. “Adequate? Adequate? That’s like calling the Mona Lisa ‘a decent sketch.’”

“Relax, da Vinci,” you reply. “It’s a view, not the eighth wonder of the world.”

He shakes his head in mock dismay. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to book this place? I practically had to arm-wrestle a guy named Greg for it. Poor man is probably crying into his budget tiramisu right now.”

You snort, folding your arms. “I hope Greg writes an angry Yelp review. ‘Carlos stole my room and ruined my tiramisu dreams.’”

“Hey, I was thinking of your happiness,” Carlos counters, gesturing grandly to the suite. “You should be thanking me.”

“Oh, thank you, generous benefactor, for saving me from the horror of Greg’s tiramisu,” you deadpan, though your lips twitch toward a smile.

Carlos taps his fingers on the table like he’s just cracked the da Vinci code wide open. “Boom! A smile! My evil plan is working.”

You squint at him, feigning shock. “You have an evil plan?”

“Obviously,” he says. “I am a professional at this stuff. There’s a whole spreadsheet.”

“Spreadsheets? Really? What’s in Column A? ‘Step one: tiramisu. Step two: convince her I’m worth her time’?”

“Not quite,” Carlos waves a hand as though dismissing your obvious lack of understanding. “Step two is actually ‘compliment her taste in balcony design.’”

You roll your eyes. “Well, in that case, I’ll have to charge you for emotional damages.”

Carlos grins, taking out his phone with an easy flick of his hand. “No need to worry, it’s all part of the strategy. Tiramisu’s on the way, and my evil plan is flawless.”

You cross your arms and step away from the window, keeping your eyes locked on his. “Define ‘flawless,’” you tease, your voice sharp with mock suspicion.

Carlos steps closer, smirking like a man on a mission. “Flawless enough that it is guaranteed to work on you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

His eyes flicker to your lips, and suddenly the air between you feels warmer. “Really,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, teasing with the kind of certainty that makes your heart do a little flip.

“You’re not really gonna make me wait for that tiramisu, are you?” You ask, leaning in just a little, challenging him with a smile that’s all confidence and mischief.

Carlos doesn’t even flinch.

In fact, he takes a step closer, his fingers brushing your wrist with a too-easy familiarity. “Greg can have it.”

Your breath catches as his forehead comes to rest against yours.

“Do I have your consent to skip to the good part?” he whispers, hand brushing against your waist, lingering for your permission. “I promise I’ll wine and dine you next time.”

You can’t help but smile, and he mirrors it, that same knowing look in his eyes.

Both of you know there's not going to be a next time. This is it.

Carlos leans in, just close enough for you to feel the heat of his breath on your skin. "I mean it. Next time, you get the full treatment.”

You smirk. "No need to get romantic. We both know that's a lie.”

For a split second, he doesn’t answer.

Then he shrugs, as if he’s made peace with the fleeting nature of this whole thing. "Yeah, probably," he admits, not at all shy.

The world is big and messy. Tomorrow, you'll wake up with responsibilities, regrets, maybe even some bruised pride.

But not tonight.

Not in this room.

You lean in, the air thick with anticipation, and that's all it takes.

Carlos surges forward, catching you off guard with how quickly he takes the lead. His hands cradle your face like it’s something precious, his fingers spreading across your jaw with a touch so warm and careful it makes your chest tighten.

For a moment, everything goes still.

The absurdity of it all melts away as you sink into the kiss, soft and electric all at once.

The heat of him consumes you, the world blurring into nothing but Carlos and the way he tastes. Sweet, intoxicating, and just a little messy. Lips collide, teeth graze, and the rhythm is anything but steady, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

Carlos moves the two of you toward the bed, gently backing you up until your knees hit the mattress. His dark eyes shine with a playfulness that’s new to you, and he can’t help the grin tugging at his lips when you let out the softest gasp as you fall back against the pillows.

He leans over you, his fingers already searching for the zipper of your dress. His lips brush your ear as he murmurs, “Strip for me, baby.”

You’re hesitant for a beat, cheeks flushing pink, but then you comply, your movements shy but determined as you step out of your dress. Carlos watches, captivated, as if seeing you like this is the most enchanting thing in the world.

“God, you’re so cute,” he says, his voice filled with awe and a touch of amusement.

The moment your bra joins the pile of discarded clothing, his hand reaches behind you, fingers deftly undoing the clasp with a practiced flick of his wrist.

“Done this before?” you tease softly, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

Carlos chuckles, his grin widening. “Maybe once or twice.”

His hands cup your breasts gently, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks. The way your body trembles under his touch makes his chest ache with affection. He dips his head, lips wrapping around a nipple, his tongue swirling teasingly as his eyes meet yours.

The little sounds you make are almost too much for him. Every gasp, every whimper, every squirm beneath him sends his heart racing.

“Still okay?” he asks softly, his voice tinged with concern.

You nod quickly, your expression so earnest and trusting it makes his chest swell. “Yeah,” you whisper, your voice trembling but sure.

Carlos smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead before trailing his hand down your body, his fingertips brushing over your stomach, then your thighs. He hooks his fingers into your panties, sliding them down your legs with an almost reverent care.

“You’re so wet, cariño,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with wonder. His fingers trail through your slick folds, teasing lightly before pressing against your clit in soft, deliberate circles.

The way your body arches, the quiet, desperate whimpers spilling from your lips—it’s almost too adorable for him to handle.

He pauses, bringing a finger to his lips and sucking your taste off it with a hum of satisfaction. “I’m going to go down on you,” he says, his voice steady but tinged with anticipation. “Let me take care of you, hmm?”

You whine, covering your face with your hands, clearly embarrassed, but Carlos just chuckles, his heart melting at how cute you are.

“Look at me,” he coaxes gently, his tone soft but firm.

When you peek at him through your fingers, your nose scrunching slightly, he grins. “Good girl.”

The shudder that runs through you at his words doesn’t go unnoticed, and he files that reaction away for later.

He shifts, settling between your thighs before shouldering your knees apart, taking a moment to admire your glistening cunt, flushed and swollen with desire.

Carlos is aching in the confines of his jeans, hard and dripping precum into his boxers, but that can wait.

It’s going to wait.

"So beautiful," he breathes, his fingertips barely grazing the sensitive flesh as he spreads you open for his hungry gaze. “Mierda..”

His eyes follow a drop of come that escapes your clenching cunt, enraptured. He smears it along your clit, relishing in the way your body jerks up on the bed.

Leaning in, he drags the flat of his tongue up your slit in one slow deliberate lick, savoring.

"Mmmm..I could spend hours worshipping this pretty little cunt.” Carlos hums, his eyes fluttering shut. The taste of you, sweet and heady, has him groaning softly.

Your body responds instinctively, your back arching as you clutch at the sheets, soft cries spilling from your lips.

He repeats the motion before he can even think about it, tongue flicking across your clit.

He does that a few more times before shifting, grimacing as his covered bulge rubs against the mattress.

Carlos flicks over the bundle of nerves, then wraps his arms around your legs, lifting them from where they're settled and placing them above his shoulders. He spreads your lips, and then gets started.

“Fuck!” You gasp, back arching as you scramble for purchase, sanity fraying with every plunge of his tongue inside of you.

He seals his lips around your clit and suckles gently, flicking the tip of his tongue rapidly over the sensitive bud.

“I'm- Ah! Oh god, oh shi-it..- Please..” You're not quite sure what you're begging for. All you know is that you're going to die if Carlos stops.

"I'm gonna put in a finger, okay?" Carlos asks, looking up at you for your permission.

Usually, he’s not big on communication, not because he dislikes it, but because he’s rarely found it to be necessary.

But now, here you are, putting on a brave face and quietly defying your brother for the night.

He finds himself pleasantly surprised to enjoy the opportunity to guide you through it.

He grins when you nearly weep in relief.

"Yes, god yes..”

"Just tell me if anything feels uncomfortable.”

He circles your entrance for a moment, placing a kiss on your clit for the sake of it before slowly sinking a finger inside your slick heat.

He waits till your hips start shifting, seeking some sort of friction, before pumping them in a steady rhythm, his palm grazing your clit with each pass.

You’re tight, walls clenching down on just one of his fingers but your wetness makes it a little more easy to slide inside.

He gives a few slow pumps, checking your reaction, before picking up the pace and licking at your clit again.

You’re starting to make a mess, dripping down onto the sheets, and he wonders just how wet he can get you. Will you drip? Will you leak? Will you squirt?

"There we go.." Carlos praises, his words vibrating against your sensitive flesh.

“One more?”

You nod eagerly.

“Words, cariño,” he chides softly, his lips quirking into a playful smile.

“Y-Yes, please, Carlos,” you manage, your voice trembling but eager.

“There’s my good girl,” he praises again.

A shiver runs through you again and he grins, pushing back in with two fingers. Your face twists at the intrusion for just a moment before your hazy eyes are back on him, nodding as you catch his silent question.

Carlos curls his fingers slightly, stroking that spongy patch high on your front wall, easily finding your g-spot in another second as he tilts the angle of his wrist and your jaw drops, eyes widening.

"Oh mon dieu, don't- don't- stop-” you sob.

He laughs, has half the mind to tease but decides to do as you ask and make better use of his mouth by sucking on your clit again.

Your juices gush around his pistoning fingers as he feels your silken walls clamp down on the invasion, rippling and squeezing him in their velvety grip.

Carlos doesn't let up even as you try to squirm away from him, feet planted on his shoulders and trying to push him off your pussy.

He only growls, drags you closer to his mouth, his wicked tongue working your throbbing clit furiously.

"Yes, yes, that's it, let it all out for me," he coaxes between slurping kisses to your twitching sex. "Soak my face. Come on. Know you're close, baby.”

Carlos massages that spot inside you that has your toes curling, and the noises your wet pussy is making are completely obscene, seem to echo in the room.

“Wait-” a panicked wail leaves your lips but Carlos is too far gone, gulping for air as he replaces his tongue with his hand, the red and swollen bud of your clit rubbing against the rapid back and forth of his palm.

But Carlos doesn’t stop, too caught up in the sudden gush of fluid from your body.

His determined ministrations, almost frantic now, send droplets scattering across the bed and even onto his face.

You gasp at the mess, cheeks flushing as you take in the drenched state of his light blue button-up. "Oh my god, I’m so sorry-"

Carlos pauses, sitting up slightly as he glances down at his drenched shirt. For a moment, you think he might be upset, but then he grins. A slow, lazy, thoroughly pleased grin that makes your heart skip.

“Sorry?” he echoes, shrugging out of the shirt and tossing it aside. “Baby, don’t apologize for that. That was incredible.”

His hand moves to your cheek, cupping it gently as he brushes his thumb over your flushed skin.

Your eyes dart away, but he tilts your chin up, coaxing you to meet his gaze.

“You’ve never done that before, have you?” he asks softly, his voice filled with warmth and curiosity.

You shake your head, feeling a little bashful. “I didn’t even know I could.”

“Well, now you do,” he murmurs, his grin softening into a fond smile. “And it was beautiful. You were beautiful.”

His words make you blink up at him, your lips parting as if to argue, but the sincerity in his gaze stops you. Instead, a small, shy smile tugs at your lips, and you nod.

Carlos leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead before his lips brush against yours, slow and tender. “Do you trust me to keep going?” he asks quietly, his breath warm against your skin.

Your response is immediate, a soft and eager, “Yes,” escaping your lips as your fingers thread into his hair, holding him close for just a moment longer.

Carlos groans, before pulling back and sliding off you.

His movements are deliberate, gaze flickering to meet yours as he reaches for the waistband of his jeans.

You can’t help but follow his every move, your eyes heavy with anticipation as he tugs the denim down, revealing inch by inch of him.

He steps out of his pants with a casual confidence that makes your pulse race. His smirk deepens as he notices your unabashed stare, the way your gaze lingers. “Enjoying the view?” he teases, his tone rough but playful.

You bite your lip, a shy but knowing smile creeping onto your face. “Maybe,” you admit softly, your voice laced with just enough mischief to make him chuckle.

“Well, then let’s make sure you enjoy the rest, too,” he says, removing his boxers.

As he does, his erection comes into full view, thick and heavy and already leaking precum at the tip.

Your eyes widen as you take in the impressive sight, a rush of fresh arousal surging through you.

You breathe out, trying to compose yourself. You chance a glance at him and he meets your eyes, nodding his head.

Your fingers wrap around Carlos’ wrist, pulling him back to the bed with a surprising determination that has him raising a brow.

Before he can say a word, you’ve moved between his legs, your intentions clear. Carlos barely has time to process what’s happening before his breath hitches.

“Fuck.”

Your warm, wet mouth enveloping his cock sends a jolt of pleasure straight through him and his eyes nearly roll back.

You move deliberately, letting your tongue glide along his length before pulling back to focus on his tip, swirling and teasing in a way that has Carlos groaning low in his throat.

His hands find their way to the back of your head, resting there more for balance than control, though he murmurs praises that tumble out unbidden.

"That's it, baby, just like that," he breathes, his voice rough with restraint. "Good girl… Fuck, you're such a good girl."

That last phrase draws a muffled moan from you, the vibrations traveling through him like a shockwave, making his stomach clench.

He can’t stop the thought that flashes through his mind— such a good fucking girl.

You find a rhythm, bobbing steadily while your hand works what your mouth doesn’t reach.

Each flick of your tongue over the sensitive underside of his cock has him twitching, a breathy curse escaping when you take him deeper, testing your limits

The warmth and pressure make his head spin, but when your eyes meet his, wide and glimmering with mischief, Carlos feels his control slipping.

"Shit-" he gasps, the sensation overwhelming as he feels the tip of himself graze the back of your throat.

The way your tongue works at the base sends a spike of pleasure so sharp, balls tightening, that Carlos has to act fast, pulling you off with a groan before he cums before even fucking you.

You look up at him, lips swollen and cheeks flushed, a glimmer of satisfaction in your expression.

A thin line of saliva clings to your chin, and you swipe it away casually, your grin both coy and triumphant.

"Holy fuck," he breathes out, running a hand over his face.

It's all the warning you get before he grabs you, flipping your positions in one swift motion so he’s above you again, his body crowding yours.

“Where'd a pretty little thing like you learn how to suck cock like that, huh?”

Your grin doesn’t falter as you murmur, “Wouldn’t you like to know.

Carlos smirks, leaning down close enough that his breath brushes against your skin. He murmurs, voice dark with promise, “let’s see what else you can do."

Carlos leans over you, his hands bracketing your sides as he captures your lips in a slow, heated kiss.

Pulling back just enough to speak, his voice drops to a low, husky murmur. “Dios mío, I can’t wait to fuck you...”

You’re breathless, your lips parted and your gaze heavy-lidded, but there’s a spark of challenge in your tone as you manage to say, “Then do it.”

His eyes darken as he takes in your defiance. “Oh, don’t worry, cariño,” he says. “I will.”

Carlos pulls a condom from beneath the pillow with a sly grin, ignoring your quiet laugh.

He makes quick work of rolling the latex sheath down his length. Making sure you see just so you don't feel uneasy about it.

Reaching for a bottle of lube that he'd asked the hotel staff to leave in the bedside drawer, he opens the cap slowly.

He notices the quizzical look in your eyes and addresses the unspoken question with a shrug. "Just to be safe. Better overdone than under, eh?”

Carlos lubes up his fingers thoroughly before reaching down to massage your slick folds.

His fingers trace teasing circles around your entrance, dipping in just enough to feel you flutter and squeeze, like you’re already trying to pull him closer. It’s almost too cute how your body responds, eager and impatient.

As Carlos begins to press in, the head of his cock breaching your tight entrance, your features twist in the most adorable way, your brows pinching together, lips parting slightly as you adjust. He can’t help but marvel at how perfect you look, even like this.

He exhales sharply, trying to stifle a groan.

Carlos isn’t usually the type to get too vocal, but the way you feel is making it impossible to hold back.

“Shhh, relax for me, amor,” he murmurs, his voice soft and reassuring.

One hand strokes soothing circles on your lower back while the other cups your cheek, his thumb brushing against your flushed skin.

He’s trying to be patient, gentle, because he doesn’t want to rush you, doesn’t want to miss a single moment of this.

He pauses whenever your expression tightens, his eyes fixed on you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever seen.

The way you wriggle your hips a little, trying to get used to him, only makes his heart clench. You’re trying so hard for him, to take his cock, and it’s impossibly endearing.

Finally, you nod, your voice a soft whisper. “Okay… Okay, you can move.”

Carlos doesn’t need to be told twice.

He starts slow, his movements careful and deliberate, as if he’s afraid of breaking something fragile. Each sound you make, the tiny gasps, the way you breathe his name, sends a shiver through him.

He's going to be obsessed with you if you keep it up.

The way your back arches beneath him, how your hands cling to his shoulders, and the soft “oh” that slips from your lips when he pushes a little deeper. All of it makes him want to be drunk with you.

When he’s as far as he can go, he pauses, watching your face, his voice laced with affection and just a hint of smugness. “Never been this full?”

You shake your head, biting your lip in that shy way, your hips shifting against him instinctively.

He chuckles softly, starting to move again, his pace slow and steady at first. But as you begin to meet his thrusts, matching him perfectly, he picks up speed, his movements more purposeful.

Each deliberate snap of his hips pulls the sweetest, most melodic sounds from you, soft gasps and little whimpers that only spur him on.

You’re perfect. So fucking cute.

The slick heat between you makes every movement smooth, though Carlos slips out a couple of times, only to guide himself back in easily.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving faint marks that spur him on, and your cloudy, pleasure-drunk eyes roll back in the most pretty way, making his chest ache with something more than just lust.

“Do you wanna ride me, baby?” he asks, his voice soft but laced with need.

“Y-yeah,” you stammer, your voice trembling as you nod eagerly.

There’s a flicker of shyness in your movements, a hesitation that only makes you more endearing to him.

Even though your limbs are heavy with exhaustion, you don’t hesitate, shifting so Carlos can lie on his back while you straddle him. He watches you with rapt attention, his lips quirking into a small, affectionate smile as you position yourself over him.

His hand wraps around his length, teasing your folds with the head, and he’s utterly mesmerized by the way your lips part, the way you bite down on them as you begin to lower yourself.

Inch by inch, you take him, and he can’t help but think of how you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

His hands find your hips instinctively, gripping you gently but firmly.

Despite his intention to let you set the pace, his need wins out, and he begins guiding you up and down before you even have a chance to adjust.

A loud, sweet moan escapes your lips as you lean forward, kissing him with an urgency that’s almost too cute for words.

Your teeth tug at his lower lip, making him groan softly, his hands tightening on your waist.

Then you start to move on your own, bouncing on him with a surprising confidence, and your wide, innocent eyes flick up to meet his. Even as the heat radiates from your every motion, there’s something so sweet in the way you look at him, like you’re trying to get his approval.

“Like this?” you slur, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, just like that,” Carlos breathes, his voice thick and low.

The lewd, wet sounds of your bodies moving together threaten to push him over the edge, but he focuses on the adorable way you’re trying so hard to be good for him.

“You’re so good for me,” he groans, his words spilling out without thought, and the way you whimper in response, your lips parting in a needy gasp, makes his heart race.

You sink down fully, grinding against him, and he watches your expression shift. When you find the perfect angle, your eyes widen in a mix of wonder and surprise, locking onto his like you can’t believe how good it feels.

“Keep going, baby,” he murmurs, his thumb finding your clit and circling it gently, his voice filled with awe. “You’re perfect. So perfect. Let go for me.”

Your movements grow frantic, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your body trembles. Carlos watches in utter fascination as your lips part in a choked whimper, and then you cry out, your release hitting you in waves.

Warmth floods over him, soaking his skin and the sheets beneath, but all he can think about is how beautiful, how absolutely adorable, you are in this moment.

The sight, the sound, the feel of you. It’s too much. Carlos’ grip tightens on your waist as he thrusts upward one last time, his own climax crashing into him.

His body shudders beneath you, his head tipping back as he empties himself completely, groaning your name softly.

When it’s over, you collapse onto his chest, your breaths mingling as both of you struggle to steady yourselves.

Carlos’ hands wander to your lower back, tracing gentle circles near the dimples that make you squirm slightly, a halfhearted giggle escaping your lips.

He chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. The two of you lie there in the quiet, the warmth of each other’s presence wrapping around you like a blanket.

After a long pause, Carlos speaks, his voice filled with playful affection. “You want tiramisu?”

The sleepy laugh you let out is so cute it makes his heart flip, and he knows he’d do anything just to keep hearing it.

The thought makes him sick.

[suiana]

yandere! cheater and gn! reader who's in their villain arc...

you've suspected that something was up when your boyfriend started to get busy with his work, coming home late, hiding his phone from you...

of course you just wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt that he really was just stressed from his work. he was yourboyfriend after all. you had to trust him, didn't you?

well everything was shattered when you found one of his side chicks under your shared bed. she was naked, only wearing a pair of undies while holding in her pee.

"wtf why are you hiding under here?"

"your bf doesn't want u to know that he's cheating. told me that he'd kill me if i came out."

yeah, so the girl was an asshole to get with your man when she knew that he was in a relationship but at least she told it to your face straight up. also she pissed herself while getting out from the bed so there's that.

meanwhile, your boyfriend was sobbing and crying when he came home. you had found out of his side affairs, a side he never wanted you to find out about. to be honest, your boyfriend didn't know why he he got with others in the first place. he had everything he could ever want in you. you made him feel alive, all the good things you know. being with you was like a dream come true and he constantly felt like tearing out his skin from how happy you made him.

you were his god.

oh, yeah, thinking about it now that's probably it. he felt that you were too good for him and didn't want to taint you. which... was why he resorted to sleeping with others.

shitty move, yeah he knows. don't need to repeat it.

but you... why were you so forgiving? you welcomed him back with open arms, sobbed a little and told him how hurt you were! he thought you'd have up and left by now!

but you didn't.

he knew you were too good for him, he had to treat you better now. he just had to, this was obviously you giving him a second chance, right? oh he just loves you so much!

unfortunately for him, it wasn't a second chance. no, you were about to absolutely ruin this man.

it started with the small things. small rumours about him ranging from how he had a small dick to how he's a pushover... you needed to start your plan slow, you know. tear his reputation of a good and sensible man bit by bit. gotta build up that tension teehee >w<

then from the rumours, you started manipulating the people close to him. crocodile tears, white lies, and a whole pity party for yourself... telling his friends and family members how your boyfriend was an absolute shit of a boyfriend, how he didn't treat you right and how he was the worst an alive... well, it wasn't much of a lie. he did spoil you and treat you like a deity but if he really treasured you why would he cheat in the first place? there's no space left in your life to pity him.

the most important part was to constantly reassure him that you loved him and to make sure that he never finds out that you were the one ruining his life from behind the scenes. can't let him find out that his angel lover is the one that's bringing him to social death now!

by this stage, your boyfriend was completely dependent on you. everyone around him was looking at him like he was the absolute scum of the earth. where did the rumours come from? why was everyone avoiding him? he couldn't even go to work without his coworkers side-eyeing him like he grew an extra head! he's just lucky he didn't get fired-

oh and what do you know. he got fired.

he comes home crying, an absolute mess and a shell of the man that he used to be. what was once a confident and charming man is now a desperate and pathetic boyfailure.

"baby i got fired, i'm so sorry. i don't deserve to be with you."

his arms wrap aorund your legs, tears staining your pants as he seeks comfort from the only person still left by his side. yes, you're the only person left dying for. even his own parents desserted him, yet you stayed. he's so thankful-

"yeah, you're right. you don't deserve me."

it's like time stops the second the words fall from your lips. he slowly looks up at you, eyes widening in horror as his tears dry up. what? was he growing delusional? he must've heard you wrong. no way his beloved god just said that!

"haha... you're so sweet baby. joking around in a time like this-"

"i'm not joking. you don't deserve someone like me."

you slap his hands away, looking down at him as he remains on his knees on the floor. you had a smug smile, expression all cocky as you even started to laugh.

"haha! did you really think i wanted to stay with you? fuck no! i have standards okay? i really didn't want to stay with a cheater!"

your boyfriend didn't know what to think. what were you saying? he doesn't understand. is this a late april fools prank? the way his heart was clenching and the way he felt his face paled shows just how much he doesn't like your words.

"babe stop-"

"i hate you god damnit. i really thought you'd be the one for me but no! you just had to go ahead and cheat!"

but you didn't listen to him.

"let's break up."

oh yeah, you hear that? that's the sound of his heart shattering.

he quickly crawls over to you, face pale as he grips onto your pants tightly. his hands shook with each word he uttered, tone desperate as tears streamed down his cheeks once more.

he never thought he'd start begging for someone to stay when it was usually the opposite but... you were his god. the one he's devoted his entire life too.

so he'll gladly get on his hands and knees for you if he has too. you can't leave him. he doesn't want to be alone.

"please! forgive me! i know i did something wrong but i'm trying! you can't leave me too!"

he looks up at you, face completely flushed as he continues to turn himself into an even bigger pathetic mess. he doesn't care what he looks like now. he's practically lost everything. he has nothing left to lose.

"i promise i'll be better! i haven't cheated since you found out last time! d-doesn't that count for something?"

he gives you a shaky smile, as though that would convince you.

it wasn't.

in response to his words, you could only give a disgusted expression, kicking him away before walking past him to the front door. what a pathetic man he was.

"you know, you look best when you're like this."

you state, glancing at him with a smile before turning to leave his house. well, there's that. your plan was complete and your now-ex boyfriend was absolutely destroyed.

so why did it feel like... something bad was about to happen?

you quickly look back at him, keeping your cool and remaining nonchalant before you feel the blood drain from your face. your best friend?! where did they come from?! and the fact that your crazy ex was holding a knife to their neck-

"no... don't leave me... you can't leave... i have no one else but you..."

what were you supposed to do now that he was holding your best friend hostage?

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Malleus Draconia: Made Up

… Why does Malleus continue to have some of the most “hey are u lost bbg” facial expressions + poses ever on his initial birthday card artworks… 💀

He really looks like his mom when his hair is all pinned back like in his alt and Groovy look. xbjsbsjww The makeup products he’s using… They look like Giorgio Armani 💰

Rise and Shine!

Humans were blessed with two hands with which to do all of their work. Malleus Draconia had no need for either of his.

Lipstick, liquid eyeshadow, and finishing powder lifted into the air, glowing an eerie green. They uncapped and began applying themselves, gliding easily across his lips, painting his lids, and patting down his pale skin. Already, a cloth was busy polishing his horns, and a brush ran through his hair. A mirror, magically suspended before him, displayed his regal visage--a work of art slowly coming into its peak form.

You had heard Scarabia's vice dorm leader mention that he used magic to do his hair--a complex, precise process--but had never in your life witnessed a show like this. You clapped for Malleus, as if a spectator that had just seen a most wonderous trick.

He cut you a curious look. "May I ask why the applause, child of man?"

"It's just so cool seeing you use your magic," you replied truthfully. "There's so many things happening at once, it's hard to know where to keep my eyes. You're really amazing!"

There was a sound akin to a stifled chortle. These, you had grown accustomed to.

"You never cease to surprise. This is but a modicum of what I am capable of." He almost seemed to pout as he said it, as if itching to demonstrate the full extent of his powers. Wanting praise for something more.

"Oh, trust me. I know you are--but it's nice to see the Malleus Draconia using his magic to do normal, everyday stuff too." You grinned, ducking behind him to peek into his mirror. Your gazes met in the sparkling glass. "I wish everyone could see this."

"It is hardly a matter of importance to share the details of my morning routine with the masses. Besides, Grandmother would no doubt grant me a thorough scolding for allowing myself to be seen in such an improper state.”

He yawned, and a hand moved to cover his mouth, where you caught a glimpse of pointed canines. A rare moment of cuteness, of vulnerability. A side of himself kept private. Such a mundane thing--it reminded you that he, too, was but a student, preparing to tackle another day.

"Maybe not, but then again… maybe they'd see what I see too."

You quirked a brow. "And what is it that you see?"

"That you're not as scary as whatever scary made-up version of yourself they have in their heads. It's not all doom and gloom, wrath and lightning. You're someone that laughs and cries too."

"... Do they have that impression of me?" Malleus brought a hand to his chin. "Odd. When I last conversed with a peer of mine, they were so elated to be in my presence that they fainted on the spot. Lilia commended me for making such a strong impression on them."

"Erm... Lilia might not be the best judge for that." You poked at the corners of your mouth. "You have a nice smile, so how about showing it more? That might draw people to you."

"Hmmm. Like this, perhaps?"

He attempted to imitate you. The result was an awkward facsimile of your smile. Not quite the same curve, and with the tips of his fangs poking out. His eyes, still ominous.

Clumsy, but a little dangerous.

Your heart sprouted wings and fluttered. “It’s a good start! You’ll get the hang of it with more practice.”

Malleus sighed, and at once, the items that had been hovering around him collapsed along with his breath. “This is a conundrum. As a public figure and representative of my country, it’s imperative that I maintain my reputation.”

The fluttering in your chest settled like a stone sinking into the bottom of a lake. A sudden weight, a sadness, sitting in your stomach. He cut a gallant figure--but without the fairy lights and fire, he was but a pitiful creature trapped within stone walls.

Lonely and misunderstood.

Without a word, you slipped a hand into his. Malleus felt cold to the touch, like some long-forgotten relic dug up from some ruins.

His eyes shot wide open with alarm. "What are you..."

"Let's walk to class like this," you suggested softly. "I know you wouldn't harm me. If everyone else can see that... they'd understand, right?"

Shock flooded Malleus's face. Then, like a flash of lightning and a fleeting bellow of thunder, it was over, replaced by the faintest chuckle.

"... Very well." He squeezed your hand, the motion sending sparks of electricity through you. "I would not be opposed to this. If they are to weave tall tales, then all we must do is flip the script and write a story of our own to combat theirs."

[luviestarz]

park jisung fic recs!

✰ drunk jisung is clingy… and kiss-driven - @asteroidsung (you didn’t take bestfriend!jisung to be an affectionate drunk, thinking he would be the type to be sleepy and quiet. clearly, you’re mistaken. and oh how good it feels to be wrong.)

✰ Heart Band-Aids - @tynct (you and jisung separate from the others at an amusement, and he buys you heart band-aids)

✰ HAUNT ME, BABY! — PJS - @ukiyoexo (when you see a ghost, you’re supposed to be scared right? yeah, that’s what jisung thought too until he met you. a night spent in boredom leads you to lighting random candles and attempting to summon a ghost. you never expected it to work — or for the spirit to be so cute.)

✰ 8 letters | park jisung - @xiaodejunletsact (4 years ago, you and jisung’s long term friendship came to an abrupt end. now in senior year, the two of you find yourselves being forced together again by your mothers. suddenly, jisung begins to ask himself what is more important: his reputation or you.)

✰ sweeter than honey. - @luvdsc (you and jisung are too busy being the biggest simps for each other that neither one realizes that, well, both of you are the biggest simps for each other. or alternatively, diamonds (and park jisung) are a girl’s best friend.)

✰ fwb!park jisung x reader - @jenosbigtoe (fwb!jisung but he desperately wants to make you his so he goes the extra mile to show u how much he really wants you)

✰ perv!jisung x reader, braces - @neocentral

✰ Too Young - @loudstan (You thought avoiding Jisung after what happened during his first rut would make the problem go away (SPOILER ALERT: it didn't.)

✰ at midnight with you - @hyuckbeam (your boyfriend just recently got his driver's license, and boy, was he adamant to take you for a ride (with you being just as eager as him).

✰ DO IT AGAIN - @taexoxosgf (your brother’s best friend can never get you alone. that’s why he won’t miss an opportunity— even if your brother’s on the other side of the walls.)

✰ dance practice ; 박지성 - @martiniblues (with you and jisung’s time running thin due to his schedules, you decide to go visit him at practice. when the two of you finally have some time alone, jisung thinks this is the perfect time to mess with you.)

✰ texts w/ bf!jisung! - @haespoir

✰ flirty bf texts. - @ohmygs-blog

✰ FULL MOON — PARK JISUNG - @moonjella (your boyfriend, jisung has his rut and has been avoiding you all day. for the first time his rut has aligned with a full moon making it much more powerful than usual. he's afraid of hurting you, but you show him just how strong you can be and how much of him you can take.)

✰ SCORE THAT GOAL! — smau - @lqfiles (after your college had announced that all the students were required to join a club and attend it twice a week, you were planning on either a) dropping out, or b) join the art club and pretend to be sick most of the times. that was before you discovered that park jisung is a long time member of the football team. change in plans: you LOVE football.)

✰ Teach Me || P.JS - @ihaechans (It's been about ten months since you and Jisung started dating, and not once has he fucked you properly. Yes, he's fucked you multiple times, but you're always on top riding him, or simply using him as you please, leaving him no room to fuck you how he wants to. Finally, he musters the courage to talk to you about it, and the outcome makes him wish he'd done it sooner.)

✰ jealousy | pjs - @heyjwi (your boyfriend loved watching you perform but today something was different. that angered expression and glaring eyes, what’s wrong with him?)

[chiscaralight]

Scaramouche x fatui! Harbinger reaader and reader is a higher rank than him.. Ive seen this a couple times before and it has me soaked everytime.

hehehehehhe nsfw balladeer!scara x reader. feels like i havent written for my stink in years. slight degradation?

this should be so embarrassing—it shouldn't even be happening. but why does it feel so good if it wasn't meant to be? why do you constantly find yourself wandering into his chambers in the dead of night so he can have his way with you? or more importantly, why was it so important today that you couldn't even wait for the moon to rise?

the reason will remain unknown to you, but the balladeer remains the answer. your front is pressed flat against his desk, bottom half completely exposed as he pounds into you with that sinister smile you don't even have to look back to see. shit, you're a higher rank than him, you should be the one bending him over! but with the way his cold fingers are pressing against the fat of your hips, dragging your body back into his as he hits that spot that makes you cry out his name with each thrust.

his speed is dizzying, and his grip on your hair is inhumane. the balladeer's lips are mere centimeters away from your ears, sickly spitting about how stupid you look going dumb on his cock. you're quick to oppose him in meetings and speak out on almost everything he lays down. but you take every single thrust he gives like it was your only purpose. such a big, bad harbinger like you getting their brain fucked out by someone lower ranked, what would your subordinates think, hm?

but his words hold no weight to you once his mouth finds your neck because you're already writhing from the pleasure of the bites he's adorning you with. he's freeing one of his hands to stretch it down, barely bumping his nimble fingers against your clit. your hand is flying towards his, desperately trying to get more touch out of him, but he only laughs. the fact you think you have any sort of power here is so amusing; pitiful actually.

"m-my lord! i was told to deliver some documents to you from Childe."

the voice behind the door is muffled by the thick wood, but the words are loud and clear. your eyes widen at the thought of seeing you like this, but the balladeer is faster. your face is being pressed into the material of his desk as his eyes meet yours and his voice is a low whisper.

"aww, are you scared of your subordinates seeing you so useless? what if I was to let him in and see you like this?"

you're not sure if the tears welling in your eyes are from how sensitive you're getting or the reputation riding on your head was about to be damaged, but the silent plea of your eyes is enough for him to barely bite back a smile. pure fear, that's one thing he doesn't get to see so much from you. so in exchange for this euphoric feeling you've given him, he'll spare you just this once.

"bring them back tomorrow. i'm busy."

"but my lord, the eleventh-"

"will the eleventh bring you back to life once i rid your body of life?"

"i-i will be back tomorrow, my lord."

the padding away of feet has your mouth opening in a relieved breath. but you're more concerned about why the man behind you has stilled his movements.

the balladeer is more than convinced that since he helped you such a great amount, you owe him something—a show. which is why he's leaned back on the large seat in his office with you completely bare, bouncing on him like some cheap whore. you're not sure what's more humiliating; the fact that he's still practically fully clothed or the shameless staring at you. eyes raking over your body as you move on top of him. your nails are digging into the fabric resting on his shoulders for balance, but the way his hands are holding your waist is more than enough to keep you in place.

but you are much too slow for his liking today, and he wants to pump you full as much as possible, as soon as possible. so he's almost throwing you down, pushing your leg up, and sliding back in with ease. his kiss is as harsh as he is, full of moans and tongues clashing, but it only fuels that heat in your belly as he picks up his pace. you're whining about how you need to cum, begging pathetically for your release. the only answer you get is rough circles to your clit once again as your eyes roll back, noises being silenced by the balladeer's other free hand pressing against your mouth. after all the stupid crying you do, you do absolutely nothing to actually try to shut the slightest bit up from your orgasm, so annoying.

he'll shake you awake, then tell you to fuck off from his office. you'll redress in silence and head for the door, but hell stop you just before you leave. before you can question, his lips are hot on yours once again, pressing your back against the wood as you slide your hands into his hair. you can swear you hear him groan as you grind your hips forward, but he'll pull back regardless. his fingers will adjust the collar of your shirt you can never seem to get right, then usher you out once the large hall is clear. he'll stare at the spot you just left, eyes practically burning holes in the carpet with a strong scowl on his face. he can still feel your skin against yours and it pisses him off. he misses it.

[radiance1]

Danny is a ferret.

Do not ask how, do not ask why. The answer will never leave his lips so long as he swears it.

Anyways.

Danny has unfortunately lost his friends and family in the Nasty Burger Explosion a while before becoming a ferret, which understandable made him sad and in that sadness, he's been roaming around the ghost zone aimlessly (his family and friend's aren't ghosts).

Then he was thrusted into ferrethood.

A while later he finds himself a group of ferrets and, well.

Using his newfound power he go back to Vlad's mansion and causes CHAOS.

Vlad is, understandably, pissed at this. Not at the property damager per say. But because they interrupted his time where he just sat back, relaxed, let his hair down, pours himself a glass of wine and enjoys a cake for his own pleasure.

As well as mourning the loss of Madeline Fenton and, surprisingly, Jack Fenton.

He doesn't usually let himself relax and sink into grief, because he threw himself into work to avoid that most days. But today was the date of their death and, well, he sets aside a little time for that.

One of them has a far too familiar color scheme, and Vlad instantly clocks that it's Danny and asks why he's a ferret.

Danny doesn't answer.

So now Vlad finds himself living with a bunch of ferrets under his roof, his giant roof that could well hold much, much more than them.

But that's beside the point.

So Danny lives with Vlad here, mostly terrorizing the man on a daily basis while his ferret friends move in (and joining him on the grief day). Even funnier, the ferrets bring more ferrets over to Vlad's mansion, some ghosts and some others actually alive.

How did they bring alive ferrets over?

Don't question it.

Vlad has more than enough space for them, really, and no one told him anything until he actually saw one trying to steal his food. He then buys food for the alive ones, so they don't steal his food (and ingredients).

Vlad decides that, since Danny wants to be such a nuisance he might as well make himself useful. After all, a group of ferrets is called a business.

Danny gets placed in charge of a small portion of Vladco, then secretly starts buying up more ferrets to annoy Vlad. Somehow Vlad doesn't notice until it's too late and he's acquired a reputation for loving ferrets or something of the like. Danny does do actual work though, not as much as Vlad (since he's the CEO and all) but enough.

He also becomes a shareholder.

The second biggest shareholder in fact. Vlad is the biggest and Danny never actually thought Vlad had those but it made sense actually.

It was funny when the other shareholders realized that a ferret held more than them.

His work, while small, does get upgraded to of more importance than originally. Probably a move to try and give Danny less time to buy more ferrets.

It's for a good cause, Danny swears.

Then Vlad gets invited to a gala, one that has both Lex Luthor and the Waynes in attendance and Vlad yoinks Danny along, mostly to spite him. Because if Vlad was dealing with Lex, so will Danny because of the number of headaches he gave him.

He got him into a suit and everything, that was magical in nature so that, in case Danny suddenly decided he wanted to be human again the suit would fit itself accordingly (Would Danny have ferret ears and tail? Perhaps).

Danny? Didn't really see a problem with this (he's never met Lex Luthor) and decided that most people will probably just see him as some sort of pet Vlad really likes and such he won't have to talk with people. Though he probably won't be able to stray far from Vlad when he wants food, luckily, he can just poke at Vlad to carry him there instead.

[leaderwonim]

𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐘 — fourteen: because you tolerated me

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. lee heeseung x fem!reader, park sunghoon x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲. Y/N always knew that her high school was dominated by wealth and privilege. Upon having a one night stand with popular athlete Lee Heeseung, she uncovers that Heeseung's friend group controls not only social dynamics but also school policies and local affairs, revealing a hidden world of power and manipulation behind their so called perfectly polished exteriors

author’s note: wrote this at 11pm and just finished at 12:25am 😭 my roommate told me to head to bed but i haaaaad to update for you guys so!!! enjoy the lore, hopefully it’s not too confusing ??

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Hanni isn’t so sure what to do. On one hand, she thinks she hates your guts, but on the other, she knows that she really doesn’t.

In fact, Pham Hanni had lived across from you at the ripe age of three, your moms having shared the same apartment complex. Hanni hated everything about that place, it was poorly managed, and quite frankly, cheap.

“Nini!” Little you yelled, your chubby baby hands reaching out for the girl in front of you. “Nini!”

You never knew her actual name because you were so young, referring to her only as Nini.

Hanni loved playing with you, she would beg her mom to bring over some spoiled bread they had in the pantry to pretend to play tea party and eat.

By the time Hanni turned six, her father took custody of her. Her father worked under a man named Park Hyunwook, and that was where she met Park Seojun.

He was a fairly skinny boy, but he made himself look charming nonetheless. Seojun took Hanni under his wing whenever her dad was busy in his father’s company, and soon enough, the two of them became best friends.

They became close to the point where that he made sure his father secured a spot in Decelis for Hanni.

“I’ll quit football if you don’t do it,” he threatened, which earned him a painful slam into the door by his own father.

It worked, though.

Hanni met Jungwon in her sophomore year of high school. He was a cute, rather calm composed boy who reminded her so much of a cat. She swore she fell inlove in an instant.

They talked for quite a while, and eventually, Jungwon did ask Hanni to be his girlfriend.

He stumbled upon Seojun and her hugging after class, and even though Hanni swore to her heart that it was platonic, the younger boy wasn’t having any of it.

So she spilled it out. She told him why they were hugging—of course she did—she loved Jungwon, how could she let her relationship just go down the drain like that?

“My dad’s threatening to pull me out of Decelis if I don’t tell my mom to stop contacting him.” She explained, and Jungwon didn’t understand what Seojun had to do with it.

Turns out, Seojun’s father was the one paying the tuition. If she was pulled out of Decelis, she would never see any of her friends ever again.

“Well, I don’t care if you’re rich or not Han, I love you.”

Despite Yang Jungwon promising his love to her, all Seojun could think about was how scandalous it could be if word ever got out that his father was paying for Hanni’s spot when millions of scholarship kids were still waiting.

So he killed him. Pushed him off a cliff. Seojun wasn’t a monster—maybe he was an awful person—but that didn’t mean he hated Jungwon. He just couldn’t risk it. His reputation was far way more important than some guy his friend was dating.

Besides, Hanni was a pretty girl. She’d find loads of boyfriends by the time Jungwon was gone.

“Are you listening to me? Hello?”

Heeseung waves a hand in front of your face, a playful smile comes to his face when he sees you snap out of your daze.

“Sorry,” you say. “I was just…”

He looked over at your direction, sighing when he sees Sunghoon and Hanni all close to each other. “Looking at the newly inlove couple? Yeah, I know.”

“Inlove is a reach.”

Heeseung shrugs. “I just want class to end so I can take you out for dinner.”

You practically choke at his confident tone. “We made up literally a few days ago.”

“So? I mean it when I say you’re important to me, Y/N.”

Any girl in your spot would’ve dropped dead at Lee Heeseung practically melting in a puddle in your presence.

“You should smile more,” Sunghoon says from the table across yours, his hands coming under Hanni’s chin to smush her two cheeks together.

She slaps his arm away, annoyed. “You’re lucky Seojun didn’t kill you.”

Sunghoon grows tense at that, his eyebrows furrowed. “What did you say to me?”

“Nothing.”

Danielle grows uncomfortable in her seat, her eyes dashing around the room. “How’s home life Hanni?”

Hanni shrugs, stabbing her fork into the mushy mashed potatoes the school had served. “Nothing better than before.”

She wanted to cry so badly in her seat. But if anyone had caught onto the tears that were forming at the edge of her eyes, she would lose the reputation she so desperately worked hard to maintain.

“Excuse me.” She hurriedly rushed off. Sunghoon stands up after her, but Danielle places a hand in front of him.

“Just let her be Hoon.”

And who was Sunghoon to argue with Danielle?

She practically grows limp as she reaches the end of the empty corridor, far away from the cafeteria. Her mascara is probably smudged like crazy, and she doesn’t even want to think about how insane she might look to a passerby.

“Are you okay?” You don’t register the crying girl as Hanni at first. You had just bid goodbye to Heeseung and dropped him off at his business management class, so you were in a rush to get to your class before your teacher gave you detention.

“Just leave me alone.”

Your eyes widened. “Hanni?”

Hanni never felt more embarrassed in her entire life. She didn’t even know why she was crying so hard.

Sunghoon, despite always being around her, was never truly there for her.

Sure, he was there when she broke down in tears complaining about her dad, but he only used that as collateral against her when Seojun had threatened him after he too found out about how Seojun’s dad had been paying for Hanni’s tuition.

Hanni had opened up to him more than she knows she should’ve. She told him how much she hated her dad, how everytime she went home from Decelis, she couldn’t wait to go back because she couldn’t stand an day in that house, let alone an hour.

And what did Sunghoon do with that information? He used it against her.

Sunghoon wasn’t like Yang Jungwon. Seojun couldn’t just kill him off, he was an important asset to the Park Administration for the local politics, the same ones that Seojun’s father was running for.

Killing Sunghoon was too much of a big risk for everybody involved.

Sunghoon knew he had that power over Seojun. He knew Park Seojun couldn’t cry to his daddy about him and he knew that he could destroy Hanni’s whole life with a snap of his fingers.

But he didn’t. It wasn’t fun that way. Plus, like Seojun said, Hanni was a pretty girl. Much prettier than other girls at Decelis. Sunghoon actually liked her.

Heeseung just had to get in his way. The boy knew Hanni first, but Sunghoon managed to squeeze his way to the top within months of joining the friend group. He knew Lee Heeseung had too much of a weak stomach to keep secrets like this. Lee Heeseung was a coward, and would always be in Sunghoon’s eyes.

“Drop him.”

“What?”

“Are you deaf? I said drop him.”

Hanni didn’t want drop Heeseung. She just wanted to feel loved. Heeseung made her feel loved. Sure, she didn’t like him enough to actually pursue him—but she loved the attention and adoration he had for her despite seeing through all her faults. Lee Heeseung cared for her, she just didn’t have the energy to care for him back.

So she let herself reject Heeseung’s confession on the night of Seojun’s gala, she let Sunghoon humiliate him in front of their whole friend group, she agreed to become Sunghoon’s girlfriend.

Why? Because Pham Hanni’s reputation was too big for her to let a man destroy it.

“You can tell me what’s wrong, you know, I won’t judge.”

“God, I hate you.” She whispers, hands harshly rubbing away the tears.

“Why Hanni? What did I ever do to you?”

“Because you tolerated me.” She cries even more. “Because you never once called me out on my behavior, because despite me being a total bitch, you were always nice to me.”

You had no idea what to say, so you didn’t say anything. You just rubbed Hanni’s back, wondering why the hell you were actually feeling bad for the girl who made your life a living hell for weeks.

[etfrin]

❝ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ❞ — chapter one | coriolanus snow

「ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:」 SFW | Coriolanus is his own warning, elitism

「ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:」 young! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

「ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:」 Coriolanus finds out the plint prize won't be his, at least for now but the district twelve girl belongs to him

「ᴀ/ɴ:」 here's the first chapter ;)) hope you like it?! Remember to give feedback guys! And beta read by @nowitsmissing

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previous : prologue

Coriolanus Snow wakes up to his grandmother singing the Panem national anthem. He quickly takes a shower, trying to ignore the squeaks of rats in his bathroom. He rubs himself clean, turning his skin red from the raw scrubbing. He stops as his fingers brush on the scar tissue he has on his wrist.

He takes a deep breath, not letting his mind wander off to you. It's the reaping day. It's the plinth prize. A prize he was going to win. You were of no importance today, or ever for that matter.

But still, he can't help but imagine that the date was etched on his skin. The numbers were written with ink darker than the night, now all that remained was an ugly scar that gave him a nastier remainder.

He shakes himself out of it. His hands grab a towel to dry himself. He fixes his curls, trying to make them as stylish as possible. He has a reputation to keep up after all. Thankfully, today wasn't one of the days in which his eye bags were obvious, the hollow of his cheeks too obvious due to lack of food.

He looked surprisingly healthy like any privileged Capitol citizen would look like.

He gets out of the bathroom to go to his grandma’ams. He gives her a note on her singing of the national anthem before asking her where Tigris is. Just on cue, Tigris bursts in.

Her voice was excited, her face all smiles. She hands him a shirt, his dad's old dress shirt renewed with tesserae buttons. He wore it, letting his cousin rant about the process of it all. Even though he had no interest in listening, it was a thank you in his way.

He pins the rose given to him on his shirt. Teasing his family members about new dresses and chocolates. He was going to win the Plinth Prize, nobody could take this away from him. It was his right.

In the academy, he chats with his inner circle. Making snide comments about Sejanus and his Ma. That's when you come in, a drink in your hand. Your eyebrows are raised as you look at Arachne with barely hidden disgust.

Fuck, you looked stunning in your dress. He has to dig his nails into his palm to remind himself not to stare. Why are you torturing him by being so pretty? You're just a district girl, you had no business having such beauty.

“Tell us who won,” Arachne said with her haughty voice, “Your boy toy surely would have spoiled it by now.” You laugh in response.

A small giggle escapes your lips. You don't take offense by having Sejanus being called your boy toy. Coriolanus wants to furrow his eyebrows from your reaction. Were you and Sejanus dating? No way in hell. Even if you're district, you're better than Sejanus in every way. He wants to scowl at the implications.

(You're his, his, his)

“I wouldn't dare ruin his big day, Arachne,” Sejanus's voice rings out instead, him standing behind you. His arm around your shoulder. “People may not like my father but they do love his money. Surely you can relate?” Sejanus grins.

“Funny,” Arachne replied with a sneer.

You rolled your eyes, “Don't be mean, Sej.” You sip your drink and Coriolanus’ eyes can't help but follow the movement of your tongue poking out to lick your lips clean of the drink. His eyes also glare at Sejanus's hand on your shoulder, a part of him wishing he could break his arm.

You turn to Coriolanus. “Nice shirt,” you comment with a smile, and Snow can tell it's more genuine than anything you flashed at the rest of your classmates. He feels himself flush at the compliment. Not even stopping you even though he should because why should your dirty hands touch him? But he doesn't stop you when your fingers reach out to delicately touch the red rose pinned to his shirt.

“Such a beautiful flower,” you mutter in fascination, “and fresh too.” You tear away a rose petal, crushing the poor thing between your fingers, the tip of your fingers turning red.

He watched, no thoughts in his mind but he knew he should be offended. It has been ten years of your behavior he had endured, yet not once could he open his mouth to insult you.

How weak had you turned him since day one. If anyone knew, he would be ruined.

“Did you have to do that?” Clementia frowns, “Flowers are significant to the Snows.'' You only smirk in reply to Clementia. “I see,” you comment, before taking Sejanus's hand in yours.

You begin to walk away but Snow sees you turn around for a split second. Your eyes meet his and your lips form a word. Sorry. He mouths back, ‘ It's fine. ’

You smile at him and turn back, walking towards the chair where the top 24 seniors are supposed to sit, waiting for the announcement. You had let go of Sejanus’ hand by then, letting relief fall over Coriolanus.

Coryo's fingers rub the scar tissue over the fabric of his shirt. It was going to be fine. Over the years, both of you have grown up a lot. Despite having district blood, you consider yourself Capitol more than Sejanus did. You had adjusted first, and even if your peers didn't accept you, their families were certainly charmed by you during the galas.

You were smarter than Sejanus. You were better than Sejanus. Certainly, you couldn't be compared to the Capitol citizens, but you were worthy in Coriolanus' eyes. That doesn't mean he accepts you as his soulmate. That's something that won't ever change, however, the pride he felt towards you is something he couldn't control.

Coriolanus sits between you and Sejanus. He liked the fact that he was in between like a border neither of you should cross. Sejanus whispered to him, his voice grating but Coriolanus heard what he said.

“I know you had high hopes for this,” he whispered, “But there won't be no Plinth Prize. Not today.”

Coriolanus freezes as he hears what Sejanus means. What does he mean by no Plinth Prize? Never in history is that possible. Sejanus must have been mistaken. That's it because otherwise, everything in Coriolanus Snows’ life would go to hell.

However, Sejanus wasn't a liar nor did he make a mistake. Dean Highbottom soon revealed that the 10th annual Hunger Games and the mentor who won will win the prestigious prize Coriolanus needs. Livia Cardew, the girl he loathed, got someone from district one. Sejanus, the lucky bastard, had gotten someone in district two.

You had gotten the boy from district twelve. Someone named Jessup. The boy was healthy, fit, someone who could win under your guidance. Anger blooms in Coriolanus' chest, he tries hard to control the urge to not throw a chair at Dean Highbottom.

Even God wouldn't be so petty as the dean is. For reasons unknown why. The district twelve girl was his. Lucy Gray Braid.

Her makeup is jarring, she was wearing a dress that reminded him of clowns if they used more colors than red and white. The only thing good about her was how she captured attention despite the fact she had already insulted Snow by creating a facade in the reaping.

You can't take my sass

You can't take my talkin'

You can kiss my ass!

He looked at you when he heard the last part. A part of him craved your reaction, surely out of everyone, you wouldn't mock his tribute. You were district yourself after all. You wouldn't mock your people.

What Coriolanus Snow forgot was that you were his soulmate. And in no way the fates would allow his lover to be a saint, an angel as he had hoped for. You were anything but.

You had cruel amusement gleaming in your eyes. A smile of triumph on your lips as if you're sure that you will win the Hunger Games and not him. You turn to him, your eyes hiding the cruelty. You lean forward and Coriolanus counts to ten in his head so his eyes don't fall on your lipstick-stained lips.

“May the best man win,” you whispered, a smirk on your face, filled with the mockery all too familiar like the rest of his peers.

He was going to fucking show you.

“And hereby I declare the beginning of the 10th annual Hunger Games. May the odds be in your favor,” Dr. Gaul's voice calls out to the students.

Odds will be in his favor, whether it be willing by the Lord or his brute force.

Next Chapter

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