#and if you tell people you take inspiration from me PLEASE TELL THEM WHO I AM???? IT'S NOT THAT HARD TO SAY MY NAME????

[thatfrailsoul]

– If you love me, then love me from the heart

tarot pick a pile reading ( → 1, 2, 3 )

pictures from pinterest → one, two, three

Slow down for a moment. Give your conscious mind a moment of rest, allow it to step back. Instead, listen to your subconscious mind, to that inner voice, to the intuition that is guiding you to the pile in which your message hides. A message about the love that your heart is longing for. The one that you are hoping to find…

This is our third reading from our divination jukebox, inspired by possibly one of the most beautiful songs that I've ever heard - "Yağmur Yağar Taş Üstüne" by Mustafa Güzel and Batuhan Fırat (feat. Belkıs Güzel). I'm so deeply grateful for the person that suggested this song and gave us the possibility not only to discover it, but also to have such a deep and tender message through this reading. It is difficult to find the correct translation for this song, but I strongly encourage you to listen and read it, as it is simply magical in the softest way. I will leave you the links that were recommended to me here, in case you would like to listen to it. And if you would like to see a pick a pile reading inspired by your favourite song, you can discover more about how to participate here↓♡!

♪♡♪ Divination Jukebox ♪♡♪

P.s. This is my first attempt at a longer reading, so if you feel comfortable please let me know in the comments what you think of it! If you prefer the shorter ones, if there is any aspect of the reading that makes it difficult for you to read it, or in case you will take a look at the extended version of this reading, if you would prefer to have something more specific in the additional messages of our readings - I will cherish your opinion and use it to get better with each post!♡

– Pile One,

{ The love that you are longing for }

the magician, the seven of swords, the page of coins

Love… you so often consider it just a feeling. A feeling that after all these years alive you still can really connect only to your own self. To you who seems to be the only one to feel it. To give it. While all that others do is receive it from you. Giving you back some gratitude perhaps, but never something that feels like what you gave them. Nothing that really fills in that part of you that was emptied for them… Making you really wonder if perhaps you got it wrong for all this time, if what you considered love never was it. If you imagined and expected it to be more, made it be more. Giving others much more than any person could ever give you in return, more than you ever should've done…

All that attention, that care, that genuine dedication that you put in, time after time, for every soul that was close, going out of your way to be there, right by their side for whatever might come… But still standing alone when facing your hardships, your difficult moments. Only you on the first line, out there in the cold, just you against this world… You genuinely never thought that this is what love would be. You expected something different from what you always received from others before. A complete opposite of having to do everything on your own, of that fear of what will happen to you if one day things in your life won't work anymore. You thought that it should be different from that because you know for sure that all those years of struggle alone never had even a bit of love in them, not from the people that were all that time around and close to you, but never did anything to help you, apart from telling you that this is how it works and that you should grow and take care of yourself on your own.

You alway imagined it, in those dark and painful nights, a hug, a caressing hand, a soft voice that assures you that everything will be okay, that it won't be forever this way, that you are not alone but you will always have them… So you did your best to be deserving, manifesting those tender and loving ways through your own self. Through the way you looked after others, the way you cared for them. Not only knowing that this is the right way to treat others, the way you genuinely want to be, but that it will be also worth it, that you will one day feel the love you gave, through others that will do the same… But it never came. You never saw your reflection in them, you never saw that part of your heart that you gave away being nourished and taken care of… it was always mostly just appreciated in the moment. And forgotten. Or worst, taken advantage of by expecting or asking more. So after all these tears, all the days dedicated to others instead of yourself, all your prayers for help and support, just a little comfort, that you never received because they are too busy to take a moment to give you back that love that you never declined them…. You started to think that you are in the wrong. That the love you always waited for is just a dream that the real concept of love can’t live up to. No matter how much you can look for it or want it. It is simply not something possible. And you are asking for too much.

{ What this is all for }

the judgement, the ace of swords, the lovers

This world, this life in general… has a really unique way of helping us to learn, of guiding us in or through the right direction and path, of letting us know that everything will be alright… Their language is so different from ours that we really struggle to understand it, those words that come in the form of pure feelings directly from within us. The ones that we should trust the most but never do so. Especially when it comes to love, something that we so much idealise, something that we have so much desire for.

Your heart is so sincerely tired, it went through so many betrayals and wounds inflicted by those that you tried to love. To the point that it simply feels that heaviness, that weight of this experience that you never really wanted to begin with. So you feel like you are ready for something else, for that love that you did all of this for, if it even exists at all. But are you really sure of it..? Of knowing so well the person that you would like to have by your side each day, their character, their behaviour, their values? Are you sure that you really did look for them and not just anyone who seemed to be able to love? Are you sure that you really know your worth and the one of your love, how one must love you in order to really give you all that your heart needs and wants? Or did you think that you knew it before, and now you are settling for much less than you are deserving of, because of the overwhelming loneliness and fear that it will be this way for the rest of your days unless you accept whatever one gives you in return? Are you sure that you are remaining loyal to your own self and your soul, instead of trying to “sell” it to whoever is close and good enough?

Because, even though perhaps you are not doing it consciously, but you are changing. Little by little. Not in terms of who you are, but in the ones of who you allow others to consider you. Leaving it up to them to decide how much you deserve, what is the worth of your love and care that you give them after letting them in, where only the most sincere, genuine and trustworthy should belong. You just give them your all. Every single time. Without any limit or hesitation. Not even when all that you receive is another rude phrase, some judgement, coldness and distance once they got up and healed thanks to your love. You just do it. For everyone. Not choosing carefully, but treating every soul as the right one. And not in a good sense. Instead, you are not listening anymore to your own intuition or feelings, not trusting your own mind that recognises the things that are too off. You are just rushing in this hunt for “the one” as the time passes and you feel more and more scared and alone. You are throwing yourself at every possible connection, all in, wandering each time that it goes wrong what you did too little or too much of. And not realising anymore that it is not about how you love, if it is in the right way or the wrong one… But rather who you choose, even force yourself, to love. And how they are simply not the right one, no matter how much you sacrifice of your own values and preferences, just to make them fit in the place that it is not theirs to hold.

All these bad endings, failures, mistakes that you consider yours to be responsible for… Are just a natural consequence of you settling for less than you really desire and need in order to feel loved. All that sadness, that loneliness… are only your subconscious, your own heart that you willingly ignored at first, but that after some time managed to be heard by you, letting you know that the way you are treated, the crumbs that you accept, will never truly be enough.

Those endings, those coincidences that are never in your favour, those interferences in your connections from the outside world… are just its efforts to protect you and communicate with you, trying to show you that refusing your own standards is not what can help you find them, that right person that you can truly feel safe and understood with… Adapting to another person and changing, it is not what will make them love you like you want. It will only keep you stuck in a play pretend. Put you in situations and relationships that you won’t feel appreciated and cherished in. It will consume you from inside out, slowly but surely, just because that one time you believed more others, than your own self that always knew what was best and right for you, what you really wanted to feel and who you wanted to have with you…

The time already passed, you already got through so much. You can’t do anything about it, and it is alright. But you can do yourself a favour and listen again to your own heart, before following that overwhelming fear and anxiety of being left alone in the cold and the dark. Your heart, your love, they are unique. But not at all the only ones. There is a soul, out there, that is your perfect reflection, someone who resonates so much with your ways of feeling love. And you can and will find them. The moment you stop seeing all that happened and you went through as the mistakes you made, ways that you can be better by being more or less… And start to see them as simply were and when the things didn't feel right for your heart, for who you are. Because those things that you felt the lack of, or perhaps as though it is just too much, are the ones that you need to hold onto, to look for in others. Instead of ignoring them, just so you can fit in the perfect version of love of someone and they can accept you, even though you are not theirs to love…

Although it seems so easy to do through words… We know too well that sometimes it is not enough to just choose to listen to our heart more. It is not always enough when we, in a certain way, forget its language, when we are not able anymore to comprehend it and separate it from the voice of our mind that we learned to follow… For this reason, there is an additional message for you, if you want to, in our extended version of this reading. What you need to know and remember as you continue on this journey, in this search of the right person for you, but also of the confidence and trust in your own heart, that will be the things that will change everything about the situation in which you are now.♡↓

{ a little message for you }

—

– Pile Two,

{ The love that you are longing for }

the wheel of fortune, the sun, the devil

It happened so many times… So often you felt overwhelmed, completely overtaken, by the life of someone you loved… Their problems, their difficulties, their fears that became yours. Yours to resolve, yours to take care of, yours to endure, even though you never could really influence them, not the things that depended on their actions, their decisions. Not when it was something that was purely theirs to create, destroy and live… It happened so many times, truly. You felt so often the urge to be there for someone, just because you knew them, just because you saw their struggle and couldn't help but to try to save them. Because this is what everyone deserves, yes… But with those that had a special place in your heart, those that you felt so close to you, so needed as the air you breathe, there never was a chance for you to say no. Not when your heart so ardently fought for them each day, no matter if it was your battle, your victory to take or not.

One by one they took a part of your life from you, gladly accepting your love, your support and help. And leaving it all to you, to your heart and mind that never were supposed to live so many lives, go through so many situations and emotions, bear so many consequences that were coming from actions that simply weren't yours. And they took it from you. That time and energy, the courage and strength that otherwise would have gone to you, to your own healing, growth and protection. They took it all from you and, worst of all, they were able to do so thanks to you. You who gave it to them, all that you had, in the name of the love that you felt. You that not even once regretted it. Not in the moment at least…

They took so much from you, making you get used to it, to have so little, to give away so much… That now, for once, you want to find someone different. Someone who will not take advantage of your heart. Someone who will understand that, no matter how much you want and try, it is not the right thing to leave it all up to you, to handle their life… Someone who, for once, just knows more, knows better. Someone who can teach you, gently, softly, as they protect you from your own self, from your own urge to disintegrate yourself for the happiness and safety of someone else.

For once… you want to be overwhelmed by someone's joy, their hope, their desire to be here and to live this life. Their strength to choose to see the best aspects of the things. Their strength to be patient, to have faith, to believe that everything will work out in the end. For once you want to receive that strength, not to give it away. For once you want to be protected, guided, as you trust someone who doesn't expect you to lead the way out of the darkness of their days…

It might sound selfish to some, so entitled to look for someone who has it all figured out, who has better and more control of their life… But you are simply tired. And a little lost, if one can say the truth. Tired of figuring everything out constantly, keeping others above the water, as they push you down, never thinking of the air they are taking away from you. It’s not about an easier life, about receiving constant help or guidance, leaving it up to others to make the choice for you… It is about just wanting to have something that is left for your own self too. A little time, a little love, that you can give yourself without being afraid that in the meantime someone would get upset or hurt. You just want to be able to take care of yourself too, not only of those that you love, of your connections, of your situations, that seem to be destroyed each moment you are not looking after them. You just want to have someone that is by your side, living their life, instead of living yours that becomes so scarily about them, their necessities, their dreams, their worry and losses. You just want someone to learn from, or together, how to live this life in the most right and healthy, loving way. Not to teach it. While you yourself don't have any idea of how you are still here, how you made it until now every day.

{ Will you ever find someone like them }

the justice, the eight of wands, the queen of wands

This new and almost desperate desire in your heart now, might feel a lot like frustration, the last realisation of how things should've been when everything already happened, when it is too late to change them… But instead of a tragic end, it is more of a hopeful and promising beginning. The one that you are creating with your each thought, with each moment of understanding of what it is that you really want to feel, when sharing your love. The taste of it, the feeling, the emotions it can give you. With each found answer in your heart you are changing your life, much more than you expect now. Because it really is all about your choices. Your decision of who you will be accepting into your life from now on.

There is a part of you that is growing, getting stronger, preparing to be vigilant and serious about its duty: the one to protect your heart. One little thought created by the tiredness, the sadness of all that you endured… was enough to move the waves of the whole world, of the reality around you. Of who will be brought right to you, and who will be pulled back, not being the right ones. Changing your connections one step, one person at a time. Giving you back the right to decide for yourself, making you remember that you can in fact do it, you can choose the ones dear to your heart.

And it won’t be delusion, entitlement, selfishness, or any sort of limit that you will put on your heart… It will be just you, all grown up, who will now know that it is okay to not take it all on yourself, whatever and whoever comes, because of the fear of what not doing it will cause. It will be your understanding that people can and will make it through on their own, even if they are so afraid or feel incapable of facing their life right now. And it will be also your acceptance that not every story you hear is yours to live, to feel, to make sure it has a good ending. Not everyone is yours to protect and help. Not everyone has the right to come before your own self.

It might be a change that will take its time to settle in, especially in your heart that is just so full of love. Love that you didn't give yourself for so long, pouring it all in the needing hands of those by your side. But it will happen. It will feel safe and right, to allow yourself to choose how much the realities of others influence your life. And as you will go through it, as you will seek that courage and strength… It will be enough to remember that everything will be okay. Even in those moments of uncertainty, it will be enough to hold on tight to the message that we will receive, if you want to, in the extended version of this reading. A message about how you can and will change your life.♡↓

{ a little message for you }

—

– Pile Three,

{ The love that you are longing for }

the ten of wands, the star, the death

It is so difficult to need to explain yourself, your actions, your urges, your reactions. It is tiring to open up your mind and your heart sharing them with others, again and again. Just for them to not understand it, to not pay the slightest of attention, to not take it seriously, all those things that are still consuming your soul… It just feels so useless to go through it, to come out of your comfort zone so hopeful that they would be that right person… only to see them walk away, who scared, who uncomfortable, who deluded or bored. Leaving you feeling like a poor seller who is unable to demonstrate the worth of your broken, lived, soul. When you don't even want to do it in the first place. When it is so ridiculous that you need constantly and so fiercely to defend or explain your wounds, as if they didn't already hurt enough.

It just consumes you. Consumes your every desire to go out there, interact and try to connect with people, creating with such dedication a relationship that - you know it too well - will just be destroyed. By your own past, your own frail soul that is too difficult for others to manage, to use or control. Too delicate to do anything with it without hurting it more.

Deep down you know that not every single person you met was truly so evil at their core. But it still hurts you like hell, being rejected, just put aside, simply because of the way you feel so strongly and deeply every detail about this world. Just because you have more depth to your feelings, more power to the emotions that simply overwhelm you, good or bad, every single bit of them that fills you whole. And that you welcome and feel completely, still remembering how cold and dark it was when there weren't any emotions in you at all.

It just would've been much easier, for once, to not have the need to defend yourself, the way you became. If for once the one in front of you focused on who you are now, and not on who you were or who you could become if only you suppress your soul. Because you changed, yes, and it might be sad to not have that spark that others adored so much about you anymore. But the you who survived still and always deserves the same admiration and love, perhaps even more, after all that you were able to endure. This you who is so different is still you. The you who gave you the strength and courage to face it all. The you who shouldn't at all be forced to explain yourself to those that can't even do one thing: just listen to you, hear you truly, at least for once.

Because it is not so difficult, in the end, to just accept someone and love them for the way they are, without any if or but. You know it well, because you always did it and always do with everyone that is close to you. But while they can be themselves, knowing that they will be truly safe with you, their every wound that will be taken care of without any judgement or expectation to receive something in return… You are always asked to be less or more. To hide your pain, to be more joyful. To not react too much to the things that hurt you. To, instead, be more understanding and patient, accepting, of the ways of others. Even though they never tolerate yours.

So you remain here, among so many of them but still feeling so lonely, so trapped, exactly like it used to feel before. You still are being hurt, even though you had so much courage in not hiding yourself, your scars. Even though you learned to have the needed strength to stand your ground when others didn't see that they were stepping on your heart… And you still hope. That one day, somewhere and someone, for once will just feel drawn to you. Not a memory of you or your potential change. Just someone who, for once, is gentle and kind in their ways. Not because you asked them to, not because they were forced by your tears… But just because they are connected enough to their own heart. Enough to recognise the painfully familiar stories behind your tired and scared eyes. Just one person, just one single time would be enough. Just one single moment in which you would feel loved and cherished the way you are, even with all those fears and doubts that everyone has always something to say about. Just one true and genuine connection. One single chance for your heart to find again the hope that you, exactly the way you are now after all your battles, not less not more, will be enough.

{ You are not in the wrong }

the page of coins, the strength, the six of cups

Finally standing up for yourself, taking your defence, pushing back those that don't make you anymore feel safe… it took a lot of courage, especially when every decision that was already hard enough was also met with judgement, with pure rage, just because for once you weren't ready to be there for someone else. But while you thought that the worst part will be this, finding the strength to prioritise yourself, the most difficult part revealed itself to be resisting the urge to take all your words back, bowing your head, surrendering to discourses of others about how you shouldn't ever do that again, and coming back to your old and consumed self, asking it to endure it once again. But this time with the full awareness of how it is wrong, to give away so much of you, remaining with so little that it is never enough to take care of your own heart and mind…

You are resisting it now with all your strength, but the single thought that they might be right, that you are indeed acting too selfishly, is already enough to shake you to your core, to fill you with the pure terror that you might be becoming one of those that hurt you, coming down to their level without realising what you've done.

But you are not. I promise you. There is nothing wrong in putting yourself first for once. There are no mistakes when you are acting from your heart, from the pure desire to protect yourself now that you are realising that it all just has been too much. You are not the villain here, even if perhaps there isn't one among them either. There is no evil in knowing what you deserve and want, and not accepting nothing less from others, even if they so perfectly mask it with words like “It is the way I love”, “This is the best for you, the best you can ever find or hope for”...

You’ve endured a lot, so much that it is truly non conceivable and admissible that someone belittles it. That someone doesn't give it the importance and incredibly powerful and heart wrenching meaning that you surviving all of that holds. Don't stop for them, for their fears that you will change. Because it has already happened, in the good and in the bad. And if someone can't accept and respect the new you, if they, even in the name of their love, can't accept you… then it is okay. There will be someone else. Someone else who will meet you, get to know you, and learn to appreciate and cherish you for the way you are now, not a memory of who you were.

It might be sad to let go of some people, to lose some connections. It might be frustrating to see their absolute conviction that you are the one in the wrong… But you are tired now, you feel weak after needing to fight against them again and again just to protect yourself… so don't waste your last remaining energy on them, on proving them wrong when they already ended this story as it is more convenient for them in their head. Let them go. Let them be. Not to allow them to think that they are right. But for your own self and to give you that space and time to rest and recover, to take care of yourself.

This world is vast, there are so many of us. Remaining now for a moment alone… doesn't at all condemn you to have all the days of your life lonely and cold. It is just a phase, just a precious moment that will sign a new step in your growth, in how much you consider your own worth and protect yourself at all costs. People come and go. Some are good and some are not. But you are unique, you are the only one you have, the most important person that you need to love and take care of. Even if it means to not accept the love of others, simply because it is so different from what you are longing for. Even if it means to reject the company that you so much want, because they never offer it genuinely but only when it is so convenient and needed for them.

Times will change, you'll start new journeys, go through different paths that will align with others, new and completely different persons. And you'll create new connections, better ones. Better because of the ways and motives of those that will come closer. Better because you will be much more rested, healed and confident after this focus on yourself and this pause. Better because there won't be any play pretend, endurance or feelings that will be ignored. It will be better. Simply because you will learn from your mistakes, you will grow. And so will those that you will let go of, but not at your own expense and endurance of the way your heart hurts for them. Because they might not realise it now, they might be so convinced that you are the one hurting them… but you are making the best decision not only for your own self, but even for them. You are giving all of you a new chance. A chance that you for sure will take and use it to nourish a new beginning in your life, new connections that will love you, cherish you, protect you at all costs. Exactly like it should be between truly loving souls.

And if it feels still a little too overwhelming, a little too scary and unsure, the decision to put yourself first… There is a little message about the future, at what it holds, in our extended version of this reading, right here, if you want or feel the need to hear more.♡↓

{ a little message for you }

—

_

[head---ache]

Hello!! Even though it should be obvious, but apparently it isn't, I have to say that I am NOT comfortable with people tracing over my art, or copying every single detail in my artstyle. It's okay to take inspiration from it, and I'm super flattered that you people like my art!!/gen, but I'm really not comfortable with the idea of someone copying what I do down to the details, I pride myself in having a recognizable artstyle (which is how I immediately noticed there was someone copying it), and having someone else do exactly the same thing is not my favorite thing in the world, to be honest.

Again, you can totally take inspiration from it!! But literally TAKE the ENTIRETY of my style down to the details I add to certain characters?? That just makes me uncomfortable. I think that the very least thing you could do is credit me, because it took me a long time to develop my artstyle, and I don't like that other people just take all my work and treat it as their own.

I am thinking of someone in specific when writing this, an artist that I found on Instagram today, but they have apparently been copying my style at least for a few months now (and also tracing some of My art. I immediately recognized some of my own drawings in their posts). However, this post goes to whoever might be tracing over my art and/or copying my style, whether you're doing it maliciously or not, just know I'm not comfortable with it, and that I'm asking you to please stop, or at least credit me in some way.

To anyone else, thank you for reading, and I would greatly appreciate reblogs, to get this around and to anyone who might also be doing this.

[gothgoblinbabe]

She Wolf

A/N: I said I was gonna get this done and it took me way too long and has an absurd word count but I am incapable of holding in word vomit! Inspired by She Wolf by Shakira cause idc its GOOD and it got me thinking' so here it is. Also you don't have to listen to the song as you read but I think It's fun!

Summary: You've got a crush on your best friend and he's a bit of a dick. He regrets it and tries to apologize but you're already trying to push yourself to move on any way you can, even if it's in some shady club you'd never been to before.

Warnings: MDNI 18+, swearing, Logan's kind of an asshole for a minute, Possessive/jealous!Logan, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), friends to lovers cause that's my fave, fem reader, mutant reader, unnamed creepy guy (?) aaaand Logan absolutely has a pain kink. I think that's it but if there's any I missed please let me know!

Word Count: 7K (im so sorry but I'm not though)

divider credit here

“Are you ever gonna tell him?”

You looked up from your desk towards Ororo’s voice, sighing and taking your glasses off your nose.

“God, I don’t know, ‘ro. I don’t think I should. It’s just going to end with me being humiliated and him never wanting to even be in the same room as me again.”

You’d had a crush on Logan Howlett since the day you first walked through the doors of the mansion six months ago. You’d probably be considered best friends by now with how much time you’d spend together, doing jack shit around the mansion on your days off. Just about everyone could tell he had a soft spot for you and that you had one for him. Logan was a classic ‘tough guy’, constantly trying to hide his kind nature with a hard exterior, but it took only a couple weeks for you to crack that barrier. You weren’t exactly a seemingly ‘soft’ type either.

You’d spent the majority of your life before you joined the X-men hoping from couch to couch and hitching rides with strangers, not really having a destination or a place to call home. You’d been dropped off at a church when you were fourteen, around the time you started to turn every full moon. Your parents couldn’t live with having to chain their mutant daughter in their basement once a month, and so they dropped you where they thought you’d find some ‘help’. You’d been passed from foster home to foster home till you were eighteen, each one passing you up the moment they realized you were not like them. It was always a slip of the mask, something setting you off to make you so enraged your eyes gleam yellow and your sharp canines make an unfortunate appearance. You took off the second you could and being on the road came with its fair share of creeps; men with terrible intentions looking for opportunities. You’d never wanted to hurt anyone - truly - but when cornered by a creep, it was hard to think anyone would miss them. A couple of local newspapers caught on, debating where the wolf that tore men to shreds had gone. You weren’t an animal. You just had teeth like one.

Knowing you couldn’t lurk in town much longer, you’d hitchhiked your way to a camp occupied with people like you; lost with no place to call home. It was there that you’d met a couple of mutants who told you about Charles Xavier and the place that seemed completely unreal until you set your eyes on it. That felt like a lifetime ago by now. 

“I think you're underestimating how he feels about you,” Ororo said, bringing you back to reality. She was sat on the edge of your bed, flipping through one of your magazines as you worked at your computer to try and make a lesson plan for the coming week. 

“I think you’re overestimating how he feels about me,” you let out a short laugh, shaking your head.

Just as she was about to retort, you both heard someone shout your names from the hallway. You looked at each other curiously and left the room, hearing shouting again. 

“Are you guys gonna play Monopoly with us or what?”

You both giggled and made your way downstairs towards Scott’s voice. Him, Jean, Marie, Bobby and Logan were all sat in the living room, the game already set up on the coffee table. Bobby and Marie were picking out their game pieces, assigning everyone else to their own piece.

“Okay, Logan, you’re gonna be the dog,” Marie smiled, dropping the little metal piece into the palm of his hand. 

He was definitely not as amused, “why do I have to be a damn dog?”

Ignoring him, she handed another piece out to Jean, “you’re the thimble.”

She then handed the boat to Scott, the top hat to you, and the iron to Ororo. You all began the game after Scott painstakingly over-explained the rules and how to play. 

It was a good bit into the game that you all became distracted with conversation, eventually leaving the board game untouched. The topic of compatibility came up somehow, the conversation focused on the joy of Bobby and Marie. 

“I think anyone would be lucky to have what you guys have,” Ororo smiled, shifting her gaze between the two of them.

“And what we have, obviously,” Scott joked, hanging his arm around Jean.

“Gross,” Logan chimed in, taking a sip of the beer he’d hidden in the back of the fridge.

“I think someone is jealous,” Ororo said in a singsong voice, poking his arm.

“Of having someone hang on me all the time? No, thanks,” he scoffed.

As stupid as it was, it made you a little sad to hear he had no interest in even entertaining the idea. It wasn’t a surprise, but still a disappointment nonetheless.

Ororo brought up your name and your eyes went huge, silently begging her to keep her mouth shut.

“You don’t seem to mind her hanging on you all the time. I think you’d be cute together,” she said, smiling mischievously at you. Scott and Jean agreed and you had never wanted to smash your head into a coffee table as much as you did in that moment.

“Nah, definitely not my type of girl.”

It was just seven words, out quick without a second thought, and yet it felt like you’d been punched in the gut. You couldn’t take your eyes off the monopoly board on the table, avoiding everyone’s gaze. 

Definitely not my type of girl. 

“I think I should head to bed, it’s getting late,” you mumbled, keeping your head down to hide your blushed face as you got up from the couch and practically ran out of the room and up the stairs. 

“What the hell was that?” Scott scolded Logan the moment you were out of sight.

“That was so mean,” Ororo chimes in, backhanding him on the arm.

“I didn’t mean to be,” Logan said nervously , shrugging his shoulders, “…do you think she’s mad at me?”

“Probably more hurt than mad,” Jean said honestly. 

“Shit,” he sighed, putting his beer down to rub his face with his hands, “what do I say?”

“Not that,” Marie replied, “why did you even say that anyway? You could’ve just said no.”

“I think you like her and you’re being mean so that she wont like you back because you’re afraid,” Ororo said after a moment of silence. 

Logan sat quiet for a moment, his hands still over his face.

“Am I that easy to read?” His voice was muffled through his hands.

The rest of them couldn’t help exchanging knowing smiles.

“So you finally admit it,huh? You’ve got a crush,” Scott teased.

Logan moved his hands from his eyes to glare daggers at him, “you shut your fucking mouth or I’ll shove that monopoly board where the sun doesn’t shine.”

“I think that’s a yes,” Jean whispered to her boyfriend.

“Talk to her when you see her tomorrow. We’re not going to let you hurt her feelings just because you can’t accept your own,” Ororo advised, lightly patting him on the shoulder.

“Do you think she’s even gonna talk to me?”

“Only one way to find out.”

───────♡──────────────♡───────

Logan tried to catch up with you the next day, always seeing you as you were leaving a room he was entering or passing by and even then, you ignored his calls of your name.

It was a little after dinner now and because it was a weekend, a couple of kids were up playing the PlayStation in the living room. Bobby and Marie sat with them, taking turns with the controllers. 

Logan entered the room after about three laps around the mansion, mentioning your name to the both of them.

“Have you guys seen her? I’ve been trying to talk to her all day, she keeps running from me.”

“Can’t really blame her,” Bobby muttered, his eyes never leaving the TV screen as he button smashed. 

“She’s in her room,” Marie answered before Logan could come up with a retort, “she went up before dinner, said she wasn’t hungry.”

He groaned, running a hand through his hair, “she’s skipping dinner now too, great.”

“Go talk to her!” She insisted, shooing him away with a wave of her hand.

He made his way to the stairs and up to your bedroom, knocking lightly on your door. Hearing nothing, he knocked again, a little harder. Still, nothing. 

“You can’t avoid me forever, you know. I wanna talk about yesterday, I was a dick.”

Silence. Now he was a little worried. He tentatively grabbed the doorknob and turned, cracking it open a bit.

Your bed was made, your desk was neatly organized and you were nowhere to be seen. He noticed your purse was gone from the usual spot you’d leave it in and your closet was open, a couple garments and some shoes strewn about on the floor. It looked like you’d gotten dressed and dipped. He figured maybe Ororo or Jean might know where you were, leaving your room and looking for them instead. He found them shortly after, huddled in the kitchen. Again, he asked if either of them knew where you were.

“She’s in her room, she went up before dinner,” Ororo answered.

“No, she’s not. And her purse is gone.”

Both women turned to each other with the same worried expression.

───────♡──────────────♡───────

Having tried your cellphone about thirteen times from just about everybody’s phones, they all decided they had to tell Charles. He used his ability to connect with every mutant on the planet to try and locate you, visualizing with his eyes closed. Everyone stood in his study, anxiously awaiting his conclusion. After a moment of silence, he started to silently chuckle to himself.

“What’s so funny?” Logan asked immediately, crossing his arms and furrowing his eyebrows.

“I’m afraid you all have your work cut out for you,” he replied, finally opening his eyes.

“So, where is she?” Ororo asked, worry in her voice. 

“There is a club called The Nightcrawler - “ Charles began to explain, but Logan interjected impatiently. 

“Club? What, like a book club?” He nearly scoffed. There was no way you were at some sleazy nightclub in the city. You were a homebody and an introvert, neither of which made clubbing enjoyable. 

“Maybe we should just let her have fun,” Jean began to say, but Logan was already halfway out the door.

Uncharacteristically, you found yourself dressed to the nines in the middle of a dance floor full of people. You’d spent a while trying outfits in your room, searching for something you could actually wear out that wasn’t sweatpants and a hoodie. You’d settled on a halter top that tied at your neck and in the back and a pair of ridiculously tight pants that you’d bought forever ago and never had the guts to wear. You ended up standing in front of the mirror, choosing a pair of very cute but very uncomfortable shoes and looking over the outfit. If you weren’t Logan’s ‘type of girl’, you sure as hell were somebody’s. Trying to get yourself out there may be the best solution to forgetting the heart-crushing infatuation you had with your best friend who would never see you as anything more. 

“I feel ridiculous,” you chuckled to yourself, turning in the mirror to see the back of your outfit. You did look good, just super out of your comfort zone. You grabbed your bag and ended up slipping out when everyone was eating dinner. That’s how you ended up where you were, pushing your way through the crowd of people with a drink in your hand. You passed the raised lounge area and felt a hand on your shoulder, making you turn suddenly.

“Hey, you wanna dance?”

He was tall, leaning down a little to shout over the music. He was pretty good looking but didn’t look like Logan in the slightest, which you realized was exactly the point of going out tonight. He was dressed nice and smelled like expensive cologne. 

“Sure, why not?”

As you abandoned your half finished drink on a table and let him pull you a little further into him, a familiar song started to thump through the speakers.

“I love this song!” You exclaimed, letting the nameless guy rest his hands on your hips.

S.O.S., she's in disguise

S.O.S., she's in disguise

There's a she wolf in disguise

Coming out, coming out, coming out

“Ironic,” you muttered under the music.

───────♡──────────────♡───────

Logan walked ahead of Ororo, Jean and Scott, his long legs taking him much further at a much faster pace.

“Logan, slow down!” Ororo called out, jogging a bit to catch up with him.

“What if she didn’t even want to be there? What if some guy dragged her there?”

“Oh,” Jean laughed, “ I see. You’re jealous.” 

“No.”

“Yup.”

“Nope.”

“So you’d be fine if we walked in there and she is with a guy?” 

Logan slowed his pace as they approached the entrance, “sure, whatever,” feigned disdain in his voice.

The second the door opened, the bass of the music was overwhelming. It was dim, save for a few colorful lights projecting around the room. The four of them were squished together near the door, trying to pick you out in a sea of moving people. 

“This is gonna be like finding a needle in a haystack,” Scott shouted.

“Not necessarily,” Ororo replied, a smug smile on her face.

“What?” Logan furrowed his eyebrows.

She pointed across the room and he followed her gaze.

There's a she wolf in the closet

Open up and set it free 

There's a she wolf in your closet

Let it out so it can breathe

You didn’t even look like you. He’d never seen you in anything that showed that much skin or any clothes that even hugged you like that, for that matter. 

And you were with a guy.

Sitting across a bar, staring right at her prey

It's going well so far, she's gonna get her way

“So, what did we tell you?” Jean shouted, waving her hand in front of his glaring eyes.

“Just some kid,” he replied dismissively, turning to her, “doesn’t mean anything anyway.”

“You sure?” Scott nudged his shoulder, making Logan look towards you again.

That kid had his hands up the sides of your top with his head craned down to kiss your neck, your back to his chest. You were giggling, playfully smacking his arm. Truthfully, you thought the attention was nice for a change. After trying so hard for too long to get Logan to notice you, it felt good to have someone pay attention to you in that way. 

Not looking for cute little divos or rich city guys

I just want to enjoy 

By having a very good time

And behave very bad in the arms of a boy

You felt his hands squeeze your hips a little harder, enough for his nails to dig into your skin. Out of instinct, you felt your canine teeth start to poke against your lower lip. You tried in vain to tug his hands from you, only making him tighten his grip.

The switch in demeanor was obvious even from across the dark room, your smile turning into a grimace that bared your sharp teeth. You yanked the sleeves of his jacket to make him finally let go, turning around while he still had his arms ghosted around you.

S.O.S., she's in disguise

S.O.S., she's in disguise

“Touch me like that again, you son of a bitch, and I will rip you to fucking shreds.”

You gathered fistfuls of his shirt, bringing him down to eye level so he could see your snarling teeth and gleaming eyes as a hint that you weren’t bluffing. 

There's a she wolf in disguise

Coming out, coming out, coming out

Before anyone could even tell him to stay put, Logan had already disappeared into the crowd of people.

“God damn it,” Scott huffed, following Jean and Ororo when they went after him. 

“Logan!” Jean yelled, trying to grab his jacket to slow him and only having him slip out of her grip. 

There's a she wolf in the closet

Let it out so it can breathe

“Shit, I’m kinda into the fangs. What, you gonna bite me?” He was whispering in your ear, your hands still on his shirt. Before you could do something you were going to regret, you felt someone tug your upper arm and pull you away from him.

“Come on,” Logan snapped, “we’re leaving.”

“What the hell are you doing here? What do you mean we?” You yelled back. You didn’t want to stay anywhere near that guy but you weren’t ready to leave either and sure as hell not with Logan dragging you out like an angry parent.

“Hey, she doesn’t really look like she wants to leave with you, man,” the other guy interjected, keeping a grip on you by looping his fingers through one of the belt loops on your pants. 

“Yeah? She doesn’t want to stay with you either, jackass,” Logan moved his hand from your arm to hold your hand instead, “she’s not interested.”

What the hell had gotten into him? You felt like you were in the middle of a tug of war with two dogs. 

“No one’s gonna fucking ask what I want, right?” You tried to complain, neither of them hearing you. 

“Your little doggy girlfriend here was just about to take care of me. You mad about it?” The other guy laughed and you nearly lunged at him, Logan’s hand tugging you back. He intended to pull you away so he could get to him first, but Scott, Jean and Ororo jumped in just in time. 

“Alright - enough, enough, we’re leaving!” Jean yelled, pushing you all towards the door, Logan dragging you the whole way. When you finally were out in the cool evening air, you angrily yanked your hand from his.

“What are you guys doing here?” You asked, turning to Logan, “and what the fuck was that?”

“What was that? You’re welcome - “ 

“I didn’t ask you to come save me - from what, having a good time?”

“Oh, yeah, it looked like you were having a lot of fun,” he scoffed, “he had you by the hip so hard he probably left a bruise.”

He instinctively reached his hand out to check and you swatted it away, “Don’t - Don’t touch me!”

None of them had ever heard you sound so pissed off and you’d definitely never snapped at Logan like that before. 

You took a deep breath and reached down to slip off your shoes, leaving you barefoot on the concrete. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologized to the rest of them,” but why are you guys here?”

“You left without saying anything, we couldn’t find you and we wanted to be sure you were safe,” Ororo sighed, hugging you in relief, “we’re so glad you’re okay.” 

You hugged her back.

“I just - I wanted to disappear for a while,” you explained apologetically, avoiding Jean and Scott’s gaze. 

“Do you know how stupid it was to run off and not tell anyone where you were going?” Logan scolded you, but Jean clicked her tongue at him.

“Shut it! Enough from you! You’ve done enough damage control!”

The ride home was almost silent, your tired body slumped in the backseat between Scott and Jean, until Ororo spoke from the front passenger seat.

“Honey, I don’t mean this in a bad way, but,” she paused, thinking over her words, “what were you gonna do to that guy if we hadn’t stopped you?”

You understood what she meant immediately. 

“What, you think I was going to kill him?” you asked, crossing your arms and leaning forward in your seat, “I wasn’t. I don’t do that unless I have to and you know even then I hate doing it.”

“I know…so, what were you doing with a guy like him anyway?” she asked, trying to move on from the question that had clearly made you upset, “he seemed kinda shady.”

Logan was gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles were white, dreading the answer.

You shrugged your shoulders, staring at the synthetic fabric of your pants.

“Liked the attention, I guess,” you answered honestly, kind of hoping you could throw anyone off the idea of you being interested in Logan, “it’s been awhile since a guy has liked me like that.”

“He only wanted one thing from you anyway,” he scoffed from the front seat. Ororo glared at him, about to tell him to mind his business before you stopped her.

“And I can’t want it either?”

That shut everybody up and Ororo turned to him again, a look on her face that said ‘you asked, you got the answer’.

You tried to bolt to your room when you all got home but Logan was quick to follow, catching up with you to stand in your path in the hallway outside of your bedroom. 

“What’s going on with you?”

“Leave me be.”

You tried to dodge around him but he stuck his arm out. 

“Logan.”

He raised his eyebrows, waiting for you to continue speaking.

“Move.”

“I’m not leaving you alone until you tell me what’s going on with you. You don’t disappear like that, ever. And I wanna talk to you about last night - “

“There’s nothing to talk about. Goodnight,” you huffed, ducking under his arm and opening your door.

“I care about you, you know, I was worried,” he began to explain.

You tried to slam the door in his face but he stuck his foot out, jamming his boot between the door and the doorframe. You let go in defeat and turned away, gathering your pajamas as if he wasn’t in the room.

“Yeah? Why?,” you scoffed, trying with everything in you to bite your tongue but failing miserably, “I’m not your type of girl. What’s there to worry about?”

Logan’s face fell. He pushed the door closed behind him. 

“Is that what this is about? That’s why you went out?”

“Why do you care?” 

You still had your back to him, furiously shuffling through clothing in your dresser.

“Stop.” 

You felt his hands on your arms as he came up behind you, paralyzing you in your spot.

You let him turn you around gently, almost chest to chest.

“I didn’t mean that.”

“You don’t have to lie to spare my feelings -“

“I’m not.”

He leaned back a little to force you to look him in the eye.

“I only said that - listen, I only said that because - “ Logan paused, biting his lip till it nearly bled, but you shook your head and slipped by him again.

“Please, don’t treat me like I’m stupid, Logan.”

You sounded so exasperated, tears forming in your eyes when you turned your back to him.

“Fuck,” he sighed, “I only said that because I didn’t want you to like me.”

You wiped the tear that rolled down your cheek and turned back to him, a confused expression on your face.

“It worked, are you happy?”

“No, I’m not - “

“Well, guess it backfired. Get out of my room.”

You were face to face again, keeping your mouth in a tight line so your lip wouldn’t quiver. It felt stupid to cry in front of him, but you couldn’t really help it once it started. 

“Oh, god, please, don’t cry,” he begged, leaning down and actually bringing a hand up to your face to wipe away a tear that rolled down your cheek. You wanted to smack it away, tell him again to just get the hell out , but you couldn’t.

“Why would you do that?” You mumbled out quietly, finally letting the overwhelming feeling of sadness cancel out any rage you had for him. You couldn’t look him in the eye again, concentrating on the throw rug you were standing on.

“I’m so sorry, princess, I am. I’m really fucking stupid,” he huffed. 

You were surprised by the softness of his voice and finally tore your eyes from the floor. He’d called you that before, but usually in a teasing way. This time it sounded endearing, like a plea of your name. 

“And what happened there, at the club? ‘She’s not interested’, what was that about?” You continued.

He sighed, still trying to figure out what exactly it was that he wanted to say. He realized there probably wasn’t much of a way to beat around the bush and he groaned, closing his eyes as he stood in front of you to make spilling his guts a little less agonizing.

“I like you - like you a lot, and I was an asshole because I figured if you hated me, you couldn’t like me back and it would save you the trouble.”

Hearing no response, he finally opened his eyes to see you still standing in the same spot, your lips parted.

“Save me the trouble of what?”

You were confused, your eyes narrowed as if you were angry.

“I don’t know…having to deal with me, I guess. I - I’ve never felt the way I feel about you for anyone else and it scares the shit out of me.”

You could hear him swallow hard, his eyes looking everywhere around the room except at you. 

“And earlier, when we picked you up,” he continued, “I acted like that because I was jealous, alright? Can’t stand to see some asshole on you like that, and you were dressed all nice and - I don’t know.”

You’d never heard him sound so nervous in all the time you’d known him.

“You are my type of girl,” he finally choked out, “only type of girl I’d ever want.”

All you could do was inhale sharply, his words echoing in your mind. 

“It’s alright if you hate me, I can’t say I really blame you. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

He began to walk out, convinced he’d fucked up beyond repair.

“Logan.”

Your voice stopped his hand from turning your doorknob and he turned back to you. 

No longer crying, you tentatively stepped forward a bit, nervously playing with the front hem of your top. 

“You’re not something to deal with, you know,” you muttered, letting your hair fall in front of your face.

You supposed this was the point where it was your turn to explain.

“I’ve liked you for a long time, Logan, probably since the day I walked in here and I just - I think I wanted someone to distract me so I wouldn’t wallow in self pity because you didn’t want me.”

“You were trying to get over me,” he realized aloud, a small smile on his face to hide the hurt, “I deserved that.”

After a moment of tense silence, he spoke again.

“Did it work?”

His voice was low and soft, a tone you’d rarely heard him speak with.

You pursed your lips and finally lifted your head, taking a deep breath. 

“No. I don’t think it was ever going to, either,” you laughed a little, “when that guy asked me to dance, the first thing I thought of was that he didn’t look anything like you.”

Your voice trailed off a little at the end, a little embarrassed to confess that even if Logan had already flat out told you he was interested in you.

Without another word, he came close enough to reach for your hands and gently intertwine your fingers with his. He cleared his throat, nervously chewing his bottom lip before he spoke.

“Can I kiss you?”

You must have had this dream a million times over, waking up night after night and feeling so empty because none of it was real. But now, with his hands in yours, it was very real.

You eagerly pressed your lips to his, not wanting to waste another second. His lips were soft and you were encompassed in the scent of his body wash and cologne, smelling of pine and cedar wood. You brought your hands up to play with his hair at the back of his head. Logan moved his arms to wrap around your waist, pulling you further into him. 

When you finally pulled away from each other, you were both smiling like idiots.

“We should’ve done that much sooner,” you giggled.

“Agreed.”

His fingers traced small circles on the exposed skin of your back, making you shiver.

He kissed you again, this time with much more intensity. It wasn’t long before your tongues were in each other's mouths and you both had fumbled yourselves over to the end of your bed.

“Wanted you for so long,” he mumbled between kissing your neck and jaw, his hands still sliding up and down your back, “I was so stupid.”

“We both were,” you giggled a little, cut short into a moan when he licked your neck all the way from your collarbone to under your ear.

“L-Logan,” you gasped, unable to hide your blushing face.

He hummed into your neck, bringing his mouth to your ear, “Can I show you how sorry I am? Let me make it up to you.”

His voice made the hair on the back of your neck stand up and you let him pull you onto him to straddle his lap, lost in the feeling of his hands on you.

“Mmm, uh-huh,” you hummed, mouth hung open as he sucked light marks into your neck. 

“You have to use your words, pretty girl,” he brought his head up to rest his forehead against yours. He cupped your jaw tenderly, almost as if you’d disappear if he let go. 

Before you could answer, he moved his hands to drag your hips over his, grunting when he felt the pressure.

“Y-yes, yeah - please,” you choked out between moans, tugging his hair harder every time he pushed and pulled your hips.

“Please what, baby?”

“You - you can make it up to me,” you groaned into his neck. 

He effortlessly lifted you by your thighs and laid you with your back to the bed. You untucked his white t-shirt from his jeans as he crawled over you, desperate to get your hands underneath it. You lightly scratched your nails along his back, making him groan into your ear. He kissed down your neck to the center of your chest, gently slipping his fingers under the hem of your top and around the back. 

“Can I take this off you, baby?”

You were already sitting up before he could finish his sentence, reaching to try and untie the knot at the back of your neck.

“Eager, huh?”, he chuckled, “let me, sweetheart.”

He wrapped his arms around your lower back to tug at the knot, feeling it come loose in his hands. He snaked his hands up to the back of your neck, doing the same to the tied strings there. When it came loose, the only thing holding the piece of fabric to you was his hands at the back of your neck. He let it slip from his fingers, a smirk on his face when it fell completely.

You threw the garment somewhere to the floor and tugged on the collar of his t-shirt, bringing him down with you as laid back again and pressed your lips to his. He pulled back for a moment to yank his shirt off and immediately return his mouth to yours, making his way down to your neck. He brought both his hands to your chest and swept his thumbs over your hard nipples, eventually bringing his lips to them and sucking. 

“Ah - Logan,” you whined, making him smile against your skin.

“I like it when you say my name, pretty girl,” he mumbled, dragging his fingers down your sides and hooking them into the waistband of your pants. He kissed all the way down to your hips, moving himself to lay on his stomach with his head between your thighs. 

Before he could ask you if it was alright to rid you of them, you were already unbuttoning your pants and pushing them down your hips and thighs. He took them off the rest of the way for you and you kicked your panties off with them.

He hooked his arms around your thighs to pull you closer, licking his lips and resting his cheek on the inside of your thigh.

“I thought about you a lot, you know - like this,” he huffed, his warm breath fanning over your pussy.

You had your hands in his hair already, swiping fallen strands of hair out of his face.

“I thought about you like this, too,” you admitted, sighing as he started to plant kisses right above where you wanted him the most.

“Yeah?”

His teasing voice brought goosebumps to your skin and you nodded, gasping when you finally felt his lips graze your clit.

“This what you think about when you fuck yourself?” He mumbled into you, the vibration of his voice making you tighten your grip in his hair. He growled like an animal, trying to push you even further into his mouth by the grip on your thighs.

You were trying to choke out an answer, distracted by the wet sounds of him messily eating you out.

“Y - ah, yes, yeah - not as good as the real thing, though.”

He laughed with his mouth still attached to you and you tightened your thighs around his head, keeping him in place.

He could have spent hours with his mouth to your cunt, practically fucking you with his tongue while you whined his name. 

A knock on your door sounded through the room, the both of you freezing in place.

“Hey, I just wanted to check on you. Are you feeling okay?”

It was Scott.

 You grimaced, thankful at the very least that your door was locked, but Logan had a terribly smug smirk on his face. 

“Y-yeah, I’m alright, just - just tired,” you managed to choke out, stuttering when you felt two of his fingers slip into you effortlessly.

“You sure?”

You sighed, hating and loving Logan at the same time for what he was doing. 

“Yup, th-thank you, m’ jus’ gonna go to bed.”

Scott responded with a goodnight and you groaned in relief when you heard him walk away.

Logan was curling his fingers inside of you, still lapping at your pussy and letting you use your grip on his hair to angle his head however you wanted him. You felt the pressure in your lower stomach rise and you tried to warn him, tugging on the hair on the back of his head.

“Logan, I’m - “

“C’mon, pretty girl, c’mon.”

His encouragement sent you over the edge, euphoria blooming from your lower stomach and spreading through you. You had to cover your mouth to muffle your pornographic moans, but Logan reached up to tug your wrist.

“Uh-uh, wanna hear you, beautiful,” he mumbled into you, practically pushing your thighs even further around his head.

“Fuck, L-Logan, too - too sensitive,” you stuttered out, trying to pull his face away by his hair and failing miserably because of his grip around your thighs.

He eventually reluctantly detached himself and crawled back on top of you, sucking the taste of you off his fingers. 

“I could do that for hours, you know, if you let me,” he groaned, pulling your hips up to him so you could feel the weight of his hard cock underneath his jeans.

Still sensitive, you reactively gripped his biceps and dug your fingernails into his skin. You were going to apologize and were quickly cut off by the guttural moan he let out into the side of your neck.

“Fuck,” he groaned, rocking his hips against yours.

“You’re into pain, huh?” 

You figured it was your turn to tease him, dragging your fingernails from his shoulders all the way down his back.

“You’re gonna pay for that, pretty girl,” he grunted, moving quickly to undo his belt and strip himself of the rest of his clothing. 

When his cock sprung up and hit his stomach as he took off his boxers, you swallowed hard; already feeling a wanting ache in your stomach again. You figured he was big - he was already a tall guy, after all - but he was far bigger than any guy you’d ever seen. Logan noticed the way you bit your lower lip, resting himself on top of you again and bringing his thumb up to pull your lip from under your teeth.

“What, are you nervous? It’s alright sweetheart, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

His voice was so soft and gentle, a tone you rarely ever heard from him. 

You could feel the weight of his cock against your inner thigh, heavy and already leaking. 

“ ‘m not nervous, I want you, please,” you begged, wrapping your legs around his waist. You reached your hand between your bodies to line him up with your entrance, trying to push him in with your legs around his waist. 

“You sure?” he huffed, trying with every muscle in his body to not slam into you in one thrust. 

You nodded eagerly, scratching at his lower back. 

Logan couldn’t help himself and gave in, slipping himself into you.

“So tight,” he groaned into your neck, pushing himself in even further.

“You - fuck - you’re so fucking big,” you admitted truthfully, nearly drooling at the feeling of him stretching you out. 

“Feels good?”

It was hard for him to speak when you were so wet that he was nearly slipping out of you as he gently rocked his hips back and forth, trying to be gentle and let you adjust to his size. 

“Mm - uh-uh,” you hummed, gasping each time he pushed further.

“Use your words, sweetheart,” he huffed and you groaned, digging your nails into him. 

“Y-yes, yeah - want you all the way in,” you whimpered.

That was all it took for him to be buried in you, grinding his hips into yours so that you were pinned to the mattress. 

He worked up to a devastating pace, practically slamming your headboard into the wall.

“S-someone’s gonna - someone’s gonna hear us,” you managed to gasp out, out of breath every time he filled you and pulled back again. 

“Don’t care, let ‘em,” he pressed his forehead to yours, bringing a hand up to your face to affectionately cup your cheek. It was so sweet and almost disgustingly hot, the caring gesture contrasting the intense feeling of him repeatedly slamming into the sensitive spot inside of you. 

He really didn’t have a care in the world about who heard you both, far too lost in the feeling of finally being able to have you under him like that. You had sweat soaked strands of hair stuck to your face, your eyes squeezed shut, and he was almost sure you’d never looked more beautiful. 

“So fucking pretty,” he huffed, his thumb swiping your bottom lip. He had an idea, one he’d considered many times when he thought of you under him like this.

“Bite me.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, threading your hand through his hair, “are you sure?”

“Please.”

You forcibly unsheathed your fangs, letting them tentatively poke at his thumb that was still to your lips.

He moved his hand to your throat, resting it there without tightening his grip. 

“Please.”

His pleading had the heat in your lower stomach rising and you obliged, sinking your teeth into his shoulder. You felt guilty - you didn’t enjoy hurting people - until he was whimpering in your ear, moaning your name over and over again. 

You bit his neck, his shoulders, his lip - all the small puncture wounds healing themselves within seconds. 

Having him so pussy drunk and groaning praises into your ear brought the pressure in your lower stomach to a max and you cried out his name, letting him fuck you through your second orgasm. 

“ ‘s good, huh, princess? Come on me, c’mon,” he was begging, feeling your muscles tense around him. That drove him over the edge, his hips rutting into you and his thrusts becoming sloppy. He finally let himself go, filling you and letting it drip from you onto the sheets. He pulled back a little to see the mess you had both made, your inner thighs painted with a mix of his release and yours. He went to pull out completely and you clamped your thighs around his hips again, keeping him still.

“Want me to stay?”

“Mhm - please.”

The sexual tension was replaced with loving comfort, Logan keeping you to his chest as he laid you both on your side. His chin rested on the top of your head and your face was against his chest with your eyes closed. You smiled at the thump of his heartbeat in your ear, nearly letting it put you to sleep. 

“Hey, pretty girl,” he mumbled into your hair, planting a kiss on the top of your head, “you know I love you?”

The last three words made your eyes shoot open and you looked up at him, worried you’d misheard him or maybe he was just messing with you.

“Really?”

“Of course. You think I would’ve done that with you if I wasn’t in love?”

You thought hard for a second, realizing he was right. It wasn’t that he hadn’t had hookups before, but it had been quite a long time since he’d bothered to even get to know someone like that. He wasn’t the type to lead you on, either - always up front with you, even if he didn’t have to be. 

“I love you too,” you answered, unable to hide the wide smile on your face.

“I should’ve told you much sooner,” he sighed, his eyes fluttering closed as you snuggled into him again.

Before you could both fall asleep from exhaustion, he yanked the comforter over the both of you, hearing you mumble sleepily.

“You can make it up to me some more.”

───────♡──────────────♡───────

A/N: If you made it to the end I love you <3 pls lmk what you think and reblog+like if you enjoyed!! also still navigating how to write smut without using cringe terminology so forgive me if that part sucks

[shmpxx]

CURSED SPIRIT — y.o

⛤ curse! yuuta okkotsu x fem! reader

yuuta okkotsu being your one and only curse.

cw. smut. unprotected sex. creampies. multiple orgasms. groping. dry humping. public sex-ish. fingering. slight oral (f. receiving). overstimulation. thigh fucking. somnophilia. possessiveness. yandere tendencies. mentions of violence. +18!

wc: 1.2k

a/n: inspired by @deviants-forest work! etc. (go check it out) also happy kinktober! :)

Curse!yuuta who creeps up your back, his hands finding your waist and his lips tickle your ear as he’s whispering how much he needs you on a subway train to home. “Not now…” you whisper over your shoulder to him trying not to be noticeable by others who crowded you and payed no mind, too busy on their phones. You bit your bottom lip when he presses himself against your ass in one movement already having your blood rush like crazy. You try to keep your composure like nothings bothering you but yuuta’s hard on humping into you desperately, whining in your ear and his cold hands reaching under your shirt to grope your boob. “need you ‘s bad” he was always touchy, could never keep his hands off you.

Curse!yuuta who doesn’t mind your sorcerer friends as long as they don’t get too close. Your friends can sense the heavy weight of cursed energy from you, even if they got close it was too much to bare sense yuuta was around, the air would fill thick and negative. You could barely go out with them to eat without his fingers buried in your cunt and playing your clit. They would ask you if you were okay when your head is down on the table but you just excuse it as you were not feeling well for a second but yuuta is grinning ear to ear, amused how your well your taking his slender fingers, curling them inside and you can’t help but squirm in your seat acting like your stomach is just hurting though you were about to orgasm. “Please yuuta..” you whisper to him “Come on you can cum on my fingers..” his raspy tone sending you shivers down your back.

Curse!yuuta who watches an “old friend” hug you, his hands in places that shouldn’t be. After you would praise yuuta for staying calm but yuuta would give shake his head only because you would be upset if he did anything and simply gave you a warning “Next time I’ll break his arm” “You can’t be serious” you sigh, you always knew he was.

Curse!yuuta who clenches his fist watching some prick try to flirt with you in front of him knowing he can’t be seen. Even the second time you reject him you can feel yuuta’s anger grow by the second that in any moment he would take action. “I-i have a boyfriend-“ praying yuuta doesn’t get violent “I don’t see him?” His hand coming up to touch your shoulder now he’s on the floor shouting in pain, blood from his broken nose all over his hands, shaken up that he didn’t see anyone hit him? Was he going crazy? “Pathetic” Yuuta mutters luckily he held back a lot, he could do so much worse and this wasn’t the first time.

Curse!yuuta who gets anxious that you might hate him when you get into arguments. He feels like he can’t exist without you, he’s nothing without you and the thought of you hating him makes his heart sink and scared that he’ll be all alone. He didn’t care about anyone else he just needed you. The amount of times you got tired of telling him not to hurt people and you could handle the situation yourself. He’ll plead you not to hate him and apologized excessively. “We can talk about this tomorrow” his stomach sinking by the tone of your voice that it will all end up to you hating him. He couldn’t stand the feeling.

Curse!yuuta who wants to let you know how much he loves you and how much he needs you, praying you don’t leave him or hate him. He glares at you in your sleeping state though he can’t wait til tomorrow he needed you to know now. “Please don’t hate me” “i love you so much” as he’s softly kissing your neck on each side, peeling your panties off. The cold air makes your cunt clench at his sight. He’s kissing the inner of your thighs sweetly and his lips makes contact with your pussy and a small whimper emits from your mouth. “Yuuta” you utter half sleep thinking it was only a sex dream, you were a heavy sleeper at that. he’s burying his lips between your folds trying to get more like he was so starved. If he can just make you feel good you won’t be mad at him and you can forgive him.

Curse!yuuta who can’t wait any longer, his dick pulsating through his pants even how much he gets drunk off your pussy, he loves the taste of it every time but he’s rutting against the mattress. Brings your thighs together to slip his cock between, throwing his head back letting out quiet moans as his cock is rubbing against your clit between your thighs. Your eyelids almost twitching open. He spreads your legs apart and sinks his dick into you watching your pretty lashes flutter at the sudden pleasure of you being spread apart. “Yu..?” You begin to stir awake, he kisses your lips before you start to fully take consciousness. “I don’t want you to hate me” “forgive me please” as he’s thrusting harsh inside you and swallowing your lips. By the time your walls were the shape of him every time he used you so it was easy for him to slide right in, you were made for him and he was made for you was the thought that brought him comfort. His fingers entwines with yours, his cock continuously rubbing hard in your insides. “Yuuta!” You moaned beautifully in his ear, your hand clawing at his back, yuuta loved it, it didn’t hurt him because you could never hurt him he didn’t mind it.

Curse!yuuta not wanting to stop, he’ll never get tired of cumming and filling up your pussy. You’ll be overstimulated begging him to stop it was awfully much to handle, you couldn’t cum anymore but you did as he’s plunging his cock in your abused cunt. The choke sobs and sounds of squelching filled the room “Need you-need you tell me you love me…please f-forgive me..ah!” Rubbing your clit increasing more nerves. “I-i love you yuuta! Ah-I really do! I could never be mad at you” Your words lifting weight off his chest still pounding into you. Holding you in a warm embrace to finish inside you. When he did filling up your womb one last time with his string of cum, your nails dig into his back letting your last orgasms crash into you. You let out a cry into his shoulder, your body trembles.

Curse!yuuta who needs constant reassurance you’ll never leave him, placing gentle kisses on each part of his face. Even though he’s nothing but a curse to you, being invisible to the outside world, Has a hard time showing remorse it’s just what he does to protect you, he somewhat doesn’t know that but knows he can be a bit possessive he just can’t help the urges of anyone getting close to you or worse even laying a finger.

Curse!yuuta bending you over the counter in the morning as you were trying to make yourself breakfast, last night was rough you were a bit sore but yuuta still misses your pussy. “Just a quick one I promise! I miss you so much! I’m just displaying my love for you—“ he pushes himself inside your worn out cunt from last night once again, you whimper at the feeling each time he rolls his hips when his balls slap against you. His hands reaching to your tit, massaging it in his palms. You don’t think you could ever break the curse from yuuta okkotsu.

[snoopyearss]

When jjk characters call you ‘clingy’

Feat. crybaby-ish!reader

Gojo, geto, toji

Cw: hurt, guilt, angst (if you squint)

This is inspiration from a mini series i read a few days ago by user @fumekara. It was so good, I love me some angst to hurt/comfort.

But i also wrote this from personal experience too, my bad yall i treat this like my own personal diary

Anyway, enjoy!

Satoru Gojo

He was pissed. He doesn’t typically show it much, but when he does, he gets kind of scary. He’s more quiet, his voice gets deeper, and his whole body language just shifts. So when the higher-ups piss him off after a very long meeting, the last thing he needs is someone to pounce on him. He usually loves it when you greet him at the door when you’re home for work. But today, he just wanted to strip off his clothes and hop into bed.

Gojo huffs as he leaves the elevator of your shared apartment and grabs his keys from his pocket to unlock the door. As he opens the door, he sees you in the kitchen grabbing ingredients for dinner. “Hi baby,” You softly greeted him. “Hey.” was all he said back. It confused you for a second because he’s never greeted you like that before.

“Is everything okay?” You walk up to him to try to kiss him on his cheek. “God- Y/n, please.” He grumbled, walking right past you and placing his briefcase on the table. “I’m just trying to help,” you defended, walking up to take his coat off for him. “At least let me take your coat-” That’s when he snapped. Something he’s never done to you before. “Y/n, I fuckin’ got it! Geez, you’re so fucking clingy!” He aggressively shrugged your hands off his shoulder. It scared you a bit, to see him so angry at you. You were confused, all you wanted to do was make him feel better. Were you really that clingy?

“I-I’m sorry.” your voice came out shaky and defeated. Hearing how small your voice sounded in response to him lashing out made Satoru’s heart shatter into thousands of pieces. He wanted to turn around and apologize, but the words weren’t coming out. By the time he turned to face you, Your back was already facing him, preparing dinner for the both of you as tears rolled down your face.

Suguru Geto

It was 2 weeks after Suguru deflected. 2 weeks since he committed mass murder in that village. 2 weeks since he left Satoru, Shoko, and the others. It was weighing on him and you could tell. Nothing but him, his two adopted girls, a few people who believed in his cause, and you.

You promised him you would go wherever he would go, and he was so grateful for it. He loves you deeply and would do anything for you. But some days just threw everything on him at one time, today was one of those days. Monkeys non-sorcerers begging him to exercise curses left and right, Nanako and Mimiko begging him to take them shopping, missing payments from those begging for his service. It was all too much. And the guilt was eating away at him.

He genuinely wasn’t paying attention to what you were saying and it annoyed him how much talking you were doing in his ear at that moment. You were both sitting outside watching the two girls play in the yard. “Y/n,” He interrupted you. “Don’t you have something better to do than to just bother me?” He sighed sounding so condescending. “What do you mean?”

“Must you always cling to me? Isn’t there something else you can do besides following me everywhere I go, at all times of the day?!” His voice raised a bit as if he was talking to a non-sorcerer. “I didn’t realize I was. I was only trying to tell you about what me and the girls did today,” You defended. “You’re always so busy, I rarely get to see you anymore.”

“Yeah, because you’re always underneath me. Sometimes-” He stopped mid-sentence because of the saddened look on your face. His eyes softened a bit. “Sometimes I just need my space.” He sighed. You only nodded and started to walk back inside. “Ok, I understand.” Your voice cracked. Leaving Suguru alone to think about what he had just said to you. As if he didn’t feel guilt then, he definitely feels guilt now.

Toji Fushiguro

Toji was a bit frustrated today. He was cheated out of his money after doing a side job, the bet he placed on the race he kept constantly telling you about fell through, leaving him with zero, and to top it all off, the child support payment was coming up. You being an empath and knowing your boyfriend so well, you wanted to help him any way you could.

He was sitting in the chair by the island in the kitchen with his fingers combing through his hair. He was on the phone with multiple people at once, trying to solve his money issues. “Shiu, you guaranteed me way more money than this! How am I supposed to cover this months child support with this amount?!” You walked up to where he was, wondering what all the commotion was about. “Baby?” You softly called out. You could hear Shiu on the other line trying to calm him down and explain the situation.

“That sounds like a bunch of bull and you know it Shiu, you better have my money by next week thursday or else I’m taking it myself.” He grumbled and hung up the phone. “Baby,” You gently placed a hand on his broad shoulder.

“What, Y/n.” He sternly said. You merely blinked a few times. “I was just checking to see if you were okay. What’s with the attitude?”

“I’m fuckin’ frustrated okay? Please leave. You aren’t helping right now.” He waved you off.

“I barely did anything, I just wanted to know if you needed help with anything-”

“Jesus, I said enough! I don’t need your help. Fuck, you’re so clingy.” His voice booming caused you to remove your hand from his shoulder in fear. Seeing your reaction caused him to think about what he said and how he said it. The last think he wanted to do was scare you. He wanted you to feel safe around him. But with the way you jumped at how he raised his voice, it saddened him a bit.

“Y/n, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” He was cut off by the sound of his child wailing in the background. “I’ll take care of it.” You said in the smallest voice, not even leaving him time to protest against it and apologize.

“Fuck.”

Part 2

[timemachineyeah]

Takarazuka Revue is so funny because it’s like we are a fine upstanding institution of good family values, like homophobia. Please ignore the lesbians making up the majority of people both on stage and in the audience.

Takarazuka Revue is like: we enforce only the strictest gender roles in our troupe as is right and proper, sorting them into the two genders: women who are women, and women who are men. How dare you suggest there’s anything queer about that.

Takarazuka Revue is simultaneously the queerest thing and the least queer thing to ever exist. Takarazuka bucks tradition and is tradition incarnate. Takarazuka is like

and then is like, “no homo”

and maintains itself as one of the most hierarchical artistic organizations in the world with intense control over its performers. This alternate reality where the talented (and lucky, and connected) few can gain the right to openly perform queerness in the one setting comphet capitalism has carved out for them as long as they follow a different even stricter set of rules for dress and behavior. It dissembles traditional gender by its very existence and so must reinforce it at every turn.

And yet despite being the product of a conservative capitalist railroad owner who only really sought to exploit women for entertainment aimed at men (and their hetero families) that remains loyal to those deeply normative puritanical roots, it was and is also one of the most liberating theater and media experiences of queer Japanese people for decades. You can tell from all the queer art about it, by queer people. By the fact that the audience who flocked to it were not (cis) men.

Trying to untangle the mutual influence of shoujo manga to takarazuka is even more difficult that trying to untangle something like the history of modern Broadway and Disney movies. We wouldn’t have The Little Mermaid without Little Shop of Horrors, but we wouldn’t have Wicked without the Disney renaissance, but we wouldn’t have Frozen without Wicked, and going back further to things like Cinderella and Rogers and Hammerstein and they are intertwined but listen to me. Takarazuka and shoujo manga, especially yuri, are more intertwined. And then so much western media has been inspired by shoujo anime. Rose of Versailles the manga was inspired by Takarazuka and then in turn was adapted into their most famous play which then in turn influenced so many more artworks. Uranus and Neptune are an otokoyaku and musumeyaku. Utena and Anthy (and honestly that whole ass show. The stairs?? C’mon). And all the works and creators THOSE works inspired.

We owe so much to Takarazuka but also if we tried to thank them for their role in queer history they’d be like “we’ve never been queer in our lives!!!!!!!!” and then say a slur to your face while taking your money. Incredible. Wish more people knew what the fuck it was and I could get fansubs.

[lilacgaby]

title: i've changed, won't you see?

pairing: prohero!katsuki x reader

summary: katsuki ruined your life when you were small, giving you a life altering injury, though getting nothing more than a pat on the back. throughout his successes he can't get you out of his mind, so he sets out to make amends with you.

tags: silent voice inspired!! childhood bully katsuki :(, disabled reader, mentions of violence, angst to fluff, su1cide attempt, comfort, implied nsfw, no proofread

(a/n: i wanted to give my hand at really long works while doing drabbles in between but i have so many drafts now jajsjsj)

wc: ~4k

your eyes were always blurry around him it seemed. your hands shaking as your voice cracked, just begging him. "please leave me alone!" with all the might a five year old could muster.

they scoffed at you, they always did. "crybaby. blame your parents for not giving you a quirk. you should've moved when i told you to anyways, it's my park dont you know?" katsuki mocked, moving closer to you, noticing the card behind your back.

"stop being so mean! quirkless people don't do anything wrong!"

"quirkless don't do anything."

your chest was heaving with pain, your little heart couldn't take it. "you-- you'll never be a hero, you're too mean!"

in an act of rage, he set off an explosion. it was only meant to intimidate you but..

once the smoke settled your screams of terror filled the playground.

blood dripped on the floor, pooling in your hand as your grasped your ear. a ringing was all you could hear, it was driving you crazy.

were you crying? you couldn't tell, you couldn't hear. your eyes were shut as you were filled with panic, the smell of iron flooding your senses.

but katsuki remembered so much more.

the smell of the burned cartilage of your ear, the sight of it, or rather the lack of. the blood that wouldn't stop coming, why wasn't it stopping?

his group that usually rallied behind him was now gone, leaving him and a wailing you alone. he tried to talk to you, but you weren't responding.

he grew the courage to touch you, tapping on your shoulder slowly, but that didn't comfort you. in fact he thought it made it worse, making you bow your head in a defensive position.

he stared at you, unable to move, he was supposed to be a hero like allmight, were you right?

finally, a teacher came running to get you, an ambulance already on the way. they didn't look at katsuki, only at the pitiful state you were in.

you didn't respond to them either.

katsuki felt sick as he stood where you and the teacher had left them. he felt sick as he looked down to the remains of what he'd done to you.

he couldn't process it yet, but he felt a sickening despair and guilt be placed upon his shoulders.

one that wouldn't disappear.

he wasn't blamed for anything, only getting a quirk consolation. they thought he lost control? his parents eyed him as he tried to explain what had truely happened, he didn't know why he was trying, did he want to get punished?

but even after, nothing was done. with a lecture and a couple promises he was sent back to class with nothing done to him.

your life was changed forever though, it was apparent in the way that you seemed even more quiet and closed off. you sat in the back, never spoke to anyone, and got teary eyed when he even stood close to you.

your hair covered your ears constantly, a hearing aid peeking through the strands occasionally. the teacher never forced you to participate, none of them ever made an effort.

the teacher had explained to the class how you were completely deaf in one ear, and extremely hard of hearing in the other. how you'd use sign language from now on, and that the class would learn some in support. they never did though, the conversation going ignored as soon as it was uttered.

you were pulled out of class often, the teacher having to tap you on the shoulder to get your attention. your eyes dejected and your presence small as the person who came to get you made gestures with their hands to you.

you'd been cruelly placed in matching classes 'til your last years of junior high. you'd stayed the same way for forever, it was like a weight placed over his chest.

yet he felt he deserved it. he knew he was messed up. he watched you, a lot. he saw you in the back corners, usually forgotten and ignored. when you were acknowledged you were mocked, people making random hand signs to make fun of the way he forced you to communicate, mocking your unconfident speech right after.

he saw the way you sunk into yourself afterwards, making his heart hurt as you grew impossibly smaller. your hands held your own as you prayed for it to be over.

everytime you'd catch him in the halls, you'd still freeze up. your breath shaky as you bowed and left quickly, making his friends laugh but make him queasy.

that interaction was witnessed by your teacher who, after a day of you not showing up, assigned him to give you your work for the day.

with sweaty palms and a racing heart, he dropped by your house. he knew where it was, of course he did, your mom and his were close industry friends even after the incident.

because you'd never told anyone about what he'd do to you.

he knocked on the door, attempting to seem nonchalant. when you answered though, he felt his heart lurch in his chest.

"[name], uh-- this is your work."

you didn't respond, you looked almost nauseous at the sight of him, it was deserved though.

he placed your work on the floor and walked off, that was the only time he'd spoken to you since the incident,

and he couldn't even apologize.

- - -

U-A wouldn't only be a dream for him, but a release for you both. was it selfish to want to run away from his problems? sure, but it'd help you too.

as everyone in the class exclaimed the names of the schools they picked, unsurprised at katsuki's choice, he pondered on where you'd go.

nobody asked you, so you didn't speak. staying quiet as you looked out the window.

katsuki got accepted into U-A easily, but he couldn't help but feel he lacked the main criteria. he'd hurt people poorly, and couldn't apologize because of his ego.

he felt sick to accept these accomplishments of his, knowing it'd be built up on the foundation of hurting you.

but he did anyway, selfishly. he kept up his harsh demeanor in U-A anyways, working hard and scoring high. he graduated top of his class, job offers to agencies left and right.

he accepted one, working for his old internship officially now. he climbed the ranks quickly, saving lives and catching the attention of the media.

a couple years later, he was a steady number five hero when he took a patrol route over for deku. as he strolled through the city, stores littering the buildings, he saw someone he never thought he'd see again.

you, only now working for your mothers seamstress company. you were embroidering something on the station, hands precise and focused, not noticing him.

he had to keep moving, but.. he made a mental note to come back later.

he finished his patrol anxious, he went to sleep thinking of what he'd even say to you. 'hey sorry for ruining your life, can you forgive me?' he slapped his forehead in frustration.

he searched up basic sign language for beginners, learning a bit. he laughed at the stupid thoughts of your forgiveness that he dreamt of.

"as if i deserve it." he muttered, looking deeply at the ceiling of his room before falling asleep.

as soon as he awoke, he got dressed and prepared. he tried to look causal, as if he wasn't planning this.

he walked in, immediately greeted by your mother who congratulated him on his heroics. "well isn't that dynamite? saving the world i see."

he laughed politely. "i'll be number one soon enough."

"of course! well, what're you looking for? i'll give you a family discount, you grew up so close to [name] didn't you?"

his heart jumped into his throat.

"uh.. we did."

"you two were so adorable! she was so nervous around you, she must've had a crush on you or something!"

"i definitely don't think so."

"oh, you're just being modest." she said, hitting his arm lightly. "there she is now, go and speak to her."

"uh-- i--"

"go!" she shoved him in your direction, making you look up to see him. your lips parted in an unrecognizable expression as you saw him, the line you were working on now crooked as you were left alone together.

it's been about ten years hadn't it? ten years since he last saw you, but a lifetime he needed to apologize for.

he'd learned so much in U-A, outwardly changing his demeanor to what he always aspired to be. but all that meant nothing to you, who only experienced him at his worst.

he awkwardly raised his hand up to you, he did his best to sign while speaking, his hands shaky and unconfident. "hi [name], i'm really sorry about what happened back then."

your eyes followed the movements, your hands absentmindedly wrapping around yourself loosely, defensively.

"i know this is a lot but,

can we be friends?"

he waited anxiously for you to answer, you looking as if you were processing it.

in a grown up, yet timid voice, one that he hadn't heard since you were young, you almost whispered, signing as you did so out of reflex. "thank you, bakugo." your eyes grew watery. great, he just couldn't seem to stop making you cry.

he sat near you after getting wordless permission to, hanging onto every word you spoke, and being mindful to speak in a calm tone himself.

"i.. i'd like a friend, honestly. a new one anyways."

he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding when you said that, but still, it wasn't enough.

he wanted to, no needed to make you happy. the years of torment he subjected you to couldn't be made up by anything less than years of happiness.

after a bit of small talk, him asking you questions about what you'd been up to, how your life was treating you. he zoned out a couple times, thinking of how beautiful you've become.

"what would make you happy, [name]?" he finally said, his head supported on his hand as he gazed at you, making sure to enunciate his words so you could read his lips.

"what makes you ask?"

"i-- i want to make you happy. no matter the cost, it's what you deserve."

she laughed softly at that, her eyes flickering with an indistinguishable expression. "...i always wanted to travel. around the world, to see mountains and landscapes."

"then i'll take you."

"you don't have t--"

"i do. and ill do more [name], what i did to you was-- is horrible. you know that."

"i..

okay, okay bakugo."

"katsuki."

you smiled, "katsuki."

going from having very limited contact with your only friend from high school, to having a prohero come to your shop everyday was jarring. but not unwelcomed.

he brought gifts with him everytime, learning what you'd like and not. it ranged from food to stuffed animals, flowers to accessories, all of which you really appreciated.

you grew closer, eventually starting to meet outside of your mother's shop. at the park or walking around the mall, he'd take you anywhere you wanted to go. he'd pay for everything too, despite your reluctance.

he kept his word to you, and at the end of the month he asked you to come up to his apartment.

a penthouse.

as you walked in, greeted by the shimmering atmosphere of the expensive furniture and decor all around, abstract paintings and trophies littering shelves on the walls.

you stood by the front entrance, taking off your shoes as you walked in. "katsuki?" you asked, looking around.

he came out, a tiny smile on his face. "ya made it." he had something behind his back, "come in [name]."

the apartment was huge to say the least, it becoming even bigger than it looked from the entrance. he guided you to his plush couch, sitting next to you.

"so, i know you said you dreamt of traveling, right?"

at your nod, he pulled out the tickets from behind his back. "i.. got this tickets for you. i didn't want to push it in case you didn't want me to go with you but--"

you cut him off with a hug, tackling him into the couch.

"of course i want you to come,

katsuki."

you signed his name differently than other times,

you'd finally made a name for him.

he hugged back mindfully, so excited to finally have a huge first step in the right direction.

but he still needed to make you happy. "we'll leave in two days if that's okay, i just wanted to give you time to pack."

"okay, that's good."

"do you.. want to stay?" he asked nervously, the thought had popped into his mind and out his mouth in a millisecond.

you blinked, sitting up on his legs, pondering it over.

"sure, okay."

he put on some movies for the two of you, his heart was racing at the proximity of your body to his.

the night ended with you laid on top of him, fast asleep as he was comforted by the beating of your heart against his. your chest against his, his hand in your hair as your head laid in his neck.

he woke up first, to the sight of the gold light making you look heavenly, your hair messy from how he was playing with it throughout the night. your face was almost against his, he could kiss you right now.

but he shouldn't. he would move but he didn't want to couldn't, so he looked you over. you woke up to the feeling of his fingers caressing your face, your eyes half lidded from sleep.

"'suki. g'morning."

his heart was getting used to irregularly pounding around you at this point. "[name], uh-- hi."

after a couple moments, you got off of him, much to his discontent. his hands sliding down your legs as you got up.

"i'll be going now, i gotta pack and stuff." you said, looking in one of the many mirrors scattered around as you fixed your appearance as much as you could.

he nodded. "let me walk you home at least."

and he did walk you home, hand in hand.

those two nights he spent pondering over you. he didn't know why, but hero work felt much lighter after talking it out with you. becoming your friend was one of the best things he'd achieved in years, and that was including his recent rankings.

he thought back to how he treated you as a kid, had he really just been searching for your validation all along?

is that why it hurt when you told him he'd never amount to his dreams, because he only valued your opinion?

he let himself sleep, he'd see you tomorrow. and he'd make it all right.

he woke up and picked you up at your place, his expensive sports car standing out against the comfort of the neighborhood. you walked out, dressed simply but cute, a bag of your own in hand.

he grabbed it from you and placed it in the back, opening the passenger door for you as he drove to the airport. his hand on your thigh as he did so, letting you play the music you'd like with loud bass.

it was a half hour ride in comfortable silence, he gazed at you occasionally, a thoughtful expression on your face.

on the plane, you sat by the window. it was first class so you'd get to sleep in a physical bed, in a closed room. you were treated to whatever food and drinks you wanted, hugging katsuki when you found out you where you were heading.

the flight was a long eighteen hours, but it was spent hanging out with katsuki. on his lap asking him questions about the shows you two had watched, power scaling arguments about past heroes, fights he'd recently been in.

also what you two planned to do as you were there, you wanted to go to the beaches and mountains, he just wanted to follow you.

you fell asleep together again, your face laid directly in his chest as he held you.

you woke up to katsuki tapping you on the shoulder. as you raised the volume on your aids, you heard the beeping on the intercoms that meant you'd have to go back to your seats for the landing, groggily being helped up by katsuki as he moved you to to your seats.

you sat by the windows, looking at the tropical region as you two landed, your hand still in his. the moments after we're a blur, before you knew it you were in a car being buckled up by katsuki as you were being driven to your hotel.

what you didn't know was that it was a villa, built on top of the waters of the ocean, your very own private beach right outside your doors with the mountains you'd dreamt of treking right behind you.

you'd never been so happy.

the days you'd spent started and ended all the same, you waking up and going to sleep in katsuki's arms. pretending like you didn't notice how your bed hair got worsened after he played with it all night.

the first days you'd spent at the beach, attempting and failing at surfing. your jet lag was killed off by your utter excitement.

you being thankful your aids were water resistant because of how much you loved the waters of the river and the seas.

you'd had a sandcastle competition, sunbathed, and soaked off in the hot tub of your villa together.

the trek's were fun too, katsuki was annoyingly good at everything so you'd have to fight to keep up.

your polaroid in hand as you snapped candid shots of him, turning it to yourself as you got a selfie of you two with the gorgeous rivers as background.

you jumped into those too, making katsuki freak out as you dived in to the deep waters.

you even got to the top one day, jokingly saying that you should've brought a flag to the top to celebrate. the golden hours of the sunset making you glimmer.

a moment of silence passed over you as he slowly approached you, wordlessly asking for permission as you once again put your hands in his.

you leaned in first, kissing him with the sun as witness.

"i really like you [name]." he sighed and spoke after you pulled away.

"i like you too." you replied, hugging him tightly.

the rest of your trip was filled with your firsts with katsuki.

your first official date was in the burrows of the forest, a picnic where you two painted portraits of eachother. albeit, unique portraits... but painting nonetheless.

your first moment truly loving someone, the feeling you recognized as you laid him in your lap for the first time.

your first talk about what happened all those years ago. a deep one.

"[name], before we become something um.. official. we need to talk about how i hurt you." katsuki said one day, laying faced to you but taking your hands into his.

"kats--"

"let me speak. please." after you nodded, he took a breath and began.

"i was egotistical and really insecure all those years. you were the only one who really read me, that's why i think i got so upset.

i didn't mean to hurt you, i never wanted to hurt anyone i swear-- i just hated that you were right.

that weighed over me all these years, the fact that my hero work meant nothing if i was doing it while acting so.. unheroic.

i never fully felt like a hero, not until i met you again.

not until you graced me with your friendship, your undeserved affection towards me. i just-- i really care about you. and im really sorry, ill spend the rest of my life apologizing to you, and you don't have to accept it because i don't deserve it.

i guess what i'm trying to say is..

sorry, and.. i love you [name].

you don't have to--"

he was cut off by a kiss on his lips.

it felt different somehow, he couldn't place it. almost sad in a way as you pulled back.

"i don't think you were trying to hurt me. but, you did.

and you're working to change it, i appreciate that.

i really care for you too katsuki."

the rest of your trip was comfortingly domestic, learning things about each other you'd never know.

your last week was bittersweet, having to leave your jointed paradise was a reality that saddened the both of you. but your dream was fulfilled, and so was his.

seeing that he was the cause of your smiles and not your horror, making you happy was the light of his day. no, his life.

he thinks he was born to make you happy.

the flight back was a blur, you spent it clinging to him. you started to gift him your own things over the hours, a scrunchie of yours, a bracelet for him to keep.

a locket with a photo of you two, and the polaroid you'd taken on the mountains.

"why are you giving this all to me? not that i'm complaining."

"well, you'll get more use out of it. that's all."

he scrunched his face up in confusion, but with a smile you waved off his concerns.

he wished he pushed you more.

he wished that you'd forgive him for failing you once again, as he fought to take the razor blade out of your grip, slicing your hand in the process.

you were in your bathtub, surrounded by water yet fully clothed, tears and wails wracking your body as you just wanted it to be over.

you finally relented, your blood staining his clothes and the water as he picked you up. you couldn't hear him, you'd taken out your aid.

but you could feel his sobs, his tears hitting you as you shut your eyes, embarrassed of what you'd just done.

you were rushed to the hospital and given stitches, you were to be closely watched from your mom now on, you were told by an interpreter.

katsuki's eyes were red, matching his pupils as he looked at you.

he was frustrated, you could see it in the trembling of his fists and the scowl in his mouth. if he hadn't been there.. you would be dead.

why, he asked you. and to be honest, you really couldn't explain it yourself.

when you got home to your apartment, empty and reminding of your reality away from katsuki, you just felt so..

scared. what would happen when he finally got the validation he needed and left you? your whole life was quiet and tranquil, you'd gotten used to it. but he flipped it upside down again, showed you what your life really could be.

it was too much for you. you had to escape, so after sitting on it, tapping your leg anxiously as you pondered your decision, you went on your phone.

you went online and saw his life outside of you, how he had everything going for him yet what did you really have? a mom and a job at her company?

you grew impulsive, grabbing it absentmindedly and filling up the tub with the water you grown to love over the past month.

after you started bleeding, you panicked. what had you just done? but it was too late..

until he saved you from yourself.

you were zoning out. when you didn't answer him, he repeated himself, grabbing the interpreter so you could sign.

but still you said nothing, except a small sorry.

he left afterwards, leaving you alone in the bed to think.

you were back in your childhood room now, your mom having sobbed as she looked over your hands, as she asked you, "what the hell were you thinking?"

you looked at those glow in the dark stars and tried to find an answer, but there was none.

you held yourself to sleep for the first time in months, already missing him deeply.

little did you know, he was thinking about you too.

the next morning you awoke to a knock on your bedroom door. assuming it was your mom, you got up and opened it.

it was katsuki instead, holding a bouquet of flowers and the locket you'd given him.

"can i come in?"

you opened the door wider, leading him to sit on your bed.

"katsuki i--"

"[name]. i don't know why you did what you did.. but i know it probably has something to do with me. so what did i do wrong?" he looked defeated, as if he thought it was his fault you tried to end your life.

"no! no that wasn't it at all. well, it was about you but not like that.

it's just.. i've been alone. for so long? having you around felt.. too good to be true. i didn't want to go back to how i was before. in a way, you were too good for me."

"you're.. an idiot. but i guess i understand."

"i just.. i really love how you treat me. i didn't want it to go away."

a moment of silence passes, a small anxious laugh leaving katsuki's lips.

"fuck, i thought you hated me. could barely sleep without you."

he pulled you into him, staring deeply into your eyes as he pulled you impossibly closer. he kissed you deeply. his worries, passions, and frustrations all poured out into it.

he pulled away, eyes half lidded as he asked gruffly.

"wanna take this back to my place?"

he took your last first away, gentle and loving as he guided you through it. reassuring you that he'd never leave you.

you moved in with him soon after, finding it hard to sleep without eachother, no matter how late he got back to your shared home.

he'd be welcomed back by the sight of you, who always tried and failed to stay up waiting for him. he'd pick you up, like always, and hug you to sleep.

he'd know he woke you up by the feeling of your smile in his chest, the way you tightened you arms around him.

he loved spending every waking moment he could with you. you were right though, he did break up with you after he got your validation.

...

but that's just an odd way to say he proposed to you, vowing to spend the rest of his life making you happy and fufiling your wishes one by one.

he changed not only himself, but the way you see yourself. he changed your relationships with yourselves and eachother for the better,

and as you walked down the aisle, your wedding planned by your two designer parents, being lavish and gorgeous. the silk on the floor being runway to your expensive shoes specially designed for you, the guests in awe of how gorgeous you are.

you both knew, you'd better eachother for better or for worse, for as long as you'd be together.

he signed 'i do', sealing the rest of your lives together,

with a kiss.

[nerdvi]

In the wake of the whole james somerton fiasco and inspired by this post, I wanted to share a few of my um, soft signs, like, orange flags to detect when someone is bullshitting you.

First of all, I am on the spectrum which means 1) I tend to take what people say at face value and 2) I have a strong sense of justice which makes me prone to biases, all of which combined means I am at perpetual risk of swallowing the bullshit.

So, what to do about it? You turn on the critical thinking and pay attention.

As one of my favorite youtubers, Hannah Alonzo, likes to say: "consider the source, remember the motive". Who is talking to you?? What do you know about them?? What biases might they have?? How do they interact with your own biases?? Where are they talking from?? Is it anger?? happinness? boredom?? Also, why are they talking to you? Are they trying to sell you something?? Are they trying to convince you and why?? How do they go about the finantial motivation, if present? If you have, in this case, a white cis gay man talking to you as it he has it the worst of the worst in the world, there's probably some exaggeration and you should start to wonder. There's a good chance he's bullshitting you.

How they talk about women and POC No, no, stay with me. There's a rule I had back when I was dating men: Always beware of how they treat their mother. With the exception of extremes like mama's boys and cases of abuse, how a man treats the woman with whom they have that familial bond is a good indicator of how they are going to treat you. Do they berate her? speak ill of her? are aggressive or controlling? do they dismiss her opinions? Same with creators, and by god I tell you, specially cis male creators, queer or otherwise, always always beware of how they speak of women, how they treat women, how they treat POC. Somerton had a weird vendetta against straight women. It went mostly unnoticed. Then, he was dismissive towards lesbians and other queer women and it was once again overlooked. Then he went ahead and made sinophobic content about genres and cultures he knows NOTHING about. Again, it went unchecked. What I am telling you is IT'S NOT NORMAL. Contempt about women and non white-western cultures is not normal and if someone has them as them as an enemy or a scapegoat, they're probably bullshitting you. Take what they say and fact check it, see for yourself.

If at any point in a video or an essay you find yourself thinking "wait, really??" then it's time to fact check. Is it a bit suspicious?? is your logic telling you that's not quite how this works?? Then take to google, my friend, they might be bullshitting you. At worst, you dodge a fake fact, at best, you learn way too much about a topic you were already interested in.

Beware of the lack of nuance. I can not stress this enough. We all love monochrome, but life and societal issues are never black and white. It's just impossible, there's too many factors to consider. If you are being presented situations or anecdotes as absolute truths, you're probably being bullshitted. If it's too good to be true, it is. If it sounds waaay too convenient, it probably is. A good researcher, a serious investigator, will always have some nuance because they have done the work and checked the sources. If someone provides you 1) no nuance and 2) no sources, THEY'RE BULLSHITTING YOU.

These are the ones I can come up with just of the top of my head, I'm sure there's more and please, add them. Remember that naivité isn't a crime, I'm fairly naive and that's made me distrustful, and these are some of the techniques I've found that help me navigate through a world of information without losing myself.

[julietsf1]

From Raya to Rivalry - Franco Colapinto x Sainz!Reader

Summary: Carlos Sainz's little sister is pushed to the limit when rookie Franco Colapinto, who stood her up after a flirtatious encounter on Raya, re-enters her life—without any sign he remembers her at all. Between race weekends and time with friends the tension between them becomes impossible to ignore. Will Franco finally remember why she’s been driving him mad all along?

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, Charles wearing those hideous pants again. Possibly wrong Spanish?

AN: Sup sweeties!! Another one! 9k words oh my days... inspired after seeing him on Raya last weekend, help me manifest a match pls lmaooo

___

The Singapore paddock was buzzing with its usual mix of high-speed energy and humidity so thick you could practically swim in it. Most people hated the sticky heat, but I loved the chaos of it all—the lights, the fans, the noise. Normally, I’d be soaking it all in, grinning from ear to ear, but today… well, today was different.

Because today, I was about to meet Franco Colapinto. Or rather, remeet him.

“Y/N!” Carlos’s voice called out to me as I made my way through the maze of hospitality suites. I spotted him standing with a guy I hadn’t seen in months—but who I recognized immediately. Short brown hair, that annoyingly perfect face, and a grin that screamed trouble.

“Come here!” Carlos waved me over, looking way too pleased with himself.

I made my way toward them, my mind racing. Franco Colapinto. Of all the people Carlos could’ve become friends with, it had to be him.

“This is Franco,” Carlos said, introducing the rookie driver standing next to him, completely unaware of the history. “He’s the one I’ve been telling you about.”

Franco extended his hand, that infuriating smirk plastered on his face like we hadn’t met before. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

I hesitated for a split second, surprised he didn’t seem to remember me. I forced a smile, shaking his hand. “You too,” I said, keeping my tone neutral even though irritation bubbled under the surface.

He didn’t remember. Seriously?

Carlos, oblivious as ever, kept the introductions going. “I’m showing him around first time in Singapore—helping him settle in.”

Franco’s smirk only grew as he glanced at me. “Carlos told me a lot about you.”

I narrowed my eyes. “All good things, I hope?”

“Of course,” he replied, his tone smooth. “Apparently, you’re always by his side, keeping him in check.”

I forced an awkward laugh. “Someone has to.”

Franco chuckled, and I hated how casual he was, how easy this all seemed for him. How could he not remember?

Carlos nudged Franco. “She’s tough. But you’ll get used to her.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a feeling we’ll get along just fine,” Franco said, his eyes glinting with amusement.

I forced a tight smile. “Sure. We’ll see about that.”

The second we’d been introduced, I knew this weekend was going to be hell. Not only did Franco seem every bit as cocky as I remembered, but the fact that he didn’t even recognize me? That stung more than I cared to admit.

"Look at us! Latinos taking care of Latinos!" Carlos proclaimed, slinging an arm around Franco’s shoulders like they were long-lost brothers. 

“We’re Spanish, Carlos. Not Latinos,” I corrected him for what had to be the hundredth time.

Carlos just waved me off. “Same difference, hermana.”

I shrugged; it was no use. Carlos had it in his head that he and Franco were kindred spirits, bonded by heritage and brought together by fate.

Franco didn’t even seem to care though. He’d just grin at Carlos, play along, and occasionally throw in a “sí, jefe” for good measure, which, for some reason, made Carlos beam with pride. And every time he did it, I swear, a small part of my sanity chipped away.

It wasn’t just that Franco was arrogant—plenty of the guys on the grid had egos to match their talent. No, my problem with Franco was that I knew him. And not just in the “we’ve crossed paths a few times” way. No, this was personal.

We’d met on Raya a while back. You know, that exclusive dating app for “famous” people. I’d been curious—mostly out of boredom—and swiped right when his profile popped up. It wasn’t that he wasn’t my type; he was cute, in that annoyingly perfect way. But there was something about his bio, some sarcastic line about how he was “not just here for friends,” that made me pause. Still, I swiped.

We’d exchanged messages for a week or so. Flirty, teasing. Nothing too deep. He was funny, I’ll give him that. And then we’d made plans to meet up. Dinner at a rooftop restaurant in Monaco. Classic.

Except… he never showed up.

No text. No call. Just nothing.

I’d waited for over an hour, feeling like a complete idiot, checking my phone every few minutes as people around me gave me sympathetic looks. I left that night swearing off drivers for good.

And now here he was, strolling around the paddock with Carlos like he hadn’t completely ghosted me months ago. Worse still, he didn’t even seem to recognize me. The same smirk, the same cocky attitude, but no flicker of recognition.

The audacity.

I mean, sure, I wasn’t about to bring up a failed Raya date in the middle of race weekend, but still. A part of me wanted to shake him and scream, “Seriously? You don’t remember me?!”

But instead, I kept my cool. Sort of.

“Franco’s a quick learner,” Carlos said, turning to Lando, who’d just wandered over with his usual laid-back grin. “Picked up on everything in no time.”

Franco gave a modest shrug, but the look in his eyes was anything but humble. “I’ve got a good teacher.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “I don’t know if Carlos is the best person to be learning from, mate.”

“Hey!” Carlos protested, but his grin showed he didn’t mind the teasing. “Just watch—you’ll see Franco out there killing it this weekend.”

I rolled my eyes, hanging back as the boys bantered. Franco was already fitting in too easily, blending into the group like he’d been there all along. Normally, I’d be cracking jokes, joining in on the fun, but every time I looked at Franco, that old irritation flared up. I couldn’t help it. The guy brought out the worst in me.

“So, Y/N,” Lando said, turning his attention to me. “What’s the verdict on the new rookie?”

Before I could answer, Franco cut in with a grin. “I think she likes me. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

I blinked at him. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You know,” Franco said, leaning in slightly, that smirk never leaving his face. “It wouldn’t surprise me.”

“How can someone be so full of themselves?” I looked at Franco in disbelief. 

Lando burst out laughing, clapping Franco on the shoulder. “Mate, I think you’ve met your match.”

Franco chuckled, completely unfazed. “Glad her brother is fun at least.”

Carlos, completely missing half of the conversation, tuned in again. “See? Latinos taking care of Latinos.”

I shot Franco a glare. “We are not Latino, Carlos.”

“Details,” Carlos waved dismissively, already walking ahead toward the press conference room. “Come on, we’ve got a schedule.”

As we made our way through the paddock, I kept a few steps behind, watching Franco saunter beside Carlos like he owned the place. Every time he laughed or tossed his hair back, my hands itched to strangle him. How could someone be so infuriatingly charming? And why did everyone seem to love him?

Because he’s a flirt. That’s why. He charms his way out of everything.

Like that time he charmed me into thinking he was actually interested.

By the time we reached the press conference room, I was already dreading what was about to happen. Franco, armed with a microphone and an audience? This was going to be a disaster.

Carlos took his seat beside Franco, and I hung back by the entrance, watching the chaos unfold.

It didn’t take long for Franco to work his magic. The first question was simple: “Franco, you’re new to the grid. How’s the experience treating you so far?”

He smiled, leaning toward the mic. “It’s been... quite the ride,” he said, his voice dripping with that smooth, confident tone. “But I like rides. The faster, the better.”

I felt my eye twitch.

The reporters chuckled, but Franco wasn’t done.

“Any nerves going into your first race here in Singapore?” another reporter asked, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Franco’s grin widened. “Nerves? No. Excitement, maybe. A first ride is always a fun challenge! Can’t wait to get familiar with all the curves of the circuit.”

I groaned, quietly enough so only the people nearby could hear. I caught a few knowing glances from the journalists around me, and I was tempted to yell, “I’m not with him!” but held my tongue.

“He’s unbelievable,” I muttered under my breath.

Unfortunately, Franco’s hearing was sharper than I’d anticipated. He turned his head, locking eyes with me for a split second, and that smirk—God, that smirk—widened as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.

“Handling the heat well, Franco?” another reporter asked, her tone light and teasing.

Franco leaned back, grinning. “Heat’s never been a problem for me. I like it hot actually.”

I wanted to crawl into a hole. Or possibly throw something at him. How could one person be this insufferable?

“And what’s been the highlight of your time in Singapore so far?” one of the female reporters asked, her tone more flirtatious than professional.

Franco grinned, locking eyes with her. “The highlight? Let’s just say there’s been plenty to... keep me entertained.”

I wanted to crawl into a hole. Or possibly throw something at him. How could one person be this insufferable.

By the time the press conference wrapped up, I was practically vibrating with irritation. Carlos was chatting with a few reporters when Franco sauntered over, his confidence turned up to eleven.

“Enjoy the show?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

I forced a smile, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “It was... enlightening.”

He chuckled. “You seem tense. Maybe you should try smiling once in a while.”

I blinked, narrowing my eyes at him. “I’ll smile when you stop talking.”

His grin widened, clearly enjoying this way too much. “So, never then?”

Before I could respond, Carlos reappeared, blissfully unaware of the tension brewing between us. “Ready to head to dinner?”

Franco gave me one last smirk before turning to Carlos with a casual, “Let’s go.”

As they walked away, I stood there, fuming.

This weekend was going to be hell.

.

The city lights of Singapore sparkled in the background as we arrived at the restaurant, one of Carlos’s favorite spots. It was tucked away, hidden from the main buzz of the city, the kind of place that only locals and celebrities knew about. Naturally, Carlos acted like he was both.

The rest of the group was already there when we walked in. Charles, Lando, George, and Alexandra were scattered around the table, mid-conversation. They waved us over, and I took a seat between Alexandra and Lando, leaving Carlos and Franco on the other side of the table.

“About time,” Lando grinned, motioning to the drinks. “We’ve already started, and George is on his second story about the ‘importance of a good cravat.’”

George shot Lando a withering look. “I do not recall making that remark. Besides, I would never subject these fine people to a lecture on cravats—unless they specifically requested it.”

Lando snickered. “Sure, mate. I’m sure everyone here was just dying to know how to tie the perfect Windsor knot.”

George adjusted the nonexistent collar on his shirt, sitting up straighter. “Actually, it’s the Prince Albert knot. Very distinguished.”

Charles rolled his eyes. “Please, no more knot talk, George. I’m still recovering from the last fashion seminar you gave us.”

I grinned, watching as George tried to defend his sartorial wisdom, while Lando and Charles tag-teamed to poke fun. It was typical—Lando being the class clown, George being... well, George.

Franco slipped into his seat beside Carlos, flashing that smug grin as if he was the star of the night. I immediately braced myself, knowing where this dinner was going to head.

I was happy to be seated next to Alexandra. Over the past year, we had grown really close after watching each race together in the Ferrari motorhome. She was one of the kindest and most intelligent girls I had ever met, and also one of the only friends I had confided in about the whole Franco mess. 

Alex sent me a beaming smile as I sat down, subtly grabbing my hand and giving it a squeeze. “So glad you could make it tonight!”

I smiled back, tension slowly falling off my shoulders. “Missed you loads, Alex!”

The waiter came around, taking our drink orders, and for a moment, the chatter filled the space, making it easy for me to avoid engaging with Franco. Lando was still on about FP2, sharing exaggerated stories about his heroic saves during the practice session.

“And then—just as I thought I was gonna bin it—bam! I pulled off the most insane save. I’m telling you, pure Norris finesse,” Lando said, throwing in dramatic hand gestures.

George raised an eyebrow, sipping his drink like an English lord. “Oh yes, the Norris magic... or, as the rest of the world calls it, ‘sheer dumb luck..’”

Lando gasped, clutching his chest theatrically. “Dumb luck? I’ll have you know that the precision with which I operate is unparalleled.”

“Uh-huh,” Charles smirked, leaning back in his chair. “If by finesse you mean nearly crashing into the barriers, then yeah—spot on.”

Lando threw up his hands in mock defeat. “You know, I don’t have to sit here and take this kind of abuse. I could be at karaoke right now, stealing the show with my rendition of ‘Wonderwall.’”

I laughed. “Karaoke? Again? I still haven’t recovered from your ‘Livin’ on a Prayer’ performance at Fewtrell’s birthday party.”

Lando winked. “It was legendary, and you know it.”

George smirked. “Legendary for all the wrong reasons. I’m still wondering how you managed to be both off-key and out of sync at the same time.”

Alex leaned in, grinning. “I think we should all be grateful Lando isn’t a professional singer.”

Lando pouted. “Fine, fine. Take away a man’s dreams. Just for that, I’m definitely doing ‘Wonderwall’ next.”

The banter was light and fun, and for a while, it felt like a typical dinner with friends. But then, of course, Franco had to open his mouth.

“So, Y/N,” Franco said, leaning forward slightly, his eyes glinting with amusement. “You’ve been traveling with Carlos for a while now, haven’t you?”

I tensed slightly, not sure where he was going with this. “Yeah, a few seasons.”

“Must be nice,” Franco continued, that smirk never leaving his face. “Traveling the world, living the F1 life...”

I felt the undertone of his comment, but I stayed neutral. “It has its perks, I guess.”

Lando, sensing the shift in tone, jumped in. “Y/N’s basically our paddock princess at this point. She runs this place better than half the team bosses.”

Carlos grinned, clearly loving the banter. “Y/N’s like my second team principal. Only scarier.”

Alex nudged me gently, her voice soft. “I don’t know how you handle them all, Y/N.”

I smiled, feeling a bit more at ease with my friends supporting me. But then Franco, never one to let things rest, spoke up again.

“Yeah, it must be nice,” he said, his tone sharper now, though still laced with that smug charm. “Getting to enjoy the F1 life without actually having to work for it.”

I froze, my grip tightening around my glass. There it was. He’d been building up to that jab all night.

Before I could respond, I felt a light touch on my arm. Alex, sensing the shift in my mood, shot me a concerned glance. “You okay?” she whispered, her eyes searching mine.

I gave her a small, tight nod. “Yeah. It’s fine.”

She squeezed my arm gently, a silent reminder that she had my back.

“Already upset by that? Thought you’d have a thicker skin than that, Y/N.” he smirked. 

I shot Franco a tight smile, my patience wearing thin. “Oh, I’m definitely enjoying it here, Franco. What’s it like by the way, being the rookie who’s all ego but without a seat for next year?”

Lando choked on his drink, turning it into a cough to cover his laugh. George raised an eyebrow, clearly amused, while Carlos looked mildly concerned but didn’t intervene.

Franco, though? He loved it. He grinned like he’d just won the verbal sparring round. “Touché. But at least I’m doing something with my life.”

My eyes narrowed. “And what exactly is that? Besides trying to flirt with every reporter in sight?”

He leaned back, his eyes flashing with amusement. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I miss you swooning? Or were you too busy hanging onto Carlos’s wallet?”

The table went quiet for a beat, the playful banter coming to an abrupt halt.

George immediately jumped in, waving his hands. “Whoa, whoa, let’s calm down, people. No need to escalate. We’re all friends here. Except maybe you two. You two seem like... frenemies? Enemies with benefits? I’m not really sure anymore.”

Lando snickered, jumping on George’s bandwagon. “Enemies with benefits—that’s a movie I’d watch. Maybe we should take bets on how long it’ll be before you two—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Norris,” I warned, cutting him off.

Lando just grinned wider. “You know me too well.”

Franco, ever the instigator, leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the way George and Lando were trying to ease the tension. “I think George is onto something. Maybe frenemies is the right word.”

I shot Franco a look. “More like enemies, full stop.”

Charles nodded dramatically, ignoring my pointed glare. “Yep, definitely frenemies. A modern romance in the making.”

Alexandra elbowed me gently under the table, shooting me a knowing look, but I ignored her. The banter between Franco and me had always been sharp, but tonight it felt like something was shifting. The sarcasm was still there, but there was a new edge to it—one that I wasn’t liking too much.

The rest of dinner passed in a blur of conversations and laughter, with George and Lando regularly cutting in whenever the tension between Franco and me threatened to boil over. Every so often, Franco would throw another sly remark my way, and I’d respond with one just as cutting. It was like a game neither of us could resist playing, even though it was obvious that everyone else at the table was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the tension.

By the time dessert arrived, the atmosphere had cooled slightly, but I was still on edge. Franco hadn’t let up the entire night, and I could feel his eyes on me even as I pretended to focus on my crème brûlée.

“So,” Lando said, trying to break the awkwardness again, “who’s ready for some karaoke after this?”

George immediately perked up, always the entertainer. “Oh, I’m in. I’ve been working on my acapella version of ‘Bohemian Rhapsody.’”

Charles groaned, “Please, not again.”

Everyone laughed, and for a moment, the mood lightened. But as the night drew to a close, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the dynamic between Franco and me was shifting into dangerous territory. The sarcastic comments were becoming more personal.

Carlos stood, stretching and pulling out his phone. “Alright, we should call it a night. Big day tomorrow.”

The group began to gather their things, preparing to leave, but Franco lingered by the door, his eyes catching mine for the hundredth time that evening.

“Good night, Y/N,” he said, voice dripping with faux sweetness.

I shot him a tight smile. “Night, Franco. Try not to let all that charm go to your head.”

He grinned. “Too late.”

With that, we all parted ways. Carlos walked beside me, completely oblivious to the storm brewing inside me.

I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. This was only going to get worse.

.

One thing about Carlos is that he is a man of habits. Every race, we either play padel or golf the morning before the qualification. Just us two, to get his head clear and stuff, a peaceful moment. So when Carlos invited Franco and me to play golf with Lando, I could already sense how this was going to go.

“I hope you’re ready,” Carlos said, swinging his club dramatically as we arrived at the pristine green course. The morning sun glinted off the lush landscape, and birds chirped in the background like we were about to film a serene nature documentary. Definitely at odds with how my lovely company was making me feel. 

Lando was already halfway through his first practice swing, clearly just happy to be outside and away from the track for a bit. “You guys know I’m going to win, right?” he said, flashing his signature mischievous grin.

I rolled my eyes. “Please. The last time we played, you couldn’t even make it past the windmill at the mini-golf course.”

“Hey!” Lando protested. “That windmill was rigged. I swear it wasn’t regulation size.”

“Uh-huh. Sure Go call the stewards to whine about it.”

He laughed and jokingly rolled his eyes at me. 

Carlos tapped Franco on the shoulder, handing him a golf club. “Franco. Focus. You might be a rookie on the grid, but you can’t afford to be a rookie here.”

Franco smirked, clearly unfazed by the competition. “I don’t know, Carlos. I think I’ll be just fine.”

The vibes were good at first, as we each took turns at the tee. Lando, predictably, spent more time making jokes than actually playing, which was a nice distraction—until Franco started making subtle digs.

“You sure you don’t just want to be our caddy, Y/N?” Franco asked, adjusting his own stance. “It might be easier for you to handle.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, gripping my club tighter. “I’m fine, thanks.”

He grinned. “Just checking. I wouldn’t want you to feel left out.”

I lined up my shot, trying to focus, but it was impossible not to notice Franco standing a few feet away. His white shirt made his tan even more striking under the morning sun, and his hair, still slightly messy, added to that infuriating, effortless charm. My eyes kept drifting back to him—how the fabric clung to his broad shoulders, the casual confidence in every move. Just as I was about to swing, he caught me looking. That smug grin appeared, and I immediately looked away, gripping the club tighter. The nerves in my stomach went crazy suddenly. I swung too hard, sending the ball off into the trees, nowhere near the hole.

Lando snorted. “Wow. Impressive.”

I shot him a glare. “Shut up, Norris.”

Franco chuckled, his voice annoyingly smooth. “Need me to fetch that for you?”

“I’d rather fetch it myself than owe you any favors,” I snapped, heading off in the direction of the lost ball.

As I disappeared into the trees, I heard Lando muttering behind me, “They’re like an old married couple. It’s wild.”

I rolled my eyes, but the comment stayed with me as I searched for the ball. An old married couple? More like two neighbours in a judge judy episode. At least, that’s what I told myself.

When I finally returned, ball in hand, I noticed Franco lining up his shot, a smug look on his face. And of course, he hit it perfectly—right toward the hole, as if to rub salt in the wound.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, tossing my ball back onto the course.

“You’ll get it next time,” Franco said, his tone dripping with fake encouragement. “Maybe just... aim a little better.”

My jaw clenched. “I swear, if you say one more thing—”

“What? You’ll beat me with your superior golf skills?” He flashed that infuriating grin again, and something in me snapped.

“I’ll beat you with this club if you give me any more reason to,” I shot back. 

Lando, who was clearly enjoying the show, whistled. “Oh man, this is getting spicy. Should I grab popcorn for us Carlos?”

Carlos shook his head, finally sensing the rising tension. “Let’s keep it civil, guys.”

But that ship had already sailed. Franco and I were now locked in a full-blown competition, every swing of the club feeling like a personal challenge. My frustration grew with each passing round, especially as Franco continued to hit one perfect shot after another, all while making snide comments under his breath.

As Franco lined up for his next shot, he muttered something in Spanish, just loud enough for me to hear. “¿Cómo es posible que siempre estés tan enojada?” How is it possible that you're always so angry?

I stopped mid-swing, narrowing my eyes at him. “¿Perdón?” Excuse me?

“Digo, si te relajaras un poco, tal vez serías... soportable,” Franco replied with a shrug. “Dudo que sea posible, pero quién sabe.” I’m saying, if you relaxed a little, you might actually be... tolerable. I doubt it’s possible, but who knows.

I stepped closer, my voice dropping. “¿Soportable? No creo que tengas ningún derecho de hablar de soportar nada cuando eres el ser humano más insoportable que existe.” Tolerable? I don’t think you have any right to talk about tolerating anything when you’re the most insufferable human being that exists.

Franco chuckled, completely unfazed by my insult. “¿Ah sí? ¿Insoportable, yo?” Oh yeah? Insufferable, me?

“Sí, tú. ¿Te sorprende?” I shot back. “Porque honestamente no entiendo cómo alguien puede soportarte.” Yes, you. Does that surprise you? Because honestly, I don’t understand how anyone can stand you.

“Qué drama, Y/N. Si no sabías que te caía tan mal, tal vez me habría ahorrado el esfuerzo,” he replied, his tone mocking. What drama, Y/N. If I had known you hated me this much, maybe I would have saved myself the effort.

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “Eso sería genial.” That would be great.

Lando, hearing the rapid switch to Spanish, looked between us with raised eyebrows. “Whoa, what’s happening? Can we switch back to English? I’m missing all the tea.”

Carlos sighed, trying to keep the peace. “They’re just... passionate.”

Lando grinned. “Yeah, passionate about killing each other, maybe.”

Franco, still smirking, leaned in a little closer. “¿Sabes qué? Tal vez no te caigo tan mal como dices. Creo que te encanta pelear conmigo.” You know what? Maybe you don’t hate me as much as you say. I think you love fighting with me.

My frustration flared even more. “Me encantaría no tener que verte nunca más.” I’d love to never see you again.

“No creo que sea cierto,” Franco teased. I don’t think that’s true.

“¡Cállate!” I practically growled, my patience officially worn thin. Shut up!

Lando, now fully entertained, clapped his hands together. “Alright, alright. You two seriously need to cool off. This is golf, not a soap opera.”

Franco finally backed off, still grinning like he’d won the argument. I was fuming, and it didn’t help that every time I looked at him, he seemed so... calm. It was infuriating.

The rest of the game was a blur of snide comments, sarcastic remarks, and way too much tension for what was supposed to be a friendly game. By the end, I was ready to hurl my golf club into the nearest lake.

Lando, of course, took the whole thing in stride, wrapping an arm around both me and Franco as we finished up. “Well, that was fun, wasn’t it? We should do this again sometime. Maybe next time without the whole ‘I want to strangle you’ vibe.”

Franco chuckled, giving me a sideways glance. “I don’t know, I think the tension added something.”

I rolled my eyes, pulling away from Lando’s arm. “You would think that.”

Carlos, still oblivious to the volcanic-level tension, checked his phone. “Alright, let’s head back. We’ve got a busy schedule.”

Franco shot me one last smirk before following Carlos to the car. I stood there for a moment, watching him walk away, the frustration boiling over again.

Lando leaned in, his voice low. “You know, this whole enemies-to-lovers vibe you two have going on is a real treat for me.”

I shot him a glare. “There is no ‘lovers’ anything.”

He grinned. “Not yet, darling.”

With that, he jogged off after Carlos and Franco, leaving me standing there, shaking my head.

This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

.

After the hectic race weekend it was time to go home again, in Carlos’s case home was a beautiful country between France and Italy. Monaco was every bit as picturesque as people said—yachts dotting the harbor, luxury cars roaring through the narrow streets, and the smell of the sea mingling with high-end perfume in the air. It was the kind of place where the rich and famous went to flaunt what they had, and Carlos loved it. Naturally, he always loved inviting me for a visit. This time along with a certain Argentine unfortunately.

“Come on, Y/N,” Carlos had said when I tried to protest. “It’ll be fun! The weather’s perfect, we’ll explore the city, and we’ve got clubbing plans tonight. What could go wrong?”

So here I was, walking down the sun-drenched streets of Monaco with Franco striding a few steps ahead, Carlos chatting away beside him. The group had grown since we’d arrived—Alex Albon had joined us since he lived next door to Carlos, and Lando and Charles, both Monaco residents, decided to tag along as well.

“Alright, Carlos, I’ll admit it,” I said as we strolled through the streets. “Monaco’s got charm.”

Carlos grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “See? I told you. Best place in the world.”

I chuckled. “I’m not going that far, but I’m willing to appreciate it. I’d have more fun though if I didn’t have to watch Franco pretend he’s king of Monaco.”

Carlos rolled his eyes. “Relax. He’s not taking that title from Charles any time soon. He’s just enjoying Monte Carlo.”

“Yeah, enjoy it with every girl who crosses his path,” I muttered, watching as Franco winked at a passing woman who giggled in response.

Lando, catching my glare, sidled up beside me, grinning. “Ah, the drama is back. The sole reason why I’m here.”

“Oh, shut up,” I said, though a smile tugged at my lips despite myself.

I was trying, really. The sun was shining, the atmosphere was relaxed, and even though Franco was a few steps ahead of me, I figured I could let it slide—for now. I wasn’t going to let him ruin my day in this beautiful place.

As we meandered through the harbor, I nudged Lando, who was soaking in the views with his usual enthusiasm. “Bet you wish you had a yacht like one of these.”

Lando flashed a grin. “Give me a couple more wins, and you’ll see me with the biggest one in the harbor.”

“Oh, you’ll name it after yourself, I’m sure,” I teased.

“Obviously. It’ll be called Seao,” he joked, striking a ridiculous pose.

“The what now?” I asked confused.

“Get it? Like Land-o, Sea-o?” he said with the proudest face ever. 

I laughed, shaking my head. “I’ll be sure to stay far, far away from it.”

Lando gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “You wound me, Y/N. I was going to offer you the best cabin!”

The lighthearted banter was helping to keep my mood up, and even as Franco joined the conversation with that usual swagger, I managed to stay upbeat. For now.

“You know, Y/N,” Franco said, giving me that infuriating grin, “you’d look great on one of those yachts. You’ve got the whole ‘Monaco gold digger vibe’ down.”

I rolled my eyes, but the smile lingered on my face. “Nice try, Franco. Flattery’s not going to work on me.”

“Who said I was flattering you?” he shot back with a wink.

Before I could respond, Charles chimed in, proudly displaying his fashion choices for the evening. “What do you think of these pants?” he asked, clearly fishing for compliments on his intersting patchwork denim.

Lando snorted. “I think it’s a crime against fashion.”

I giggled, taking in the ridiculousness of Charles’s outfit. “It’s... bold, Charles. Very bold.”

Charles looked pleased. “It’s couture.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” I said with a laugh, earning an approving look from Lando.

The day continued on with playful banter and an easygoing atmosphere. We explored the city, enjoyed lunch at a café with an incredible view of the sea, and even though Franco occasionally made snide comments, I let them roll off my back. I wasn’t going to let him get under my skin today.

As the sun dipped behind the Monaco skyline, the group started getting ready for the night out. The air buzzed with excitement—everyone still riding the high from Lando’s win last week—but I couldn’t shake the unease settling in my stomach. I knew exactly what was coming. Franco, who looked like he’d just stepped out of some annoyingly perfect cologne ad, would be in full flirt mode, and I was not going to enjoy his little display. 

Lando, ever the showman, stretched dramatically as we gathered at Carlos’s apartment. “Monaco nightlife, everyone. Prepare yourselves for the full Norris experience.”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “The Norris experience? What’s that? Getting involved in drama you didn’t start but somehow make worse?”

Lando smirked, undeterred. “Hey, the drama just follows me. I’m an innocent bystander.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Sure, innocent. I’m still trying to figure out how those girls at the last afterparty got into a massive fight about you and you walked away untouched.”

Charles snickered, nodding. “Lando’s like a magnet for girl drama. He’s always in the middle of the mess but always forgiven somehow.”

Lando shrugged with a grin. “What can I say? Some people just have that natural charm.”

Charles snickered. “No amount of charm can compete with Franco’s... well, Franco-ness.”

I sighed, already dreading the inevitable. “Yeah, lucky us. Another night watching him do his thing.”

We arrived at the club, neon lights flashing, music already pounding through the air. And, of course, Franco didn’t waste any time. Within minutes, he was at the bar, leaning in close to two women, his signature smirk on full display. The worst part? He looked effortlessly good. Hair perfectly tousled, his shirt just tight enough to show off his broad shoulders... it was annoying how well he pulled it off.

I slid into the booth next to Lando, my drink in hand, trying to ignore how damn good Franco looked tonight. “How long do you think it’ll take before he’s flirted with every girl in here?” I muttered.

Lando glanced over at Franco, then back at me, a grin already forming. “Hmm... five minutes, tops. He’s like a sniper. Quick, precise.”

Charles chuckled, leaning in. “Make that four. You look like you’re about to march over there and take him out yourself.”

I rolled my eyes. “Please. I couldn’t care less who he’s talking to.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Oh, really? Because that death stare you’re giving those girls suggests otherwise.”

“I am not giving them a death stare,” I shot back, probably a bit too defensively.

Charles smirked. “Sure you’re not. You’re just... monitoring the situation. Very closely.”

I scoffed, trying to keep my cool. “I just don’t understand how someone can be that... shallow.”

Lando shrugged, barely suppressing his laughter. “Or maybe he’s just really, really good-looking. I mean, come on, Y/N, you’ve noticed.”

I shot Lando a glare, but my cheeks felt hot. “Not helping, Lando.”

Lando leaned back in the booth, looking smug. “What? It’s okay to admit it. Franco’s got that whole ‘sexy and Spanish speaking’ thing going for him. You’re allowed to be jealous.”

I groaned, taking a bigger sip of my drink. “I’m not jealous. I just don’t get why people fall for that whole act.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, his grin only growing. “Oh, so it’s the act you’re mad at. Not the fact that he’s talking to those girls?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Exactly. It’s the act. He’s a walking cliché.”

Lando exchanged a glance with Charles, the two of them clearly enjoying my frustration. “Right, right, it’s the act. Not the fact that every time he smiles at them, you look like you want to burn this place down,” Lando teased.

I groaned, leaning further back into the booth. “You two are impossible.”

“Impossible, but not wrong,” Charles said, smirking as he raised his glass to toast. “To Franco’s charm—and Y/N’s growing annoyance.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not about the charm. It’s the fact that—”

“—he’s ridiculously good-looking, and it’s pissing you off?” Lando finished for me.

I opened my mouth to argue, but nothing came out. I hated that they weren’t entirely wrong. Franco was annoyingly good-looking. And watching him flash that stupid grin at anyone within a five-foot radius was making me grind my teeth.

“You’re so totally jealous,” Lando declared with a triumphant grin.

“I am not jealous,” I protested, feeling the heat rise in my face. “I just think it’s ridiculous that he’s—”

“—charming the entire club while he should be talking with you?” Charles added, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

I glared at them both, trying to keep my composure. “I don’t care who he talks to.”

“Right,” Lando said, winking. “That’s why you haven’t stopped looking at him since we sat down.”

I groaned, shaking my head. “I’m not doing this tonight.”

Lando raised his glass in mock toast. “Famous last words, Y/N. Famous last words.”

Charles chuckled, leaning in with a mischievous grin. “You know, if you suddenly get the urge to go over there and throw a drink in his face, I’ll cover the next round.”

I shot him a look. “I’m not throwing drinks at anyone. But if he flirts with one more girl, I might reconsider.”

Lando burst out laughing, nudging me. “I’ll be ready with the camera. Would make a killer lando.jpg comeback post.’”

I sighed, swirling my drink as Franco’s laughter drifted over from the bar. His stupid, perfect laugh. This was going to be a long night.

After ordering his drink, Franco sauntered back to the table, his usual cocky grin in place. “Having fun, Y/N?” he asked, his tone dripping with faux innocence.

“Oh, absolutely,” I replied sarcastically. “Watching you work your charm on half the club is just... delightful.”

Franco chuckled, sliding into the booth across from me. “You know, Y/N, you should try it sometime. Flirting. It might make you less... uptight.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Uptight?”

“You heard me.” He leaned back, smirking. “You’re always so... tense. Maybe if you loosened up, you’d have a bit more fun.”

I could feel my annoyance rising, but I forced a smile. “Right. Because flirting with strangers is the key to happiness.”

Franco shrugged. “It’s a start.”

“You are so sad.” I shot back. “Getting your validation from strangers, never taking anything seriously.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I take plenty of things seriously.”

“Really? Because it sure seems like all you care about is attention. Who you can charm next. Who’s going to fall for your dumb act.”

Franco’s smile faltered for just a second before he recovered. “And what exactly is your problem, Y/N? You act like you’re so above it all.”

“Maybe because I don’t need to rely on shallow charm to get by,” I retorted. “Some of us actually have depth.”

“Oh, right,” Franco said, his voice laced with sarcasm. “What is it exactly you rely on then? Besides your brother’s finances, of course.”

Switching to Spanish, I snapped, “¿Sabes qué? Estoy harta de tu actitud de sabelotodo.” You know what? I’m sick of your know-it-all attitude.

“¿Y qué vas a hacer al respecto?” Franco replied, his voice low and challenging. And what are you going to do about it?

“Voy a ignorarte, como debería haberlo hecho desde el principio,” I hissed. I’m going to ignore you, like I should have done from the start.

“Claro, porque ignorar las cosas es lo tuyo, ¿verdad?” Franco shot back. Of course, because ignoring things is what you do best, right?

Lando, who had been watching the exchange with wide eyes, suddenly jumped in. “Okay, hold up! Time-out. We’re not turning this club into a fight club, alright? I’ve seen Brad Pitt way too many times already this season.”

Carlos, still deep in conversation with Alex, remained blissfully unaware, but the tension at the table was palpable.

Franco leaned back, his smirk returning. “Whatever you say, Y/N. Keep telling yourself you’ve got it all figured out.”

I stood up, glaring at him. “You’re not worth this argument.”

“Good to know,” Franco replied with a shrug, as if the whole conversation had barely affected him.

I turned on my heel, heading straight for the bar to get another drink. As I left, I could still feel Franco’s eyes on me, that smug grin probably plastered on his pretty face. 

.

The night had that strange Monaco mix of high-energy and quiet tension. The streets were buzzing after our time at the club, but beneath the neon lights and laughter, something more was brewing. I could feel it in the air between Franco and me, unspoken but undeniable.

We all stood by the curb as Carlos waved down a taxi. My mood was already on edge after the club, and I just wanted to get home and forget about the whole night. Franco had been in his element—flirting, chatting, showing off—and I was done.

“Alright, taxi’s here!” Carlos called, gesturing for us to pile in.

I moved to follow, but then Lando, who had been suspiciously quiet, suddenly stepped in. “Actually, Carlos, Y/N and Franco are gonna hang back for a bit,” Lando said, his voice way too casual for someone who clearly had mischief on his mind.

Carlos blinked. “What? Why?”

“Yeah, why?” I echoed, shooting Lando a look.

Lando waved it off with a dismissive hand. “They need some air. Clear their heads. We’ll see you at the apartment.”

Before I could argue, Carlos shrugged and got into the taxi with Alex and Charles, the door closing behind them. In a flash, the car was gone, leaving Franco and me standing on the empty sidewalk, bathed in the glow of the streetlights.

“What the hell was that about?” I muttered, pulling out my phone.

As if on cue, it buzzed with a message from Lando:

Enjoy your walk ;)

I rolled my eyes, showing Franco the text. “Of course. He’s messing with us.”

Franco chuckled beside me, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Well, looks like we’re walking.”

I sighed, my frustration already simmering beneath the surface. “Great.”

We started walking in silence, the noise of Monaco nightlife fading behind us as we wound through the quieter streets. Franco was close, but not too close, keeping that distance we’d both grown used to. I could feel his green eyes burning on me occasionally, lingering a bit too long.

After a few minutes of walking, Franco finally spoke. “You know, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“Oh yeah?” I replied, my voice laced with sarcasm. “About what? How great you are?”

He sighed, clearly realizing I wasn’t in the mood for jokes. “About our date.”

I stopped walking, turning to face him. Dumb shock written over my face. The mention of our failed date had been hanging over us since we met again, but I thought he had forgotten me. “So you remember?”

Franco hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t ghost you on purpose, Y/N.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Then why didn’t you show up?”

He looked down at the ground, taking a deep breath. “I crashed during testing.”

That caught me off guard. “Wait, what?”

“I had a pretty bad crash during testing with my team,” Franco explained, lifting the sleeve of his shirt to show me a faint scar on his shoulder. “I was out for a while. It happened the morning before we were supposed to meet.”

I stared at the scar, my mind racing. “You crashed? That’s your excuse?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, pulling out his phone. “I’ve got footage of it if you don’t believe me. It wasn’t pretty.”

He handed me his phone, and I watched the video of the crash—his car spinning out of control, hitting the barrier, the wreckage that followed. My stomach twisted as I handed the phone back to him.

“I didn’t know,” I muttered, feeling a wave of guilt wash over me.

“I know,” Franco said, pocketing his phone. “By the time I was back on my feet, our chat on Raya was gone. I couldn’t reach you. Didn’t even know you were Carlos’s sister.”

I swallowed hard. Of course I deleted him first thing when I got home. “I figured you just... stood me up.”

Franco shook his head. “I never wanted to. I wanted to explain, but I didn’t know how and honestly... I didn’t want to make it worse. Honestly, I am so sorry Y/N. I did not handle this well at all.”

I stared at him, the anger and hurt I’d held onto for so long starting to unravel. “I just thought you were another guy playing games.”

“I wasn’t playing games,” Franco said, his voice soft but serious. 

I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. “If we are having a heart to heart, there is something I have to get off my chest as well.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

I took a deep breath, deciding it was time to tell the whole truth. “I’ve been traveling with Carlos because... well, because I didn’t really have a choice. I used to be a tennis player. A good one. But I had an injury—tore my ACL. It ended my career.”

Franco’s eyes softened as he listened.

“I’ve been a bit lost ever since. Carlos thought taking me to races would cheer me up, keep me busy,” I continued. “But that’s why I’m here. Not because I want to profit off of him.”

Franco’s expression shifted, guilt flickering across his face. “I didn’t know, Y/N. I... I’m sorry. I’ve been a jerk.”

“Yeah,” I said, my voice catching slightly. “You kind of have.”

There was a heavy silence between us as everything settled. The frustration, the misunderstandings, all the things we hadn’t said to each other. It felt like we were standing at the edge of something, ready to fall.

Franco’s voice was low when he finally spoke. “You think I don’t take anything seriously, but... I do. I’ve worked my ass off to get here, and I am trying so hard to make it to next year. But you keep talking like you’ve got me all figured out. Like I’m some shallow, cocky guy who just flirts his way through life.”

“Isn’t flirting your way through life exactly what you do, though?” I shot back, my frustration flaring again.

Franco’s eyes darkened. “No. But you wouldn’t know that because you never gave me a chance. You just made up your mind about me from the start.”

“Because all you’ve shown me is that side of you!” I snapped. “You literally flirted with every girl at the club tonight. How was I supposed to think otherwise?”

“Instead of judging me, you could just admit that you're jealous,” Franco fired back, his voice rising.

“Judging you? You’re the one who’s been making up stuff about me from the moment we met!” I shouted, the anger boiling over now. “While you don’t know anything about me!”

“¡Porque no me dejas conocerte!” Franco shouted back in Spanish, his voice raw. Because you won’t let me get to know you!

“¡No hay nada que conocer!” I yelled, my heart pounding. There’s nothing to get to know!

Franco stepped even closer, his eyes blazing. “¡No digas eso! Sé que hay más en ti. Lo he visto, pero siempre estás empujándome lejos.” Don’t say that! I know there’s more to you. I’ve seen it, but you keep pushing me away.

I clenched my fists, trying to hold back the flood of emotions. “¡No quiero que te acerques!” I don’t want you to get close!

“¿Por qué? ¿Porque te asusta?” Franco asked, his voice softer but still intense. Why? Because it scares you?

“¡Porque no confío en ti!” I shot back. Because I don’t trust you!

There was a beat of silence, both of us standing there, breathing heavily. The street was quiet around us, but the energy between us was electric, almost unbearable.

My breath caught in my throat.

“¡Eres tan... frustrante!” I yelled, my voice cracking. You’re so... frustrating!

“¿Sabes qué más eres?” Franco said, his voice lowering, his eyes burning into mine. “Eres tan sexy cuando te enojas.” You know what else you are? You’re so sexy when you’re angry.

The words hit me like a shockwave, and for a moment, I was too stunned to respond. Before I could even think, Franco closed the gap between us and kissed me.

It wasn’t just any kiss—it was fiery, intense, and filled with all the pent-up emotion we’d been holding back for what felt like weeks. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me closer, and I didn’t hesitate to kiss him back, all the frustration and tension melting away in that single moment.

His lips were soft. I melted into him, my hands instinctively reaching up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened.

When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing heavily, the weight of everything we hadn’t said hanging between us.

I stared at him, my mind racing. “Franco...”

He smiled, his hand still resting on my waist. “Finally.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you like it,” he said with a grin.

I didn’t argue.

We walked the rest of the way home in silence, but this time, the tension between us had shifted. There was no more anger, no more resentment—just something new, something that hadn’t been there before. My hand was still in Franco’s, and I hadn’t even thought about pulling it away.

The soft hum of the Monaco streets accompanied us as we approached Carlos’s apartment. The usual quiet after a night out seemed louder now, like it was filling the space where our words had been. My heart was still racing from the kiss, and every time Franco’s shoulder brushed mine, that warmth spread through me again.

I glanced over at him, catching him looking at me out of the corner of his eye. He smiled—a small, almost shy one—and I couldn’t help but smile back. That smug smirk he’d worn all night was gone, replaced with something softer. It was the first time I’d seen him look... real.

As we reached the entrance to the building, Franco opened the door for me, his hand gently resting on the small of my back as I stepped inside. The gesture was subtle, but it sent a wave of warmth through me.

Inside, the familiar scent of Carlos’s apartment hit me—clean, with a hint of cologne that always lingered in the air. The place was quiet, save for the faint sound of the ocean outside. It felt surreal, like everything that had happened tonight had been part of some strange dream.

Lando was, of course, sprawled out on the couch, his feet up, his phone in hand. The second we walked in, he glanced up, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

“Well, well, well,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “Look who finally made it home.”

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t stop the smile from tugging at my lips. “Shut it, Norris.”

“Awww look at you, Y/N!” Lando replied, wiggling his eyebrows. “Blushing. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Franco chuckled beside me, his hand still resting lightly on my lower back. “Nice work, Lando,” he called over his shoulder as we walked past Lando toward the hallway.

Lando just winked, not missing a beat. “What can I say? I have a gift.”

As we walked down the hallway toward the guest rooms, I felt the tension ease from my body, replaced by a strange kind of peace. Franco’s presence beside me didn’t feel overwhelming anymore. It felt... comforting.

“Do you want to go back to that rooftop restaurant?” Franco’s voice was soft, a whisper just between us as we stopped in front of my door.

I turned to face him, my heart doing a little flip at the thought. “Are you asking me on a second first date?”

He grinned, but it was different now. Less cocky, more sincere. “Yeah. A real one. No crashes, I promise.”

I smiled, leaning against the doorframe. “I’d like that.”

For a moment, neither of us moved, the weight of everything unsaid still lingering in the air. But instead of more words, Franco leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead before pulling back and meeting my eyes.

“Buenas noches, hermosa,” he whispered, his voice like a warm caress.

“Buenas noches, Franco,” I replied, my voice equally soft.

[retrievablememories]

cherry bomb | jungkook (m)

pairing: jungkook x fem reader

summary: “get fucked or die” becomes the motto to live by when a serial killer begins targeting virgins on your campus.

genre: smut, horror/slasher, college!au

word count: 7.1k

warnings: multiple minor character deaths, blood, gore, violence (including gun and knife use), mentions of alcohol consumption. virgin-shaming and slut-shaming, oral (fem receiving), riding, virgin!reader, first-time sex, protected sex, hair-pulling, biting, fingering, dirty talk, virgin kink/corruption kink, fuckboy JK. is JK a sub or a masochist here? answer: i don’t fucking know!

a/n: inspired by the movie cherry falls (2000). heed the warnings. remember that this is fiction, not meant to be entirely realistic, and characters' views/actions don't represent my own. if this kind of content is not up your alley just block me or make use of the wonderful filtering option in your account settings

sources for the fic dividers: one | two

link to part 2

CHERRY BOMB

don't wanna die? come out and hook up with a sexy girl or guy.

virgins get in free!

THIS FRIDAY

NOV 3, 20XX

[address here]

"very corny." you shake your head, looking at the party flyer in your hands. you'd just torn it down from the bulletin board in your dorm lobby; unauthorized advertisements aren’t allowed, and your job as RA involves these menial-ass tasks. "this is literally life or death...why are they turning it into a joke?"

"it is a joke," your friend camille says, snatching the flyer out of your hands to look it over. "think about it. 10 students get killed since we came back in august, and the semester isn't even over yet. the school administration and local police haven't done nearly enough to address it or stop any more deaths. and the common denominator is that all these people were suspected or confirmed virgins?” you haven’t seen the evidence yourself, but the daughter of one of the local policemen claimed every victim also had virgin carved into some part of their dead body. “yeah, i'd say it's a joke to pretty much everyone at this point. this is what happens when you let the students come up with a solution."

camille hands the flyer back to you, and you hold it limply. "but...it's not like you can look at someone and tell if they're a virgin. the killer must've known them all personally. it just doesn't make sense."

"some of those people had no mutual friends. nothing connecting them whatsoever. not even shared extracurriculars. it's gotta be a perverted stalker with a fetish, maybe. a scorned hacker who somehow got into their private conversations 'n' shit? or maybe he consulted the cards to know who’d fucked before and who hadn’t.”

“oh please.” you scoff. “now you’re being completely ridiculous. tarot cards aren’t gonna tell you if someone’s a virgin or not.”

“then you come up with a better explanation. either way, these folks—" camille points to the flyer "—aren't taking their chances."

"hm..." you keep staring at the flyer, looking at the shiny-red cherries, condoms, sex toys, and other sex-related objects decorating the paper. whoever designed this really wasn't playing.

"so, are you gonna go?" camille asks with a sidelong glance. "free admittance, after all."

your neck burns under the collar of your shirt. "are you?" neither of you have had sex yet, for differing reasons. camille's reason was almost complete indifference to the whole act.

she gives you a look that says i could give a shit. "...you know the answer to that one, dear. so you're not even thinking about it? as much as you have cried to me and lorelai about not being able to find a man you like enough to give it up for, our killer here probably already knows. you practically have a ‘come kill me’ bullseye on your back.”

"i don't know," you say, because you genuinely are thinking about it. “and stop trying to fucking scare me.” despite your logical brain trying to reason with you, you still feel a sense of underlying terror about being the next victim. "the virgin killer," as they'd nicknamed the freak, clearly prefers a specific type of victim, and all kills have been random and unpredictable other than that—and the fact that every victim attended your university. he also seems partial to using a knife on his victims, but even that isn’t guaranteed—3 of the 10 had been killed in ways other than stabbing. "i don’t know why you’re so nonchalant about this, though."

camille shrugs. "if he comes for me, i'll just spray him with my illegal mace and kick his nuts into his throat. then tie him up and wait for my dad to come blow his head off. there are some advantages to having a gun nut for a dad."

you chuckle at the absurdity of it. "you've got it all planned out, then."

--

FRIDAY, NOV 3

taking a rideshare to the party was a smart idea on lorelai's part, because the two little shots you took to pre-game already have you feeling woozy. or maybe it's just your nerves.

the cherry bomb is located at a mansion that isn’t really a mansion, but a large once-abandoned house one of the fraternities fixed up years ago for throwing off-campus parties.

the party is stacked wall to wall with people when you enter, though from what you can see, no one has actually started fucking yet—maybe they're saving that for the supposed orgy later in the night. you just hope you can get someone in one of the backrooms before that happens, because you're not really keen on having everyone in your class knowing what your tits look like.

you have one simple mission here tonight—lose your long-held virginity and get off the virgin killer's radar. once that's done, you'll make your exit.

"actually, i'm surprised anyone else showed up. other than you, who wants to willingly admit that they're still a virgin in college?" lorelai shudders. you roll your eyes and try not to feel offended, sucking your teeth.

"you were more than welcome to stay back at the dorm."

"no! i'm here for moral support, plus i don't want to be alone tonight. i don't care who this killer targets, it's getting too crazy out here to just be letting your guard down anymore."

well, you won't argue that.

you and lorelai dance to the song booming over the multiple speakers, scanning the room for potential hookups all the while. you become more alert when you recognize a familiar length of black hair coming through the front door, plus the tattoos and piercings to match.

you're not surprised jungkook came. he has his pick of untouched and easily corruptible virgins here, which has always been his thing; you've heard him brag about it to his seatmates more than once in your shared elective. not to mention the stories you've heard from the women who actually fucked him. as far as you could figure, it was the usual male ego posturing bullshit about being able to say he was someone’s first—and likely best. for that reason, alarm rises when he makes eye contact and starts making a beeline for where you and lorelai are.

"oh, here comes the campus bicycle," lorelai says, voice deadpan.

you continue watching him from the corner of your eye, trying to see if he's just approaching someone in your general vicinity, but no. once he shoves his way through the crowd of dancers, some unashamedly groping at his body as he does, he stops right in front of you two.

"so, are you here for the same reason i am?" he asks you, grinning like the devil himself. "or are you looking to get that sweet little cherry popped?"

the backs of your knees sweat. "um—latter, i guess." you hadn't meant to answer that honestly, but to say you are caught off-guard is understating it. you can count on one hand the number of times you and jungkook have talked to each other in class, and never about anything of this nature.

"you're not gonna ask me?" lorelai says.

jungkook gives a hearty laugh; you didn't think it was that funny. "everyone knows you're not a virgin, why waste my time?"

"wow, okay. fuck you. you're no saint yourself." she huffs.

"anyway…" jungkook returns his attention to you. "have you really never done anything before? not even sucked a dick? there's no way someone hasn't tried to hit that. not even some 'backdoor action only' like those weird religious girls?"

"is that any of your business? i didn't know we had to give a rundown of our lack of sexual experience before getting laid around here." you snap.

jungkook's eyelids lower a fraction. "i'm tryna decide how easy i should go on you, babe. i mean, if you wanna take this in one of the rooms. otherwise, i'll let someone else have a go if you're not interested."

unfortunately, you are interested, despite his overly blunt manner and objectifying language. even though you know you’ll just become another entry on his long list of flings—someone he’ll tell his boys about later—maybe the fear of death is making you impulsive.

but maybe his looks are playing a part in it, too.

he's imposing with his physique and his all-black attire, his shirt so tight that you can clearly see his pectoral muscles and his nipples, his unbuttoned leather jacket doing nothing to hide those details. you can easily imagine yourself running your hands across those pecs, squeezing them, rubbing your fingers against his nipples and making him moan underneath you, feeling and seeing his abs contract through this stupid-ass shirt that must've been painted on. this brief fantasy immediately dampens your panties.

"…i'm interested," you affirm, dragging your gaze back up to his eyes, and he smirks from knowing you were obviously checking him out.

knowing the direction this is going in, lorelai taps you on the back and whispers in your ear. “have fun but don’t do anything stupid, yeah? i’m not playing auntie to any offspring you and this dude pop out, sis. use protection.” then she makes her exit to go find herself a partner for the night.

“so, come on.” jungkook nods his head in the direction of the stairs, and you follow him through the crowd as he leads you up the winding staircase. you squeeze past two girls kissing on the staircase railing, their motions a bit unsure as if they’ve never done it before but clearly still enjoying themselves.

jungkook pushes a few doors in until he finds an empty room, and you try not to ogle at the random couples you see along the way. not even an hour in and the two shots must be wearing off, because your body is beginning to buzz with nervousness again.

jungkook closes the door behind him when you both step into the room, which is lit by one lamp on a nightstand and the open window beside the bed. he reaches for you, and you shiver when his hand grasps the side of your face, the other snaking around your waist.

“scared?” he asks, his voice low. you shake your head, and he grins. “relax.” he leans in as if to kiss you and you part your lips, but he doesn’t do that just yet. he traces your top lip and then your bottom lip with his tongue, dipping it into your mouth as he switches. the teasing nature of his actions makes your body heat up as you watch a string of saliva spread and then break between the both of you.

he presses back in for a real kiss this time, his nose bumping yours. despite all your fears about tonight, you’re able to unwind somewhat and just focus on the full sensory experience that is this kiss—the warmth of his hands and his mouth, the sappy sound your lips make when they separate and come back together, the scent of his cologne, the taste of his spearmint-flavored tongue.

you find yourselves inching toward the bed, him walking you backwards while keeping you steady. just as the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, there's the sound of a woman's bloodcurdling scream from behind you, and you nearly shove jungkook to the ground in your haste to run to the door. your fingers are scrabbling at the doorknob when you hear a burst of laughter. a guy you don't recognize crawls out from under the bed holding his phone up, displaying a youtube video of the shower scene in the movie psycho, which is where the noise is coming from.

"that was funny as fuck." the guy laughs obnoxiously loud, holding his stomach. “don’t get too carefree or you just might die, girlie.”

jungkook grabs the guy by his jacket collar like he's a kid and throws him out the door; the guy doesn't object because he knows this is preferable to getting his ass beaten by the bigger man. "fuck outta here, you jackass." jungkook snaps.

jungkook stomps over to the closet to yank it open. "any more idiots in here wanna show themselves?" he checks a couple more areas before deciding the room is clear and closing the door again, locking it for good measure.

“okay.” he sighs, stripping off his jacket and shoes. he takes your hand and pulls you toward him as he sits on the bed. “relax, baby. forget about that fucking clown. come ‘ere. why don’t you sit on my lap?”

with a heavy exhale, you try to steady your still-shaking hands as you shuck your boots off and pull your dress up slightly to comfortably sit in his lap, your legs loosely wrapped around his waist.

he squeezes your waist. “so, where were we? i don’t really remember…”

you huff out a half-amused laugh. “really? i’m pretty sure it was this…” you lean forward with your hands on his shoulders and press your lips back onto his. jungkook follows in kind, his hands running up from your thighs to your waist and back again. the rhythm of his hands is hypnotic, distracting you as you try to keep most of your focus on the kiss, and you fear you may be getting overstimulated before anything has truly began.

as you continue kissing, jungkook’s hands creep your dress further up your thighs until your panties are revealed. still feeling up your legs, his hands press further toward your inner thighs, and you gasp into the kiss when his thumb pushes against the seat of your underwear. they have been damp for a while now and you know he knows this, so you aren’t surprised when he breaks the kiss to smirk, though it makes you roll your eyes.

jungkook whispers against your lips, “let’s try something. will you sit on my face?” you stare at him without a word, not expecting this to be the first thing he proposes. at your response, or lack of, he adds, “i want to make you feel good. do you want me to taste you?” his voice is so soft, so unassuming and cloying, that it makes you feel like a lamb clutched gently in the mouth of a wolf.

your brain is already surrendering to it. “yes.”

you get another kiss and a smile. jungkook moves you out of his lap, shuffles further up the bed, and lies down so that he’s flat on his back, his head surrounded by the pillows. he gestures for you to follow.

taking your time, you slide your panties off and crawl up the bed until you’re near his face and he’s lying below you looking like he’s struck gold. he grabs your hips to bring you closer until you’re right over his mouth. you’re embarrassed to have someone looking at you from this angle for the first time, and you’re about to get too into your head about it when he french kisses your inner thigh, blanking out your mind.

the only thing you know from then on is that his mouth is burning hot. his tongue is everywhere. he licks at you delicately to test the waters, and then more firmly when your thighs tremble around his head, in an effort to elicit the same response.

the way he fits his mouth over your entire pussy and sucks it with just the right amount of pressure so that it won’t hurt makes you feel faint. the way he slides the flat of his tongue over your clit only to suck it gently at the end of the stroke makes you cry out louder than you intended. you’re glad he moved further up the bed for this, because you’re holding onto the headboard for dear life.

the only things you’re aware of are your own out-of-control moans and the wet sounds of jungkook’s mouth working you over. all of it has you so overwrought that you’re already reaching your peak, your grip on the headboard weakening.

jungkook seems to know this without you telling him anything. he pauses and looks up at you with a fucked-out smirk and a wet mouth. you don’t know whether to thank him or curse him for giving you a break. “before you come, fuck my face.”

“wh-what?”

“rub that wet fucking cunt on my face.” heat flares through your body at his frank words. “grab my hair and just ride my face.” he reaches up to take your hands off the headboard and places them in his hair. “you can do it, baby. fucking use me.”

it takes you a minute to get over the fresh wave of embarrassment and find a pace that works, because the connection between your brain and body feels like it’s frying and your coordination is off. jungkook helps guide your hips, especially with how you’re trembling from pleasure and close to falling apart. soon enough, you’re letting go of yourself and moving your hips enthusiastically, if a little clumsily, and chasing your climax. you savor the feel of your clit sliding across his wet tongue and his soft hair in between your fingers, and you push his head as close as it can get.

you come while screaming, dizzyingly immersed in the pleasure. you forget that you’re holding his hair as you yank roughly on it. the only thing that matters to you is that jungkook’s mouth is still sucking your clit through the best physical sensation you’ve ever experienced.

when he finally lets go and gives you reprieve, you collapse beside him on the pillows.

“i’m sorry,” you mumble, disoriented. “about your hair, i mean?”

jungkook laughs. it’s funny how shiny-wet his face is—and that you caused it, which is kind of hard to believe in the aftermath of it. “the pain is what gets my dick hard. don’t worry.”

you chuckle breathlessly at that, and for a few seconds you both have that funny little moment to yourselves in all the ridiculousness of the overarching situation.

then jungkook’s hand is reaching for you again. “i’m not done with that pussy yet, though.” he brushes a finger over your hole, and your body twitches from the sensitivity. he slides that finger through the wetness and then uses the lubrication to push only the tip of his finger in. he dips it in and out, teasing the nerves at your entrance, until you’re shifting your hips closer to him to implore him for more. he grants your request by sliding his finger all the way inside.

having a finger inside you feels okay at first, though not as good as his actions a few seconds ago. jungkook decides to amplify your pleasure by placing his lips on your neck, leaving gentle and wet kisses behind, and you become all too aware of the feeling of your hardened nipples against the material of your dress. the pleasure begins to heighten when his finger finds a place inside of you that makes you throb, your walls clenching around him.

“ah…” you gasp and shift eagerly against his body as he keeps stimulating that spot, not thrusting his finger into you but simply stroking it across that area in a come here motion.

jungkook pulls away from your neck to smile at his handiwork. “that’s better, right?” he whispers, watching your reactions. your lips form around the word yes, though it’s difficult to try to speak, and you worry how unsteady your voice might sound. he waits until you’re clutching at his arm, leaving red lines on his skin from your fingernails, to carefully push another finger in beside the first. you try to breathe evenly, though his refusal to let up on that spot has your lungs stuttering for air all over again. his nose nudges your ear as he leans even closer and whispers, “there are so many different spots to find, so many different ways to make you come; i wanna go looking for them all.”

jungkook angles his hand so that his palm is also stimulating your clit, his fingers thrusting slowly now. you turn your head away from him as your body becomes ablaze, unsure what to do with yourself as your climax nears quickly.

“would you let me do that? learn your body like no one else has done?” he kisses the shell of your ear, and even that small action is enough to tip you closer to the edge with how your body is already so fired up. “who else could make you feel as good?”

this orgasm makes your eyes fill with involuntary tears, and little clear droplets bleed down the sides of your face and towards your ears as your body convulses. jungkook kisses the wet trails they make on your face, still fingering you steadily and forcing another urgent cry out of you. you feel untethered from yourself, like you’re not in control of your reactions, and you don’t know whether to be afraid of that or not.

jungkook pulls his fingers out when you have mostly calmed down, watching strands of your wetness drip between them before sliding them into his mouth.

after you come the second time, you begin to tire. the deeds have been done, and if you want, you can confidently go back out to the party now and say you’re no longer a virgin; you’re off the unofficial kill list and can live the rest of your days without having to look over your shoulder with every breath.

…but jungkook is hard against your hip, and in all honesty, you don’t want to leave without knowing what his dick looks and feels like.

“you tired?” he asks, and the casual air of it makes your stomach flip, for some reason. he says it as if this is something you two do all the time and he’s used to asking you this after wearing you out during a good session.

but now’s not the time to get delusional.

“no. i want more.”

jungkook smiles broadly, teasing his lip ring with his teeth. he sits up to peel that skin-tight shirt off, and you don’t bother to stop yourself from staring at all that skin in front of you. your eyes drop further down when he removes his belt and undoes his jeans, pushing his pants and underwear down enough for you to see his v-line but not taking them off. is that an invitation for you to do it? "you hold the reins here," he says, lying back on the bed again. "do whatever you want to me."

“whatever i want?” you repeat, already sitting up. he nods, hands behind his head, and you take the initiative to straddle him again, knowing you’re getting his jeans wet.

you reach for his pecs first, just like you’d imagined downstairs. the firm muscle of them is mesmerizing; but when you slowly circle your thumb against his nipple and his eyes flutter, a small and breathy moan escaping his lips, you’re sure you enjoy this much more.

you play with his nipples and even work up the boldness to purse your lips around one, sucking it softly, and every noise that arises from him makes your clit tingle.

you eventually move your hands to his abs, enjoying how they flex at your touch. you didn't think his navel would be pierced, not hearing that detail in any of the sex tales you've eavesdropped on about jungkook, and you wonder what else you might find out about him tonight.

“you should do your nipples to match.” you suggest it without much thought as you’re teasing his navel piercing, though you don’t regret saying it.

“would you be into that?” jungkook sounds like he’s actually considering it, watching you from below his lashes.

you grin. you don’t know if you’ll actually end up having sex with him again to see them, but you answer, “i’d love it…it’d be sexy on you.”

sliding your hands further down still, you come to the waistband of his underwear, which is peeking over the top of his lowered jeans. for a second the nervousness returns; jungkook notices how your hands twitch with hesitation. “it’s fine, i’m not gonna bite you…unless you ask me to, though. here.”

he slips a hand into his underwear and grips his dick, though he doesn’t take it out right away; he strokes the shaft a few times, observing your reaction with expectant and hazy eyes. the scene before you makes your mouth dry. jungkook quickens his pace, twisting his hand at the tip and using his own precum as lube, until you are overcome with the desire to see it and you pull his underwear out of the way.

his cock is thick and flushed and glossy with precum. you don’t have much to compare it to, but it’s a good size, and all the previous women have said that he clearly knows what to do with it. he releases it and it slaps against his abs, leaving a streak of precum behind. when you look at him in anticipation of what he’ll do next, he grasps it again and starts stroking himself quickly, like he’s trying to get off. the wet slap of his motions and his quiet groans make your walls clench.

“i could keep fucking myself and you could watch, since you seem to prefer it…” he murmurs.

“no, i—let’s go all the way.”

jungkook smirks and answers your decision by pulling a condom out of his jean pocket. you watch as he unwraps it and slips it down his cock. though you’re already straddling him, he grasps your wrist and encourages you to draw nearer to him. “come here, pretty thing.”

when you’re hovering directly over him, jungkook grips the base and teases his tip against your entrance. “ready?” he asks.

“yeah,” you say breathlessly.

it’s a little slow-going, but you eventually end up with him seated inside you. it’s uncomfortable to be taking something bigger than a couple fingers, but it isn’t terribly painful.

“now, try moving your hips like this…” with his hands on your hips, jungkook helps you grind against him so that your clit slides across his pubic bone with every move. the discomfort begins to ebb out of your mind after a little while of doing this, and you laugh quietly.

“i thought…i thought this doesn’t feel good for men,” you sigh, your eyes closing from the bliss of his firm abdomen stimulating your clit. “this grinding thing, you know. or so a friend told me…”

jungkook laughs too, but he doesn’t confirm it like you expect him to. his only answer is, “a sexy woman on my dick will always feel good.”

he seems to be more about showing than telling, anyway. his hands reach for your breasts, groping them over the fabric of your dress before sliding underneath for better access. sporadic moans escape you as he plays with your nipples, making your clit throb harder and sending more warmth pooling in your abdomen.

your breath wheezes out of you when jungkook starts pushing up into you, his hands still squeezing your breasts. “you’re okay, baby…” he tries a few different angles until he pulls a visceral reaction out of you, your walls fluttering around him and your body shivering intensely. “mmm, there it is.”

your motions start tapering off as jungkook continues thrusting up against that same spot that had you in tears earlier. noticing this, he slips one hand back down to your hip and encourages you to maintain your pace, keeping your clit stimulated while meeting his thrusts. “you’re doing good…” he murmurs. “go ahead, keep fucking me just like that.”

you’re glad lorelai makes you go to the campus gym with her every week, because otherwise you’d be about to collapse riding him for this long. it takes more of your strength and stamina than you’d expected. no wonder jungkook stays in the gym.

“oh, fuck…” the way all his muscles flex as he repeatedly pushes up into you makes you wetter; you no longer have the wherewithal to be embarrassed about the gushy noises your pussy is creating. your whole world has whittled down to this one room, and all you can think about is your next orgasm.

“pull my hair again,” he requests, his eyes dark and lost in lust when he looks up at you.

"jungkook..." you grip his sweaty hair in your hand and pull it to bare his throat, and he gives a desperate moan, his member jerking inside you. you've never felt so in control of a situation before in your life. it gives you a straight adrenaline-slash-dopamine rush.

his neck is just there and exposed, flushed from exertion, and his physical responses make you feel so primal, like you could do absolutely anything to him right now and he’d enjoy it. because of this, you decide to bite his neck, if only to give your mouth something to do. his dick twitches again when you do, another pretty moan leaving his mouth.

his voice is strained when he says, “bite me harder.” when you let go, your mouth travels the expanse of his neck to leave marks in a few other places, digging in harder just as he asked of you.

“fuck, y/n—” the pain of your teeth is pushing him close to the edge too soon, so he slips his other hand out from under your dress and brings it lower to circle his fingers over your clit. jungkook adding his experienced fingers to his constant stimulation of your g-spot is enough to cause your release. your body slumps onto his as you squeeze around him, your head falling into the juncture of his neck and shoulder and your eyes shutting so tightly that you see wobbling shapes in the darkness.

jungkook gives you a few more thrusts rougher than the rest, causing you to cry out. your climax and the aftershocks have your mind so dizzy that you only just realize that he’s reaching his own peak, his muscles tensing and relaxing as he fills the condom with his cum. you hear him groan next to your ear, the sound of it filthy and uninhibited.

jungkook lifts your head from his shoulder, his thumbs on your cheeks, and his lips meet yours in a final slow kiss, his teeth leaving their mark on your bottom lip as a parting reminder.

you're still trying to get your bearings and slide him out of you when jungkook suddenly says, "what is that noise?"

"huh?" you remain immobile for a moment so you can listen more clearly, and you recognize the sounds of screaming and feet pounding on the floors in a bid to run away—both upstairs and downstairs. these don't sound like the same screams of pleasure from earlier. "what the hell?"

you and jungkook scramble to collect your clothes and get dressed, thankful that neither of you stripped down completely, and he throws the used condom into a random corner of the room. you're still making last minute adjustments when jungkook stands up and unlocks the door.

"the fuck is—?" his voice cuts off as if he can't finish his thought.

"what? what is it?" you stand up to get a better view around his body in the doorway, and you scream when you see a lone blonde girl lying a few feet away from the door, slumped against the opposite wall with a slashed throat. her pink party dress bleeds red, and her face that catches the illumination of the string lights glints with tear tracks. you look away from her unseeing eyes before you can cry out again.

jungkook seems confused, peering down the other end of the hallway like there'll be someone there to explain. "it...didn't work?" he asks to no one in particular, as you have no answer. you walk farther back into the room as if putting more distance between you and the body will provide some protection. bumping against the window sill, you turn around to look out the window and see several cars peeling out of the makeshift grass parking lot, nearly running over other people or hitting other cars on the way. you release a stifled scream from behind your hands when someone is too disoriented to get out of the way of the speeding cars and is sent flying through the air before landing painfully, their body now unmoving. the offending car never stops to check on them.

the screaming downstairs worsens, countless voices rising to a fever pitch of shouting and wailing, and you imagine this must be what the pits of hell sound like. jungkook whips around to look at you. “we gotta get the fuck out of here.”

you two inch out of the room with him in the lead, peering into jarred-open doorways to see if anybody could be waiting in the shadows. there are a couple of other bodies in two other rooms, and you wonder—even with the loud music constantly reverberating through the house, did you really not hear the struggles that led to these deaths in your throes of passion? the thought unnerves you. the idea that maybe you were only saved by jungkook deciding to lock the door…

the stair railing you’d walked by an hour ago is now broken in the middle, splinters of wood lying scattered on the stairs, along with more bodies lying on the steps just as haphazardly. the scene looks like the remnants of a stampede; you hope most of these people are just unconscious and not dead.

the dancefloor is a swarm of people in various states of undress pushing and pulling each other as they rush for the exit. there’s not as many people heading for the back door, everyone attempting to squeeze through the main entrance in their unthinking panic, so jungkook grabs your arm and the two of you pick your way through the bodies to get down the stairs as best you can. when you enter the mass of people, you’re exceptionally glad for his strength because it’s easier to get through the opposing crowd.

to reach the back door, you must first get through the kitchen. beside the kitchen entrance in a dark corner, you see someone doubled over and grasping the person in front of them for stability.

you realize belatedly that they have a knife in their stomach; the other person standing over them is the virgin killer himself, calmly watching them suffer.

the killer’s face is hidden by the mask he always wears, which you are seeing for the first time now, up-close—a hairy werewolf head with lemon-yellow eyes and a candy-red tongue. it’s so unexpected that you would’ve found it comedic if not for the context.

a guy in a blue sweater grasps the killer from behind in an attempted surprise attack, causing him to jerk the knife out of the other person’s stomach. the sudden movement causes a spray of blood to come flying off the knife, and you have to hold back vomit when drops of the warm, stinking crimson hit your face. though it feels like time has slowed to a mere creep, all of this happens within seconds.

you don’t see much more before jungkook is forcing you to move again.

you, jungkook, and multiple others barrel out of the back patio door, nearly ripping the flimsy screen door off its hinges in your haste, while the classmate in the blue sweater fruitlessly struggles with the killer in the kitchen. your leg muscles flex harder when you hear the person's agonized shout and the mushy rip of flesh being torn seconds later. almost everyone else has taken the same idea to run for their lives rather than stay and try to fight or disarm the killer; the streets are dotted in every direction with students running for any possible safety, many not having arrived to the party in cars to escape in.

thankfully, jungkook is not one of them.

he grasps your wrist painfully hard in his panic and yanks you in the direction of his car, which is so pitch black that you almost didn't see it sitting in the shadows.

when you get inside, you've never been so grateful to be within the safe metal enclosure of a car in your whole life. hands shaking, jungkook jams the key into the ignition and presses the gas pedal so hard your head jerks against the headrest. however, in your temporary relief, you think of lorelai. your vision doubles as you scramble to open your phone and call her, your head spinning with a new spike of fear. it rings for a while with no answer, and you try two more times only to get the same result.

"maybe she got to safety somewhere else?” jungkook tries to reason with you, his eyes bouncing between your face and the road ahead so he doesn't hit any other cars or any random students still running across the streets. "i didn't see her anywhere in the house before we ran out."

"that just means she could be hiding somewhere in there!" you shriek, unable to control your terror at your friend possibly being trapped in the house with the killer.

"well—maybe just let her stick it out, he won't find her if she just—"

"oh god, but i called her like three fucking times; what if he heard the phone ringing? i'm gonna kill myself."

“y/n, you’re overreacting like shit, there’s no way he’d hear a phone ringing in all that noise—"

unlistening, you drop your phone and bang your fists on your head in frustration and anguish.

sighing deeply, jungkook forgoes any attempt to do a 3-point turn, which requires more coordination than he has at the moment, and drives straight up into someone's yard to make a U-turn back toward the house.

you hadn’t gotten too far from the party house, so in another minute or two and with a couple messy turns that cause the wheels to ride up onto the curb, you’re back on the street leading up to the house. before you can reach it, though, jungkook slams on the breaks, and you have to throw your hands out onto the dashboard to avoid flying into it due to not fastening your seatbelt. you’re not very successful; the move hurts your wrists, and you’re pretty sure some of your ribs just got bruised anyway.

“what the fuck?” jungkook shouts.

the virgin killer with his lycanthrope mask is standing in the middle of the street; he turns to face the car. he has a chokehold grip on a guy you recognize as a popular frat member, who is almost bare except for his blue-plaid boxers. you remember seeing the frat guy dancing with his girlfriend when you and lorelai initially entered the party; he was in the group of guys who put this whole party together as a way to “save” the campus’s virgins.

the virgin killer is holding a gun to the guy’s head, and you have no clue where he might’ve gotten it from. the guy’s demeanor is weak, and he’s barely able to stand, which is obviously from the profuse blood loss he’s suffering; the killer has carved sharp letters into his stomach to form two words—“FAIR GAME.”

“fair game?” you mumble, a sickly realization forming in your mind.

“fuck no—" jungkook is already throwing the car into reverse when you hear and see the first bullet go off, exploding the frat member’s head into an unrecognizable mess and making you scream at the top of your lungs. you hear more shots after you close your eyes and tuck your body down, along with the sounds of bullets splitting metal and hitting glass, and you think you might be actively dying—or maybe you’re already dead. even that would be preferable to experiencing this nightmare.

you can’t think as you feel the whole world spinning, your body tossed violently around. in reality, the only thing moving is jungkook’s car as he whips the vehicle around and speeds down the same street you just traveled up.

for a few long minutes, you only hear your own heartbeat, his murmured and frantic curses, and the strained breaths coming from both of you. you keep your body curled up with your knees tucked to your chest and arms over your face. the car’s engine roars as it races down the highway.

you’re afraid to open your eyes and find out, but you have to at some point. plus, the uncomfortable position is making your body hurt. carefully, you unfurl yourself and turn to look at him. “did you get hurt?”

“uhh—no? i don’t think…?” he takes one hand off the wheel to feel up his body as if he’s just realizing that might be a possibility. “but i’m wired off pure adrenaline right now, so give me a few more minutes to be sure…” he looks to you. “are you?”

“no.” your blood still runs cold at the thought of lorelai being stuck in the house or navigating the dark neighborhood streets at this time of night. maybe she doesn’t even have her phone; maybe it was lost in the commotion. the number of possible scenarios makes you ill.

there’s silence for a while; you assume he must not be hurt after all. you start seeing familiar roads that lead back to the campus, and the gears in your mind begin turning, powered by fear.

“do you think it’s safe to go back to the college?” you ask, your voice small.

after a pause jungkook asks, “why not?” though his face begins to look like he’s second-guessing things.

“the killer could go back to the campus…i don’t know. there was so much violence tonight. it’s like he really has a grudge against the students from our school or something. what if he wants more victims? the campus police are already incompetent, but with most of them off the grounds and on their way to the party house…” you don’t finish your thought. you’ll need to warn camille of the potential danger.

“right, yeah…” jungkook’s hands flex around the steering wheel a few times. “we should…probably go somewhere else, then.”

nowhere feels safe. still, you ask, “where?”

changing his route, jungkook glances over at you. “to a friend’s house.”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

🎉 Thank You for 10k+ Followers!! 🎉

A big thank you goes out to @cozymochi for this beautiful celebratory commissioned artwork for this major milestone ✨ It really captures the scope of all the content that had been put out in the last 4+ years—both in terms of official Twst materials and on this blog! I think it’s very fitting that we hit this milestone in the month of Halloween too (I just held off on posting this til the month after); it’s Twst’s biggest holiday of the year, so it’s twice the cause for celebration!!

A lot has happened over the course of my time in this fandom. I’ve written many things of course, but I’ve also had many other exciting opportunities! I’ve been interviewed for a paper, met many cool people from all over the world, attended Twst meetups + events, collaborated with other talented creators, received kind gifts, contributed to various fandom projects, and finished telling the origins of my Twst OC. This blog has been with me through a lot of major changes and difficult hurdles in my life too—it’s really been an anchor for me, a comforting and safe space for me to be creative or analytical whenever I want to be.

When I first started this blog as a very casual hobby in summer of 2020, I never even considered that it would balloon to this extent. It still doesn’t feel totally real to me 😭 I don’t usually fixate on numbers (they make me anxious), but looking back on it, 10k is a LOT, and 4 years is a long time. To put that in perspective, if we were in Twisted Wonderland for 4 years then all of the students we’ve come to know and love would have graduated by now. That’s crazy to me. We’ve come so far as a group.

I feel that a large part of fandom is the community that comes with it. I would have found it so challenging to stick with Twst had I not had so many great people keeping me engaged with it. I’d now like to take a moment to thank those folks. Keeping in line with the idea of “4 years”, think of these as little messages scrawled in a yearbook. I also have a blog event planned to celebrate! More on that later.

Please note that I’ve used pseudonyms for most of the following people, as I’d like to respect their privacy (I’m very private myself) + not all of them are comfortable with being explicitly named or tagged to a large crowd. You’ll know who you are if you see yourself on here.

Without further ado:

MSS — Thank you for being the first Twst space I felt truly a part of. It’s still the place I consider my fandom “home” beyond this blog.

April — Thank you for making MSS as a place for us to share! We’re tsunderes in solidarity.

Drinking Knight — The banners wouldn’t exist without your help. Thanks for getting the ball rolling on those; I’d like to think that I’m a little more confident in designing new ones myself now, but you were the start of it all. Your endless enthusiasm for the most insane otome boys, drinks, and bullying (positive) others is truly an inspiration.

Q. Opinionated — Can’t count the number of times you ran tech support for me 💀 Thanks so much for being patient and willing to laugh at a stupid situation. I WILL grip you (escape is not an option) 🤲

Dad with his Printer — Why are you so cheeky My unofficial proofreader and fact checker. Still treasure the teeny J word and coffin magnets you sent, and, even more valuable than those, the bad dad jokes/puns advice and wisdom you give. Wishing you luck on your art adventure.

A. Cider — An unexpected friend I met very late into the fandom and happened to run into irl by total coincidence. Funny how life works. Your shitposts are great, and I appreciate having a like-minded person to talk with about the J words and story critiques. I’d also like to thank you for the many little doodles you’ve made; I know you’re very busy and have a wife to tend to at home but I appreciate that you still make time for friends.

Hana — Extroverted pink-haired magical girl representation. Your bubbly love for Disney, Diasomnia, singing, and (yes) angst lights up the entire room. Maybe you’re not too confident with yourself are right now, but I know you’ll find your way.

Swan — For being quick on the uptake and giving me the heads up about various things! We may not talk much one-on-one, but I’m thinking of you and enjoy seeing you pitch into the conversation. You’re still banned for L*ona posting though/j

Ly — My secret French twin/j Thanks for being my cultural + equine advisor and a voice of (salty) reason. Never shut up about your hyperfixations! You’re a real one.

Oys — Enabler + encourager of my Yan!Sil delusions. Sorry for making your blood pressure spike every time we talk about our food takes. But hey, at least we get a good laugh out of it :))

Mac and Bean — For being my inspirations. Bean, you have such atmospheric writing. I hope my writing style can be just as magical as yours. Mac, it was your blog that first got me into starting my own Twst writing. You never stop being so, so funny also I blame you 120% for the L*ona rot.

Peaches and Cream — To my local Twst friends, thanks for keeping me company even through the hard times. Peaches, happy to be your local Twst dealer anytime. Cream, thanks for hooking me up with new books.

Salt and Flora — I don’t know where you vanished to, but the sea brought you back to me on its tides. I’m so happy we could meet again. Salt, you’re so talented at crochet and design work; get your coin 😂 Flora, you’re the sweetest person ever. Literally cottagecore personified, even in your art.

Piano — We don’t always see eye to eye, but thank you for being my serial debater and showing me new perspectives. Your open-minded theories and analyses are such fun. And, of course, it’s always hilarious to think about how we accidentally (?) swapped oshis 🤡 You’re a star.

The Anklebiter — For having the most unhinged jokes and ideas. Seriously, THE most unhinged. I never do any of the crazy things you suggest but I’m always really entertained from just hearing them.

Te, Mi, and Ro — Thanks for organizing local events and giving me an excuse to touch grass. It’s a lot of hard work and you guys manage to pull it off every time! Mi, I was flattered to have you reach out to me to help a little with the Tweel cupsleeve event. Happy to help anytime! Te, I remember you were cosplaying as Kalim when we first met and I kept thinking about how perfectly suited you are for the role. You were very friendly and made such an effort to include everyone in the event even when I was Idia-ing in the corner. To this day, you continue to spontaneously introduce me to new people 😂 Thanks for getting me put of my comfort zone. Ro, I didn’t think we’d meet again like this. Small world! You’re learning and improving the big events. Here’s hoping to many more!

Vic — For being Ace Trappola when very few others would. It’s refreshing to have someone tell it like it is. I wish I could be as bold and as honest as you are sometimes. You have such a big heart when it comes to the characters you love; it makes me want to adore them like you do too 🫶

Kana — For being so sweet and patient. You helped me through so many rough patches and have also contributed a lot to the look of the blog. It’s so fun gushing with you about magical girls and pretty boys, sharing our favorite shows and movies… I feel as though I’ve made a lifelong friend.

Zari — Thank you for charms and art book, big fan of your stuff 😭 So honored to have worked with you on projects too. I hope to see a lot more of your Yuu and other OCs around, I love following them ^^

Lala — You understand, encourage, and validate my weird tastes in fictional men 💕 Really admire your sense of fashion and stylish nails too. Whenever I have my shrimp apron on, I think of you.

Arisu — No longer in the Twst fandom but integral in the earliest days. Wherever you are now, I wish you nothing but happiness.

P-san — You’re a lifesaver!! Thank you so much for helping me find cute little outfits and accessories for my plushies… They are forever grateful to be properly clothed.

V, Fa, Fe, Ray, Rea, Sonny, Glimmer Group, and Incognito Crew — Thanks for being so supportive of my hyperfixation on Disney villain anime boys, even if you guys have NO clue what I’m rambling about half of the time. To V specifically 🫵 I am NOT a cat boy kisser

Mango — I didn’t know I wanted you in my life until you showed up uninvited one day and chewed your way into my heart.

Azul Ashengrotto — For being the character that first convinced me into giving this game a shot. The Little Mermaid was something I always held so dear to me, so it almost seems like destiny that you’d be the one to drag me down into Twst. You’ll always hold a special place in my heart for that, even if my feelings have changed since then.

Rook Hunt — For being there when I needed to laugh a little. It’s scary to glance over my shoulder sometimes, but you make it easier to smile as I look back.

Rollo Flamme — For letting me know that having negative feelings is normal and human, even if we don’t always cope with them in the healthiest of ways. Let’s reflect and be better together!

Leona Kingscholar — For showing me that change and personal growth is, in fact, possible. Th-This doesn’t mean I like you or anything though, so get off your high horse—

Jade Leech — For taking my hand and guiding me back on the path when I got lost in the dark. Whatever crimes you may commit in your free time, I forgive you/j

Miss Raven Crowley — The little black bird who could, the blog muse. I made you on a whim and look at where you are now… You went from a background character to the main character of your own story. So proud of you, my child 😭

Asset compilers, fan artists, fanfic writers, fan translators, cosplayers, merch makers, editors, plushie pic takers, video essayists, theorizers, etc. — You’re all so important to keeping the fandom alive, especially during periods of official content drought. It wouldn’t be feasible for me to list out all of the content creators I enjoy (chjsbsksks and it honestly might be awkward since I haven’t directly interacted with most of them), but I hope that this message still reaches you and finds you well. Keep doing your thing; I love seeing the work you put out ^^

Anyone and everyone that I’ve ever commissioned and/or received fan works from — I appreciate that you took time and energy out of your day to create something for me. There’s so much talent in the Twst fandom and I’m honored that you would dedicate some of that to a silly little birb.

You, the Readers — For supporting this blog and and what I do here! You’re an important part of my journey too.

Thank you!! Here’s to a future unknown and a page unwritten.

- The Writing Raven

[sushiyuzu]

anxiety attack

warning: fluff + comfort — soft!sylus being there for you when you need him during your anxiety attack 🤍

a/n: because my fav person can’t even give me their time to comfort me when i was having anxiety attack just now, it inspired me to write this fic. so, moral of the story is, find someone like sylus <3

+ and big special shout out to those who experience the same issue. my heart goes out to all of you — you are so so loved and your feelings are valid 💕

you’re home alone, just sitting in your room when suddenly everything feels wrong. your heart starts racing, faster and faster, and it’s hard to catch your breath. it pounds so hard in your chest it feels like it’s about to explode. it’s as if there’s this heavy weight pressing down on your chest, making it feel like you’re trapped.

the quiet room around you feels too big and too small all at once, and the thoughts in your mind are spinning, moving too fast, making you feel even more trapped.

you try to calm yourself, try to take a deep breath like you’ve heard people say, but it’s hard. every breath feels shallow, too short, like no air is enough. your hands start to tremble, and soon you’re hugging yourself, hoping it’ll somehow make you feel better, make you feel safe.

only one name comes to you in that whirlwind of fear and noise inside your head—sylus. he’s the only person who can make you feel better, who can make you feel safe when everything seems dark and scary.

sylus had been busy with his work, handling important matters that required his attention. before leaving, he had carefully told you to stay at home and wait for him to return. he didn’t like leaving you alone, he never did, but this task needed his focus, and he wanted you safe. he knew you would be okay if you stayed inside and relaxed until he got back.

“i’ll be back before you know it. just stay safe for me.” was his last words before giving you one last reassuring look after a quick kiss, and left, confident that you would be there when he returned. he had planned everything carefully, making sure you would be comfortable and safe at home while he dealt with his responsibilities.

you reach out for your bag, fumbling for your phone, fingers shaky as you pull up his number. you don’t know if he’s busy; you don’t even care. all you know is that you need him.

desperately need him.

when he finally picks up, his voice is calm, strong. “yes, my love?”

“sylus...” your voice sounds so small, weak, but you try to speak through it. “i... i need you. please.”

there’s a pause on his end, and you wonder if he’ll tell you he’s too busy, that he can’t come. but then you hear him say, “what’s wrong?” his voice is full of concern now, a softer tone you know he only uses only when he’s with you.

“i can’t breathe,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “it’s too much... i need you here.”

you can hear sounds in the background—people talking, maybe even some loud voices, the noise of the city—but you barely notice them. all that matters is the warmth in sylus’s voice as he says, “i’m coming, sweetheart. hold on for me, alright? just breathe. i’ll be there soon.”

beep.

the call ends, and you’re left in the silence, but it’s not as scary as before. he’s coming. he’s on his way. you hold onto that thought, clutching it tightly in your mind as if it’s a lifeline. he’s coming for you.

you sit there, alone, every minute feeling like an hour. you try to stay calm, to keep breathing slowly, but it’s so hard. the panic comes in waves, crashing over you again and again, and all you can do is wait, wait for him to come.

finally, you hear the sound of the front door opening, footsteps moving quickly towards you. your heart leaps, and you look up to see sylus standing there, his eyes locked onto you with a fierce, focused look. in that moment, you don’t need words. he crosses the room in just a few steps, pulling you into his arms.

he holds you close, his embrace strong and steady, like he’s your anchor, keeping you from drifting away in the storm of your panic. his arms are warm around you, and his hand moves in gentle, slow circles on your back, as if he’s trying to soothe the fear out of you.

“i’m here, sweetie,” he whispers, his voice low and calming. “i’m not going anywhere.”

you clutch onto him tightly, your fingers gripping his shirt as if letting go would make everything fall apart. he doesn’t rush you or say anything more. he just holds you, breathing slowly and steadily, his warmth grounding you, bringing you back to reality. every so often, he murmurs soft words of comfort, his tone like a warm blanket, wrapping around you.

“it’s alright,” he says softly. “you’re safe now. i’m right here with you.”

he keeps one hand on your back, the other brushing through your hair, soothing and steady. he doesn’t let go, doesn’t pull away even for a moment. then, he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips warm and soft against your skin. that kiss says everything he doesn’t need to put into words—you’re his priority, his treasure, his heart.

you look up at him, still shaken but feeling a little bit calmer. “why did you come s-so fast?” you manage to ask, your voice still a little weak, a little unsure.

he looks down at you, his red eyes full of warmth and something soft, something that makes your heart ache in the best way. “because you’re more important to me than anything else,” he says, his voice gentle but certain. “you are my priority. always.”

his words wrap around you like a warm blanket, a comfort that settles deep in your heart, calming the storm still swirling inside you. he cups your face, his thumb gently brushing along your cheek, wiping away any tears you didn’t realize you’d shed. “when you need me, nothing else matters,” he says, his voice filled with so much affection that it’s almost overwhelming. “you are my most prized possession. my everything.”

his gaze softens, and he leans down, pressing his forehead against yours. he stays like that, close to you, holding you like you’re the most important thing in the world, like he’d never let anything hurt you.

in that moment, you feel safe. you feel grounded. the fear and panic that had taken over you begin to melt away, replaced by a warm, steady feeling. you lean into him, resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady, calming beat of his heart.

“i love you,” you whisper, barely audible, feeling the words slip out before you can even think about them. they’re true, simple, and everything you feel in that moment.

his lips curve into a small smile, and he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. it’s gentle, warm, and filled with a love that wraps around you like a protective shield. “and i love you,” he murmurs against your lips. “more than you’ll ever know.”

his arms tighten around you, pulling you closer, and for the first time since the anxiety started, you feel truly safe, wrapped up completelyin his warmth. he leans down, giving you a gentle sniff on your head, indulging your sweet scent that he loves, then plants a soft, sweet kiss there, as if he’s making sure you know he’s right there with you, fully and completely.

you close your eyes, breathing in his words, his touch, and the feeling of being in his arms. in that moment, nothing else matters. all the fear, the panic, the weight pressing down on you—it all fades away, replaced by the warmth of his embrace.

with him here, you know you’ll be okay. you’ll always be okay, as long as he’s by your side.

sylus keeps holding you close, his strong arms wrapped around you like a safe cocoon, giving you the comfort you need. his silver hair brushes against your cheek as he pulls you even closer, like he can somehow shield you from every worry, every fear. his eyes are softer now, looking down at you with so much love that it warms you from the inside out.

“come on,” he whispers gently, rubbing your back. “let’s get you comfortable.”

he helps you to your feet, holding your hand, guiding you through every step, his touch gentle but steady. he knows you’re still feeling vulnerable, still shaky from the anxiety attack, so he doesn’t let go of your hand for even a second. his grip is warm, reassuring, like he’s silently telling you, i’m here, i’m not going anywhere.

he leads you over to the couch, wrapping a cozy blanket around your shoulders and settling beside you. his hand never leaves yours, his thumb brushing soothing circles on your skin. the weight of the blanket, his presence, and the warmth of his touch help to calm the lingering tension in your body.

“you did so well, sweetheart,” he whispers, his voice filled with pride. “you’re so strong, and i’m proud of you.”

you feel a small smile tug at your lips, a warmth blooming in your chest at his words. “thank you,” you manage to say, your voice a bit steadier now.

but sylus doesn’t stop there. he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, leaning in close, his face inches from yours. “can i get you some water?” he asks softly. “or maybe something warm to drink?”

you nod, feeling a little more at ease just from his gentle, caring presence. “water would be good.”

he gets up, still holding your hand for as long as possible until he has to let go. you watch him walk to the kitchen, every movement calm and steady, like he’s trying to bring peace to every corner of the room. he returns with a glass of water, handing it to you with a soft smile, and you take a few sips, feeling the coolness help settle you even more.

as you set the glass down, he reaches over and pulls you back into his arms, tucking you against his hard chest. he’s careful, moving slowly, making sure not to overwhelm you, and you relax into his embrace, resting your head on his broad shoulder. he gently rubs your shoulder, his fingers working in soothing patterns, easing the last bits of tension from your body.

“you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” he murmurs softly, his voice low and comforting. “i’m here to listen, or just to be with you. whatever you need.”

you close your eyes, feeling the weight of the day start to fade, replaced by the warmth and safety of his touch. “just… stay with me,” you whisper, feeling vulnerable but safe.

he presses a soft kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there, as if he’s silently promising he’ll never leave. “i’m not going anywhere,” he replies gently. “i’m right here.”

he holds you for a while, just like that, letting you breathe, letting you feel safe. so safe. every so often, he whispers soft words of comfort, reminding you how much he loves you, how he’ll always be there for you. his hand keeps moving in slow, gentle strokes along your back, his warmth wrapping around you like a soft, protective shield.

and then, as if he’s making sure you know how loved you are, he leans down and presses gentle kisses along your forehead, your cheeks, and the tip of your nose, each one soft and full of affection. when he finally looks at you again, there’s a small, loving smile on his face, his crimson red eyes filled with so much care it takes your breath away.

“you’re my everything,” he whispers, his voice filled with a deep, quiet intensity. “never forget that.”

you feel yourself melting into him, the last of the fear slipping away as you take in his warmth, his strength, his love. you wrap your arms around him, holding him close, feeling safe, loved, and understood.

sylus just keeps holding you, never letting go, and in his arms, you know you’re home.

your forever home.

[strangerstilinski]

can you pretty please do [intimidation] with eddie

🥺👉👈

[INTIMIDATION] sender, in an effort to frighten the receiver by invading their personal space, sits in their lap to try and inspire discomfort or fear in them.

cw: alcohol consumption, fem!reader, sort of enemies -> lovers (but actually idiots -> lovers), 2.4k

dividers by @strangergraphics

You're blocking the doorway into the Harrington kitchen, shoulder leaned against the wood panelling where you have a good view into the living room. Your unimpressed glare is drawn from the figure currently hogging the sofa when someone bumps into you just as you're bringing the plastic cup in your hand to your lips.

"Jesus, fucking watch it-" The outrage in your tone fades quick when you see who's run into you.

"Sorry." Jonathan grimaces as he watches you wipe a bit of juice and vodka from your chin.

"No, it's fine," You sigh and turn on your heel, following Jonathan into the kitchen as he begins to grab things to make himself a drink, though it appears to be far more lemon-lime soda and grenadine than anything else. "Sorry, I just.. I dunno, sorry." You shrug before gulping down another mouthful of your own admittedly strong drink. You're kind of hoping that once your buzz kicks in you'll feel just a little less like there's a storm cloud floating right above your head.

"What is with you, tonight?" Jonathan asks with an overly cautious smile, "I haven't seen Munson bug you even once, so it's gotta be somethin' else-"

"Nothing," You huff, a little defensive at just the mention of the other boy, "I'm fine."

"Oh yeah, totally," Jonathan chuckles and raises his newly acquired drink in a salute, "You're like a ray of sunshine tonight."

It's annoying as hell, but he's right. You're fuming and Eddie has yet to even speak to you. He's been avoiding you like the plague from the moment you walked through the door, as if Eddie could somehow sense that you were already in a mood, and he didn't feel like getting told off for being the reason that you finally snapped.

Because normally, Eddie would've found at least seven ways he could irritate you by now. He'd have finished the last of the juice he saw you eyeing for your next mixed drink and laughed maniacally when you pouted about it. He'd have pestered you about whether you might want to join in on another campaign, all while making a handful of little comments about just how easy it'll be for him to decimate your character when you do. He'd have watched you shiver while you passed a joint back and forth by the pool, and then draped his stupid jacket around your shoulders just so he could roll his eyes and give you shit about not dressing warmly enough.

Eddie was infuriating — And the worst part was that he knew it. The asshole thrived on pushing buttons and testing people's limits, but tonight evidently he'd been able to tell that you were already toeing dangerously close to yours and had steered clear altogether.

You peer back out into the living room now, narrowed eyes zeroing back in on the figure sprawled across the entire length of the loveseat, socked feet kicked up on the opposite cushion where someone else could be sitting if he weren't such a selfish prick.

"God, what an asshole." You grumble, downing the last of your drink and grabbing the nearest bottle to begin mixing another. "I mean, look at him, seriously. Does he have to take up the whole couch?"

Jonathan's gaze follows the path your own had taken moments before, and he snorts in amusement, "Eddie."

It's not a question, but you answer him as if it had been.

"Yes, Eddie." Another quick glance up into the living room has your eyes locking with the man in question just as his name falls from your lips.

Eddie's eyes go wide, his cheeks dimpling with his sudden grin. He jabs his index finger into his chest, lips moving silently around the words, "Who? Me?"

"Uh-huh.. Why don't you go do something about it?" Jonathan teases.

Eddie's attention is pulled away when Gareth says something from his spot in an armchair. Whatever he says it gets Eddie riled up and he's immediately talking animatedly, hands gesturing wildly as he speaks.

"Maybe I will." You're already moving with purpose, halfway out of the kitchen when you hear your friend shout after you.

"I was joking!"

"Well I'm not!" You call back over your shoulder.

It's darker as you step into the living room, overhead lights off in favor of utilizing the warmer glow from the the lamp tucked away in the corner. You have to step over Eddie's discarded shoes at the foot of the sofa, and the boy very nearly knocks your drink out of your hand when you step in front of him, too distracted by his own tirade to have seen your approach.

But his head snaps up toward you as your thigh brushes his arm. Whatever he's been saying, the words cut off abruptly at the realization of who it is standing beside him.

"Well hey there, princess." He shoots you a toothy grin — You assume it's meant to be charming, but it only irritates you further. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"

You ignore Eddie in favor of casting a small smile of apology toward Gareth, "Sorry to interrupt."

"Nah, no worrie-"

"No, no! You didn't interrupt. We were done." Eddie cuts his friend off, "Gareth was just telling me he was gonna go take a piss, actually."

Gareth splutters for a moment, but when his eyes shift from you to Eddie he's suddenly rising from his chair. You watch Gareth shake his head as he steps around you before he stalks off without a word.

"What was that about?" You can't help but ask in curiosity.

"Beats me. Really had to piss, I guess." Eddie says quickly, sitting up a little straighter against the arm of the couch. He throws an arm out to gesture to Gareth's recently vacated chair, "Did you wanna-"

Rather than taking advantage of the empty seat, you plop yourself across Eddie's thighs unceremoniously, feeling oddly satisfied by the huff of surprise that escapes him when your weight is suddenly in his lap.

The way the warmth of his body seeps into your own is near immediate, even through two layers of denim. Your arm presses into his chest as you lean back into the cushion of the sofa, trying and failing to remain unaffected by his proximity. He smells infuriatingly good this close, clean and masculine with just a lingering hint of the weed he'd smoked earlier in the night. It makes your stomach flutter wildly, makes your head swim for half a second before you're lifting your cup to your mouth in an effort to compose yourself.

Eddie huffs softly and his breath fans out over your exposed shoulder, warm and smelling faintly of cheap beer and menthols. Goosebumps prickle along the length of your arm, hairs standing on end suddenly. You wish you could convince yourself that your body's reaction were one of repulsion, but deep down you know that its something far, far worse than that.

"You.. You're just gonna.. sit.. here?" Eddie asks, voice a little wobbly, unsure.

His knuckles brush your thigh, likely an accident, but one sidelong glare has his hand retreating to the relative safety of the couch cushion in a flash.

"Yep."

You can see outside to the patio from your position, and you focus your attention to the group sitting with their feet in the pool. The sheer amount of effort it takes to keep your eyes trained there, rather than allowing them to drift to where Eddie's hand twitches near your knee-

"Do- Did you want me to move my legs? Do you want-" He shifts underneath you like he's ready to pull his feet from the cushion at the other end, but you remain resolutely in place.

"Nope, I'm good."

You have absolutely no plans of moving any time soon. You'd remain seated right here in Eddie's lap until his bladder was ready to burst, until your weight made his legs fall asleep and tingle from lack of blood flow, until he was ready to grab you by your hips and force you into another seat.

He'd learn his lesson. The inconsiderate couch-hogging asshole.

"O..kay." Eddie says slowly, wiping his palm on the side of his own denim-clad hip, as if his hands might've gotten a little sweaty.

Were you making him warm? Good.

"So.." Eddie pauses. You catch a glimpse of his face scrunching in thought at the corners of your vision before he continues, "Any big plans for the weekend?"

With how close you're sat, Eddie is speaking almost directly into your ear. There's no need for him to raise his voice to be heard, and you find that the low rumble of it is nice, soothing almost. It curls around your ears and sends something warm shooting down your spine.

"Killing boys." You return dryly, eyes straining now in an effort to remain focussed on what's going on in the backyard.

Eddie snorts, body jolting underneath you with his amusement — And his almost-laughter absolutely does not make your chest flush with pride. You couldn't care less whether or not Eddie Munson finds you funny. As if.

"Oh, so nothing out of the ordinary for you then."

Eddie chuckles and the tip of his thumb finds its way to the place where your thigh presses into his. You can't tell if it's accidental or on purpose, but the gentle press of his finger maybe kind of makes your stomach flip pleasantly, so you allow it. Whatever.

You hum in agreement, "Yeah, well. There's almost always some boy who deserves it."

"I don't doubt it," Eddie murmurs with a wide grin, his head tipped sideways over the back of the couch, cheek nearly brushing your shoulder now, "Anyone I know currently at the top of your list, madame assassin?"

"There is this one asshole." You pause to take a sip of your drink, fighting off a grimace at the awful liquor to juice ratio. "He's loud. And irritating. Just loves getting on my last nerve-"

"Long hair?"

The interruption has your eyes rolling, "Yep. Walks around looking like some Van Halen wannabe."

"Oh, he sounds cool."

You can practically hear the smirk in his voice now.

"Well he's not." You return blankly. "He's always trying to get a rise outta me, acting like a total prick-"

"Hold on, hold on-" Eddie cuts you off again, "Now I'm not so sure we're on the same page. Thought I knew who you were talkin' about, but-"

"Oh, you know him." You grumble, sinking farther into the plush cushion on the back of the couch with your drink clutched to your chest. "You know him well, trust me."

Eddie shifts beneath you, angling both himself and you until he's taking up more of your line of sight than the patio doors. His big brown eyes bore into you until you crack and flick your gaze toward him.

"Here's the thing.." Eddie starts, the pad of his thumb stroking the seam on the outside of your knee. "Maybe this guy's just pushing your buttons because he likes when all of your attention is on him-"

The arm he has thrown over the back of the couch by your shoulder moves then, brushing your hair back from your temple only to backtrack and trail the pads of his fingers featherlight over the space between your brows.

"-Maybe.. Shit, I dunno, maybe he likes the way your eyebrows come together when you're angry-"

Your heart is beating so loud you can hear the blood pumping in your ears. The urge to fidget under his attention is strong, but you sit at still as possible in fear of breaking the spell. You have to strain to hear Eddie's next words over the dull whoosh of your heartbeat echoing in your skull.

"Maybe he thinks you look kinda devastatingly beautiful-"

"You-" And, fuck. Did your voice just crack? "You're trying to tell me you think this guy is, what? Being a dick because he likes me? Pulling my pigtails on the playground and shit?"

Eddie's grin is less cocky than you've ever seen it. His lips twitch at one side of his mouth. He almost looks nervous.

You take a deep breath as his fingers skim over your jaw on their way back toward your hair, where he pinches a small lock between two fingers and tugs twice, oh-so gentle.

"What if he was?" Eddie asks softly, "Being a dick because he likes you, I mean."

"I'd tell you he's an idiot." You manage, plastic cup crinkling under the increased pressure of your hand.

Eddie winces, but nods and averts his gaze. His arm falls to the back to the sofa again, close enough for you to feel the warmth of it beside your shoulder.

"But.." You have to swallow down a smile when Eddie's wide eyes snap right back to yours. "Maybe this idiot's attraction isn't totally one-sided. So, maybe he should stop being an asshole and try making a move."

Eddie blinks. Once, then twice. He squares his shoulders and leans in like he might kiss you, but then he backs off again and searches your eyes as if he's terrified he might be reading the entire situation wrong.

"Eddie." You whisper sharply, "The idiot is you, asshole."

"Oh, Jesus Christ, thank god."

And then his fingers are curled gently around the back of your neck. His hand is fully grasping your opposite thigh as he tries to drag you impossibly closer. His plush lips are pressing softly into your own, the taste of beer mixing with vodka and citrus.

It's a quick kiss, chaste. Your mouths only remain glued together for all of three seconds before he's leaning back just enough to watch you blink at him from beneath heavy lashes. You can't imagine how stupidly docile you look; brows pushed up your forehead, chest nearly heaving beneath your shirt, jaw slack, lips parted and waiting for more. It's pathetic how he's managed to turn you into this with just one G-Rated kiss.

The hand on the back of your neck moves to your face, fingertips tracing the smooth line of your brow before trailing back down to cup your cheek.

"Yeah.. Yeah, this is nice too." Eddie murmurs, "You're awful pretty when you're mad, but this.. This right here is somethin' else."

"You're so annoying." It comes out airy, absolutely no bite to your words.

"Oh, that's not changing, sweetheart. Matter of fact, I think it's a part of our spark. Gotta keep the fire burning, right? I'll keep annoying you, you'll keep getting angry-"

"Would you just shut up and kiss me again?"

Eddie grins, already leaning in, "Sure thing."

[jonnywaistcoat]

Hey, Horrormaster Sims. I have a wildly different question that barely relates to TMA (Sorry about that) but its about your own process. Please, if you could, can you tell me how your first drafts made you feel? I'm on the fence about writing my own thing (not a podcast, and again, not Magnus related, though I have a million little aus for that delightful tragedy you wrote, thank you for that!) But I'm discouraged by the collective notion that first drafts are always terrible, because there's no ... examples I can solidly use to help the dumb anxiety beast in my brain that tells me everyone who is in any way popular popped out a golden turd and not, well, you know. One of my friends said 'Oh I bet Jonathan Sims's first draft was nothing like what he wanted' and I got the bright idea to just. Send you an ask, since you're trapped on this hellsite like I am. Anyway, thanks for reading this (if you do) and if you'd rather ask it privately, I am cool with that. Alternatively, you're a hella busy man with Protocol (you and Alex are making me rabid, i hope you know) and you can just ignore this! Cheers, man, and good words.

To my mind all writing advice, especially stuff that's dispensed as truisms (like "first drafts are always garbage") are only useful inasmuch as such advice prompts you to pay attention to how you write best: what helps your workflow, what inspires you, what keeps you going through the rough bits. There are as many different ways to write (and write well) as there are people who write and so always consider this sort of thing a jumping off point to try out or keep in mind as you gradually figure out your own ways of writing.

On first drafts specifically, I think the wisdom "all first drafts are bad" is a bit of unhelpful oversimplification of the fact that, deadlines notwithstanding, no piece of writing goes out until you decide its ready, so don't get too hung up on your first draft of a thing, because a lot of writers find it much easier to edit a complete work than to try and redraft as they go. It's also important to not let perfectionism or the fact your initial draft isn't coming out exactly how you want stop you from actually finishing the thing, as it's always better to have something decent and done than to have something perfect and abandoned.

But the idea of a "first draft" is also kind of a fluid one. The "first draft" you submit to someone who's commissioned you will probably be one you've already done a bunch of tweaks and edits to, as opposed to the "first draft" you pump out in a frenzy in an over-caffeinated weekend. For my part, my first drafts tend to end up a bit more polished than most, because I'm in the habit of reading my sentences out loud as I write them (a habit picked up from years of audio writing) so I'll often write and re-write a particular sentence or paragraph a few times to get the rhythm right before moving to the next one. This means my first drafts tend to take longer, but are a bit less messy. I'm also a big-time planner and pretty good at sticking to the structures I lay out so, again, tend to front load a lot of stuff so I get a better but slower first draft.

At the end of the day, though, the important thing is to get in your head about it in a good way (How do I write best? what helps me make writing I enjoy and value? What keeps me motivated?) and not in a bad way (What if it's not good enough? What if everyone hates it? What if it doesn't make sense?) so that you actually get it done.

As for how my first drafts made me feel? Terrible, every one of 'em No idea if that's reflective of their quality, though, tbh - I hate reading my own writing until I've had a chance to forget it's mine (I can only ever see the flaws). I suppose there's theoretically a none-zero chance they were pure fragments of True Art and creative perfection, but Alex's editing notes make that seem unlikely.

[softspiderling]

illicit affairs - part one | r.c.

summary:

“I’ll be upstairs with Monique, a’ight?” he said, muttering in your ear. “Are you okay getting the drinks to the boys?”

“Yeah yeah,” you huffed with a wave. “Go on. Be safe.”

Rafe smirked at you, ignoring how Monique was staring daggers at you. “Come get me if anything’s wrong, you hear me precious?”

OR; Topper gets duped by a pretty “bartender”, Rafe (almost) has another hook up, and you're trying to tell yourself that this is enough.

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

warnings: mention of drugs and alcohol (weed!), this chapter has no smut, but the later parts will so 18+ MDNI!

word count: 2,5k

author's note: wait... is this finally the first chapter of illicit affairs?🤭 yes it is!!! ik i've been teasing it for so long but it's finally hereee!!! inspired by my own tom holland fic (don't talk to me pls) and it has evolved into a series... i hope you love it so much!!!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

part one: "don't call me kid"

Women and men can’t be “just friends”.

You had always hated that saying. Like, why the hell couldn’t men and women be friends? All three of your best friends were guys, and you didn’t even remotely want to be anything more than friends with any of them.

Okay, maybe you wouldn’t mind being more than friends with one of them.

Bane of your existence.

Pain in the ass.

Annoying as hell.

Your best friend, Rafe Cameron.

You tried so hard to not be in love with him, to only be his friend. Mostly because it would make your life so much less complicated, but also because you hated proving that saying right by being in love with your guy best friend.

“Hey, you still with us?”

“What?”

Rafe stared at you with a frown, before he plucked the joint from your lips.

“You nearly smoked the entire thing by yourself. What’s got you thinking so hard?”

He raised an eyebrow at you while taking a hit from the joint, barely pulling it from his lips before Kelce snagged it from him.

“Greedy bitch,” Rafe huffed before he turned his attention back to you. “You tired, precious? Want to leave?”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname - despite the long tradition of it - and shook your head. “Nah. It’s not even one. And Topper hasn’t made a fool of himself yet.”

“Fuck you,” Topper shot back immediately, moving his cup out of the way when you reached for it. “No, no drinks for mean girls.”

“Come on, don’t be such an asshole,” you whined, smacking your mouth a little to get rid of the dryness the joint has left. Making grabby hands at the cup, you annoyed Topper until he finally gave in, handing you his cup. You took a big gulp, before you pulled a face, pushing the cup back into his hands, barely able to swallow whatever the hell he was drinking.

“Ew, what is that?”

“Some girl in the kitchen made it for him,” Rafe told you, snickering. “I don’t think he was even watching what she was pouring into his cup. Too entranced by her pretty eyes.”

“She said she’s a bartender,” Topper said defensively and you only snorted. He made it far too easy for girls to mess with him.

“Top, I love you,” you said, getting to your feet and straightening your clothes in the process. “But please, you can’t keep falling in love with every pretty girl who pays attention to you.”

“But I’ve been in love with you for six years precious,” Topper proclaimed as he clutched his chest melodramatically, “When will you give me a chance?”

You only scoffed at his antics, twisting your hair up before putting a hair clip in it. “You wish,” you said, slapping his hands away. “I’ll get us some new drinks.”

“I’ll come with,” Rafe offered.

“Can you get me one too?” Kelce piped up and you pinched his cheek, making him wince.

“Vodka soda?”

Kelce gave you a dirty look, rubbing his cheek before he nodded petulantly. You gave him a thumbs up, grabbing Rafe by the wrist to drag him inside.

It was incredibly packed as soon as you entered the house from the backyard, the body heat from about 50 drunk people raising the temperature indoors and it smelled like the inside of a beer keg. Rafe kept his hand on your lower back, to not lose track of you as you carefully weaved between the people on your way to the kitchen. You tried not to get distracted by how his hand occasionally brushed over your exposed skin whenever your top rode up. He had always been this way. Running a hand through Topper’s hair to annoy him, clasping Kelce’s shoulder whenever he drank too much and was hanging over the toilet, squeezing Wheezie’s arm in a quick hug, and keeping his hand on your lower back whenever the two of you were walking somewhere crowded. He liked to show affection the way his father failed to do. So you refused to overthink it when his hands splayed over your skin, despite your heart racing whenever it happened.

Losing yourself to your thoughts for a second, you didn’t pay any attention when some guy walked into you, too busy talking with his friend to watch where he was going. You nearly went flying face down on the ground, but Rafe’s hand quickly found your waist, steadying you.

“Hey, watch it!” Rafe snapped at the guy, who only raised his hands in defense.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, gently pushing his hands off of you. “We’re nearly there, don’t start a fight.”

Out of the corner of your eyes, you could see Rafe giving the guy a stink eye before you reached the kitchen, where it luckily wasn’t as cramped, with only a handful of people mingling and talking. Grabbing four cups off of the stack on the kitchen island, you pursed your lips as you let your eyes roam over the options, rows, and rows of alcohol.

“Do you want a beer or something harder?”

“Beer, I think I might have to drive us home,” Rafe replied, grabbing the vodka bottle that was on his left, and handing it to you.

You unstacked the cups on the counter and poured vodka into three of them. Rafe reappeared by your side - not that you had noticed him leaving, you were too focused on making sure there was an equal amount of vodka in all the cups - sipping on a beer, a jug of cranberry juice in his other hand. You grabbed the jug out of his hand, wordlessly, filling your cup to the brim.

“Where’s the club soda?” you asked, glancing at him over your shoulder. Rafe only shrugged.

“Couldn’t find it.”

“Here’s club soda, Rafe,” a flirty voice suddenly said, and Monique Colver batted her long, fake eyelashes at Rafe.

“Thanks Monique,” Rafe replied with a smirk, taking the bottle to give it to you, which you accepted wordlessly.

Here we go.

“Call me Moni.”

“Moany?” you muttered under your breath while you filled the other two cups, barely wincing when Rafe gave you a side eye, acting like he was listening to every word that left Monique’s lips.

“- but I told my dad I really wanted to travel a bit so he got a me a trip to Europe.”

“Oh yeah? What countries you tryna see?”

Ugh.

You downed your entire cup in one go, already refilling it when you heard “show you” and “upstairs” and you rolled your eyes. You lifted your cup to your lips, basically putting your entire face in it, really, anything to remove yourself from this conversation, only pausing with drowning yourself when you felt Rafe’s hand on your lower back. Again.

“I’ll be upstairs with Monique, a’ight?” he said, muttering in your ear. “Are you okay getting the drinks to the boys?”

“Yeah yeah,” you huffed with a wave. “Go on. Be safe.”

Rafe smirked at you, ignoring how Monique was staring daggers at you. “Come get me if anything’s wrong, you hear me precious?”

You flipped him off and he took that as a sign to leave, following Monique as she dragged him upstairs.

“Bitch,” you muttered to yourself, grabbing the three cups on the counter and heading back outside to the boys.

It was a miracle that not a single drop was spilled on the way, probably because you were too busy trying not to imagine what was going on upstairs.

“There she is!” Kelce greeted you. “Almost died of thirst. What took you so long?”

“Don’t ask,” you muttered, handing them the drinks and Topper eyed you suspiciously. Acting like you didn’t notice it, you plopped yourself into the empty seat next to them, taking a big gulp from your drink.

“Where’s Rafe?”

“Where do you think?” you said with a sigh, giving him a look.

You weren’t jealous.

Okay, you were.

But it wasn’t the main reason why you were so annoyed.

You just hated it when the girls Rafe hooked up with always treated you like you were their competition, like you would take him away from them.

Which, fair, you could if you wanted. If you faked an injury or being sick, Rafe would immediately drop them to get you home.

But he’d never want you the way he wanted them. Yes, you knew he loved you, and yes he was your best friend, but you couldn’t help but want more. Maybe that was selfish. You let out a small sigh, leaning your head on Kelce’s shoulder, missing the way he glanced at Topper. Lucky for you, they decided against pushing it. Taking a sip from your drink, you tried not to think about Monique and Rafe. It didn’t help that the vodka and the joint were starting to work, spreading into your system, making you feel all warm and woozy, your head cloudy.

Your eyebrows shot up when Rafe suddenly appeared, squeezing himself between you and the armrest, his hair disheveled. You were still stewing, looking at him with a crease on your forehead.

“That was quick,” you noted. “Where did you leave Moany?” You couldn’t help but ask, putting emphasis on her nickname.

Rafe only shook his head, plucking your cup out of your hand to take a big gulp.

“That man is traumatized,” Kelce pointed out, nodding in understanding like he didn’t need any further explanation.

“Wait, Monique Colver?” Topper asked. “She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

Rafe held up his hand, stopping him. “Yes, but that wasn’t the problem.”

You rolled your eyes, already knowing what was coming. He was such a drama queen sometimes.

“What did she do?”

Rafe didn’t answer, taking another sip of the drink, before he winced. “She told me to call her precious.”

“What?!”

“HUH??”

“Ew!”

“You know what’s the worst?” Rafe groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “I didn’t even get off.”

“That’s your biggest problem??”

He rolled his eyes at you, shifting on the sofa. “Pretty big, yeah.”

“Ugh.”

“Can we get back to Monique wanting you to call her precious?” Kelce interjected. “Did Rafe call you precious in front of her?”

“Yes, very clearly. There’s no way she didn’t hear,” you replied.

“Maybe she hates your guts and she wanted to roleplay being you while Rafe abuses her in a sex-way.”

“Kelce, literally never open your mouth again,” you groaned, covering your ears with your hands, while Topper cracked up, Rafe only pulled a face.

“It makes sense,” Topper insisted. “Like, precious is the only girl who’s been around us, or well, Rafe, constantly. You know, apart from Sarah and Wheezie. Maybe that was Monique’s way of telling you she wants to be your girlfriend.”

“What?” Rafe asked, his forehead creased.

You snorted, shaking your head. “You’re giving her way too much credit, I think she’s just weird.”

“You’re biased,” Topper pointed out, reaching behind Kelce’s to boop you on the head. “I don’t think you’ve ever liked any of the girls Rafe hooked up with.”

“Ugh, what’s there to like? They either act like I’m invisible or are passive aggressive bitches,” you huffed, smacking his hand away. Rafe snickered, throwing an arm around your shoulder to pull you close, pressing a kiss on your head.

“They’re jus’ jealous, cuz you’re the only girl I keep around.”

“Get off me,” you grumbled, your cheeks warming regardless. Rafe knew how to make you feel special.

Kelce yawned, stretching his arms, laying one of them on top of Rafe’s arm around your shoulder. “This party sucks. And I’m starving.”

“I’m so down for tacos right now, do you think Mateo’s still open?” Topper asked, sitting up straight because if there was one thing he took seriously, it was tacos.

“It’s two am on a Saturday,” you pointed out, and his shoulders sagged. You exchanged looks with Rafe, a grin growing on your face. “His truck is definitely still open.”

“Alright!” Topper cheered, jumping up. “Let’s go then!”

He dragged the rest of you off of the couch, herding you through the backyard and to the car, all the while laughing and joking around. You ignored the dirty looks you received from others as you got into the passenger seat, Rafe getting into the driver’s seat of his truck.

It didn’t take long until Rafe pulled up into the parking lot where Mateo’s food truck was parked, the four of you tumbling out of the car, Topper nearly falling flat on his face as he sprinted to the food truck. The light was still on, with faint Spanish music playing in the background.

“If it isn’t my four favorite Kooks,” Mate said, wiping the counter with a towel, before throwing it over his shoulder, eyeing you expectantly as you stood in a row in front of him. “Can I help you?”

“Do you have any carne asada tacos?” Kelce asked, peering over the display.

“Even four would be enough,” Topper added, wringing his hands nervously.

Mateo sighed and you’d already come to terms with having to go to bed with a taco craving, before he grinned at you, shaking his head fondly.

“Grab some drinks and have some patience, I’ll feed you in a second.”

Ten minutes later, the four of you were chowing down on some tacos, washing it down with ice-cold cans of coke.

“Fuck, I so needed this,” Topper moaned, biting into his third taco and you rolled your eyes at him, dabbing at your mouth with a napkin.

“Get it together Top.”

Rafe nudged you with his knee, giving you a look. “Give him a break, I know you’ve been craving some tacos as well,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, which made you pull a face.

“Eurgh, please use a napkin you slob.”

You pushed the stack of napkins in his direction and he only grinned at you, picking up some off the stack to wipe his mouth.

“What would I do without you?” he teased, but you only rolled your eyes fondly, picking up some nachos.

“Whatever, eat your damn taco.”

Rafe squeezed your wrist with his clean hand, and you only leaned your head on his shoulder, starting to zone out when they started talking about some new boat, just enjoying their company. Honestly, you were glad you had them. Even if they were boys, incredibly dumb, and lacked a little tact sometimes, you wouldn’t trade it for the world. You glanced down, where your legs were pressed against Rafe’s as you sat next to each other on the picnic bench, just like always.

Maybe, you thought to yourself, maybe this was enough.

“You good?” Rafe asked, raising a brow at you, taco halfway into his mouth.

“Yep, ‘m perfect.”

It had to be.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author's note: tell me what you think pls!!!

🏷️list: @maybankslover

[sanguineterrain]

This is not on the prompt list(s), but I’ve been inspired by the phrase “This is for your own good.” and could we have a debut Red Hood Jason saying this to Vigilante!Reader, who was also his pre-death lover, as he’s keeping her prisoner in one of his bases so that she won’t be caught in the crossfire?

OOH. interesting prompt. I haven't really written a darker jason 😏 thanks anon! hope you like.

jason todd x gn!reader. DARK THEMES. drugging, toxic relationship, codependency, chain restraints, knife threats (not from jason). what would happen if jason's best traits (protecting the people he loves, prioritizing safety) manifested in the worst way?

****

"This is for your own good, baby."

You pull at your chains, making them clink against the floor. You snarl as he steps back.

"This is crazy, Jason! Let me go!"

Jason looks at you in sympathy. It pains him to see you like this; Jason never wants to do anything that'll frighten or upset you. Your comfort and happiness always precede his. He'd put a gun into his mouth without hesitation if it would save you.

But he means it: this really is for your own good.

"I thought you were better than this," you say savagely. "I thought you of all people would understand how wrong this is."

"I know it's wrong," Jason says quietly. "I know I'm a bastard and fucked in the head. I know I don't deserve ya. But this is the only way. You won't stop going out there. You're too sweet for this city. It'll tear you apart, and I won't let that happen."

"That isn't your decision to make, Jason!" you say, squirming in your restraints.

You take a deep breath. The Bats only respond to logic when they're this deep in paranoia. You have to appeal to that.

"Jason, listen to me. I know you're scared of me getting hurt, but I know what I'm doing. I've done this for a long time, just like you—"

"And that's exactly where the danger lies. Things go wrong all the time, no matter how long you've been out there. I'm expendable. You're not."

Jason tugs once, twice, three times on your ankles and wrists. Satisfied, he moves on to the chain around your waist that's connected to the wall. It gives you a walking range of about five feet before you're yanked back. Jason had fussed about bedsores, and what keeping you in a bed would do to your range of motion. This was his compromise.

I'm not a monster, he'd insisted. I don't want to hurt you.

"Jason, please," you say. He starts to walk away and you chase him. The wall chain pulls and you land on your knees. Jason stops, looking down at you. You start to cry.

"Jason, please, please! Please don't leave me like this," you say, reaching with bound hands to grab his pant leg. "Please. This isn't right. I'm not a doll for your keeping!"

"I don't think of you as a doll," Jason says, kneeling in front of you. He holds your cheek and wipes a tear with a gloved thumb. "Oh, sweetheart, don't cry. Please don't cry. Hate to see it. I won't keep you like this forever. 'S just until I finish up in Gotham. Then we can go away from all this. Live normal lives."

"This is the life I want to live!" you shout, pawing at his clothes. "Let me go, Jason, let me go!"

"Baby. Hey, hey. You're gonna work yourself into a frenzy. Y'want something to calm you down? Make y'feel nice and sleepy."

Your blood turns to ice. No. No drugs. If Jason drugs you now, there's no telling when or if he'll stop. This is a man who was trained by Batman. You're sure he knows about every drug there's to know about.

You shake your head, your crying becoming quiet blubbering. "No. N-no drugs. Please."

He pets your forehead. "'Kay. No drugs, baby. 'S okay, see? I'll be back in a few hours and then we can eat and I'll draw you a bubble bath. Those are your favorite, remember?"

Jason kisses your salty cheek and stands, putting on his helmet. Like this, looming over you, in full Hood gear, Jason is terrifying. The reminder strikes you again, how capable and deadly your lover is.

Jason leans in and pets your cheek. "So pretty. Love you so much. Won't let anything happen to you, baby."

You watch, defeated, as Jason leaves, locking the door behind him. You listen for the sound of the lock clicking.

Then you get to work on finding an escape.

****

You keep your breathing silent as you wait. Your limbs ache from how long you've been crouched in hiding, but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters except escaping.

The door opens and shuts. Jason quietly removes his boots and helmet, surveying the apartment like always. He sets a plastic bag on the coffee table. The smell of Thai food fills the apartment.

"Baby? Hey, I'm home. Brought your favorite takeout."

You wait until he walks by your spot behind the TV. Then you strike.

You take Jason down to the floor with a move that only works due to your element of surprise. Then you hold a dagger to his neck, the cold metal pressed flat.

Jason regards you calmly, hands at his sides. You pant furiously, pressing the blade warningly.

"Let me go," you order. "I won't be chained up like that."

"I see," he says, and the way he says it is scarily reminiscent of Batman. You keep that to yourself.

"I mean it, Jason. You can't do that. I'll—I'll call someone on you. Bruce, Clark, Dick. Somebody."

"Alright." Jason holds up his hands slowly. You watch the movement, nerves raw. "Alright. 'S okay. Just breathe. You're upset, I get that."

"I don't—I don't wanna hurt you," you say, squeezing the dagger harder. Your hand cramps in protest. "But if you make me..."

Jason nods. "Yeah, baby. I know. 'S okay. We can fix it. 'M not mad."

"Don't talk to me like that," you snap. "I'm not stupid, Jay. Not stupid."

"I know, sweetheart. I know you're not stupid. I don't think you are. Y'wanna cut me? Feel like hurtin'?" He leans into the blade, breathing steady as a river. "Go on, honey. I heal quick. You need to do it, take it out on me."

The thought of hurting Jason makes you sick. For all of his misguided protection, he hasn't hurt you. Hasn't laid a hand on you or shouted at you. Every form of restraint is as gentle as possible.

"No," you say, voice wobbly. "I-I don't wanna hurt you. Please don't make me."

Jason strokes your arm with his thumb. "No, I won't. You'll never have to hurt anybody. And I'll never let you get hurt either. 'S okay. You're safe with me. 'S me, just Jay."

Jason's hand wraps around the wrist with the knife. You stiffen, and the blade slips. A thin line of blood beads on his neck. He loosens his grip.

"Okay," he says. "Alright. You're safe."

"I don't wanna be chained," you say, tears in your eyes. "I can't be chained. I'll go fucking crazy, Jason."

"I know. I'm sorry. We don't have to do chains."

Your heart hammers in your chest. But Jason is nothing but calm. Blood sluggishly drips down his neck. Your eyes widen.

"I'm sorry," you say, reaching for his neck. "I'm sorry, Jaybird, I didn't mean—"

"I know." He catches your hand. "Shh, shh. That's okay. 'S just a scratch. It was an accident, baby, that's all."

Tears fall down your cheeks. "I don't wanna hurt you."

"I know." Jason slips the knife out of your hand. He slides it away. You collapse into his embrace.

"I can do it," you say, sobbing. "I can go out there, Jay. Please just believe me. Please trust me. You trusted me before."

Jason cradles the back of your head. He slots you between his legs and rocks back and forth. You put your arms around him. His heart is an even thump against your ear.

Finally, you've gotten through to him. Jason isn't completely gone after all.

"Don't worry," he says. "Don't worry, 's okay. It'll all be fine. I know my mistake. I'll be better. It'll be better for us."

Something pricks your neck.

Hope sinks like a rock in your stomach. You squirm, but Jason holds fast, legs trapping yours. You whale on his shoulders with your fists. He holds your biceps, expression sorrowful.

"Baby—"

"No, you promised. You promised!" you scream. "You promised me!"

"It's just to soothe your nerves, honey. Please don't—"

You lunge for the knife, ready to do some serious damage. Jason tackles you before you can. He traps you on the floor, holding you down in a full lock. He holds your arms to your sides, and your legs are pinned to the floor. It's perhaps the gentlest restraint you've ever experienced. You scream and thrash, but it's no use.

"You monster! You're no better than any of them!"

"Sorry, 'm sorry," Jason says. No matter how much you fight, his grip won't budge. You've never been a match for Jason's strength or ability.

"I hate you! You don't love me!"

"I do, I do love you." Jason rests his forehead against your spine. "Christ, your life means more than mine. I won't lose you. You're the only one who matters."

His words are muffled. Your world is going fuzzy. The drug is kicking in.

"You promised," you say weakly, wiggling in one last attempt.

Jason tucks his face into your neck as you fall unconscious.

"I'll keep you safe," he says, lips on your neck. "No matter what."