#but this is part of why i sort of am always like...lol.

[fideidefenswhore]

Sorry for bothering you but I would like to know ,what is your interpretation of Elizabeth ,Edward and Mary’s relantionship? I heard a lot of stuff and I wanna know your opinion

Also ,the quote about you picking Anne for a girl’s night ,in which book it is ?

Aaah, errrm...again, I might update this in more detail later, because I have a lot of thoughts on this. (He said, before going Full Meta Pretentious)

And you are never bothering me. Sometimes I have spoons, and sometimes I don't.

Broad strokes:

Mary had conditional affection for her siblings so long as she did not see them as a threat, and so long as they were not significantly empowered. So, this is why she seems to have had more tenderness towards Edward while he was Prince rather than King, why she seems to have not had affection for Elizabeth until she was disempowered in 1536 (and then, lost it, once Elizabeth was her own heir and very beloved by the people).

She was also holding, as one of the Acts during her reign makes clear, the belief that they were bastards, and she was not. So she always felt an inherent superiority towards them that's underlying the affection...it's a sort of patronizing affection, really. It's not less authentic for being so, just more complex. There's also the likelihood that this has been nurtured by her faction, who seems to have held a long bitterness towards the memory of AB in the existence of Elizabeth, to the literal death-- among Margaret Pole's last words were an exhortation for those in attendance to her execution to pray for the lives and souls of the King, Prince Edward, and Princess Mary...Elizabeth was omitted. Did she believe she was not the King's daughter, or was this an implication that Edward & Mary were the only 'legitimate' children? Had Fitzroy been alive during this time, we could maybe better understand her intent behind this, had he been omitted as well, unfortunately we don't know.

Edward believed himself superior to both his sisters, but seems to have been more patronizing towards Mary, despite being the younger, even before becoming King. There's not an equivalent letter about Elizabeth to the one he wrote about Mary, where he's scolding her for dancing so much and such. But, he's in-waiting to becoming the most important man in the kingdom (arguably, he is that, as his father is the past, and he's the future), and has been told that it's his place to be the moral standard and instruct his future subjects. This is all part and parcel of that, although one wonders if there's some insecurity underlying all this, because Edward was very intelligent, and he wouldn't have been unaware that much of Catholic Europe believed Mary was legitimate.

Elizabeth he's closer to in age, Elizabeth he's brought up with, Elizabeth he's educated alongside. Elizabeth was always more conformable than Mary, and seems to have genuinely revered him both as Prince and as King. So, Edward's affection for Elizabeth was probably less complex than his for Mary (which turned mainly to resentment). On the other hand, he did eventually write her out of the succession, which is where the superiority comes in (although we don't know if he would have done so in any context...had Elizabeth married a Protestant, had Elizabeth had a/ child/ren by 1553-- specifically and 'better', a son-- I think it's entirely plausible he would have made her, at the least, regent to her child in his will).

Onto Elizabeth...Elizabeth believed herself Mary's superior insofar as intellect, and perhaps even her equal or better, insofar as birth. She might have believed that by the terms of her father's Succession Act (one condition of which was, Mary would maintain the Henrician settlement insofar as the Anglican Church-- something Mary reversed), she was entitled to the throne. Mary was both her persecutor and savior: she arrested her, but she also released her. She then tried to place many conditions upon her freedom, including marriage to men of Mary and Philip's choice, not Elizabeth's. Ultimately, she did not disinherit her, and Elizabeth's transfer to power was as smooth as it was, in large part, because Mary relented and maintained her as heir.

They were also all (although not equally) bonded through being motherless, and being completely orphaned at the same time, also, although at very different stages in their lives. Mary is the only one that truly had any memory of her own mother, was this something they envied? Edward was the only one that truly had the memory of his mother openly honored and revered, was this something his sisters envied? For Elizabeth and Edward, it's another bonding point, although probably not ever one made explicit, or actually discussed: they're off-center, they are only half of what they 'should' or 'would' have been, because half of what made them is no longer there. Did they have this sense that neither could escape, of an absent filial imprint, of the palimpsest of what was there before, desperately searching fresh ink? Of absent or unfulfilled identity, of absent maternal protection?

What do you do when your father is your god? How do you comprehend your world when he's not there anymore?

|

That's from an interview of both Julia Fox & John Guy, about their dually authored book, Hunting the Falcon. The quote is about AB, although personally if I said it, it would apply to Anne of Cleves, as well.

[icewindandboringhorror]

What would you choose? :0c

(note: original image is from HERE (link) - but I edited it to add a wider variety of options.. also added $3 extra to the total, even though I know that makes it more uneven lol, I thought if you're adding 10 whole extra items, the money to spend should at least be increased slightly, if that makes sense..)

[kaidanalenkosprmanager]

Sophie Shepard & Kaidan Alenko (ME1) 1/?

MIRA'S MORE CANON ME1 "After everything that happened with Zaeed, Caleston, and the Villa? I think need to tell you a few things about BAaT." "Well, after everything that happened with Zaeed, Caleston, and the Villa? I think I might owe you an explanation about how I really know Anderson." AKA: Zaeed Massani and the case of the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad message ping. :) Mass Effect: Legendary Edition (2021)

[arolesbianism]

Sometimes I just look at Isabeau and just know that if isat came out and I got into it when I was like 16 he would be my favorite character and I would've gone absolutely buck wild over this man and feel like he was laser targeting me. But alas Odile has a grip of steel on me rn due to her virtue of being a middle aged woman

[weenhands]

.

[ahgasegotarmy116]

It's Hard to Believe | Jungkook One Shot

Summary: Getting pregnant with your best friend's baby definetly wasn't a part of the plan... Pairing: f!Reader x Jungkook (fwb, f2l) Word Count: 2.7k Warnings: A tiny bit of explicit and suggestive language but nothing crazy a/n: This is something I started writing at like midnight and it's kinda shit but I thought I might as well post it since I haven't posted in a while (Like five days short of a month wtf?!?!? How has it been that long?!?!) (I just barely checked rn lmao my bad 🥲) p.s. I kinda wanna do a full on series on a concept like this but it'll be different and less fluffy but that won't be happening for a long ass time but yeah lol Requested by a lovely anon 💜

"How am I supposed to tell him?" I ask my friend Sam for the millionth time since I found out. "Y/n just tell him. You guys have been friends for how long?" she asks and it's like I'm having deja vu from both of our responses. "Like ten years" I mumble and pull my sweatshirt sleeves down over my hands in an effort to stop my nervous fiddling but it only makes it worse. 

"Right and you guys have been messing around with each other for over a year now, maybe even more...I don't wanna know" she says while holding her hand up in a way to assure me that she doesn't need the details. "Just tell him. If he's as great of a guy as you keep on telling me he is then I promise everything will be okay" she says and places a hand on my shoulder before she gets up off my couch. 

"Where are you going?" I ask while she shrugs on her jacket. "Didn't you say he's supposed to be here around five?" she asks and I nod my head, checking the clock and seeing that it's already 4:30. 

"Yeah...are you sure you don't wanna stay and say hi?" I ask and she glares at me. "Let me know what his response is to that bun in the oven and then we'll talk. I wanna figure out if he's an asshole or not before I decide to waste anytime on him" she says while lacing up her shoes. 

"Promise me you'll tell him tonight?" she asks and lifts up her hood, getting ready to shield herself from the pouring rain outside. I nod my head reluctantly, that being way more progress than I've made for the past few weeks since I found out. "I promise" I utter under my breath and she smiles, pulling me in for a bone crushing hug. 

"Text me if you need me" she says, worried for what might happen but hoping for the best. "I will...thanks" I whisper and she nods her head before walking out of my door and turning slightly and waving to offer me one last farewell.

I close the door after I see her get into her car and lean my back up against it, steadying myself for a second and taking deep breaths, trying to stop my racing heartbeat before pushing off of it and tidying up before Jungkook gets here to distract myself. 

Sam has been the only one I've been able to count on and honestly the only person I can trust since I haven't told anyone else. She was the one I called when I missed my period and she's the one who brought me a pregnancy test...and then when out and bought me ten more because I couldn't actually grasp the concept that I was pregnant...am pregnant.

Jungkook and I have always been careful and taken all the necessary steps to keep this from happening but I guess we got careless this time. 

Through out this whole arrangement we've made it very clear to each other that we're not sleeping with anyone else but neither of us are looking for any sort of commitment either so that's why this has gone on for so long. 

Like it or not though we're going to be committed to each other in one way or another no matter what because I'm keeping this baby. No matter what he says I'm keeping them. 

Jungkook is my best friend, the one person who has been there for me through everything. He's seen me at all of my highest highs and especially at my lowest lows and no matter what he's never made me feel shitty about it. I know he's not the kind of guy that'll turn on you because of something like this but I can't help but still feel terrified. 

This wasn't supposed to happen but even if this child wasn't made with love from his side...it was made with love from mine. 

I don't know how long it's been since I fell in love with him but I know I shouldn't have said yes to this whole fuck buddy ordeal. I just couldn't stand the thought of him being with someone else so when he offered up the idea I said yes.

I figured that if this was a way to prevent him from getting his heart broken by all those sorry excuses of girlfriends he's had in the past then I guess I'll be okay with breaking mine.

He's been acting different lately though. He's been a lot touchier, asking to come over more often, going out of his way to help me with things, offering to feed me all the time and all of it is making me feel like he already knows. 

Does he know? Have I started showing already? I haven't really noticed a difference in my body yet but he looks at me naked a lot more often than I pay attention to myself naked so I mean I guess he could've noticed right? 

Only one way to find out though...

A half an hour later I hear him take out his keys and unlock my door and soon I'm greeted with a smile that tugs at my heartstrings. 

"Hi baby" he says, using that pet name he's become very fond of since this whole ordeal started. The sound of it after finding out I'm pregnant with his baby has made me a little uncomfortable though since I haven't told him yet. 

Don't get me wrong I love it when he calls me that but I can't help but think that if this goes south that he won't ever call me that again. 

Maybe the hormones have started to scramble my brain already because those uncomfortable feelings are quickly thrown away when I take in the sight of him after he shrugs off his rain coat. A simple black baggy hoodie and jeans engulf his form and the comfy sight just makes me want to curl up in bed with him and forget about everything and everyone.

Just him and I, it's always been him and I. I just don't know if this little one is going to change things. 

I place a hand on my stomach for a second as a way to gain some strength from my itty bitty baby before finally working up the courage to greet him.

"Hi" I greet him softly, walking over to where he's stopped to take off his shoes and when he looks back up at me he smiles again and kisses me. I sigh into it, savoring it for just a little bit longer and when it finally breaks he looks down at me with concern now written all over his face. 

"Are you okay?" he asks, sensing that something's off right away from the just the small change in the way I kissed him. I hesitate for a second then simply hold out my hand for him to take and he does, following behind me as I lead him over to my couch. 

Getting this over with sooner rather than later is my best option right now so there's no reason to delay. 

He needs to know, he deserves to know.

We sit there in silence, longer than he would like us to since I can tell how tense his body has gotten in a matter of minutes. "Y/n you're scaring me" he whispers, not wanting to pressure me but relaying his feelings. 

I take a couple more deep breaths before finally starting. "I need you to listen to me and I need you to please not speak until I'm finished" I say while looking down at my lap, not being able to meet his eyes. 

He murmurs a soft 'okay' and waits for me to continue, taking one of my hands and placing it in his lap. He needs some form of physical contact to keep him grounded since he's not too sure what to expect and I let him, knowing I need some reassurance too. 

Even if I don't know what his reaction is gonna be, in this moment I need it more than ever.

"I guess there's really no right way to go about saying this because this wasn't supposed to happen so I'm just gonna come out and say it..." I start off and he squeezes my hand, encouraging me to keep going. 

"I missed my period...over a month ago...and I haven't had it since then" I say and finally look up at him where he has an unsure expression. It's not one that's mad or disappointed with what I've said thus far which is a good thing but more like he's trying hard to hold himself back so he can keep that promise. 

His hold on my hand hasn't loosened, in fact it's gotten even tighter and that gives me hope that we'll work this out so I take another deep breath before continuing. 

"I tried to kid myself into thinking that it was late but when another week passed by I got nervous. I asked Sam to get me a test and it came out positive. I didn't believe it and thought it was a false positive and so to ease my mind she went a bought ten more from a bunch of different brands and...all of them came out positive" I say and he still looks at me with that same expression, waiting for me to give him the okay to speak and so I do. 

"How long have you known?" are the first words out of his mouth and although they're not negative they aren't necessarily positive either. "About a month now" I say and he nods his head, taking another second or two to formulate what he's gonna say next. 

"I'll support you no matter what you decide" he says and I let out a breath I didn't even know I had been holding in. "I wanna keep it" I say and he nods his head and smiles softly at first and then as the seconds go by it gets wider and wider making my heart beat faster. 

"Am I allowed to get excited now?" he whispers and I can't help but chuckle as tears start to prickle my eyes and give him a nod. "You're excited?" I say, my whole being slowly overcome with emotion. 

"How could I not be?" he scoffs playfully but that answer has me confused. "But Jungkook we're not together. I mean we're not in a relationship, we're just friends" I explain and there's a playful glint in his eyes after I say that that's making me even more nervous.

"You wanna know what I thought you were gonna tell me?" he offers up, slightly changing topics but I look at him in a way to urge him to continue. "I thought you were gonna break up with me" he says and I smile, "Jungkook we're not together. How could I break up with you?" I chuckle in disbelief. 

"Correction, I thought you were gonna break up with me before I even got the chance to ask you to be my girlfriend" he says with a grin and my jaw drops, the dots all connecting as to why he's been acting so different lately. "You were gonna ask me to be your girlfriend?" I utter quietly as if we were in a crowed room and I had a secret for just the two of us.

"I had actually planned on asking you tonight" he explains, walking over to where he had placed his backpack on the floor, taking out a bouquet of slightly squished flowers. "Sorry they're all beat up. I forgot and rode my bike over here so I didn't really have any other option but to put them in there" he says almost as if he was nervous, rubbing the back of his neck and it's then that I notice how pink his ears have gotten. 

He is nervous

I take them from him and smile, waiting for him to say it but he simply stands there and admires me and I can't help but laugh. "What so funny? I told you what happened to them" he utters through pouty lips which only makes me laugh more. "No, no it's not the flowers it's just that...don't you have something to say?" I ask, calming down my chuckles and when he looks at me with the same confused expression I have to try my hardest to keep the laughter at bay. 

"Do you have something you would like to ask me Jungkook" I rephrase it and after a second his lips go from a pout to the shape of an 'O' as he's figured it out. "Oh um, yeah, right. Well I um" he starts off, rubbing the back of his neck again while stuttering and trying to find the words and after struggling for a second I decide to poke fun at him again. 

"Jungkook I am literally carrying your child and you're too afraid to ask me to be your girlfriend?" I laugh, giving him a slight reality check which he scoffs at before responding. 

"I was trying to remember what I had rehearsed to say to you but now that you're being a little brat I guess you'll never get to know all the nice things I was gonna say" he retorts, his voice suddenly taking on a darker tone that sends a shiver through my body and he smirks when he sees my reaction to it. 

He cups my face and rubs his thumb along my bottom lip, making them part and he leans in as if he was going to kiss me but stops just shy of my lips. "Will you be my girlfriend?" he whispers, nudging his nose against mine and making me smile. 

"I'll have to think about that" I play coy with him which he chuckles at. "You know if you weren't pregnant right now I would have thrown you over my lap for that smart mouth" he warns and I smile before leaning in and kissing him for just a second before pulling back. 

"Yes I'll be your girlfriend" I say and nudge my nose against his as well and before I can register it my back is on the couch and his lips are pressed against mine, the kiss not rushed but full of so many words that have yet to be said and he gives in, not being able to hold it in anymore.

"I love you" he says, pulling back and looking down at me to see my expression which is completely dumbfounded to say the least. "You what?" I ask and he chuckles, "Is it really that hard to believe?" he points out and I guess now that I think about it it really isn't.

"I guess we've both been in love with each other for a while now huh?" I smile and his eyes light up at my round about confession. "Say it" he says, and I can feel my cheeks heating up. I hadn't planned on actually saying those three words to him even though I've felt them for so long but I don't want to hold them back anymore. 

"I love you" I whisper and he smiles, "Say it again" he repeats, clearly not believing it just yet. "I love you Jungkook" I say and the little switch up with attaching his name to the end darkens his gaze. "I guess there's no chance in me getting you pregnant a second time right now huh?" he asks, sliding his hand up my thigh and I giggle. 

"No I think that's pretty much impossible but the odds are never zero" I say and he rolls his eyes. "I'm trying to tell you that I wanna hit it raw" he states the obvious while rolling his eyes. "I know I know...and the answer is yes Daddy" I tease, testing to see how that word affects him now that he knows.

He tongues his cheek at that making me bite my lip, knowing that's gonna be even more of a trigger word for him from now on. "Daddy huh? Well I guess that title is a little more fitting now isn't it?" 

Taglist: @jkslipppiercing @trina864 @kaitieskidmore97 @goddesofimortality @coolbluedude @coralmusicblaze @whoa-jo @00frenchfries00 @pastelpinkjoon @joonwater (Rest of the tags will be done in the reblogs 💜)

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[pathologicalreid]

merry christmas, please don't call | s.r.

in which Spencer pens an email to you, since you've already blocked his phone number

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: nondescript break up, described as spencer's fault, reader is mentioned to have worn lipstick, yearning, word count: 907 a/n: and the worst part is!!! that we both know!!!!! we are doing kind of an unofficial margotmas/reidmas! really i've just been building up christmas ideas for a while lol

To: xreader@gmail.com From: Spencer.Reid@gmail.com Subject: Merry Christmas

Hey,

Spencer shook his head, that was too casual.

Good afternoon,

Much too formal.

Hello,

Too rigid.

Darling,

I passed by the house that you told me you adored. It used to be your dream house; you’d always show me the Zillow listing whenever you were browsing. The owners didn’t put up their Christmas lights this year, and it looks like they’re getting ready to sell. I haven’t been online to check the listing, that was always your thing rather than mine.

Do you remember the house? It had four bedrooms for our kids to sleep in and a library with stained-glass windows. You always told me the stained-glass windows were your favorite feature of my apartment. I keep it covered now; the colored glass just serves as a painful reminder of you.  

Emily called me last week. I suppose no one told her that we weren’t together anymore because she asked what our holiday plans were. I haven’t made any since you left. I’m finding myself hopeful that we get called on a case over Christmas so that I don’t need to be surrounded by the world celebrating while I continue to wallow in the memories of you and me.

That’s all I have now: memories. We made so many of them over the course of three years that I don’t know what to do with them. I’ve always had the sneaking suspicion that having an eidetic memory is a curse just as much as it is a blessing, but with you gone, I know it’s more of a curse. I see you when I close my eyes as if your features have been permanently tattooed on the back of my eyelids, but when my eyes are open, everything is exponentially worse.

You left in such a hurry, so you were bound to leave a few things behind. When I went to make a cup of coffee and found one of your mugs in my cabinet, JJ and Penelope had to practically scrape me off the kitchen floor. There was still a lipstick smudge on it, a piece of our history the dishwasher couldn’t quite wash off. Your necklace was on the bedside table, though maybe that was left behind on purpose. I wish we could go back to the day I gave it to you, you could wear the same green dress, and maybe work wouldn’t get in the way. If I could, I’d call you to ask why you left it behind, but you’ve blocked my number.

There was no need for you to leave me things to remember you by, how could I ever forget you?

I’ve been finding myself grateful that you got so close with Garcia during our relationship, she doesn’t give me any explicit details on your life when she updates me. I never ask, but she knows I want to hear.

It’s a rather odd phenomenon to have once had someone who you shared everything with, only to one day find they want nothing to do with you. I always find myself reaching for my phone to send to a message, or leaning over to show you a line in my book, but you’re not there anymore. I don’t hold any malice in my heart for you, even after you called it all off. My biggest regret is that I couldn’t be the boyfriend that you needed, and I’m proud of you for realizing you wanted someone better. I’m sorry I couldn’t be better.

Maybe I still have some growing up to do. There might be some sort of emotional stunting as a result of my less-than-orthodox upbringing and education, which makes sense when you consider two of my most common nicknames, “boy genius” and “kid.” One day I could find myself in the same place you were, ready for more, but maybe then I’ll be with someone who is ready for the same things as I am. She’ll never be you though. You’ll always hold that special place in my heart.

Speaking of my upbringing, my mom keeps asking about you. Each time we talk on the phone, she asks if she can talk to you, but I’ve been telling her that you’re still working or are otherwise preoccupied. I know I shouldn’t lie to her, but if I tell her, she’ll inevitably forget, and I’ll be forced to recount the story of how I lost the best thing to ever happen to me forever. That would be my eternal damnation. There’s Sisyphus and Tantalus and Spencer Reid, slowly becoming nothing but a myth. I wonder if I’m a story that you tell your friends at O’Keefe’s.

I go there sometimes, just to see if I can catch your gaze, but you’re never there.

I know this is your favorite holiday, and I don’t intend to ruin your holidays with my message. I suppose I just needed to see if you still dream about that house. To see if you still dream of me the way I dream of you.

Merry Christmas,

Spencer

He clicked send nervously, ready to snap his work-issued laptop shut when it chirped with a notification. Surely you hadn’t responded that quickly. Spencer opened his inbox once more, checking the latest email.

To: Spencer.Reid@gmail.com From: mailer-daemon@googlemail.com Subject: Delivery Status Notification (Failure)

Message blocked.

Your message to xreader@gmail.com has been blocked. See technical details below for more information.

[sordidmusings]

jealousy headcanons and scenarios r my kryptonite! especially for emotionally constipated characters lol. for shanks, mihawk, and crocodile seeing their crush interacting with someone that turns out to be said crush's ex? there's chemistry between the exes and are those lingering looks he's seeing?! 🫢

OOOOOOOO GOOD CHOICES GOOD CHOICES 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻 I must say I am weak for some jealousy too 💀 why does it have to be so hot in fiction huh??? Or make me feel wanted????? Rude 😤

Three jealous DILFs coming right up 🫡

Jealousy from Shanks, Mihawk, and Sir Crocodile

Your ex comes back into your life and stirs up some feelings - How are these men taking it?

Form this took: started as a bulleted headcanons but then became a scenario/ficlet for each ahsdjajskdajs

Word count: Shanks - 1.1 k, Mihawk - 1.2 k, Croc - 1.2 k

Shanks

The clinging and diverting type

This mf tries to be sneaky about it

Key word: tries

It’s no secret that Shanks is the jovial sort and that his welcome and cheer extend easily to newcomers. However, something curious happens when the next one joins your large table.

You always have at least a part of Shanks’ attention, so the way you shift uncomfortably and curl slightly in on yourself is not going to go unnoticed. You catch yourself and relax back into your usual posture, but Shanks knows you well enough to see there’s a posed touch to all your expressions. It tames them from the genuine displays of your thoughts and emotions that Shanks so loves into something more suited to a diplomat seeking favor. Now that had him wary.

It took no genius to notice that each time a great laugh broke out your eyes would sweep to that newcomer to take them in, or how your would flicker your gaze over to them every time you had the spotlight, as if seeking approval.

Gods Shanks hopes that isn’t the case

Driven to seek comfort in your presence, Shanks leans into his affectionate nature to keep close to you. You can’t think too long on someone else with him constantly leaning into your space to whisper dumb jokes and silly observations. He made those laughs and he gets to enjoy them up close and personal. You may look to others but you always look back to him when he ventures to lay his hand on your shoulder or hand or thigh and give a happy, hearty squeeze before retreating. He relishes in the fact that you had been uncertain of his touch when you first met yet now you trust and even welcome his hand on you.

Shanks is burst right out of his bubble of avoidance when you suddenly jolt and sit straight, separating yourself from his side.

The cause of his sudden and very dire lack of you is that very same newcomer. The newcomer, who is leaning in so close to you. The newcomer, who now has all of your attention. The newcomer, who is giving you a smile that Shanks very much does not like. It’s very charming and holds a twinge of remorse that Shanks knows from experience would strike straight and true right to your heart

“I’m glad to see you in happier times. You look good,” they have the audacity to say, the words even seeping with honesty. Shanks isn't sure he focused on anything in his life as hard as he does on your reaction in this moment.

Your smile is breathtaking, one he isn't sure he’s seen before, all affection and understanding and a dusting of yearning. It turns his heart to goo right before it clamps it tight and squeezes, because that smile isn't for him. He needs that smile to be for him. His mouth is moving before the thought even sinks in.

“We do like to keep things cheerful here!” Shanks chuckles to the newcomer. He turns to you, making sure to catch your eye. “Life’s too short to anchor yourself to your sorrows.” Now back to the newcomer. “And this one-” an arm slips around your shoulders, hugging you to his warm side, “-helps keep it that way.”

The smile you give him isn’t quite as overflowing with emotion as the one you gave the newcomer, but he loves it all the same.

Unfortunately, that’s not the end of it and the newcomer actually sits down on your other side and insists on catching up. Shanks is a damn charmer though, and he knows it, so he’s not one to give up on keeping your attention through the night.

He stays in the conversation easily, not deterred by the newcomer outsider bringing up shared memories with you, even though they squeeze at his heart and lungs tighter and tighter. He uses it to get to know more of you, a part of him truly enjoying the new insights. However, a much larger part is simply set on keeping the reminiscing light instead of romantically charged.

As the time and drinks flow, his and the outsider's tactics get more obvious yet you get more oblivious, simply cruising on the comfy fuzz everything had taken on and enjoying the company. Your unintentional refusal to pick a favorite has both of them getting desperate and daring.

Try as they might, the outsider is clearly outmatched

By the end of the night you’re wearing Shanks like a perfume, he’s stuck to your skin at the heart of your body, chest always tight to your back or side, chin often hooked over your shoulder or on top of your head. His slight scruff tickling at your ear when he moves and talks is exceedingly distracting. So is the softness of his hair on your neck when he turns his head to bed his cheek into your shoulder and pull you a little tighter to him, saying its just 'cause he's a little sleepy and trying to get comfy. He unearths himself from his resting place only to seek it again every few minutes.

His arm is always around you when he wasn’t using it to drink (of course) or toy with you - tugging at your clothes for attention, tickling your sides to interrupt you, sweetly scratching your scalp to derail your train of thought, teasingly rubbing a thumb into your hip or thigh to feel you squirm.

Shanks is a handsy motherfucker (ironic right-), so you don’t take any of this as a proclamation of his love. The most you think is that it has just hit that point in your journey together where his vast appetite for partners has finally swept its way to focus on you.

You end the night giggling the whole stumbling way back to the ship, tucked into Shanks’ side. You manage to stay there despite being at the mercy of both of your swaying, constantly blending who’s supporting and who’s slipping. Your ex is far from your mind when Shanks tucks you in sweetly (well… sweetly to a drunk; in all reality you kinda flopped in, but he did make sure you were shoeless and properly under the blankets, and he even shuffled back in to put water, crackers, and medicine where you could reach).

Shanks does however have a flash of your ex in his mind when he's happily gloating to himself that he had won.

His last blurry thoughts are of how to make sure you and everyone else unquestionably knows that you are off limits. The unspoken claim understood by the crew while he works at winning you over doesn't seem to be enough anymore. Especially if that pesky ex comes sniffing around again. Maybe they just need a lesson in what staring down Conqueror’s Haki truly feels like.

Mihawk

The intimidating and biting type

Mihawk would likely be the most covert of these three, at least as far as your notice goes

Your ex has no questions about Mihawk’s dislike for them. With his reputation as emotionless and solitary, it’s not guaranteed that your ex will put two and two together to realize that Mihawk's dislike stems from their previous relationship with you. Even if Mihawk hints at it, they'll tell themselves that they're imagining things. It’s much more likely that they’ll think it’s because Mihawk is that way with all but the Few Exceptions, and they have definitely not made the cut.

It definitely didn’t help that they were a marine

Mihawk is already unhappy to see a marine on his doorstep, no doubt sent to yip at him about some nonsense or other that the admirals were in a twist over. That unhappiness quadruples when he hears you tentatively call to this marine by name, and then it multiplies again when the marine responds by breathing out your own name with shock and hope

This pest needs to be out of his castle quickly

Yet he can't bring himself to simply throw them out when you come over so disgustingly happy to see them. There were a few times where he'd interrupted or snuffed out your joy while adjusting to you joining his home, and he found the feeling it gave him insufferable. That's what forces him to let the pest in and guide them with you to the smaller dining room.

He’d simply have to find what the pest needs fast and expedite whatever catching up you two apparently must do.

That's easier said than done; you and the pest are insistent on taking time between flustered pleasantries to share uncertain smiles and lingering looks of longing in charged silence.

It's giving him the worst mood he'd had in years.

At first he tries to discourage this lingering with his mere presence. He knows he's capable of pumping out enough sheer displeasure into the air to knock out a squadron, so he keeps it to his other tools: body language that makes him feel larger than the room and a glare sharp enough to split hair. Both make the pest cringe and shy away, but the chance to gain your favor makes them push through it. Even though he hates it, Mihawk can't blame them.

Mihawk can tell that his mood is setting you on edge too - almost anyone would with the perturbed looks you've been sending his way - but that isn't technically taking your joy, so he doesn't back off.

In fact, he decides it's time to push even more.

He begins interjecting in your conversation, mostly with little insults to take the wind out of the pest's sails.

You aren't yet tipped off that there's something hiding behind his mood; he was never fond of braggarts so it isn't so out of the ordinary for him to humble someone. Of course, you wouldn't exactly call what your ex is doing "bragging" so much as filling you in on their growing career. They are actually relatively humble about it, clearly just excited to fill you in and not phrasing things to seek your praise.

Then Mihawk starts complimenting you.

Mihawk is not one to dish out praise. You've had to fight tooth and nail to get the mere drops of it you'd tasted so far, so his sudden highlighting of your positive traits trips your sensors. It isn't exactly alarm bells ringing, more it makes you feel like there's something you're missing. You figure it's the sudden disruption and old instincts from his Marine Hunter days cropping up.

You would have never guessed that his aim with his nitpicking and praising is to make sure your ex knows for a fact that you are out of their league. They don't deserve you. But he could.

No matter the reason though, you certainly relish in Mihawk calling you things such as "necessary for [his] castle", "smarter than those inane marine trials", "finally proficient and needing no distractions to ruin that", and "better company than a bunch of sea monkeys". Sure, from most anyone else they'd feel slightly insulting, but from everything you've so far seen of Mihawk that's a glowing review.

The uncanny nature of this whole interaction, from Mihawk's tank in mood to the sudden praise, keeps your focus away from your ever shrinking ex.

Mihawk is simply delighted to see your attention going to its rightful place, on him. You should be looking at him with such interest and joy. You should be seeking his approval; not some simpering swine's.

He figures he's been patient enough (it's been almost a whole ten minutes after all) and it is time to end this farce.

Mihawk stands from his spot and goes to sift through the wine rack. He returns with an above average vintage (even by his tastes) and two glasses. He sets them at the corner of the table so he can deftly open the wine. The silence as you both watch him work elates him.

The first glass is placed in front of his seat and swiftly filled. You watch the action with admiration for his fluid and confident motions. The pest watches with growing envy.

The second glass is filled while still sat in the corner, keeping its owner ambiguous.

The bottle leaves one hand and that glass enters the other, coming with Mihawk as he moves to stand behind your chair.

His full height set strongly in sharp shoulders and straight spine cuts a devilish figure behind you. Your ex's first impression was that he is haunting you, but there's some little whisper in their mind that, no, Mihawk is protecting you.

That whisper gets stronger as Mihawk leans forward over you, getting much too close to be polite while he places the wine glass down directly in front of you. His eyes hold the pest's with an air of warning the whole time.

Mihawk settles back upright, placing a hand on both carved corners decorating the back of your chair. The act seems clearly possessive. But surely Mihawk couldn't have found some special fondness for you?

You are none the wiser to Mihawk's antics behind you, too enraptured by the closeness of his reaching arm then too distracted checking out the color and aroma of your gifted wine.

Having at least enough pieces of a functional brain to pick up on that cue, the pest begins rushing out some excuses and makes to leave.

Kind as you are, you tell them they don't have to rush off, but they're adamant. You're a bit sad to see this chance meeting end so quickly, but your mind quickly settles on thinking it's for the best. Your memories of them are distant enough to be cherry picked and seeing them scamper off so easily reminds you that there are reasons you parted.

Mihawk chases escorts them out and returns to you looking much less belligerent and much more at ease. You figure it best to not risk ruining the positive turn by questioning it, yet you can't help but ask one thing.

"I usually have to pour my own wine from the kitchen's rack. What's the occasion?"

Mihawk takes a sip and the comfort of one of his favored wines coming over his senses coerces him into loosening his tongue.

"You've been good." Another sip and he thoughtfully adds, "I could give you more rewards."

Sir Crocodile

The assertive and analytical type

Despite Croc being a plotter, I see him as being quite direct in this situation

Ok yeah maybe he insists it’s because you can do better and you’re definitely above crawling back to an ex (“you broke up for a reason didn’t you?”)

But maybe he also takes this as his opportune moment to get you into his clutches.

Who could blame him when he feels the threat of such an unworthy little nobody working so hard to catch your eye.

Croc always keeps an eye on you, no matter what else demands his attention. Sure, there's an obsessive edge to it, but he just needs to know what you're up to - has to know you're safe near for when he needs you. You are the best assistant he's ever seen after all, and he's been through an army's worth. He's sure his new organization would've crumbled if you weren't there to balance out the clown and his circus monkeys constantly shooting themselves in the foot (sometimes literally).

Many of those circus monkeys were even stupid enough to try and approach you themselves. Luckily for him, you seem about as enthused on the idea of you having a partner as he is.

Which brings us back to his irritation that you haven't swatted that bug away from you. No, instead you seem to be rather tolerant of their buzzing. Maybe even fond.

That just won't do.

The crowds at this schmooze-fest, thrown to entice more pirates and criminals alike, part easily for his beeline to you.

It only irritates him even more that you don't notice him until you're swallowed by his shadow. You even have the audacity to look surprised when you turn to him.

And you truly are surprised - as far as you know there's no reason for Croc's usual grimace to turn into something so stormy, especially directed at you. It quickly jumps to your ex however and focuses that torrent there.

"I don't know you," Croc states gruffly.

"I'm-"

"Your name doesn't matter," Croc interrupts. "What do you do? Why are you here?"

And thus begins the interrogation. You can only watch perplexed as Sir Croc tugs every bit of information he could want out of your ex, making sure to cut off anything he didn't care to hear. That frustrated look and tone become more bored by the second. Every tone tells your ex that they're barely worth the breath to speak, causing them to shrink even faster than Sir Croc's anger did.

You catch their eye and send them a sympathetic smile, and then Croc moves on to you.

"And you," he starts roughly. He lets you sit in suspense while he drags those hooded purple eyes from the crown of your head to the toes of your shoes and back. "Why are you here?"

You're taken absolutely aback by the question, mouth flapping from a mix of shock and offense. You have quite a list of things you keep your eye on at these parties; did he want you to go down the whole thing? After a deep breath, you try, "To gather informationof and from possible allies and help build relationships?"

"Wrong."

Well, at least he let you finish your sentence. Time to try again.

"To make sure the night runs smoothly," you say much more surely. It's an apt description of your overall job.

"Wrong again." Yep, that grimace is now definitely a smirk. One that only widens when you purse your lips and stare him down. You notice the genuine amusement shining in Croc's eyes and relax a touch, content to let him guide this to whatever destination he has planned.

"Then please, Sir, tell me," you relent. "Why am I here?"

He takes a deep puff of his cigar before pulling it from his lips and watching the smoke swirl out with his exhale. You watch it too - admire how handsome he looks reappearing through the haze. Enjoying how small you feel as he leans over you through its last remnants.

He rarely touches you with his golden hook, always using his hand (you've yet to realize it's because he prefers to feel you on his skin). Now, though, he raises it towards you. You're surprised yet again when the curve touches beneath your chin to tilt your face just a little higher; the metal isn't cold like you thought it would be. It must be warmed from resting on his thigh. You shake away the thought of warming it further.

He takes his time assessing you, giving you your own time to look over his breathtakingly chiseled face, admire his striking scar, forget everything else but his eyes on you.

Without intention, you gravitate towards him, leaning forward enough into him and that golden hook drawing you that you have to catch yourself with a stumbling step. The fond chuckle he gives in response resonates deep and rich and feels like a reward flowing over you.

"You, my dear," Sir Crocodile says with unfamiliar mirth, "are here to keep me happy."

"And how would you like me to do that, Sir?" you whisper back.

At first, that just earns you a smile. Then he's drawing his hook along your jaw, tickling the tip around your ear, drawing it gently across your cheek. It ends its journey on your lips, ever so gently pulling your bottom lip down before letting it flick back up when he draws his arm away. You watch the glimmering gold retreat. He's greedy for more of the longing he sees in your eyes. He leans slightly lower and gives you back that hook, this time in the form of an offered arm.

"With your company, of course," He finally answers. The warmth you hear in the drawl of his voice is beautiful.

You slip your hand into the crook of his arm, happy you can feel his body heat through the soft fabric of his shirt.

Halfway back to his previous spot, you realize that you'd become so distracted that you hadn't even said goodbye to your ex. You had wanted to exchange numbers, maybe truly get back in touch and feel out if things would be better this time. Noting how deep your draw to Croc is, you already feel that that would be a dead end. Well, maybe some time rekindling things would help your daydreaming and wishing for Sir Croc finally start ebbing away.

"Did you see where they went?"

Croc has to hold in his smile at your question. "They scurried off on you. It's for the best though; they were exceedingly unimpressive."

You couldn't help but snort at his assessment.

After guiding you to your chair and pushing it in, Croc settles down himself. When he reaches for his awaiting drink, he notices Daz Bonez come back into the room, wiping his hands off on his pants. Their eyes meet and Daz Bones gives a firm nod before heading back to his other duties for the night.

Sir Croc smirks and takes a heavy sip of scotch.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

There you are sweet anon, I hope you enjoyed and that it properly scratched the itch❣️ Thank you for the ask 🤍 Sending much love!!!

Part of a little celebration

[bontentrio]

ATEEZ STUCK IN THE FRIENDZONE

ot8 x gn reader

summary: they are down bad for their best friend

tw: mostly fluff, maybe angst. also alcoholic drinks and being drunk in yeosang’s and wooyoung’s. parts. (+ possible spelling mistakes since english is not my first language!)

a/n: friends to lovers > any other tropes lol also requests are open rn!!

part 2: hongjoong + seonghwa | yunho + yeosang | san + mingi (more soon!)

HONGJOONG

hongjoong felt helpless. he didn’t know if you were messing with him on purpose or if you were genuinely clueless to his feelings, but he is sure he’s about to lose his mind. how much more will he be able to take of your soft touches on his skin? or how close to his face you would get when you wanted to show him something on your phone?

everything would change if he just closed the distance between you two. or if he said those three dangerous words that had been appearing in his mind every time he saw you. three words. one kiss. or both?

“joong, are you with me?” you asked suddenly, pulling him out of his thoughts. he blinked rapidly and nodded “something about buying a new laptop right?”

you hummed in response, shoving your phone in his face while scooting closer. “i think i like this pink one, it’s so very cute, but do you think it will be able to take all the digital material for class and all my sims expansions? or should i just go with the boring one that has more storage?” you asked, looking at him. it took everything in him to not kiss you right then and there, so instead, he bit his lip, pretending to think about it.

“i mean, you can always personalize it with stickers so it’s less boring” he suggested. your eyes immediately widened, not having thought about that option. “hongjoong you are a genius! i can’t believe it didn’t cross my mind”

“i know you like the back of my hand y/n” he said in a whisper, but you heard him nonetheless.

“that’s why you’re my best friend, you always complement me” you said, smiling and returning to your seat beside him, as you started purchasing the ‘boring’ laptop.

hongjoong never wanted to bang his head against a wall more.

SEONGHWA

“so he told her that she was the crazy one! can you believe that, hwa?” you asked, crossing your arms as you walked beside him. you have been rambling non stop about what happened to one of your friends and her now ex boyfriend. “bold of him to accuse her of being crazy when he was the one that cheated with her cousin” he answered, turning his head towards you and smiling.

“right, thank you! that’s exactly what i told her!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms in the air dramatically. “i swear guys are so dumb these days”

“the dumbest” he said, chuckling.

“not you of course, you are always the exception whenever i talk about men and their stupidness” you said, patting his shoulder lightly in a friendly manner. seonghwa’s heart skip a beat. he wanted to be an exception, he wanted you to realize his feelings so bad and for you to reciprocate them.

“trust me, i would not be friends with a dumb man” you continued, now grabbing his arm and leaning your head against it. “i genuinely think you are the only exception”.

he was about to start jumping from joy, were you about to realize how meant to be you both are? how you both were each other’s ‘exceptions’?

“i think you’re an exception too” he said, testing the waters as he stopped in his tracks, causing you to lift your head up to look at him. you smiled, and he swore his heart stopped beating for a second.

“of course i am! that’s why we’re best friends, hwa!” you exclaimed happily. in contrast, he internally screamed, hope slipping through his fingers slowly.

YUNHO

it was a sort of tradition to have game night every week in order to de-stress, followed by a slumber party of two. you would bring snacks and drinks, and yunho would provide the tv, playstation and games. it was the perfect arrangement.

tonight was no different: you were lying on the coach with your legs resting on top of yunho’s lap, as you quickly pressed on the buttons of your customized controller that he had gifted you for your last birthday. meanwhile, he played with his spider man joystick, silently cursing whenever he got hit by enemies.

“noo yunho i’m down! come and revive me!” you groaned when your character died. he chuckled in response “you are really bad at this game, y/n”.

you playfully hit his arm and rolled your eyes “i would be better if someone covered for me instead of running off!” you said. “i was getting supplies!” he complained, making his character bring you back to life. before he was done though, another player killed him. “what were you saying about my gaming skills, baby?” you asked, playfully.

yunho.exe stopped working, as every time you called him that nickname. he knew that you were just being friendly, but he couldn’t help how fast his heart would start beating each time. for you, it was just a word. but for him? the nickname meant everything: hope. hope that someday you will use the nickname in a way that would trascend friendship. hope that someday, you will realize his feelings and reciprocate them.

maybe if you used the word often enough, you would soon realize it.

YEOSANG

the first time you kissed was a drunken mistake. you both took one too many shots at san’s birthday party, and one thing lead to another and you ended up straddling his lap as you hungrily kissed him. despite his *very* drunk state, yeosang was over the moon, hoping this would change the direction of your friendship.

he realized how wrong he was when he woke up the morning after with a text from you that said “i hope that last night doesn’t change anything between us, i’m sorry”. he knew you were probably spiraling into the worst case scenarios, so he thought it would be healthier to just leave it there, for now at least. “we’re still friends, don’t worry” he texted back, hating himself for being a coward.

the second time was a dare at some party you attended of a mutual friend. he was the designated driver, and you knew he would have a hard time dragging his drunk friends back back to the car, so you offered to stay sober with him. he told you that it wasn’t necessary, earning a warm smile from you as you replied “that’s what best friends are for”.

the music was loud and the place was filled with drunk people, some making out in corners of the room, others engaging in incomprehensible conversations. yeosang and you were gathered in a circle with your friends as you played some sort of truth or dare game. it was mingi’s turn to spin the empty bottle of beer, having just finished his dare. to your misfortune, it landed on you.

“truth” you answered, earning groans from your friends, complaining about how ‘boring’ that option is. “y/n you picked truth last time! it’s dare time” mingi said in between giggles. “ugh fine, dare then i guess” you said, rolling your eyes as a smile creeped on your face.

“i dare you to kiss someone from this circle” he said, quickly glancing at yeosang, who immediately paled. you blushed, meditating your options for a moment before turning to your best friend. “we kissed once and remained friends. please don’t let this change”, you said, crashing your lips against his.

and he was, once again, over the moon, choosing to ignore the last part of that sentence.

SAN

“sannie!” you exclaimed, running up to him and throwing your arms around his neck. his arms immediately wrapped around you, holding you in place as he hid his face on your neck, inhaling your scent in discretion. it’s been too long since he last saw you, felt you near him. “i missed you so much, san! tell me everything about the tour”

you spent the afternoon talking about his adventures while on tour, showing you pictures of different places and telling you funny anecdotes of his members. each time he finished a story, you would smile so big and radiantly he found himself trying to control his heartbeat from racing. you also told him about how you were doing, of course! he wanted to know every new detail in your life, even though he knew many of the updates since you both regularly texted.

“i missed this” he confessed, before adding “i missed you”. your eyes softened at his words, taking his hand on yours. “i missed you too, sannie. it’s hell not being able to see your best friend every day as usual” you said. unbeknownst to you, you had just broken his heart a little with that last part. he just nodded, giving you a small smile.

on tour he felt your absence in words he couldn’t describe, always reaching for you when you weren’t there or aching to just grab his phone and call you. so, he decided he had enough of that. he was determined to tell you his feelings.

“actually, i bought something for-“ he started saying, but got interrupted by your phone vibrating beside you. “sorry, hold on” you said, before picking up. a smiled immediately appeared on your face, lighting up your whole aura as you talked back to whoever was on the phone with you. san couldn’t be more in love with you.

“sorry sannie, i have to leave. i thought my date cancelled tonight but apparently will be able to make it on time. so i have to leave right now to get ready for it” you explained.

his heart broke once again, letting go of the silver necklace he had bought for you. maybe another time, or maybe he was already too late.

MINGI

you were starting to get annoyed, and mingi knew it. you stood in front of him, crossing your arms as you looked at him questioningly. “i just don’t understand why you won’t let me read your songs”, you complained.

mingi sighed in response, leaving his notebook on the table beside him. “because it’s personal, y/n”. you rolled your eyes in annoyance, not believing a single word that came out of his mouth. “oh so now it’s personal? wasn’t it also personal when you, without my knowledge may i add, read my diary?” you argued back.

“that was different and you know it! i literally didn’t even know it was your diary” he said. “plus you forgave me for that!”

on normal circumstances, he would let you read his song notebook as many times as you wanted, hell, he would even sing/rap the verses for you. but ever since he realized that the meaning behind those songs revolved around you, about how you, his best friend, were his main source of inspiration, he decided to never let those songs see the light of day. unless until he was ready. what if you were repulsed? what if you decided he was creepy and distanced yourself from him? he didn’t even want to think about those scenarios.

“yes i did, but that doesn’t change the fact that you still read about my deepest thoughts and-“ you started saying, before your eyes widened and your voice started stuttering “wait. do you- do you actually not trust me? do you think i would leak the songs to the media?”

mingi honestly couldn’t believe what he was hearing. or worse, what you said next: “is this also why you’ve been avoiding me?”. mingi felt like punching himself, had he been avoiding you unconsciously? he knew he started keeping his distance a bit more, not replying as quick and not visiting as often as before. but he thought the changes were not noticeable by you.

you stared at him, tears forming slowly but surely on your eyes, as you tried so hard to keep them from falling. mingi was looking down, too lost on his thoughts. you waited a few moments, before muttering a low “i would never do that to you, mingi”.

he realized you were gone when he heard the door closing behind you.

WOOYOUNG

“if looks could kill, that guy would be long dead” yunho said, wrapping an arm around wooyoung as he smiled teasingly. he huffed, not taking his eyes from you and the random guy that had been keeping you entertained for longer than appreciated.

you were just getting drinks from the bar, but a random guy approached you suddenly and stole your attention before wooyoung could do something about it. you didn’t look uncomfortable, so it’s not like he could just walk up to you and steal you away. you weren’t even “his” to steal to begin with, his official title being “my bestest friend in the whole world” as you would say. a title that he, in fact, despised.

“you can always intervene you know? i mean they were supposed to get you a drink” yunho pointed out before sipping from his beer can. wooyoung looked at him. then looked back at you. his decision was made the moment he saw the man reach for your waist.

“love, what’s taking my drink so long?” he asked as soon as he approached you at the bar, stealing you away from the man and wrapping his arm around your waist instead. you turned to him, unknowing of his true intentions “oh my god woo i forgot! here it is, i’m sorry”

but wooyoung’s eyes didn’t leave the man, who immediately averted his gaze. “i didn’t know you had a boyfriend” the man said, glancing back at you. “he’s actually my best-“ you started saying but wooyoung interrupted you.

“boyfriend, yes. i think you should leave” .

JONGHO

jongho felt your arms wrap around him from behind the coach, pulling him back and stilling him in his place. he looked up at you and smiled softly, as you looked down with the same kind of smile. then, both of your attention was drifted back to wooyoung, who was dramatically telling a story about how hongjoong almost lost his laptop again.

“correction: someone stole it the first time, i didn’t lose it” hongjoong pointed out, earning a laugh from you. as cheesy as it seems, jongho truly believed that it is his favorite sound.

actually, you were his favorite everything: favorite person, favorite singer (despite only hearing you sing in the car or shower), favorite cook. the sound of your voice and laugh was his favorite, along with the way your face expressed clearly how you were feeling at the moment. to him, you were an open book, his favorite book.

the only problem was that he wasn’t sure if he was yours. yes, you were closer to him than with the rest, often confiding in him with your deepest secrets. you built an irreplaceable bond with him, one that he was truly afraid to break if he told you about his feelings. so for now, he settled with enjoying the skinship you offered.

getting too entertained by the dramatic scenery displayed in front of you, neither of you noticed mingi looking at your small, almost unconscious, interactions.

“hey how come we never get to hug you without getting kicked, jongho?” mingi asked, making everyone take notice of the way you were hugging and resting your head on jongho’s, as he traced his fingers along your arms.

“best friend privileges” you answered, noticing the way jongho flinched while he tried to think of a quick way to answer. what you didn’t know, was that your explanation made him want to scream. “oh really? isn’t it because-“ mingi started teasing, only to be interrupted by jongho abruptly standing up to kick him jokingly as he screamed, trying to block what he was trying to say.

he was willing to die with the secret that he had fallen deeply and stupidly in love with his favorite everything.

[taelophone]

Luigi M; A Look ⋆˙⟡ — A Luigi Mangione Analysis ⋆⭒˚｡⋆. A/N: I am not claiming to know or understand him as a person lol. I simply wanna do a lil surface dive on him as a person to try and shed some light on what I think he's like!

Please note; All links are tweets Luigi himself has reposted, or are things from his mouth that he has typed. VIA Reddit, twitter, etc etc. All retweets will be marked with *

⟡ Luigi as a person (good, and bad)

⋆ After many many hours of scouring this man’s socials and any sort of archive of him I can find, I’ve gathered a handful of interpretations and ideas as to what Luigi was like prior to his surgery. And I say that last part specifically because he showed a v drastic change directly after his surgery, and literally went M.I.A.

Luigi is a very empathetic and intelligent man, this is a surface level fact that we can all agree on. He’s been shown to go out of his way for other people even when he doesn’t have to. But please don’t let that fool you this man is a KEYBOARD. WARRIOR.

⋆ He LIVES for the debate. In fact, he fucking loves debating. I wouldn’t go as far as saying he loves arguing, but if there’s a point being made and he feels strongly about it, he will type pages upon pages of text explaining in great detail exactly why you are wrong.

He’s said time and time before in a retweeted post that freethinking* is a very important part of life, and here’s where I say he’s…a bit of a hypocrite. His love for debate kind of keeps him from seeing another person’s POV, which makes for a hell of a storm when disagreeing with him. In short, he’s stubborn. A very stubborn man, but he is open to hearing the other person out versus not listening to them at all.

And I have a strong feeling his stubborn demeanor coincides with the fact that he knows he’s smart. Don’t get me wrong, he seems like he usually knows what he’s talking about, but that’s the problem. If you tell him about something that’s been bothering you or going wrong in your life, he will spit out 99 solutions for you. He’s the kind of guy where he will probably resort to both comfort AND unsolicited advice, although its likely he got better at the latter later down the line.

⋆ Shying away from him being stubborn, there’s another key part of this man that I DONT SEE BEING TALKED ABOUT ENOUGHHH OMG. SASSY MAN. SASSY SASSY SAASSSSYY MAN.

You can expect shade, eye rolls, silent treatment, head shakes, and possibly even a snarky comment from him. He’s all about becoming a better person and stuck on self betterment, but he is not afraid to show his visible disdain for something. He has very dry and unexpected humor, but he doesn’t realize it. He’s funny in a way where he doesn’t mean to be.

But when he’s trying to make a joke? Oh god help me he’s so so so cheesy and so corny that it makes you just wanna curl up and die (but no seriously, he’s so corny that it’s funny). His sense of humor is so cheesy, think old vine and 2018 humor.

⋆ Another key part about him is his love for travel, and being a “geek” by nature! This man loooooovesss his Pokemon, let me tell you. Was in a whole subreddit dedicated to Pokemon go, word committed for half a page about backpacking essentials, and was almost always posted up somewhere that wasn’t his house. I can’t say he’s the type for spontaneous trips, as the only time he has been known to take was during the beginning of his breakdown.

Because of this, I feel like he’s more likely to be a marvel and MCU fan. He also read a couple of the Harry Potter books, and we can assume that he liked the series enough to rate them 5/5s lol

⟡ My takeaways. Deeper analysis

⋆ Luigi gives me massive INTJ vibes. Contrary to popular belief, I feel he’s more introverted rather than extroverted. He’s expressed clear comfort in solitude, and aligns perfectly with the personality category.

INTJ description;

“INNOVATIVE,INDEPENDENT, STRATEGIC, LOGICAL, RESERVED, INSIGHTFUL. DRIVEN BY THEIR OWN ORIGINAL IDEAS TO ACHIEVE IMPROVEMENTS.”

However, I could see him being an ISTP, who are characterized as

“ACTION-ORIENTED, LOGICAL, ANALYTICAL, SPONTNEOUS, RESERVED, INDEPENDENT. ENJOY ADVENTURE, SKILLED AT UNDERSTANDING THINGS.”

⋆ He’s a very big geek! More than likely has a soft spot for nostalgia content or things that remind him of childhood. We can expect him to be into things like Ben10, Cartoon Network, old Nickelodeon, and other shows such as The Office, Law & Order, true crime, and philosophy content!

⋆ Expect him to be a giving lover. Would absolutely love words of affirmation, quality time, and acts of service. He’d be more than willing to give you gifts and shower you in lavishes, but it’s not his main love language as he believes love goes beyond materialism and who can spend the most on who. Handmade gifts are a go! Expect 3D printed trinkets, pictures, cards, etc etc.

⋆ Absolute communication god. He’s stubborn, but he’s not stubborn enough to not tell you when something is wrong. It’s just not his speed and he thinks it’s pointless to not tell someone, especially your partner, when he’s upset or what’s got him in a bad mood. He also expects this same behavior from you as well. The whole “I don’t wanna tell you what’s wrong” shindig would annoy the FUCK out of him. FAST.

⋆ He doesn’t give possessive or jealous lover type ngl. Growing up with two sisters and being absolutely showered in female companionship, he understands how that could possibly make you feel and doesn’t even blame you for it. As a result, he’d be extremely understanding if you were friends with men.

⋆ Please don’t ever get in an argument with this man lmfao. That is one battle you cannot and WILL NOT win. If it’s petty and a matter of “I didn’t say so and so,” he WILL show up with receipts. Would very much start busting out his big boy words just to confuse you. Catch him throwing old English into the mix. But if it’s a legitimate argument, and you have a reason to be upset, he will apologize before it can even get off track.

⟡ Luigi’s Brain

⋆ Alright kids here’s where we get a little controversial. What’s going on in Luigi’s mind?

I just wanna start this section off by saying I am not a licensed psychologist, nor do I major in psychology. I have no ties to this topic whatsoever, and am just speaking from what I’ve seen in myself, and what I’ve seen in him.

Neurodivergence. Luigi has a habit of exuding very neurodiverse behavioral patterns that I could tie to one of two things. Autism, or OCD.

⋆ Luigi openly expressed a lot about his wills and wants on his various social media platforms, and one thing I’ve noticed is his strong need or drive for self-improvement. Please don’t get me wrong, it is incredibly important to want to improve yourself and that is a perfectly healthy goal to have. However, Luigi’s drive for self-improvement and ‘getting better’ had a direct impact on his relationships, lifestyle, and more. This is likely what influenced his 6 month period of self-isolation and cutting off his family members.

Perfectionism “type” OCD is a branch of the umbrella term of OCD in which can be identified by repetitive behaviors, such as excessive exercise, something he continued to engage in even with a bad back, insistence on specific routines or ways to do things to achieve perfection, and occasionally rigid and inflexible thinking patterns, as I described him being likely to have above.

not everyone experiences OCD the same way, and me and Luigi are obviously going to experience it differently considering we are two completely different individuals. As someone with perfectionism OCD, I am just calling what I see in my eyes.

⋆ I saw someone make the argument a while back that Luigi could possibly be a narcissist, and while I don't necessarily deny that he can come off as pompous in some of his tweets, I do not think this is the case.

For Luigi to be a narcissist means that he wouldn't be able to make meaningful connections with people around him. Every person that has met or come into contact with Luigi only had good things to say, but I'd like to focus on his...straightforward or out-of-touch* tweets.

Luigi is a no-nonsense man. He's very left-brained and thinks as such, literally. He demonstrates a tendency to solve and think and plow through anything he registers as a problem. Have you ever asked "well, why can't we just print more money?" when told about the cash crisis? That's exactly whats going on in this tweet.

His first instinct when faced with the topic of Japan's birth rate is to try and solve it. Luigi may be hyperfixated on stats and data, which would clarify why he allegedly word-vomited to the hoes about birth rate data. He's not trying to come off as rude or ignorant, and frankly, I don't really think his tweet is that crazy either, he just might not know that this isn't something considered a social topic.

I feel like we're ignoring a lot of his more out-of-touch* (re)tweets, though. Scrolling through Luigi's page, I can understand what he's trying to get at, though lol. He's made it very clear that he's an intense supporter of complete equality*, he doesn't want anybody to be undermined in their contributions to society. Regardless of gender, sexual identity, race, etc. But again, he's thinking so literally and has trouble effectively communicating that in a way that is "neurotypical." This paired with the way he word vomits, and just his overall typing style and cadence, It just feels like he may be on the spectrum!

I do not have a link for this as his Reddit account was fucking obliterated, BUT, I do remember it being rumored that Luigi was apart of several neurodivergent support groups and subreddits!

I hope I helped humanize him a bit more for you guys! Lmk what you think of this little summary as it’s my first time doing something like this EVER lmfao😭

[fullsunstrawberry]

SCREAM FOR ME

synopsis: Jisung orders a Ghostface costume after hearing you confess how hot masks are on guys.

pairings: Jisung x reader

warnings: SMUT, a little bit of CNC, Blind fold, Use of a knife, mention of handcuffs (not used), cream pie, cunnilingus, chocking, no condom mentioned, grinding, grinding on jeno/jaemin, drinking, swearing, and probably more lol

word count: 5.3k

a/n: happy halloween <3

You and your friends have always looked forward to Halloween. It was the one time of year when you could dress up and let loose. This year, you were especially excited. Drunkenly admitting why you were excited for Halloween this year to one of your friends, Jaemin, seemed like a fun time in your tipsy brain.

“I’m telling you, Jaemin,” you said, swaying slightly in your seat, “it’s not about who wears the mask. I just want someone in a Ghostface mask. I don’t even care who it is. I’d find it so hot.”

Jaemin laughed, leaning back in his chair. “What’s wrong with you but I get it, masks are hot!”

Secretly, Jisung, who had been quietly observing from a corner of the room, had heard every word. His heart skipped a beat. Jisung, being shy, had always admired you from afar. He knew you were older and had never seen him as anything more than a younger friend. But hearing your wish sparked something in him.

But he was too shy to execute it, right? Maybe he’ll just order the costume just in case…

“A cheerleader, huh? How original, Y/n,” Renjun teased, rolling his eyes.

Haechan nudged Renjun with a grin. “Come on, she looks hawt! You’re the one dressed as a children's book.”

“Moomin’s cool,” Renjun mumbled defensively.

“Cool? You’re just wearing a white shirt and ears!” Haechan retorted.

You laughed at their playful banter and glanced around to see what the others were up to. Jeno, sporting dog ears and a collar, was carefully draping fake spider webs around the room. Bunny eared Jaemin and basketball player Chenle were setting out snacks, and Jaemin kept stealing glances at you, a smile playing on his lips.

“What’s so funny?” you demanded, marching over to the table and pointing at Jaemin.

Jaemin raised his hands in mock surrender. “Just admiring your costume, that’s all.”

“Sure, and what’s the real reason?”

Jaemin chuckled, “You’re really putting in some effort to get laid tonight.”

A mischievous smirk appeared on your face as you twirled around. “Am I giving off the perfect victim vibe?”

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Chenle yelled, his eyes wide in disbelief.

The room fell silent as everyone turned to look at you and Jaemin. Jaemin’s laughter erupted uncontrollably, while you shushed Chenle with a grin.

“What’s happening?” Spider-Man Mark asked as the rest of the group gathered in the dining room.

“Y/n’s on the hunt for someone in a Ghostface costume,” Jaemin explained between laughs.

“DAMN IT, I should’ve worn a Ghostface costume!” Haechan said huffing at his cowboy outfit, only to wince as Renjun playfully punched his shoulder.

“Stop talking about my love life!” you huffed. “But if any tall, attractive Ghostfaces show up, send them my way!”

The guys laughed and shook their heads before returning to their tasks.

“Oh, where’s Jisung?” you asked Chenle, noticing his absence.

“He’s running late. Said he’d be here later,” Chenle replied.

Jaemin smirked, “Probably just trying to avoid setting up,” he joked.

You chuckled, shaking your head before turning back to finish arranging the party.

The house quickly became alive with the sounds of laughter, music, and the buzz of conversation. People in all sorts of costumes filed in: animals, witches, superheroes, and a lot more. But no Ghostface in sight …

You moved through the crowd, catching up with friends and admiring their costumes. As the party gained momentum, you started to let loose, dancing and laughing with Jaemin and Haechan.

Every so often, though, your thoughts drifted back to your earlier conversation. Your friends had laughed it off, but a tiny part of you wondered if a Ghostface would actually appear tonight. You shook your head at the silliness of it all and got back to enjoying the party.

“Y/n, come take a shot with me!” Haechan called, dragging you over to the kitchen.

Smiling, you clink your glass against his and downed the shot, feeling the warmth spread through you.

Just as you placed your glass down, the door creaked open, and a tall figure stepped inside. The partygoers around you barely noticed, but your eyes were immediately drawn to the white mask. Ghostface.

You couldn’t help but smirk, nudging Jaemin who stood beside you.

“Look,” you whispered.

Jaemin raised an eyebrow, glancing at the new arrival.

“Who is that?”

“No clue,” you admitted, heart racing a little. “But they’re definitely hot as hell.”

The figure remained near the doorway for a moment, scanning the room with eerie calm. Then, slowly, the Ghostface started making his way through the crowd, but his gaze—hidden behind the mask—was locked on you.

Each step he took felt planned, like he was taking his time to make his approach. Your stomach twisted, was he really making his way over to you?

“He’s coming over here,” Jaemin muttered, clearly amused.

“Looks like your wish is coming true.”

“Shut up,” you whispered, though you couldn’t hide the shy smile on your face.

The Ghostface finally reached you, standing just a foot away. The mask tilted slightly, as if studying you. You crossed your arms, trying to appear unfazed, though you could feel your pulse quickening.

“Nice costume,” you said, breaking the tension. “Going for the silent type?”

The figure didn’t respond, only tilting their head again in that unnerving, playful way. Then, without a word, they extended a gloved hand toward you.

You glanced at Jaemin, who shrugged, clearly entertained by whatever was happening. With a deep breath, you accepted the hand.

The Ghostface pulled you closer, and you found yourself standing just inches away, your heart racing faster than you cared to admit.

Whoever was behind the mask leaned in slightly, their movements slow. You couldn’t see their face, but you could feel the intensity in their gaze.

“Okay, I have to admit,” you said softly, trying to maintain some control over the situation, “this is kinda hot.”

The Ghostface’s shoulders shook slightly, as if laughing silently, and then, without warning, they twirled you away, leaving you standing there, stunned and a little breathless.

As they disappeared back into the crowd, you turned to Jaemin, who was grinning ear to ear.

“I told you,” he said smugly, “tonight’s gonna be fun for you.”

You laughed, though your mind was still reeling from the encounter. Who was under that mask? And why are you already so hot and bothered.

As the night went on, you couldn’t help but scan the crowd, looking for any sign of the mysterious Ghostface.

The interaction had been brief but left a strange, exciting feeling buzzing under your skin. You found yourself drawn into conversations, but your mind kept drifting back to that masked figure.

At some point, Jaemin nudged you again. “You okay, missing your killer?”

You shrugged, trying to act casual. “I haven’t seen him since.”

“It’s weird seeing you this horny over some guy in a mask” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows.

Rolling your eyes, you playfully shoved him away. “Stop. You’re making this weirder than it has to be.”

But in truth, Jaemin wasn’t wrong. You couldn’t shake the feeling that whoever was behind that mask knew exactly what they were doing, playing into your earlier confession. It was kind of scary— but you were enjoying it way too much.

As you made your way toward the back of the house, needing a breather, you passed by Renjun and Chenle, who were deep in conversation about some horror movie.

The sliding glass door leading to the backyard was slightly open, and you stepped outside, welcoming the cool night air. The distant hum of the party continued inside, but out here, everything was quieter.

You leaned against the porch railing, staring at the dark sky, when you heard soft footsteps behind you. A glance over your shoulder revealed the masked man, standing at the edge of the patio, just watching.

“Seriously?” you muttered, though there was no real irritation in your tone. If anything, it was curiosity.

The Ghostface took a few more steps toward you, closing the gap, but still maintaining that frightening silence. The party noise from inside seemed to fade as you locked eyes—or rather, your gaze locked on the mask.

The figure took off their gloves slowly, stuffing them into their back pocket, and for a split second, you wondered if they would finally reveal themselves.

“Okay,” you said, turning to fully face them. “You’ve got my attention. What now?”

Without a word, Ghostface reached out and, gently but firmly, took your hand. This time, there was no hesitation. You let them pull you closer, so close that you could hear the faintest sound of their breath behind the mask. Your heart pounded in your chest.

In the dim light of the backyard, it felt like the world had shrunk down to just the two of you. The Ghostface raised their free hand slowly, brushing a lock of hair from your face with surprising tenderness.

You opened your mouth to say something, but before you could, they lifted their mask just enough for you to catch a glimpse of their lips, and your breath caught in your throat.

Whoever it was—they were about to kiss you. Time seemed to freeze in that moment, your mind racing with the mystery and excitement of it all.

But then, just as you thought they would make their move, the sliding door burst open with a loud thud.

“Y/n!” Haechan yelled from inside, half-drunk and waving a beer bottle. “Come on! We’re about to do shots!”

You blinked, the heat of the moment shattering as you turned toward the noise. When you glanced back, Ghostface had already lowered their mask and started backing away, disappearing into the shadows of the yard.

You stood there for a moment, dazed. Wondering if you would ever see him again.

Haechan stumbled out onto the porch, throwing an arm around your shoulder.

“What are you doing out here? Come back in! The party’s not over yet!”

“You sure know how to ruin a moment,” you muttered, glancing over your shoulder one last time. But the yard was empty, The mystery Ghostface was gone.

“It’s party time!!” Haechan was too drunk to even understand your words.

Back inside, your friends gathered around the kitchen island, laughter echoing through the house. Jaemin raised an eyebrow when he saw you return.

“No Ghostface this time?”

You shook your head, pretending like you didn’t care.

“Looks like he got bored.”

“Wait, there’s really a Ghostface here?” Jeno teased, nudging you playfully.

You nodded, sighing. “Yeah, but he’s been stringing me along this whole time.”

Jaemin smirked. “Why not make him a little jealous, then?”

“I doubt that’ll even work,” you said, shaking your head. “I never actually see him around the party.”

“Trust us,” Jeno grinned, grabbing your hand. “We’ve got this.”

Without another word, he pulled you into the

crowded living room, playful determination in his eyes.

Jeno tugged you into the living room, where the music was louder, and party goers crowded the space. Jaemin followed closely behind, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

“Alright, Y/n,” Jeno said, spinning you around to face him.

“Let’s make sure Ghostface knows what he’s missing.”

Jaemin smirked and nodded toward the group of people dancing. “Just go with it. If he’s been watching you like you said, this’ll make him show up.”

You shot them both a skeptical look, but before you could protest, Jaemin slipped his hand onto your waist, and Jeno grinned before pulling you into him. The three of you swayed to the beat, your friends fully committed to playing along, their movements exaggerated as if trying to draw all the attention in the room.

Jaemin leaned in, his voice low near your ear. “You said you wanted the perfect victim vibe, right? Let’s give him something to chase.”

You laughed, shaking your head at how over-the-top they were being. But as the song picked up, you let yourself get swept up in their antics, moving with them and enjoying it. Jeno twirled you once before pulling you close. Jaemin pulled and spun you back toward him, his hand lingering a bit longer on your waist.

Suddenly, you felt that familiar tingle of being watched. You scanned the crowd but couldn’t immediately spot the Ghostface. However, the weight of someone’s gaze followed your every move.

Jeno noticed your eyes darting around. “He’s watching, isn’t he?” he murmured, leaning close.

You nodded subtly. “Yeah, I can feel it.”

“Good,” Jaemin whispered, tightening his grip on your waist. “Let’s keep it going.”

The three of you kept dancing, playing up the flirtatious act just enough to make it obvious that something was happening. Your heart raced—not just from the dancing, but from the excitement of what might happen.

Would the masked man reveal himself, or was he just going to keep watching from the shadows?

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw it: the white mask, half-hidden behind a group of people near the far wall.

He was there, standing perfectly still, his attention fixed on you. Your pulse quickened as your eyes connected through his mask.

Jaemin followed your gaze and smirked. “There he is.”

Jeno didn’t waste a second. “Alright, let’s give him something to really think about.”

He pulled you even closer, his hand sliding around your waist as he pulled you into him. Grinding into you as he placed small kisses on your neck.

As you look back to the far wall, you caught another glimpse of Ghostface—this time, he was shaking his head.

You felt a pang of something—disappointment, maybe—twist in your stomach as the Ghostface broke eye contact and turned away, disappearing down the hall toward the spare bedrooms.

Jeno’s playful touch felt distant now, your attention completely drawn to the masked figure who had just walked away.

Jaemin, noticing the shift in your expression, leaned closer. “Looks like he doesn’t want to have any fun tonight.”

You stepped back slightly, disentangling yourself from Jeno’s hold. “I’m going to get a drink,” you muttered, your voice clearly showing how disappointed you were.

Jeno raised an eyebrow, “Hey don’t think about him anymore, just let loose and have fun.”

With one last glance at your friends, you made your way through the crowd, slipping past dancing bodies and the noise of the party. The music and laughter grew muffled as you moved down the hall, the atmosphere growing quieter, more intimate. The spare bedrooms were tucked away at the end of the corridor.

Your heart raced as you reached the first door. It was slightly ajar, and you hesitated for a moment before pushing it open. The room was dimly lit, the shadows stretching across the walls, but there was no sign of the masked man.

You stepped further inside, your breath catching as you scanned the room. Just as you were about to turn back, the door clicked softly shut behind you.

You spun around, and there he was—Ghostface, standing in the doorway, silent.

“You left,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended.

“Why?”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate. The air between you was filled with tension, and you felt the weight of his gaze behind the mask.

Your heart raced, “Are you really going to keep this act up the whole night?” you asked, tilting your head as you held his gaze, your voice steady despite the pounding in your chest.

Ghostface’s hand moved to his mask, and for a split second, you thought he might finally reveal himself. But instead, he paused, his fingers trailing over the edge of the mask before letting his hand fall back to his side. He took another step forward, closing the distance between you, his body inches from yours now.

You swallowed, “Say something,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Instead of using his words, he grabbed your hips and pushed himself onto you. You could feel his erection pressing against you.

You gasped slightly, caught off guard by his sudden movement. Your heart raced, and you felt a mix of surprise and heat as you tried to process everything.

His grip on your hips tightened, and he moved against you, his masked face hidden in your neck. You could feel his chest rising and falling quickly.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to react. Then, slowly, you wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers playing with the soft fabric of his mask. A small part of you wanted to uncover his identity, but another part of you was okay with the mystery.

As you pressed yourself against him, he groaned softly, his voice deep as his gloves fingers dug into your skin.

“Please, more” you breathed into his ear, your heart pounding in sync with his.

His grip on your hips tightened, and he moved against you more urgently now, his breathing becoming even faster.

As he continued to grind against you, your own urges started to take over. You couldn't help but get lost in the moment as his hands roamed your body, exploring every curve and edge.

“Pease,” you whispered again, your voice barely above a whisper as you softly grabbed onto his mask.

He shook his head firmly, gripping your hands as his eyes scanned the room. Spotting the dresser, he reached over, pulling out a pair of fluffy handcuffs, letting them dangle in front of your face.

“I’m not going to let you handcuff me…I don’t even know who you are!”

You protested, but there was a hint of teasing in your voice. He chuckled softly, the sound sending shivers down your spine.

Turning around, back to the same dresser, he pulled out a long knife. Did he plan this?

Tension hung heavy in the air as he turned back to face you, the knife glinting in the dim light of the room. Your heart pounded frantically in your chest, fear and adrenaline coursing through your veins as you took a step back, your eyes fixed on the sharp blade in his hand.

“What are you doing?” you managed to choke out, your voice trembling with confusion. How did things change so quickly?

The masked figure remained silent, his masked face giving away nothing as he took slow, deliberate steps toward you. The gleam of the knife seemed to shine, sending a chill down your spine.

Instinct kicked in, and you turned to bolt for the door, but before you could take more than a few steps, he lunged forward with surprising speed. Grabbing at your waist and putting the knife near your neck.

You gasped, your eyes widening in terror as you felt the cold steel press against your skin.

As he pressed the knife to your skin, you realized that it wasn't sharp, it was dull.

You started to giggle, the absurdity of the situation hit you all at once, and the laughter bubbled up uncontrollably, filled the room

The masked figure’s grip loosened slightly as he seemed taken aback by your sudden laughter. His masked face tilted slightly, almost as if he was confused by your reaction.

“No, please don’t kill me, Mr. Ghostface, I wanna be in the sequel.”

The masked figure's shoulders shook with silent laughter, and slowly, he lowered the knife, his posture relaxing.

“Wait, did I ruin the moment?” The masked figure shook his head, brushing your hair with his gloved hand.

Slowly his hand rested on your cheek, and then slowly made its way to your neck. His touch was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the fear you had moments before. You stared into the eye holes of the mask, searching for any idea who he was.

Suddenly he put pressure on your neck, his touch firm but not suffocating. You froze, the lack of oxygen felt so good.

You gasped for air as his hand tightened around your neck.

His masked face hovered close to yours, his gaze only on you. The room seemed to shrink around you, the only sound echoing in your ears being the hammering of your heart.

Just as you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, he released his grip on your neck, his hand falling away as he took a step back. You stumbled slightly, falling onto the bed.

Your breaths came in ragged gasps as you looked up at him. His gaze never left yours as he went back to the dresser and pulled out a blindfold.

With a mixture of hesitation and thrill, you allowed him to place the blindfold over your eyes, slipping you into darkness.

You heard shuffling and felt his gloves as he grabbed your hands that were searching for him. Pulling your hands to his mask, feeling how warm it felt.

You fiddled with the fabric of it, as a silent way of asking for permission to take it off. He doesn't do anything as you pull his mask off slowly.

Once finally off he takes you into a deep kiss, a kiss he’s been waiting for this whole night. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that mirrored your own.

His hands roamed your skin, tracing patterns of fire along your curves. As you were tracing his features with your fingers, trying to figure out what he could look like.

Lost in the heat of the kiss, you felt him pull away slightly, his breath mingling with yours. There was a softness in his touch now, unlike before.

As you leaned in for more, your lips seeking his once again, he chuckled softly against your mouth before pulling away completely.

You heard rustling in the distance, you try to pull the blindfold off your face to see what was happening.

But strong hands stopped you, holding the blindfold firmly in place. You felt a warm breath against your ear as he whispered,

“Not yet.”

The voice was deep, kind of familiar but you were too lost in the moment to really place it. The sound of footsteps echoed in the room, growing louder and more distinct.

You strained against the blindfold, trying to hear what was going on.

Suddenly, you felt a pair of lips press gently against your neck. You couldn’t help but let out a moan. You felt a shiver run down your spine as the lips trailed along your neck.

“Fuck, I need more, please!” you begged, your voice shaking.

You reach for him, expecting to feel the cloth of his costume, but instead you are met with his soft skin. He was lean and you could feel he had a bit of muscles.

"Are you ready for the next part?" he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear.

You gasped and nodded, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited for his next move.

His kisses started to trail down, his tounge gently tracing a path along your skin as he moved further down.

As he reached the sensitive skin just below your waist, you let out a soft whimper. His fingers traced delicate patterns across your skin.

Suddenly, you felt the warm sensation of his breath on your skin, followed by the gentle pressure of his lips. A soft breath escaped your lips as his tongue traced delicate patterns on your heat.

You were lost in the sensation, your mind hazy. You gripped at the sheets beneath you, your body arching to meet his every movement.

“More, please, need you.” you whispered, feeling the words catch in your throat.

He responded by cupping your heat with his hand. With one hand, he gently spread you open.

Your heart pounded in your chest as his fingers stroked you, driving you crazy. You felt him slip a finger inside you and then another, stretching you in the best possible way.

His thumb rubbed against your clit, sending a shockwave of pleasure through your body.

Each touch sent another wave of pleasure crashing over you, building you up higher and higher.

"I’m so close," you begged, your words barely coherent as you clung to the sheets for dear life.

He responded by increasing his pace, his fingers pounding into you with a rhythm. Each thrust sent a jolt of pleasure through you, the sensation overwhelming. As the pleasure built and built, you couldn’t handle it anymore.

"I'm going to cum," you cried out, your voice shaky. "I'm gonna cum."

His fingers never stopped their relentless pace, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

“Cum for me, baby.” His voice normal, no longer changing his voice.

You knew that voice.

Your heart skipped a beat as the realization dawned on you. "Jisung?" you gasped, the blindfold still firmly in place.

No response came from him as his fingers continued their pace, driving you higher and higher towards your release.

“Oh my god, Jisung!” You cried out as you finally reached your climax. Your body arched against his touch, you moans ringing through the room.

Panting and gasping for air, as you lay there, you let a smile spread across your face.

Your hand reaches up to grab the blindfold, already knowing who the mystery masked man is. But Jisung grabbed your hand, stopping you, again.

“Wait,” His voice filled with insecurity. Not knowing how you were going to react to seeing his face.

You can feel the warmth of his skin under your touch and you can tell that he's tense.

“Jisung, I need to see you, please…” You pleaded, and for a brief moment, he seemed to hesitate. But then he quickly regained his composure, taking your hand and gently removing the blindfold from your eyes.

You squint for a moment as your eyes adjust to the dim room, taking in the sight of Jisung's maskless face. He looked at you, you could tell he was worried. He wasn’t making any eye contact.

You can't help but smile at the sight of him, still panting from your intense orgasm. You reach up to trace your fingers along his jawline.

"You look so hot right now," you whisper, your voice still heavy with lust. "Even hotter without the mask."

He chuckles softly at your comment, an appreciative smile spreading across his face. "I'm glad you think so," he says, his voice confident and husky.

You took a long look over his body, taking in every detail. His chest heaved with each breath, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. You traced your fingers down his chest, feeling the definition of his muscles.

Your eyes locked onto his again, a smile playing on your lips as you crawled towards him. He watched you intently, watching how your body moved towards him. .

As you straddled him, you leaned in close and whispered, "I want to feel you inside me."

He nodded eagerly, his hands immediately reaching up to undress you further. He helped you out of your clothes until you were both naked, skin touching skin.

You positioned yourself above him, feeling the warmth and hardness of him against your heat. You couldn't help but moan slightly as you felt him ready to enter you.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his breath hot against your ear as he waited for your response.

"Yes," you whispered, your voice breathless with desire.

"I'm ready."

With one swift movement, he entered you fully, filling you completely. You both moaned as he began to move, thrusting into you with a rhythm that made you shiver.

Your eyes locked onto his, making your heart race. You felt him hit a sensitive spot inside you, each thrust hitting the same spot.

"Oh god, Jisung," you gasped, your voice shaking with passion. "You feel so good."

He responded by increasing his pace, driving deeper and deeper into you. His hands gripped your hips firmly as he moved, each thrust sending another wave of pleasure. You could feel your core starting to tighten.

“You like that baby?”

"So good," you moaned.

His hands gripped at your hips, his fingers digging into your skin ever so slightly.

As you rose to meet his next thrust, he groaned softly, his eyes locked onto yours. He looked like he was in a zone, completely focused on pleasing you as much as he was being pleased himself.

"More," you begged, feeling pleasure building up inside of you. Your breath was ragged from how good he was making you feel.

Jisung responded by increasing his pace even more, his movements becoming more aggressive. Your body arched against him.

His hands gripped your hips tighter, holding you close to him as he moved. You could feel every inch of him inside you, driving you closer and closer to your climax.

"I'm going to cum again," you cried out, your voice shaking with passion. "I'm gonna cum!"

“You feel so fucking good.” He groaned. His pace quickened, his movement became more desperate. He could feel his own climax building.

"Cum for me, baby," he groaned, his eyes locked onto yours. His words were the final push you needed, and you let out a long, loud moan as you reached your climax. Your body tensed, every muscle straining.

Jisung's movements became erratic as he felt you cumming around him, the pressure building up inside of him threatening to take him over the edge.

Finally, he could hold back no longer. "Fuck im going to cum," he groaned, thrusting into you one last time. His body tensed and then shuddered, his cum filling you completely.

Your body shuddered and your eyes fluttered shut. You clung to him as the intensity of your orgasm started to fade, you felt him soften inside you. His weight pressed against you, his breathing heavy and uneven.

You laid there, panting and gasping for air. Your body still trembling.

Jisung's arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you close as he caught his breath. His breathing gradually slowed down, his heart rate returning to normal.

Slowly, your eyes opened, fluttering to look up at him. You smiled.

"That was... amazing," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Jisung smiled back at you, a proud grin that made your heart flutter. “I’m glad I overheard your conversation with Jaemin.”

You giggled, "That’s how you knew I liked masks?"

He chuckled, his hands pulling you closer to him. “I was afraid you wouldn’t like me.”

"But I do like you," you said, looking deeply into his eyes.

"A lot."

Jisung's smile widened, and he pulled you even closer, his lips brushing against your forehead.

You nestled closer to Jisung, feeling safe and secure in his embrace. His fingers gently traced patterns on your back as the two of you lay there in the afterglow.

He leaned in close, brushing his lips against yours lightly.

"I want to do this again... and again," he whispered.

"Me too," you responded, your voice filled with satisfaction.

You traced your fingers along the curve of his shoulder, as you relaxed into him.

The room was quiet except for the sound of both of your breathing, the steady heartbeats, and the music continuing on outside. Laying there for what felt like hours, but was probably only minutes.

Finally, with a sigh of reluctance to end such a perfect moment, Jisung pulled away slightly.

“We should get cleaned up.”

You nodded in agreement, slowly disentangling yourself from each other's embrace. As you stood up, Jisung's hand reached out to help you steady yourself.

"Let’s take a shower," he said, offering you a hand to help you up.

As you reached the bathroom, Jisung started the water. You stood there, taking a moment to compose yourself before stepping inside. The warm water washed over you felt relaxing.

As you let the water drip down your skin, you felt a sense of peace wash over you. This was definitely the best Halloween.

Jisung joined you in the shower, his arms wrapping around you as he kissed your neck gently. You leaned back into him, enjoying the warmth of his embrace as the water fell down both of your bodies.

“What are we going to tell everyone?” you asked as Jisung rinsed your hair.

He chuckled, his hands moving gently through the water. "The truth, that you’re mine.”

interacted with preview: @jwiloves @yeosin16

Dream/General Taglist: @haechansbbg @lostinneocity @talkingsaxy @naqkja @haolovre

© 2024 fullsunstrawberry all rights reserved — please DO NOT translate, take, nor repost any of my works on other social media’s. reblogs and comments are appreciated a lot!

[froggybells]

So what’s the deal?

Sanemi x fem!reader

a/n: HI I AM BACK AGAIN this time my wonderful boy sanemi needs some love. he might b a little ooc but i like to think he wouldn’t resist a beautiful woman (wink wink) reader is totally a tease bc i feel like he would totes get flustered LOL

synop: amidst hashira practice, you get the bright idea to tease sanemi.

Word count: 1k

Part 2 —> here

Part 3 —> here

The first time Sanemi Shinzugawa laid eyes on you, we saw you as nothing more than a pest- always getting into things that you shouldn’t, and seemingly oblivious to the obvious irritation you caused him. He couldn’t help but wonder why no one else shared his frustrations. 

Soon something changed. His feelings of irritation soon changed into some sort of possessiveness- needing to make sure you weren’t hurt because it’s obvious your dont know how to take care of yourself. 

“Shinazugawa! I don’t understand why I can’t go practice with Tomioka? I was walking by yesterday and saw you trying to kill him! I’m a Harshira too, damnit!” You yelled at him. 

“He’s too weak for you to practice with! Plus, you’re too idiotic to do things on your own.” Sanemi stated firmly, giving you a glare. He doesn’t care if you’re a Hashira, he’ll still treat you like an idiot. 

“I’m literally the first sun breather in generations!” You said, pointing your wooden sword at him. “Does that not make me powerful enough for you?!” You sighed, rubbing your temples. Suddenly, you looked at him with a sly smirk on your face. That couldn’t be good, you thought. 

“Sanemi,” He flinches at the use of his first name, “Let’s make a deal.” He pauses, a deal? He’s definitely curious at your offer. What kind of deal could you make? “And why would I agree to that?”

You scoffed. “No matter how you act, you still respect me and my strength.” He turned his head away. “Tch- fine. I’ll agree to your stupid deal, but it better not be a waste of my time.”

”Let’s do a real practice battle. Not training. If I win, you’ll let me battle with Giyuu,” God, you using his first name made his blood boil, “If you win, well, you can decide the punishment.”

A hint of a smirk appeared on his face. A practice battle? This was going to be easy. “Alright dumbass, you’re on. You won’t win. Not against me.” You drew your wooden sword, getting into proper position. “Let’s get this over with.”

He laughed at you, “Don’t cry about getting your ass kicked when I’m done! Got it?” You charged quickly, ignoring his words, landing a blow to his knee and chest, quickly zipping away. He hisses in both pain and annoyance, but quickly regains his composure, a smirk on his face as he watched you zip away. “You have some speed, I’ll give you that much. Let’s see if you can do it again!” He barked.

He took off after you, aiming for your leg, but you jump quickly. “Too slow ‘Nemi!” You got a hit on the back of his head, knocking him over. 

He lands on the ground with a thump, groaning in pain before quickly scrambling to his feet. ‘Damnnit,’ he thought, ‘She’s a lot faster than she lets on.”

“Don’t give up yet Sanemi! Come at me!” In a flash, he’s over to you within a second, hitting you in the stomach. The force knocks you over, hailing a cloud of dust. 

His vision now clouded, he couldn’t see where you ran off to. “I”m ending this here!” You yell, kicking his back, forcefully knocking him over. “I win!” You gleam, now sitting on his back. 

“Get off me dumbass!” He screams as you kick his sword away. “Nope.” You say, popping the P. “I said get off me, damnit!” You smirk at his words. “Oh yeah? What’ll you give me in return?” He struggles some more, groaning in annoyance as he can barely move. He let’s out a scoff, narrowing his eyes at you. “What do you want, you brat? I’ll give you anything, just get the hell off me!”

You look down on him. “You have to go on a date with me.”

His face turned red. “What?!” He sputters. You have to be joking, there’s no way you’d seriously as him that. “You want me to go on a date with you? Seriously?”

“As serious as I’ll ever be! Can’t our just imagine it! Us strolling around under the cherry blossoms? It’ll be beautiful!” A slight blush dances around your face. He feels a slight fluttering sensation in his stomach- seeing you blush like that was weirdly cute to him. But nonetheless, he was still surprised. why would you want to go on a date with him?

”You really want to go out on a date with me?” He questions, looking up at you, a slight flush on his cheeks from embarrassment. “Of course ‘Nemi! You’re attractive, I’m attractive. You’re strong, I’m stronger. We would make the perfect pair! So what do you say,” You finally step off of his back, helping him to stand up. “Will you go on a date with me?”

The red tinge on his face darkens as you help him up, standing at his full height. He looks down at you, his expression slightly vulnerable. He lets out a huff, not being able to look you in the eye. “Fine, I’ll go on a date with you. Dammit, you’re so stubborn! But just this once, got it?”

”Just this once!” You lean in to whisper in his ear. “Unless you beg for more~” You tease at him. You begin to walk away, a dark crimson staining his face. “Well then, I’m off to my estate! I’ll be back in the morning to discuss our arrangement!” You wave goodbye, not looking back. The truth is, your face was just as red as his, and you couldn’t bear the thought of him seeing you this way.

”Damn Woman.” He mutters in frustration.

[kakujis]

☆ 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒...

“...AND SHE'S FALLING ASLEEP, AS SHE'S WALKING WITH STRANGERS.”

synopsis: satoru’s had his eye on you for a while, who other than his best friend, suguru, to help him get you home?

warnings: dark content/ageless + minors DNI. afab!fem reader, modern au, naive/shy! reader, non curse! au. yandere!satoru. drugging, dubcon, voyeurism(sort of), non-consensual picture taking/recording, dacryphilia, fingering, p*ssy slapping, creamp*e, restraints, possessive behavior, blackmail, degradation, praise, pet names (baby, princess, angel, good girl), drooling, your friends are really shitty, suguru calls u a slut like one time. suguru is mean, satoru is less mean kind of, he's probs ooc at times. that should be it, if i forgot anything pls lmk.

ft + wc: mainly gojo x reader, lil bit of suguru x reader. around 5.8k.

network: @enchantedforest-network

a/n: well. this was a doozy lol. i started it back in mid september and it's taken me around a month to get here which is actually pretty fast for me! this was supposed to be part of my first mini kinktober but u can see with the pace i'm writing at... well LOL. anyways, big thank you to wallaby for actually getting me out of the rut to write this, koca the loml for helping me w satoru's dialogue (dirty talk)!! @sxgars for the banner, and nie, the other loml, for proofreading!

the embers burn under the twilight sky, as gojo satoru’s laugh bounces amongst the crowd. with feet buried in the sand, hands stuck in your hoodie, you stare at the bonfire. every so often, someone’ll throw another log in to keep it burning, the wood crackling like fireworks. it’s an interesting set of sounds, sights, and smells.  

your eyes flicker throughout the people surrounding you, some chatting away, some speaking only through makeout sessions, some are probably even arguing. none of them are your friends, not even acquaintances. you’re not sure why you agreed to come out tonight, coaxed by your own friends, who swore up and down they wouldn’t leave you alone this time, but ditched you when they found their hook up for the night. 

meanwhile, on the other side of the bonfire is gojo, handsome with snowy hair and blue eyes hidden behind his staple sunglasses, but loud and boisterous as he jokes with his friends, a small semi circle of individuals surrounding him. must be nice, you think before sighing and taking another sip of your watered down alcoholic drink, looking away when a voice calls out to you making you jump a little. 

“you alright?” he asks, squatting down to reach your eye level as you sit. when you look back, it’s geto suguru right in front of you, his own drink in hand, illuminated by the fiery light of the bonfire and the pale moonlight, the colors clashing against his skin. 

“i’m fine,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady, but you’re already ready to back away. you’ve always thought geto was handsome, tall, with dark hair and dark eyes, and an aura you just couldn’t read. perhaps it was the infatuation that kept you here on this sandy beach, even when your friends were long gone, eyes always finding him whenever one of you passed by each other at parties like this. “you?” 

“it’s alright,” he shrugs, pulling out a cigarette from his shirt pocket and leaning back, using the bonfire to light it up. you watch as he brings it back to his lips and takes a long drag, cheeks hollowing as he inhales, before making sure to blow away from you. “much better when there’s a pretty girl around.”  

you heat up, looking at your toes, peeking through the sand. “.. thank you,” you reply, struggling to look at him as he takes a seat next to you on your towel. “you’re not so bad yourself. you’re geto suguru, right?” 

“why, thank you,” he says, scooting closer to you, “and i am. what’s your name?” 

you give him your name, heart pounding away at the close proximity. beyond the scent of smoke, he smells woodsy, sort of like incense. you wonder if you smell similarly, your vanilla perfume mixing in with the bonfire fumes. 

“pretty name,” he says before he repeats it back, the syllables rolling off his tongue easily and straight into your stomach, “you staying out much longer?”

he makes you dizzy, and somewhat anxious, you were never planning - at least in this lifetime - on ever meeting him, let alone actually speaking to him. you’re not used to this, more comfortable with people watching than interacting.

you shake your head, “nah, i was gonna head home soon,” you glance out toward the ocean swells, waves crashing against the beach before they recede back into the tide. “my friends are already gone, so there’s not much else for me to do.”

“aw, really? that’s a shame,” he replies and you peek back, his mouth pressed into a hard line, his  thumb tapping against his cheek, before he nods, brightening up. “need someone to walk you home?” 

you pause, “um… no, it’s okay, i-”

“you’re gonna walk home this late at night?” he asks, cutting you off with an eyebrow raised, “by yourself?” 

you glance over at the darkened road, the dim lights of the city sprinkled far off in the distance. it’s foreboding and who knows what lurks in the dark? besides, wouldn’t it be better to walk home with someone? the warm amber light from the fire plays on his face as you glance back at him. 

“i don’t bite,” he continues, giving a reassuring smile as his hands come up playfully, “i swear.”  

“… okay,” you give in, nodding, “sure.” you make a move to get up, but he stops you. 

“wait,” he starts, bringing his drink up closer towards you. “let’s have a toast.”

you giggle, the tension easing out of you, before holding yours up as well, “a toast to what?” 

he smiles back, “to new friendship.” he tips his cup to yours, but doesn’t take into account how much stronger his clink would be compared to yours. the rest of your sticky drink crashes down onto you, spilling and seeping through your clothes, while suguru’s quick to mutter out, “oh shit, sorry!” 

you shake your head, “don’t worry! it’s fine!” but suguru isn’t hearing it, his cigarette dangling haphazardly from his mouth as his brow is scrunched in concentration while he tries his best to wipe at the mess with his hands. embarrassingly, your core flutters at his touch, especially when his fingers swipe across your thighs. 

“let me clean you up,” he says, half mumbled from the cig, handing his drink over to you, before unzipping his jacket. “don’t have any napkins on me, sorry.” 

your nerves continue to fire off, getting the best of you and the words of ‘really! it’s fine!’ die off your tongue. you glance around, looking for something, anything, to take your mind off of geto’s sweater dragging across your exposed skin, especially when he dips down in between your thighs dangerously close to your heat, to dab at the liquid that’s dripping off your body. 

gojo’s laugh booms again, causing you to glance over at him and you welcome the distraction. you catch his eye and he gives you an excited little wave, catching you off guard. you wonder if he can see just how flustered you are, but still, you raise your own hand back and he grins wider, before breaking eye contact as someone else calls for his attention. 

in an effort to calm your nerves, the recent memory of gojo’s affable bright smile definitely not helping, you take a big swig of suguru’s drink, forgetting it’s not even yours. his drink is stronger, thanks to the lack of melted ice, burning as it slides down your throat which makes you cough up some, scrunching your nose as some liquid runs down the side of your mouth. 

but geto uses a thumb to catch it, smirking at the way you blink up at him bewildered, “all clean.” 

you take a breath to steady yourself before speaking, “um, could you…  take me home?” you push his hands away, wanting nothing more than to hide under the safety of your covers. at this rate, you might pass out, the night’s been a bit too eventful for your taste. 

he nods, getting up and dusting himself before reaching out with an outstretched hand. you take it without hesitation, tensing when he starts to brush the sand off your shorts. you let him do that for a few moments, breathing hitching when his hand gets concerningly close to the bare skin of the back of your thighs, heart thrumming in your chest and pounding in your ears.

“just making sure,” he says, before he throws his cigarette into the pit, slinging his jacket over his shoulder. “lead the way, princess.” he grins as he steps off to the side to make room and give a small courtesy bow which makes you laugh. 

he makes eye contact with satoru and gives a small wave before leaving with you, catching you each time you stumble in the sand, marked by shoe and foot prints from excited partygoers. he lets you know that he’s got you each time while you mutter out various ‘sorry’s!’ meanwhile, gojo peers over his friends, eyes honing in on your forms before he says a quick goodbye to them and runs off. 

as the two of you are finally on solid land, you hear a “wait a minute!” and glance back. jogging towards you is none other than gojo satoru and suddenly you feel like throwing up. you’re not too good at meeting a new person, let alone two. 

“hi!” he says as he huffs, hands placed on his knees. 

“are you actually winded from that?” geto laughs, a pretty little tune that plays on your ear. 

“i drank so much, dude. give me a break.” gojo responds. 

you’re even more uncomfortable as the two of them joke around, stuffing your hands into your pockets as you stare at the ground. satoru shifts so he’s in your view, bending sideways, pretty snowy hair falling down his face. 

“anyways… hey.” he says again but softer this time, twinkly eyes on yours as the corners of his lips upturn. “i’m satoru.” 

“hi,” you say, giving a small wave, before you state your name. “nice to meet you.” 

nervously, you glance back up at geto, who smiles reassuringly back at you. with your heart definitely beating a mile a minute, you back away. “it’s this way.” you say, jutting your thumb behind you, and the two friends nod. 

“we’ll follow you,” geto says, nudging gojo to stand up straight, who in turn, elbows him back. “go ahead.” 

you nod, trudging forward, listening to their continued talk behind you. it’s just their voices, the sea breeze, and the sound of shoes on pavement as you walk. you look back towards them, taking a moment to eye them, you drink in their tall, built forms, the matching dark outfits, sweaters and all, and for a bit, you decide to trust them. you trust the easy going smiles, the laid-back banter, and the way that satoru smiles each time he looks at you does a lot to ease the tension in your body. 

it’s not too long into your walk, maybe only 30 minutes since you took the last of your drink, before you start to feel… strange. there’s a heaviness that starts to settle in your limbs, your mind going foggy. you reach out, grabbing onto one of their sleeves, who’s sleeve? you’re not sure, but you grasp it trying to dig your nails into the cotton fabric, as your knees buckle from your own weight. 

“hey? are you okay?” a voice asks, bouncing around your brain as the scenery starts to spin. you must’ve grabbed suguru’s sleeve, as you try to focus on the inky strands of hair that fall past his shoulders. you reach out with your other arm, trying to grab onto something as you continue to fall, a ring starting to settle in your ears. 

“geto?” you call, as you feel another large hand on your lower back, trying to keep you steady. “i think, i need… to go home.” but you don’t hear a reply as the void takes over you, swallowing you up, as you fall completely unconscious into the arms of geto suguru. 

the two of them are quiet, the easy-going atmosphere suddenly gone. you’re thrown over geto’s arm haphazardly, limbs limp, as they stare down at you. gojo speaks first.

“that was quick,” he says, bending down to brush your hair away from your face. “how much did you give her?” he trails his finger down your cheek, poking the skin, before tracing the outline of your lips. he has half a mind to kiss you, but decides against it, wanting his first with you to be when you’re awake.

“the usual,” geto responds and if you were awake, you’d see he feels a little colder, eyes almost vacant. “you wanna carry her? you like her more don’t you?” 

“i don’t just like her,” gojo responds, before he’s lifting you out of geto’s arms. “i’m gonna make her my girlfriend and depending on how well things go, i’ll marry her soon.. ish.” he cradles you gently, carrying you in his arms, princess-style like as he watches you with mirth filled eyes. 

geto rolls his eyes, “oh yeah, i’m sure she’s gonna wanna date you after this.” 

gojo snorts, glaring daggers at his best friend, “she’s not gonna have a choice.” 

maybe if you weren’t so naive, you wouldn’t have ended up like this. you blink awake, body still heavy from whatever drug was, or perhaps is, still coursing through your veins. the lull of sleep continues to beckon you over, the weight of your eyelids aiding in it’s cause, but you try to stay awake. something feels wrong. 

you decide to start with your legs, wiggling them around when you realize you’re in a bed rubbing your legs against the silken sheets. you focus upwards, wanting to move your arms to prop yourself up, until you realize: you can’t.

the rope around your wrists is tight, coiled up and keeping you locked in place. even as you try your best to wriggle out of them, you’re doing nothing but giving yourself rope burns as panic starts to settle within your bones.the room you’re in looks normal enough, a desk off to the side, jacket hanging on the door, but there’s something sinister in how normal it looks. and you wonder just whose bedroom is this? 

“oh, hey, you’re up.” you hear as the bed dips under the newly added weight. it’s gojo, peering down at you. he’s taken off his top and jacket, leaving only his pants, and if you weren’t terrified, you’d probably appreciate the sight. you can see his eyes clearly now, his sunglasses sitting atop his nightstand and as beautiful as they are, you can’t be lost in them for long. 

“gojo?” you try, voice barely louder than a whisper. 

“call me satoru.” he responds, a pretty smile gracing his features. 

“where..” 

“are you?” another voice chimes in, a voice that’s sweet, almost mockingly so. you glance towards the direction it’s coming from to see suguru, head leaning against his open palm. he smiles when the two of you make eye contact, the same disarming smile he gave you a few hours ago. “heyo~”

you’re still disoriented, glancing back between the two of them as you try your best to slide out of the binds. 

“hey, hey,” satoru starts, placing a hand over your wrists, “you’re gonna hurt yourself, baby.” his warmth isn’t comforting, it’s terrifying and the way that pet name falls off his tongue so easily freaks you out further. just where the fuck are you?

you can feel your tears welling up, nevermind the fact that your consciousness is still foggy. you’re exposed - vulnerable - with two men you’ve only met recently. there’s goosebumps on your skin, clad in nothing but your panties as you try to curl in on yourself, but gojo won’t let you. instead, he wraps an arm around you and pulls you closer, your head resting on his thigh. 

“gojo,” you plead, starting to sniffle, “i wanna go home…” 

“satoru.” he reminds you gently, before his hand starts to trail up and down your side, trying his best to comfort you. “i’ll take you home later, okay?” 

you shake your head, tears starting to fall, little droplets stain his pants, “why not now-”

“told you,” suguru drawls, interrupting you while his expression remains uninterested, “she’s scared out of her mind.” 

“thanks suguru, great input.” satoru deadpans, shooting him a glare before his focus is back on you. “i can’t take you home yet, but i will. i promise.” and those words shoot straight to your stomach. it’s so eerily similar to earlier, when geto promised he’d take you home and that he was safe. 

“my friends…” you mumble, “are gonna notice i’m missing.” it’s a pathetic attempt of a threat, your friends are already long gone and home for the night, but there’s the hope that when morning comes and your “i’m home” text doesn’t show up, they’re bound to notice, right? 

“hm? which ones? the ones that left you or the ones that let us take you here? oh wait, those are the same ones.” suguru taunts, snickering as the pit in your stomach grows by the moment, “it’s really funny what people will do for money.” 

you furrow your brow, heart shattering at the confession, because there’s no way your friends would sell you out. but the shit-eating grin that won’t leave suguru’s face, almost as if it’s etched in stone, silently confirms your worst fears. “i don’t…” - understand is the word that should be said, but it escapes you like the sand between your fingers on that fucking beach that you never should’ve been at in the first place. 

“okay, so, don’t freak out.” gojo starts, before muttering, “well i guess you already are, huh.” on the brightside, the drug suguru gave you is strong enough that the disorientation nestled so deeply within you is able to keep your screaming at bay. 

satoru’s focus, unlike yours, is almost too sharp. he’s been chasing after you for a while, but finally having you in his headlights is driving him insane. the tips of his fingers continue tracing up your arm til they find the depressions in your neck, that he has half a mind to wrap around to see what you’d look like with his hand as a necklace. but that can wait, he’ll be soft with you for the first time. 

“the important thing is that you’re here with me. you came out to have fun right? have fun with me and i’ll take you home.” he winks, his easy-going front still on full force as he tries to calm you down, but you flinch when he gets a little too close to your lips. 

in your mind you know, there’s always a catch. “what do you want from me?” you ask, voice featherlight, but everyone in the room knows what it is he wants. 

“i think you know,” suguru chimes and if you could curse him out, you probably would. “why else would we bring you here?” 

“hmm,” gojo hums, his thumb gliding across the top of your cheek to swipe at some of your tears. “you know, you’ve been coming around to our little get togethers for a while, but this is probably our first real conversation.”

gojo’s always liked you. when he first saw you, he thought you were cute. doe-eyed and clumsily searching for an open spot to sit while you did your best to hold onto your friend’s shirt, you caught his eye. cuter still were the pretty laughs that came from you, sometimes even snorting when something particularly funny was said. 

there was a minor issue though: you’d never look at him, no matter how much he bounced off the walls, even when he’d head over and say ‘hi’ to your friends, you scampered away much more interested in your hands situated in your lap. and maybe that was the charm, you were prey he wanted to catch. 

it wasn’t long til he noticed your quick, continued glances at suguru and how you only did it when you were sure he wouldn’t notice you. he was sulky at first, irritated that his best friend seemed to take his spotlight, but who is geto suguru if not gojo satoru’s closest and greatest friend? and with enough prying, geto got the information out of him and simply laughed. gojo was a little hesitant when geto suggested a plan, something they haven’t done in a while. 

“i dunno, i thought we decided we were over that.” satoru pouted that day as he stared off, focused on the others at the park. 

“you got any bright ideas, lover boy?” suguru retorted, leaning back on the park bench, hands in his pockets. 

“nah.” he shrugged, elbows on his knees and bent forward. and so they ended up here again, except, in gojo’s bedroom for once. 

“you know your friends were pretty easy to convince,” satoru grimaces, his thumb swiping at your tears. “you should really get some new ones.” 

you’re unsure if you’re more mortified than flattered that satoru feels so strongly for you. but there are no words that spring up in your mind, there’s nothing you can possibly say. 

“listen, the goal here, princess,” suguru starts putting emphasis on the pet name as he gestures between you and gojo. “is that satoru fucks you, you’re his girl, and you guys get to live happily ever after.” 

“...and if i refuse?” you counter, but your voice is still barely above a whisper as tears continue to fall down your face. 

“dunno if you wanna do that.” satoru sighs, before he catches the phone that suguru throws over. he opens it up, before turning it towards you revealing the photos they took of you earlier, tied up and exposed. “i mean you do look really cute in these, but i’d rather they stay in our circle for now.” 

the weight of that word is heavy, because there is no universe in which you’re allowed to say no. you’ve fallen deep into their sticky web with no chance of climbing out, the only thing left is for their fangs to sink into you. the images they’ve taken burn into your mind and you steel yourself to find your resolve. 

there’s a few pros when you think about it. gojo’s handsome, a little funny, and seems to actually like you. you’re not entirely sure if it outweighs the con of fucking drugging and then kidnapping you, but what can you do with the cards you’ve been dealt? geto is whole nother can of worms you don’t feel like delving into. 

“fine.” you sniffle and gojo perks up, lips curling up into a smile. “… i’ll do whatever you want.”  

“told you she’d say yes.” he singsongs as the other rolls his eyes. “that settles it, you’re officially apart of the gojo clan!” neither you, nor suguru, have the heart to tell him that you didn’t actually agree to marriage. 

“well then!” suguru claps, making you jolt. “let’s get started, yeah?” he shifts from his spot, moving til he’s back up against the headrest. “let’s get you a little more comfortable,” he says, pulling you up til your back is flush against his clothed chest. “that’s better.” 

you don’t have time to worry about just how fast things are going when satoru slots himself between your legs, heart racing in fear mixed with anticipation when he pushes your panties to the side as his fingers flutter around your clit. 

meanwhile, suguru is pulling your thighs back, locked beneath his elbows. as much as you want to close your legs, you can’t. suguru’s too strong for you. 

“you don’t need these, right?” gojo mutters, hands gripping one side of your underwear, but there’s no reason to answer as he rips them clean apart, chucking them onto the floor. 

it’s silent for a moment as satoru watches the rise and fall of your chest, quickened in your panicked state, before his eyes meet yours. he grins, “man, you’re so fucking cute, you know?” 

you heat up under his gaze, and you try to look away, but he simply leans in, so close your noses almost touch as he stares deeply into you before looking down at your lips. your breath hitches again as his lips ghost over yours and you shut your eyes when he asks, “can i?” 

it’s an odd first kiss with your hands tied up and his best friend in the same bed as you in a tangled mess of limbs but he’s surprisingly soft. you’re falling, so deeply into the kiss that you don’t notice the way suguru pulls your knees up more so he can get better access to your chest. 

you squeak when you feel a pinch on your nipple, suguru seemingly getting bored and deciding to pass the time playing with you. your squeals soon turn to moans as he rolls the nub between his fingers and satoru uses the opportunity to slip his tongue in, spit mixing with yours as your mouths mesh together. 

his fingers find their way downward again, lightly trailing up and down your folds with feather light touches, making you twitch each time he brushes against your clit. you jolt when he sinks a finger in, encouraged by the wetness of your hole, pushing back against geto in an attempt to squirm away, but you can’t, sandwiched between two men who can do whatever they want, however they want.  

gojo’s good, adding in another thick finger to your slick heat and sliding in your gummy walls. it’s different from when you do it, your digits are slender and smaller than his. you keel, moaning and thighs trembling, but gojo’s lips stay firmly on yours as does geto’s hand which continues to pinch and palm at your breast, sending ripples of hot pleasure through you. 

“you gonna cum on his fingers, pretty?” geto murmurs, voice low as he nips at your ear. 

satoru continues to pump away, fingers curling into your sweet spot and dotting your vision in stars of white. he picks up the pace when you mewl louder, the sound rushing straight to his dick as your slick rolls down his hand. you press further into suguru, whimpering and thighs tensing before you cum messily on satoru’s fingers, bucking and kicking as much as he allows you. 

“that’s it,” suguru drawls, his hot breath on your ear, “good fuckin’ job.” he says it like he’s the one inside you, churning up your insides. 

satoru pulls away, a small trail of saliva connecting the two of you that he laps up with his tongue. he slightly groans at your pretty spit slicked lips, before he’s taking out his aching cock. he’s big. big enough to make you whimper as he rubs your juices over his cockhead, precum already beaded on his tip, before running it through your sensitive folds. he’s slow, wanting to enjoy his first time with you, as he lines up to your still twitching entrance. 

“fuck,” he hisses as he sinks inch by inch into your dripping pussy. the stretch drives you insane even with the prep beforehand and he stills when he bottoms out, hips flush with yours. “sucked me all in, huh?” 

suguru and satoru move like they’re sync’d, somehow knowing what the other wants to do. suguru’s hands are replaced as satoru pushes your knees back up against your chest as your head lolls backward onto suguru’s shoulder, mouth agape.

“ah, ah,” suguru tuts, cupping your cheeks with one hand before forcing you to look back at the other. “let him see your pretty face.” 

“s-sorry,” you manage to say before satoru starts moving, your breath getting caught in your throat as you mewl out, “oh, fuck.” 

a breathless smile falls on satoru’s face, as he watches yours contort in pleasure with each slow drag of his cock within your tight walls that seem to swallow him up with each thrust. your embarrassment is long gone, replaced with a fervent need as satoru fucks every single thought out of your brain. 

“satoru,” you whimper and he digs his nails harder into your thighs, to not blow his load right then and there, but the way you plead his name as you stare up at him with needy, glass-blown eyes almost sends him over the edge. “satoru.” 

“yeah?” he coos, leaning in and tilting his head, as he slows the pace down, “what do you want from me, baby?” 

“use your words,” suguru says, pressing hot kisses to your cheek, reminding you that he’s still there. “c’mon, i know you’ve still got some in that pretty little head of yours.” you can feel his erection pressing against your back, as his hand snakes down to your clit to rub slow, sticky circles on your sensitive nub. “or are you too dumb on satoru’s cock, hm?”

gojo laughs, spurred on by geto’s continued teasing, “aww man i think she is. wanna be my lil cocksleeve? get fucked stupid everyday?” 

he laughs harder when your eyes roll back, cunt clenching at his words, the first time you’ve been talked down to like this. meanwhile, suguru switches to hook a finger into your mouth, digging his nail into the wet, warm cavern of your cheek, hot breath puffing onto his hand. when your eyes flutter up at him, he snickers, “you good?”

you feel a tap on your cheek and shift your blurry focus back on the one inside you, buried up to the hilt while his hips still slightly grind into you. his blue eyes burn through you and in moments like this, you truly can’t read him. “answer me.” 

through the haze you nod, but it’s not a good enough answer in suguru’s book. “you can do better than that.” he chastises bringing his hand down onto your puffy clit, slapping hard enough to make you squeal and bite down on the digit keeping your mouth open.

tears prick your widened eyes as he does it again, “that’s for biting me, brat.” he hisses, and you find your words again, stumbling out ‘sorry! ‘m sorry!’ as drool runs down your chin and his hand. but suguru is fucking mean, swatting down at your puffy pussy, each hit just as hard; a stark contrast to the sneer on his features while he hooks in yet another finger to pull your cheek further out. 

although the nicer of the two, satoru can’t help but be enamored with everything you do, especially if you’re screaming and crying trapped between the arms of his best friend. his cock twitches in your cunt, “well fuck, aren’t you pretty when you’re cryin’ on me?” he groans, pulling back out just to slam his hips back into yours at a brutal pace making you squeal louder.

you’re incredibly overwhelmed, glancing back between the two of them as the tears start to leak down your face again, chest heaving. you hate that it feels so fucking good to be used like this, having absolutely no control. still, you fight against your restraints once more, trying to raise your hands just enough to push against satoru’s abs to slow down, but it’s all moot, he won’t stop until he’s satisfied.

“shh,” suguru soothes, starting to play with your clit again, trying to ease the sting. “sorry for getting carried away, you’re just so fun to ruin.” his hand once again moving to cup under your chin, smearing drool and tears across your skin and  tilting you so that his tongue is able to press against your cheek, licking a stripe to taste the saltiness of your tears as his chest vibrates with a low groan. he can’t wait til it’s his turn to get his hands on you. 

“suguru - oh fuck - ‘m sorry, fuck, ‘m really sorry,” you blubber between moans, still whining and writhing, he raises an eyebrow at you with a hungry grin, liking the way you call his name. 

but satoru’s the one who answers, breathless and groaning, “it’s okay princess, shit, don’t worry about it. just focus on me, alright?” 

you’re pliant and close to your high, easily shifting back to satoru, watching him through muddied vision and mumbling out, “mkay, satoru.” 

the sweat rolls down the side of his brow and he’s so close to letting go, but satoru’s a bit of a romantic, thinking it’d be best for you to cum at the same time. still, the way you call his name has him glaring up at suguru, letting him know what he wants. 

his friend nods in acknowledgment as the speed of his fingers quickens, expertly working over your clit. “c’mon,” suguru taunts, already caught on to how much you like it when they’re mean, “be a good little slut and cum on satoru’s cock, yeah?” 

his words run straight to your core, as you babble out “mhms,” body tensing and jerking as your orgasm is finally coaxed out of you.

“fuck,” satoru hisses, groaning out, “good fucking girl.” as he unleashes his load deep into you. 

you hiccup and whine a few more times before you go limp in suguru’s hold, falling asleep. 

“shit, i think she passed out again.” suguru mumbles before he undoes your bindings, uncharacteristically kind as he rubs his palms over your tired and sore wrists. carefully, he slips out from underneath you, letting you fall back onto the bed. “you overdid it, satoru.” 

gojo’s unresponsive, chest heaving as he stays within you, so geto takes it upon himself to do the finishing touches. he reaches over, grabbing his phone and unlocking the camera app. 

pressing the red button, he captures the scene. you’re effectively passed out at this point, arms sprawled at your sides and head lolled back. this is always his favorite part, even more so than the actual fucking. there’s just something so fun about recording the aftermath, messy and dirty and oh so wet. 

satoru swoops down into view, throwing a wink and a smile, before reaching out for the phone. suguru obliges, tossing it over to let gojo capture what he sees. 

“you stayin’ over?” gojo asks, paneling down the expanse of your skin, littered in sweat, cum, and marks. he makes sure to record when he pulls out, as slowly as he can, to show off your swollen hole leaking out his seed.

“yeah, i’ll knock out on the couch.” geto replies, grimacing as he notices the wet patch of cum and fluids on his pants. he swipes a clean pair of gojo’s hanging on the back of his computer chair before heading out. he stops at the door with a quick turnaround to ask, “let me play with her sometime?” 

“of course,” his friend responds, kneeling down between your legs, spreading open your folds to further watch his sticky cum drip from your abused hole. “i owe you big time. let me know if you need any help yeah?”

gojo’s like a kid in a candy shop, delving his fingers in between your hole and your folds to catch some of the sticky substance dripping to the floor before bringing it up to the camera with a whistle. 

suguru shrugs, hungry eyes scanning back to your sleeping form before his lips curl up into a smirk. “nah, don’t think i’ll need to.” 

and satoru’s the same, just as insatiable as his friend, tossing his phone to the floor before he’s crawling up over you again, nose burying into your dizzying scent. fuck, he should’ve asked if you were cool with somno. well, maybe it’d be alright. it’s not the worst thing he’s done tonight. 

[lvis44]

Cabin Fever - Pt. 3 // LH44

Lewis Hamilton x Y/N

Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol Consumption, Angst, Lewis being an ass, allusions to mental health struggles, 18+ MINORS DNI, not edited

Word Count: 5.3k+

Summary: He's your Sister in Laws best friend, you shouldn't even have to deal with him. Always seeming like a cocky arrogant prick, and now here he is crashing your family Christmas. Can you handle a full week of Lewis Hamilton? Or might he not actually be as bad as he seems?

Notes: A bit more drama for you guys tonight but this is nothing compared to what we've got coming up, oopsie lol. Hoping to get the next part out quickly so it kinda aligns with the holidays in real time! I would also formally like to start an important conversation about why the hell this man only seems to own winter jackets the color of a highlighter (im sure it's for safety when snowboarding but pls). I love you all and I'm so happy you guys are enjoying our angsty little Christmas fic!

As always, I am not a professional writer and all of this is a work of fiction and is strictly for fun. Enjoy!

**italics are a jump back in time**

The moment you make your way downstairs the next morning you are ready to turn and run back up to your room. You can hear everyone in the kitchen already, much to your surprise. Their voices are much louder than you would have wanted but you carry on, aware that the only way you’re getting coffee is by showing your face in there.

“Well good morning sleepy head! I was wondering when you’d show up.” Your dad greets you warmly.

“Hey I was up long before any of you yesterday.” You argue as he pulls you into a side hug.

“I do believe I was up before you.” Lewis pipes up with a smirk.

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” You grumble, trying to conceal the roll of your eyes but when you meet Lewis’ gaze you know you’ve failed, “I need coffee, lots of it.”

Tom laughs from over at the coffee bar where he seems to be making himself some sort of fancy espresso, “Coming right up.”

You thank him, taking a seat next to your brother at the island, watching the chaos ensuing on the other side of the kitchen. Your mother, Beatrice, and Vanessa are in what seems to be party planning mode. They’re rummaging through cupboards and running back and forth to the fridge, Vanessa has a notebook out creating some sort of list, Beatrice is loudly reading some recipe from her phone.

“How long has this been going on?” You ask the men at the counter, trying to keep your voice low.

“About twenty minutes, they’ve probably got another twenty in them.” Lewis says, picking up his coffee and watching the scene himself.

You let out a deep breath, already exhausted by the amount of energy flowing through the room, praying you don’t somehow get sucked into it as well.

“Y/N, thank goodness you’re up!” Vanessa says excitedly, finally noticing your presence on one of her trips around the kitchen.

“Good Morning.” You respond softly, trying not to allow any chance of being roped into whatever is going on.

“So,” Vanessa's voice comes out chipper and matter of fact as she puts her palms down on the counter, evidently ready to give you the full run down, “I felt so bad yesterday, I had so many things planned for a fancy breakfast and the weather just had to ruin it all so I really want to make up for all of it today. Thank you again for pulling that off yesterday, I was so grateful, but I want a big fancy family brunch, we haven't had one in so so long and I’ve been thinking about it since I started planning this trip. And I don’t want it to be our Christmas morning brunch, I want it to be its own special moment, ya know?”

You can tell that your eyebrows have gotten higher on your forehead with every word that she has said, speaking faster than you could ever comprehend at the early hour. You hear your brother take a deep breath from next to you as Lewis chuckles lowly.

“I’m sure it will be wonderful, very talented ladies doing the cooking.” Tom tells his daughter before setting a delicious smelling cup of coffee down in front of you, “Here you go Y/N.”

“Thank you, it smells fantastic.” You say sincerely, happily wrapping your chilly hands around the warm cup.

“It better, I brought my own beans and everything. That should be the best cup of coffee you’ve had in your life.” He tells you proudly.

“It was a phenomenal cup of coffee.” Lewis says with an amused smile on his face, one that Tom seems to read as more genuine than you think it really is.

“Very good, very very good.” Dylan is quickly agreeing.

“Now listen,” Vanessa’s voice is quick to grab your attention again, “you did such an amazing job yesterday with breakfast and then helping with all the storm cleanup,”

Before she can finish Lewis lets out a sound halfway between a laugh and a scoff, cutting her off, “I don’t know if I would call whatever she was doing yesterday helping.” His voice is muffled by the rim of his coffee mug but you can hear the cheek to his voice, more teasing than the jabby tone it usually carries for you, you assume it's because of the current company.

You open your mouth to defend yourself but your brother is joining in quickly, “I mean she made a valiant effort but I do think I have to agree with Lewis on this one.” He’s laughing as he pinches at your side.

You try to find the right words to argue your defense but you realize you really can’t, thinking back to your ways of helping the day before. 

You had started strong, initially heading out after breakfast to try to clean up all the branches that had been blown into the yard, that lasted for only twenty minutes before Lewis and Dylan were getting the plow and skidoo out of the garage. Once the big toys were out you had no more interest in your handheld rake and shovel. You had gone over to inspect the new fun equipment but were quickly shooed away by both Lewis and your brother, both claiming you were going to get in the way and possibly end up hurting yourself. You had accepted defeat, heading back to your sad pile of branches before once again getting quite distracted by the fun sound of the engine on the skidoo. You had done your best to act as if you were still working but you had ended up watching Lewis zip around the yard for much longer than you would have liked to admit. There was something about his level of both control and chaos behind the handlebars that scratched your brain just right and it irked you and brought you immense satisfaction all at once. Once your brother had gotten into the swing of plowing, Lewis following him down the hill to keep Vanessa's mind at ease, you had gotten back to your sad attempt at branch removal, by the time they made it back up to the house you were collecting your armful. 

“Y/N you do know that it’s been a full hour and you don’t even have enough sticks to make a mouse a campfire, right?” Lewis had taunted you when he saw you walking across the driveway as he removed his goggles, your brother laughing as he hopped out of the plow.

“Oh fuck off, at least I was doing something, you were just joyriding.” You said sassily, quickly changing course so you weren’t walking directly past him.

“I,” He started, his voice long and drawn out to dramatically make his point, “was keeping your brother safe. The buddy system is very important, you know.”

“A knight in shining,” You started to say but before you could get the whole sentence out you were falling flat on your ass, your abysmal stick pile flying everywhere.

“Woah Y/N, shit you alright?” Your brother was quick to react, leaving his open truck door to run over to you.

“You’ve gotta be kidding.” Lewis huffed out, also quickly making his way over to you.

They had both been there within an instant, squatting next to you to make sure you were alright. Your brother was handling you like fine china even though he could tell you were okay, Lewis however was immediately giving you shit.

“You do realize we’ve been here for like twelve hours and this is the second time you’ve fallen in front of me, right?” The tone of his voice was unamused despite offering you his hand to help pull you up.

“I did not fall last night.” You had tried to defend yourself as he got you to your feet, your brother still giving you a worried look like he thought you had secretly broken something.

“Because I caught you.” He had quickly pointed out.

“Whatever.” You grumbled as you bent down to collect your stick pile, admittedly leaving a good half of them behind before once again heading toward your brother's brush pile off by the shed. Before you could even make it half way, a very well aimed snowball was colliding with your ass cheek, once again knocking the sticks out of your arms. 

“I am going to fucking kill you.’ You had exclaimed loudly, quickly gathering a large armload of snow to form into your own snowball before turning around and whipping it in their direction. You ended up hitting your brother, immediately feeling a little bad because you assumed it had come from Lewis in the first place. Lewis let out a cackle when the snowball hit your brother, evidently pleased that he hadn’t been the one to get in trouble.

“Oh hell no, that was meant for you.” Dylan had said, also laughing but incredibly serious, his own snowball already being packed tightly to whip at Lewis. Much to your pleasure, Dylan was much closer to Lewis and was much stronger than you so you could tell the impact didn’t feel amazing when it finally slapped into his chest.

“I just thought you should put some ice on it after that fall, I was trying to be helpful.” Lewis laughed as he put his arms up to guard himself from any further snowballs being sent his way. You and your brother exchanged a look, both of you loading up again, hurling snow in Lewis’ direction.

He screamed as he turned to run, his snow gear making him much less agile than he would normally be. He had finally found steady footing, his own snowballs being sent in both of your directions, all three of you in a fit of laughter. Somewhere along the line your alliance with your brother had crumbled, his snowballs being sent your way as well, no longer reserved for just Lewis. By the time you finally called truce you had all been absolutely soaked, your stomachs hurting from laughing so hard and your pile of sticks long forgotten. When you made your way back to the house you had found yourself very surprised at how playful and fun that time with Lewis had been but you decided that it must have been a bit of a fluke, knowing it wouldn’t last the rest of the day.

You try to think of a way to argue your defense but you have to admit to yourself that you really can’t, you truthfully didn’t do any actual storm cleanup yesterday.

“It’s the thought that counts, I tried.” You grumble into your mug as the two men laugh.

“Well, either way, you absolutely slayed it with breakfast and putting up with them,” Vanessa gives you a smirk, trying to take away their ammunition, “so I want you to just relax this morning, Moms and I will take care of all things brunch, you just enjoy the pretty scenery and your amazing coffee.”

You smile at her, mouthing a thank you, grateful that you are not expected to be part of the brunch circus that is unfolding in the kitchen before you. Your mother and Beatrice are still frantically figuring out if they have everything for some recipe that they have selected. You sit back, watching as Vanessa returns to her chaos with your mothers, seeming weirdly at home within it. Tom and your father begin loudly discussing just where Tom is sourcing his coffee beans, raising the volume of the kitchen just that much more. You go to turn to your brother, only to find him standing from his seat to rinse out his coffee cup. Lewis is grabbing his phone and eagerly taking a call, leaving the room rapidly. You let out a sigh, choosing to make your way into the den with your coffee, hoping for some level of peace in there. The room is cozy, a fire already going and a light snow falling outside the large windows. You try to settle into one of the plush couches but as you sit there you feel yourself growing more and more aggravated. On one side you can hear your family in the kitchen, all talking loudly about different subjects that don’t even meld together into anything coherent, on the other side you can hear Lewis’ muffled voice on the phone. You can’t actually make out anything that he’s speaking about but the low timbre is enough to be disruptive. You find it hard to believe that in a house of this size you can’t find any silence, yet here you are, you shouldn’t be shocked with it being your family. You decide you can only take so much and come to the conclusion that you would rather be out in the cold and quiet than in here with the chatter. You take your coffee and head off to the foyer to find your winter gear to bundle up, the better idea of just going to your room nowhere to be seen in your head. You get as cozy as possible, grabbing a blanket out of the den before heading back to the kitchen.

“I think I’m just gonna go sit out back for a little while and appreciate the view while I have my coffee.” You awkwardly announce as you make your way to the backdoor, raising your blanket in your hand as you do.

“That sounds absolutely lovely, enjoy yourself!” Beatrice exclaims, overly enthusiastic about your plans.

When you first step out of the house you begin to question your plans, the cold air immediately hitting your face and wrapping you in an unforgiving cocoon, but the moment the door closes behind you, you’re at peace. The door seals your family and their loud chatter away wonderfully, just the gentle howl of the wind and small noises of things falling in the forest left to be heard. You make your way across the covered deck, settling into one of the luxurious outdoor couches overlooking the large backyard and forest. You snuggle as far as possible into your blanket, trying to keep as much of your body heat as possible. You can feel a deep sigh leave your body as you take in your surroundings, admitting to yourself that as much as you hate winter, you do love the beauty of the blanketing of snow. You sit in silence for a while, just sipping your coffee and enjoying the peaceful way the world is waking up, the snow falling gently. It sadly doesn’t take long for your silence to be interrupted, the door opening behind you. You let out a huff when you see who is making their way outdoors.

“Ocupado.” You say sassily as you turn your attention back out to the view in front of you.

Lewis just scoffs, making his way over to sit on one of the couches near you.

“Seriously, I just need some silence. Do you have nowhere else to go?” You groan childishly, seeing him settling into his seat.

“I let you get warm in front of my fire yesterday, I think you can share the silence of your deck with me now.” He says, his voice just as sassy.

You go to argue with him, wanting to tell him that it’s not the same and his fire was in the den, a common area, but you quickly realize that this too is a common area that you have no monopoly over. You decide to bite your tongue, rolling your eyes as he settles deeper into the couch, pulling his phone out. You decide to do the same, feeling awkward staring into the trees now that you have company. It doesn’t take long before the first post from a friend is popping up on your feed. She is back in California, a small party dress on that would have you getting hypothermia here. The post is about a party that you had known would be happening, a fun Christmas get together with a bunch of your friends that you would have loved to have been at, carefree and ridiculous fun. You let out a huff as you scroll through her post, the fomo eating you alive as you do so.

“Thought you wanted silence.” Lewis grumbles from his spot at the sound of your huff, his voice already laced with annoyance. 

“So sorry to disturb you, your highness.” You fire back at him sarcastically.

“It’s just sir, I’m a knight, not technically royalty.” He replies, his voice so cocky that it makes you want to smack him, only stopping when you see the slightly teasing smirk on his face.

You roll your eyes again, not even having the energy to come up with something witty to say back to him in the moment.

“Seriously though, what’s got you in such a mood?” He asks, sounding genuinely curious, much to your surprise. 

“I’m not in a mood.” You mutter, burrowing further into your blanket, your attention back on your phone.

He lets out a chuckle at your response, “Yeah the huffing and puffing really sells that narrative well.”

“Oh shut up, you know I don’t particularly want to be here, just let it go.” You say quietly, not wanting your family to hear your disdain for your surroundings.

“I know, and me being here probably isn’t helping that, but it seemed like there was something else going on. Thought you saw something that was upsetting you.” He says casually, shrugging like it’s a normal conversation for the two of you to be having.

You’re taken aback by his casual and genuinely curious nature, not being used to anything like this from Lewis. It takes your guard down, quicker than it should. You let out a sigh, deciding, against your better judgement, to confide in him a little bit. You know he could come back with some level of snippy remark but you were prepared for that, maybe he would actually have a normal conversation with you for once. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I love my family, but seeing everyone enjoying their lives as adults and doing what they want, where they want, I don’t know, it’s just driving me a bit insane.” You divulge, not getting your point across in quite the way you meant to.

He raises an eyebrow at you, evidently rather confused by what you mean, “I mean, you’re an adult, you spend 99% of the year doing what you want, where you want. What’s the problem?”

You just shake your head, deciding to instead show him the post that caused the initial huff. You watch as his brows furrow while he scrolls through the instagram post you handed him. Quickly his face turns from curious to judgemental. It’s his turn to roll his eyes as he finally hands you your phone back.

“So you’d rather be back in the smog of LA where you can’t even tell it’s Christmas, dressed in a skimpy dress with your friends? You’d prefer that to fresh mountain air, a white Christmas, and your family that loves you?” His tone is belittling as he reads the situation completely incorrectly, his questions coming out more as statements, as if nothing that you say now will change his mind.

Your jaw drops at the accusation, a loud scoff leaving your throat as you snatch your phone back from him, “How dare you, that was not the point I was trying to make.” You begin to argue before he’s cutting you off.

“You see those people all the time Y/N, how often do you see any of your family?” He raises his brow in challenge but doesn’t give you time to formulate a response before he’s carrying on, “We all know you don’t want to be here, just suck it up, a little bit of winter mountain air and family time isn’t going to kill you.” He doesn’t wait for a rebuttal, he just stands from his seat as if he’s just finished reprimanding a child and walks away, back inside.

He leaves you in your seat, silent and fuming but also leaving you feeling a tad guilty. He is correct, you don’t want to be here, but it has nothing to do with you preferring to be out in a skimpy dress in LA, it’s about your freedom. Having the freedom to do as you please and be where you want, something you haven’t had a ton of in your life. You hate that everyone knows that you would prefer to be somewhere else, making you feel as if you’re almost a burden. You hate that Lewis feels that he has the right to make such deep assumptions about you and treat them as fact and you hate even more that he feels he has the right to lecture you based on those assumptions. 

You end up staying out on the back deck much longer than you had originally planned, only finally making your way back indoors when Vanessa announces that brunch is served. You do your best to ignore him, not even looking in his direction. Instead you spend most of brunch quizzing Vanessa on things about her brunch that in all honesty you aren’t particularly interested in, but listening to Vanessa explain how he gets her eggs to fluffy is much better than having to even think about dealing with the man sitting at the other end of the table.

It irks you that you can hear him chatting so freely and happily down the table, as if he hadn’t accosted you on the porch mere hours beforehand. You find yourself already making a plan for escape before you’ve even cleared your plate.

Avoiding him throughout the rest of the day ends up being shockingly easy. You take an extra long time getting ready before helping Vanessa and your mom with some last minute gift wrapping. You can’t help but laugh when you see that Vanessa's “last minute stuff” actually appears to be a majority of her gifts, but you don’t complain, knowing it will take up more of your time, and in turn help in your game of avoidance. You can hear Lewis chatting off in the distance, your father quizzing him eagerly on his car collection after hearing he added something new. Lewis gushed with ease, thoroughly entertaining your fathers questions and while it could be considered a nice conversation you felt like it sounded arrogant, flashy. 

“Boys and their toys.” Your mom muttered with a laugh, also listening to bits of the conversation, your father now seemingly showing Lewis photos of a car he had back in the nineties.

“Tell me about it, I couldn’t for the life of me get Dylan out of that plow truck when we first bought it and the snow hadn’t even fallen yet.” Vanessa exclaims, shaking her head.

You just laugh as you lean back to stare out the window for a moment, admiring the way the world is beginning to turn blue as the sun goes down. As if he’s noticed it getting dark at the very same moment, Dylan is bursting into the room talking about Christmas lights.

“Get out, we are not finished in here Mr.” Vanessa is quickly squealing, throwing her body in front of the few remaining unwrapped gifts.

“Okay, okay,” Dylan laughs, throwing his hand over his eyes before continuing, “What I was saying is the lights in the forest look like they stayed up through the storm! It’s getting dark so I was hoping we could all take a walk out there, it’ll be beautiful.”

“That sounds nice Dyl, give us just a little time to get ready.” You say softly, eager to see the lights that have your brother so excited.

“Sweet, I’ll go let the guys know.” He says like a little kid, whipping around to go inform them of the new plans.

“He made an absolute wonderland out there, you guys are going to love it.” Vanessa says, already standing up to collect the remaining wrapping paper, shoving things away like she’s now on a time crunch.

You take that as your sign to go change and get ready for a winter walk. When you go to head upstairs you finally cross paths with Lewis who seems to be headed to his own room, you pause for a moment before flicking your gaze away and trying to move past him.

“Joining us on the walk?” He asks, his voice cold, sounding like he’s expectant of a no.

“Uh, yeah, of course.” You waver slightly, caught off guard that he had any words for you at all. You wished your voice had come out stronger, not wanting him to feel like he had any sort of upperhand, that he had gotten under your skin.

He does actually look surprised, his eyebrows twitching up in a certain judgemental look of disbelief before he is once again turning on his heel. He doesn’t say a word, just walks away to his bedroom.

When you make your way back downstairs, everyone is there and waiting. Dylan is animatedly explaining how he set up with power for the lights and how they follow all of the groomed paths in a certain pattern. Once he notices that you’re there he is directing everyone to follow him to the back yard, still explaining his tree lighting process on the way. You can’t help the grimace that leaves your body when you step outside, the temperature having dropped drastically since you were out here earlier. You try to just burrow further into your coat, not wanting to complain after being made so aware of your attitude earlier today.

As you wander the paths you find yourself mesmerized, Vanessa was right about the absolute wonderland of it all. The glittery lights look like stars, spanning higher up trees than you would like to think about your brother being, but regardless they are breathtaking. You find yourself falling away from the group a bit, too caught up in admiring the gorgeous trees and trying to keep as much of your warmth in as possible. Your family carries on walking, unaware of your sudden slow pace, Lewis however seems to notice and slows down himself. So much that you almost trip over him, having been blissfully unaware of his presence.

“You okay?” He asks you when you’re steady on your feet.

“I’m just fine Lewis.” Your voice is as cold as the outdoor air as you avoid looking in his direction.

“Well, from where I’m standing, you’re shaking like a leaf.” His tone has lost its earlier harshness but still carries that bit of arrogance as you catch him smirking at you out of the corner of your eye.

“Just wore the wrong jacket, I’ll be fine.” You argue, keeping your voice short but still pulling your thin jacket tighter. You're mentally cursing yourself for not having worn your puffer.

“Do you want to head back? I’ll walk with you.” His offer catches you off guard, his voice sincere and almost kind as he continues to stare at you, the smirk gone.

“I’m fine,” You say yet again, your voice slightly quieter now, “Dylan worked hard on this, I’ll survive.”

Just as you once again reiterate your argument a gust of wind comes through, picking up the loose snow and blowing it around you sending yet another chill directly down your spine. Lewis evidently notices the cold seeping deeper into your bones, taking it upon himself to make the decision. 

“Y/N and I are gonna head back to the house, she’s getting a little too cold, gonna get her something warm, we’ll see you guys in a bit.” He yells ahead to your family against your will. 

“Oh, hun, are you okay?” Your mother is immediately concerned.

“I’m fine, I’m not going back.” You start to insist but Lewis is stepping in yet again.

“She’s fine, just wore the wrong jacket. The lights look amazing Dylan, well come see them when she’s warmed up.” Before you can say anything he’s starting to usher you back down the path, Dylan is thanking him and Vanessa is telling you where to find more blankets. 

Lewis is guiding you down the path, his body close against your back and his grip firm on your waist as if you don’t know the way. You hate the way he is manhandling you but you have to admit you are relishing in the warmth coming from the proximity. You don’t allow it to go on for too long, wrenching yourself out of his grip once you’re far enough away from your family. You pick up your pace, both in a show of defiance and actually quite wanting to get back to the warmth of the house. You hear him let out a scoff behind you as you throw your little tantrum.

The heat of the house is immediately welcoming, wrapping around you like a hug the moment you open the door. You take a moment to let the heat sink into your bones before even moving to remove your jacket. Lewis stands there watching you for a moment, just shaking his head before taking off his own large puffer.

“What?” You groan, assuming he has a comment to make.

“You know sub zero temps usually require a little more than a flimsy fashion jacket from the mall, right?” His voice is laced with judgement again, the kindness from the forest long gone.

“Oh, would you just fuck off!” You finally properly snap, whipping your head to face him.

““I’m just saying you’re a grown adult and you’re acting like winter is gonna kill you, you can’t even prepare for it” His response is quick, his tone just as snippy as yours, dripping with arrogance.

“I have a fucking parka in my room, I didn’t know how cold it was.” You throw back at him.

“Mmm sure, or you just wanted to look good for the little walk.” He accuses you, his tone condescending.

“Look good for who? I’m in the middle of fucking nowhere!” You fully yell at him, finally done with his jabs.

He ignores the question, his voice raising but not yet actually yelling, “Have you ever considered that maybe it’s good for you to be in the middle of nowhere once in a while?”

“I do not need some asshole who doesn’t even know me giving me fucking life advice, thank you very much.” You snap, no longer yelling but your voice is harsh.

“Well maybe you do because from where I’m standing you would rather be back in LA partying with your friends to post on Instagram than at your brother's beautiful new house with your whole family that loves you. They fucking want you here and you get to fucking see them, stop acting like its pulling fucking teeth for you to be here.” He actually yells this time, momentarily stunning you.

“Why do you even fucking care so much?” You just about scream, praying that your family is still far away from the house. The two of you haven’t even made it out of the foyer yet.

He just stares at you, his eyes hard and his chest heaving slightly. He opens his mouth before quickly snapping it shut, finally letting out a long, deep sigh. “Ya know what, I guess I fucking don’t. Go take a hot shower before you get fucking hypothermia.” He finally mutters harshly as he storms out of the room, his bedroom door slamming shut not long after.

You stand in the foyer, staring down the hallway where he disappeared, still dressed in your winter jacket. You can feel the tears pricking in the back of your eyes, immediately pissing you off that they can be caused by even Lewis. You bite lips, willing the tears to stop, but then you realize, there it is.

It finally feels like Christmas.

[theonottsbxtch]

POWER OVER YOU | FC43

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

wc: 8.8k

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

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

It was bold. Reckless. Utterly ridiculous.

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

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

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

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

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

And that made him dangerous.

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

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

And the worst part? He knew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight, love.”

“Goodnight.”

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

The knock at the door startled her.

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

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

Franco was there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She didn’t move.

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

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

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

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

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

Didn’t want to step away.

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

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

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

He didn’t stop.

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

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

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

That was all the invitation he needed.

Franco kissed her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Say the word.”

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

She didn’t say a word.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her husband’s name flashed across it.

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

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

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

“Uh-huh!”

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

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

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

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

“Love you too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He snapped his fingers, the sound sharp and mocking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the worst part? Franco knew it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The exploitation only grew bolder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he made sure she knew it.

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

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

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

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

The nights were the worst.

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

And she always let him in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her breath hitched. She said nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that terrified her more than anything.

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

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

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

Then she saw the headlines.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It wasn’t supposed to—”

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

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

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

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

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

The line went dead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just the person I was looking for.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

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

She shook her head, her voice finally finding her. “You can’t do this. I’ve given everything to this job, to this sport—”

“And I know that,” he interrupted, his tone soft but firm. “But this scandal is bigger than you or me. The board doesn’t want to risk the network’s reputation, and frankly, neither do our sponsors.”

Her legs felt weak, her vision blurring with unshed tears. “So that’s it?” she whispered. “I’m just… done?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “I’m sorry.”

The words hung in the air like a death knell.

When he left, closing the door behind him with a quiet finality, her knees buckled. She sank to the floor, her hands trembling as the tears finally spilled over. Sobs wracked her body, raw and uncontrollable, the weight of everything crashing down on her at once.

Her career. Her family. Her dignity.

Gone.

She didn’t hear him come back in.

Franco’s voice broke through her sobs, low and measured. “Amore.”

She lifted her head, her vision blurred with tears. “Get out.”

Instead of leaving, he crouched in front of her, his eyes scanning her face. “You’re crying over them?” he asked, his voice laced with mockery. “Over people who turned their backs on you the second things got messy?”

Her jaw clenched, fury flaring through her grief. “This is your fault,” she hissed, her voice shaking. “You ruined me.”

Franco’s expression didn’t change. If anything, he looked almost… amused.

“Stop it,” she snapped, her hands curling into fists. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” he murmured, his tone infuriatingly calm.

“Like you own me.”

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he reached out, his thumb brushing over her trembling lip. She flinched, but he didn’t pull back.

“Shhh,” he whispered, his touch lingering. “You’re spiralling, querida. And that’s not a good look for someone who needs to rebuild.”

Her breath hitched at the intimacy of his gesture, but her fury burned brighter. “I don’t need anything from you,” she spat.

“Don’t you?” he asked, tilting his head. His thumb traced the corner of her mouth, his smirk returning. “Because from where I’m standing, you don’t have anyone else.”

Her hands shot up, shoving his chest. “Get away from me.”

But he didn’t budge. His hands caught hers, holding them firmly but gently, his gaze locking with hers.

“I’ve got you now,” he said, his voice low and steady, the words cutting through her resistance like a blade. “And you’ll see soon enough—that’s not a bad thing.”

His confidence, his control—it was maddening, suffocating. Yet a tiny, treacherous part of her couldn’t deny the truth in his words.

She pulled her hands free, her voice breaking. “I hate you.”

He smiled, soft and infuriating. “No, you don’t.”

The tears fell harder, but this time she didn’t stop him when he pulled her into his arms.

And maybe that was the worst part of all.

By the time her flight landed in London on Monday, the storm of the past week felt like a distant roar, dulled but ever-present. The drive to her house was quiet, the cab driver offering polite silence, though she caught his occasional glance in the rear-view mirror. Her name had been plastered across headlines for days; even here, half a world away from the paddock, she couldn’t escape it.

The house came into view, the familiar brick façade standing as stoic as ever. But as the cab pulled to a stop, her heart sank.

Her husband was waiting at the gate.

He didn’t move as she stepped out of the car, her suitcase dragging behind her. The set of his jaw, the stiffness in his shoulders—it was all wrong. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat as she approached.

“I’m here to see the kids,” she said quietly, her voice tentative.

“You can’t,” he replied, his tone clipped.

She blinked, confusion laced with growing panic. “What do you mean, I can’t?”

He held up a manila envelope, the weight of it hanging heavily between them. “You’re being served.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. She stared at the envelope, her breath catching.

“Divorce papers,” he clarified, his voice flat. “I don’t want you in this house. I don’t want you near the kids until this is sorted. Do you understand me?”

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “Please,” she whispered. “They’re my children—”

“They’re our children,” he interrupted harshly. “And I’m not going to let you drag them into this mess. You made your choice.”

Her hands trembled as she took the envelope. She wanted to scream, to beg, to fight, but the look in his eyes—cold, unyielding—stole the words from her.

“Don’t come back here,” he said, stepping back. “Not until this is over.”

And with that, he turned and walked inside, the door slamming shut behind him.

She stood there for what felt like an eternity, the envelope clutched in her hands, the weight of everything crashing down on her shoulders.

The hotel room she found last minute was sterile and impersonal, the kind of place meant for fleeting stays and forgettable nights. She dropped her suitcase by the door and collapsed onto the bed, her body heavy with exhaustion.

But sleep wouldn’t come.

Her phone buzzed incessantly, the onslaught of notifications a cruel reminder of her reality. Against her better judgement, she opened her browser.

The headlines were relentless: “Scandal Rocks F1: Rookie’s Affair with Veteran Journalist Exposed!”“Power Dynamics Questioned in F1 Affair—Who’s Really to Blame?”“F1 Reporter’s Career in Tatters After Shocking Scandal with Rising Star.”

Each article seemed worse than the last, painting her as a manipulative predator who had taken advantage of Franco’s naivety. The comments were even crueler, people calling her names she couldn’t bear to read twice.

She scrolled through social media, the vitriol stinging like acid. Every tweet, every post, every meme was a dagger to her already shattered sense of self.

But then she stumbled upon something different.

A Reddit thread, buried beneath the chaos, caught her attention: “Anyone else think this isn’t what it seems?”

She clicked on it, her heart pounding as she read the comments.

“I don’t buy it. Have you seen how cocky that rookie is? He’s been flirting with her on camera all season. She never encouraged it.”

“Right? She’s one of the best journalists in the sport. Why would she risk it all for him?”

“Exactly. Feels like he took advantage of her, especially with the way he’s spinning this in interviews. Classic power play.”

“And the leaked photos? Who even keeps that kind of stuff on their iCloud? Feels like he knew what he was doing.”

Her hands shook as she scrolled through the thread, her tears blurring the screen. For the first time, someone—strangers, no less—saw what she hadn’t dared to admit to herself.

Maybe this wasn’t entirely her fault.

But the small flicker of validation did little to ease the storm inside her. She closed the browser, tossing the phone onto the bed.

The room felt unbearably quiet, the weight of her isolation pressing down on her. She curled up on the bed, tears streaming down her face as exhaustion finally overtook her.

When she finally woke up the following morning, her face felt raw from all the tears and her bones stiff from the awkward position she slept in.

She wasn’t a day drinker really but somethings changed.

She sat on the edge of the hotel bed, her fingers hovering over the rim of a half-empty glass of wine. The muted glow of the TV cast long shadows across the room, the low hum of some mindless programme barely masking the oppressive silence when she heard the knock at the door, sharp and insistent.

Her heart leapt into her throat, dread gripping her. Franco? No. Not here. Surely he wouldn’t…

But the knock came again, firmer this time.

She stood slowly, tiptoeing to the door, her breath shallow. Peeking through the peephole, she exhaled in relief. It wasn’t him. It was— Ellie?

She hesitated, unsure of how to feel. Ellie, the young, bright journalist she’d taken under her wing years ago. She cracked the door open, her voice wary. “What are you doing here?”

Ellie offered a tentative smile, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her oversized coat. “Can I come in?”

She hesitated for a moment longer before stepping aside, allowing Ellie to enter.

“How did you know I was here?” she asked, shutting the door behind her.

Ellie turned, her expression cautious. “I went to your house. Your husband answered. He… mentioned you were here.”

She let out a hollow laugh, shaking her head. “Of course, he did. Probably thought you’d come to gloat.”

“I’m not here to gloat,” Ellie said firmly, her voice tinged with something close to defiance. “I’m here because I wanted to talk to you.”

She crossed her arms, leaning against the wall. “Talk about what? How associating with me is going to get you fired?”

Ellie’s gaze softened. “I’m not going to get fired.”

“That’s naive.” she sighed, brushing a hand through her hair. “The network doesn’t want anything to do with me. You shouldn’t either.”

Ellie shook her head. “That’s not why I’m here. I came because… I don’t believe it. I don’t believe you seduced Franco. It doesn’t add up. I’ve worked with you. I know you.”

She blinked, her throat tightening as the weight of Ellie’s words sank in. It had been so long since anyone had spoken to her like that—with trust, with belief.

“I know you didn’t do this,” Ellie continued. “I think he’s the one who manipulated you.”

The tears came before she could stop them. She turned away, covering her mouth as a sob escaped.

Ellie stepped closer, her voice gentle. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you—”

“No,” she said, her voice trembling. “It’s not that. I just… no one’s said that to me. Everyone’s so quick to assume the worst.”

Ellie hesitated before placing a hand on her shoulder. “I know what kind of person you are. And it’s not too late to set the record straight.”

She let out a bitter laugh, wiping her eyes. “It is too late. My career’s in ruins. My family’s gone.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s over,” Ellie insisted. “We can fight back. Tell your side of the story.”

She turned to face her, scepticism etched across her face. “And how do you propose I do that? I’m a pariah.”

Ellie’s expression hardened, a flicker of determination in her eyes. “We go public. But not through the networks—they’re too invested in tearing you down. We do it ourselves. An exposé, a documentary, something raw and unfiltered. You’ve got a following. People will listen.”

She stared at the girl before her, the weight of the idea settling in. “You’d risk your career for this?”

Ellie shrugged. “You risked your reputation for me when no one else would give me a chance. I’m just returning the favour.”

The room fell silent, the air thick with unspoken possibilities. Hermind raced. She wanted to believe it was possible, that she could claw her way back from this abyss.

But doubt lingered.

“Ellie,” she whispered. “If we do this… he won’t just sit back and let it happen.”

Ellie’s jaw tightened. “Let him try. He’s already losing control of the narrative. People are starting to see through him. All we have to do is show the world the truth.”

For the first time in weeks, she felt a spark of something she thought she’d lost—hope.

“Okay,” she said finally, her voice steadying. “Let’s do it.”

Ellie returned to the hotel the next evening, her arms full—a compact camera, a tripod, a microphone, and a laptop. She looked almost nervous as she set everything up, her hands fumbling slightly with the equipment.

“This isn’t exactly the BBC studio,” Ellie joked weakly, glancing at her, who sat on the edge of the bed, clutching a glass of water for a change.

Her lips curved in a faint smile, but the tension in her posture was unmistakable. “It’s fine. Better this way. No filters, no edits. Just the truth.”

Ellie nodded, adjusting the tripod until the camera was level. She attached the microphone and tested the sound, her voice echoing softly in the quiet room.

“Right,” Ellie said, straightening. “Are you ready?”

She stared at the camera, her reflection distorted in the lens. She wasn’t sure if she was ready. But she had no choice.

“Let’s get this over with,” she murmured.

Ellie pressed record, the small red light blinking to life. She settled into the chair opposite her, the notebook resting on her lap.

“Right,” Ellie began, her tone measured and calm. “I know this is difficult, but I want you to tell me what happened. In your own words.”

She exhaled shakily, her gaze flickering to the camera before settling on Ellie. “At first, it was… flattering,” she said quietly. “Franco’s attention, I mean. He’s young, charming, confident. He made me feel… noticed.”

Ellie nodded, her expression encouraging.

“But it wasn’t just that,” she continued, her voice growing steadier. “He knew how to play the game. On camera, off camera—it was all calculated. I didn’t see it at first. I thought it was harmless, just a bit of flirtation. But then…” She hesitated, her hands tightening around the glass.

“Then what?” Ellie prompted gently.

She swallowed hard. “Then it became something I couldn’t control. He was in my hotel room every night. At first, I let him in because I didn’t want to cause a scene and I liked the attention. I thought if I played along, he’d lose interest. But he didn’t. He kept pushing, and I felt like… like I couldn’t say no.”

Her voice cracked, and she looked away, blinking rapidly.

Ellie leaned forward, her tone soft but insistent. “Why did you feel like you couldn’t say no?”

Her laugh was bitter. “Because he had power. Not the kind of power people think—the rookie versus the journalist. It wasn’t about status. It was… personal. Intimate. He knew things about me—about my family, my career, my weaknesses. He knew exactly how to use them against me.”

Ellie’s pen moved swiftly across her notebook, but her focus never wavered. “Did you ever feel like you could talk to someone about this? A colleague, your husband?”

“No.” her response was immediate, her voice sharp. “I didn’t think anyone would believe me. It’s Franco Colapinto. He’s—what do they call him? The golden rookie of F1? And me? I’m the woman twice his age who should’ve known better. Who would’ve believed me?”

Ellie nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. “But you’re speaking now. What changed?”

Her gaze met the camera, her eyes blazing with a mix of anger and determination. “Because I’m tired of being silent. Tired of being painted as the villain in a story I never wanted to be a part of.”

Ellie paused, letting the weight of her words settle before she spoke again. “What do you want people to take away from this?”

Her voice softened, but her resolve remained firm. “I want them to see the truth. I want them to understand that power doesn’t always look the way you think it does. And I want them to know that I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want this.”

Ellie nodded, closing her notebook and turning off the camera. “That was incredible. Thank you.”

She let out a shaky breath, her shoulders slumping. “I just hope it’s enough.”

Ellie reached over, placing a hand on her knee. “It will be. We’ll edit this tonight and get it out tomorrow. You’re taking back the narrative. This is your story now.”

True to her word, the next morning, she was sitting curled up on the hotel bed, her nerves frayed and her stomach in knots. The weight of last night’s confession still hung heavy in the room, and she hadn’t slept much. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the blinking red light of the camera, the words she’d spoken playing back in her head.

A knock at the door startled her, but when she peered through the peephole, relief washed over her. It was Ellie, holding two takeaway coffees and a determined expression.

She opened the door, and Ellie breezed in, setting the coffees down on the small table by the window. “Morning,” she said, glancing at her. “How are you holding up?”

She shrugged, wrapping her arms around herself. “I feel like I’m waiting to step on a landmine.”

Ellie gave her a reassuring smile, unpacking her laptop from her bag. “That’s normal. But trust me, you did the right thing.”

She nodded, though she didn’t entirely believe it.

Ellie set up the laptop, quickly uploading the edited video to her dormant personal YouTube channel where she once posted vlogs about being a journalist in Formula One. She added a brief caption: My Truth.

“Okay,” Ellie said, her voice steady. “Are you ready?”

She hesitated, her fingers hovering over the trackpad. “What if it makes things worse?”

Ellie reached over, placing a firm hand on her arm. “It won’t. You’re not alone in this. People will listen. People already are.”

With a deep breath, she clicked Post. The video went live.

For a moment, they just stared at the screen, the thumbnail of her weary but defiant face staring back at them. Ellie closed the laptop with a decisive snap.

“Now,” Ellie said, turning to her, “we wait.”

She nodded, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Her eyes filled with tears as the reality of what they’d done settled over her. She turned to Ellie, her voice breaking. “Thank you. For believing in me. For… for doing this when no one else would.”

Ellie smiled softly, pulling her into a warm hug. “You don’t have to thank me. You would’ve done the same for me.”

She held on tightly to the girl she’d once taken under her wing, her tears spilling freely now. “I just… I didn’t think anyone would ever believe me again.”

Ellie pulled back slightly, gripping her shoulders. “You’re stronger than you think. And this? This is just the beginning.”

The moment was interrupted by the shrill ring of her phone on the bedside table. Both women froze, their eyes darting to the device.

Her heart sank when she saw the name on the screen. Franco.

Her hand trembled as she reached for the phone, her thumb hovering over the decline button.

“Answer it,” Ellie said quietly. “You need to know what he’s going to do.”

She nodded, her throat tightening. She swiped to accept the call and brought the phone to her ear.

“Amore,” Franco’s voice drawled, smooth and infuriatingly calm. “I see you’ve been busy.”

Her stomach churned. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to congratulate you,” he said, his tone laced with mockery. “That little video of yours? Brave move. Stupid, but brave.”

She gritted her teeth, her grip tightening on the phone. “It’s the truth, Franco. Something you wouldn’t recognise if it slapped you in the face.”

He laughed, low and cold. “Oh, querida. You think you’ve won something here? All you’ve done is draw more attention to yourself. To us. Do you think people won’t pick apart every word you said? That they won’t find the cracks in your story?”

Her hand shook, but she forced herself to stand firm. “They’ll see through you, Franco. You can’t control this anymore.”

His voice dropped, dangerously soft. “We’ll see about that. But let me give you a little advice, free of charge—enjoy the calm while it lasts. Because this storm? It’s far from over.”

The line went dead.

She lowered the phone slowly, her chest heaving.

“What did he say?” Ellie asked, her voice cautious.

SHe turned to her, her jaw tight. “He’s scared. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

Ellie gave a grim nod. “Good. Let him be scared. We’ve got more than the truth on our side now. We’ve got momentum.”

She sank onto the bed, her pulse racing. The fear was still there, coiling in her gut like a snake, but alongside it was something new. A flicker of hope.

For the first time in weeks, she felt like she wasn’t fighting this battle alone.

taglist: @waytooobsessedwithlife @maxivstappen @heli991113

[covenofagatha]

hey soooooo if your requests are still open... what do you think about a pt. 3 with Father Agatha where she fucks reader on the altar with her strap (the church is empty)... like... and Agatha has reader recite the Rosary, and for every mystery completed reader gets an orgasm... and maybe Agatha has like a breeding kink sort of and says she wants to make reader the next virgin mary...

obviously if you want and feel comfortable with all this, i really truly love all your stories!!

Hooooooly shit this was insane i immediately had to write this

also the rosary is so long 😩

Forgive me, Father (part 3)

What the request said lol

Word count: 3200

Warnings: light bondage, religious sex, altar sex, fingering, oral, strap on, cum lube, breeding kink, spanking, dubcon, priest agatha is so corrupt, naive reader, think this is it

The next time you go to confession, you don’t even make it into the booth before Father Agatha intercepts you, almost like she’s been waiting. 

“Come back for more, angel?” She asks, sitting in a pew, facing the altar. You almost walked right by her without noticing. 

You look around the rest of the church. There’s no one else in sight. She taps the spot on the bench next to her and you sit. 

Just the close proximity makes your heart beat faster. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask. 

Father Agatha shrugs. “I like to sit in here when it’s empty and pray. Helps me connect with God, I can hear him better.” 

You frown and try to quiet your thoughts and your breathing to see if you can hear anything. “What is God saying right now?” If you had looked closer, you would’ve seen the smirk on her lips as you played right into her trap before she reset her face.

“Nothing good,” she sighs heavily and your eyes widen in fear. “Do you remember the Annunciation?” 

“Of course,” you answer with a nod. “When the angel Gabriel came down and told Mary that she was pregnant with Jesus because she had found favor with God.” You had strived to live a life as pure as Mary had, and thanks to Father Agatha, you feel like you’re on the right path.

She gives you a wry smile, her eyes still racked with seriousness. “And do you remember why God sent his only son down to us?” 

“To save us from sin,” you say immediately. The most noble sacrifice anyone could make. 

“And it worked for a while,” Father Agatha says sadly. “But now sin is running rampant again. However, God has an idea for how to stop it.” 

Your mouth falls open a little. You had no idea it was getting that bad out in the world. You make it your mission to help the priest, no matter what it takes. “What does He need? What can we do?” 

“Another vessel, for another child. A pure of heart maiden, just like Mary was,” she says, finally meeting your eyes. Your heart skips a beat. 

“Me? Carry God’s child? But–” 

She cuts you off. “Proverbs 3:5 says, ‘Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding.’ I know it may be scary, angel, but I am here to help. I will shepherd the child unto you, if you so wish to help God in this way.” 

You think for a moment, weighing your options. It has always been a dream to be a true steward of the Lord, and everyone has to do their part. You remember a verse from Psalms. “The Lord is my strength and my shield; in him my heart trusts, and I am helped; my heart exults, and with my song I give thanks to him,” you recite and Agatha smiles, very pleased. 

She stands up, brushing past you and walking up the stairs to the altar. You follow her. 

“How is this going to work?” You question. The Bible doesn’t go into specifics with Mary.

“Patience, angel,” Father Agatha says, pulling out the bread and wine of Christ for Communion and a rosary. “There are many things we will need to do in order to get you ready to take the child.” 

She holds up the wafer and you bow, holding out your hands. She doesn’t move, just raises an eyebrow. You stand there for a second, dumbfounded. 

“What are other ways you can take Communion?” She says, glancing down to the floor. A light clicks in your head and, for the third time in front of her, you drop to your knees. 

This time, you open your mouth and stick out your tongue, and she places the bread on it, holding eye contact. Her gaze burns into you and you can’t help but feel that same heat you always do with her. Once you swallow, she presses the chalice of wine to your lips and you let her pour some down your throat. 

The air is so charged around the two of you and you wonder if this is part of the ceremony. 

“Stand up,” she orders and you shoot to your feet. She flips you around and lifts you up so you’re sitting on the altar and you gasp. 

“I can’t be on this,” you protest but she shushes you. 

“It’s okay, angel,” she says soothingly, hands coming to rub your thighs. Her touch feels good and it momentarily makes you forget about your qualms. “God will allow it since he knows the burden you’re about to bear. Now, do you remember that special toy I used on you last time?” 

You nod, feeling the wetness in your underwear grow as you think back to that memory. The way it felt so big, the way it stretched you out, the way it felt when you orgasmed over it. 

Father Agatha is wearing pants today, you notice for the first time, and she unzips them to pull something out. 

Unlike the one from last time, which was purple, this one is skin colored and has two round things on the bottom. She squeezes the globes under the toy and a dribble of white liquid comes out from the tip. 

“What is that?” You ask in awe. You wonder what it would taste like. 

She swipes at the bead of moisture and holds it up so you can get a better look. “This is a different type of tool, one that can hold cum.” She says the new word slowly so you can remember it. “This is what’s going to go inside your little pussy, this is what’s going to fill you up with the new child of Christ.” 

For some reason, the thought of having the cum inside you makes you grow even hotter. “Okay,” you say earnestly. She chuckles at how ready you are. 

“Not quite yet, angel. Remember how we had to work up to it last time? We will need to do the same. But don’t fret. I’ll make it just as enjoyable.” 

She takes the rosary off the altar next to you and waits for you to hold out your arms. Instead of wrapping them around your hands the right way, she twists them around your wrists so you can’t move. A flare involuntarily courses through you at the thought of being bound. 

“Now, be a good girl, and complete your rosary. For each mystery, you’ll get a reward,” she says with a wink, and pulls you closer to the edge of the altar. You watch what she’s doing with bated breath and she bends down so her face is just a breath away from your pussy. 

She pushes up your skirt and slides your underwear to the side, and when her finger slides through your folds, you make the sign of the cross. 

“I believe in God, the Father Almighty,” you begin with the Apostles’ creed. When you get to the Our Father, the memory of you saying this while her fingers were warming you up last time hits you like a train. She finds your clit easily and rubs it, your voice jumping up an octave. 

You make it through that prayer and the three Hail Mary’s with little trouble while she continues just stroking up and down your pussy, feeling it get wetter under her fingertips. 

The Glory Be and the Fatima prayer also come out smoothly as Father Agatha is only teasing. 

You announce the first mystery, Annunciation, and you’re saying the Our Father again when she suddenly slides a finger into you, grinning at the way you gasp and tighten around it. 

She pumps it in and out lazily while you stutter through the rest of the prayer and then she pulls out. You feel empty and she tugs you off the altar and spins you around so that your ribs are pressing into it and your elbows rest on top, hands still tied tightly together by the chain.

This time, she tugs your skirt and underwear off and the cool church air makes you shiver. She grabs your buttcheeks and you gasp. 

“Did your parents spank you when you were a child?” She asks and for some reason, you feel yourself get even wetter at the promise her words hold. 

You nod. “Yes,” you whisper. 

“Do not withhold discipline from a child; if you strike him with a rod, he will not die. If you strike him with a rod, you will save his soul from Sheol,” she quotes. “We need to make sure your body is completely cleansed. You have ten Hail Mary’s, so for each one, I’ll give you a spank.” 

Your breath comes out in stutters and you feel like you’re about to pass out from overheating. The ache inside you is only getting worse. 

“Hail Mary, full of grace, the lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death, Amen.” 

She slaps you before you even have the time to brace yourself. 

The sound echoes throughout the empty church and you clasp your hands so hard that your knuckles turn white. 

“Hail Mary, full of grace,” you say again, eyes rolling to look up at the ceiling like you’re talking straight to God. 

Another spank. This time, your body rocks forward against the altar and it knocks the wind out of your lungs. 

“Hail Mary…” 

Spank. 

“Hail Mary…” 

Spank. 

“Hail Mary…”

Spank. 

“Hail Mary…” 

Spank. 

“Hail Mary…” 

Spank.

You still have three more to go and you’re a mess. 

The wetness between your legs has grown to a flood and is dripping down your legs. Your butt stings and the cold air works to soothe it, but every time you get a semblance of a relief, she hits you again. 

“Hail…Mary…” You take your time on the eighth, dragging it out over a minute to give yourself some time to breathe and recover. She chuckles evilly, rubbing your butt. 

Spank. 

On the ninth time, it doesn’t even feel like you’re saying real words anymore and you can barely register the pain anymore. 

Spank. 

When you finally choke out the tenth one, she hits both of your cheeks as hard as she can at the same time and you groan loudly. 

“Father Agatha,” you whimper and she soothes the aches with her palms. 

“You did so well, angel, so perfect for me. I promise that you are completely purified now and ready for pleasure. But before we get to that, let’s say the Glory Be and the Fatima prayer together.” 

She turns you around so you lock eyes with the priest and chant the two prayers and then you announce the second mystery, the Visitation, and start the Our Father. Father Agatha watches with a fond smile on your face and as you’re still speaking, she nudges your feet apart so your stance is wider. 

When you begin the ten Hail Mary’s again, she reaches down and slides two fingers inside you with no resistance at all because of how wet you are. 

You momentarily stop talking and the priest moans. 

“You’re so wet and warm around me, angel,” she mumbles quietly and you wish your hands weren’t tied together so you could reach out and touch her. 

You resume the prayer and she picks up her pace, twisting and curling, and your recitation is broken up with small gasps and whimpers. Instinctually, you raise your leg up and rest it around her and she chuckles. 

It was clearly the right thing to do because her fingers can somehow get deeper inside you and your head falls back. You’re clenching tighter and you’re getting close as you keep spitting out the words, having been on the edge for awhile since her spanking. 

“Ah ah,” she tuts, slowing down for a second. “You have four more. No orgasm until then.” You whine, pleading with your eyes, but she just smirks and raises a brow, waiting for you to continue. 

You say the words so fast it sounds like you’re auctioning off your soul to the highest bidder. 

And Father Agatha, of course, has won. 

She finally strokes your clit when you finish the tenth and you spasm all over her two fingers, hands pulling so tightly against the rosary that you think you might have indents tomorrow. 

She gently moves her fingers in and out while you finish up the second mystery with the Glory Be and the Fatima Prayer. 

When you’re announcing the third mystery, the Birth of Our Lord, she sinks down to her knees in front of you and you forget to speak. 

You shake your head, trying to figure out what she’s doing, when she lifts a leg up over her shoulder and leans close to your pussy to blow on it. 

Your hips jump and you almost fall, and she helps you rest your back against the altar for balance. 

“What are you doing?” You say in a hushed voice. 

“Say the prayers,” she orders and sucks gentle kisses into your inner thighs. Her mouth on that extremely sensitive place makes you keen as you start to say the Our Father again. But when you begin on the Hail Mary’s, her tongue slides through your folds and it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. 

A loud moan claws its way out of your throat and you manage to loosen the rosary around your wrists just enough so you can entangle your hands in her hair. You had no idea that someone could put their mouth on that part of you, but you want Father Agatha to stay there forever. 

She stops and nips at your thigh as a warning to keep going. It is so hard to keep your mind from completely blanking on the words with her hot tongue swirling your clit the way it is, but you somehow manage to make it through four quickly. 

You buck your hips without any sort of rhythm against her face, gasping out the words to the prayer. Her tongue dips into your pussy and strokes against your walls and you think you might die and ascend before God can put his baby in you. 

Like the last time, it’s clear that she won’t let you orgasm unless you finish the mystery, so you speed through again, pretty sure you miss chunks of the prayer at a time. 

Finally, you get to the tenth one, and when you’re almost done, she slides three fingers into you, curls them, and sucks on your clit roughly. 

You orgasm, absolutely drenching her face and fingers again. 

She moves your leg down and stands up, smearing her fingers across your face. 

“How was that?” She asks, smirking. 

“Oh my gosh, I didn’t even know something could feel that good,” you gush. 

And then she grabs the toy and drags it through your folds and you second guess that when she circles your clit with the tip. She presses down lightly and the pressure makes you squirm. 

“Are you ready for me to fill you up?” 

Your heart leaps, but really, you’d do anything to have her inside you again. Two orgasms hasn’t been enough to satiate you and you want to know what it’s like for her cum to be inside you. 

“Please, Father, fill me up.” The words sound dirty falling from your mouth but she just grins and flips you back around, putting you back into the same position as earlier. 

“Fourth mystery,” she demands and your head falls forward onto your chained arms as she pushes the tip in. Even though you are wet and stretched out, there’s still a slight burn. 

The Presentation. You announce it and say the Our Father while she ruts in and out of you, never going in further than the tip. 

You start on the Hail Mary’s and it takes her the entire first one to slide the entire way in. Your voice sounds strangled as you keep talking and she slowly starts to grind into you. 

When you get to the third one, she stops being gentle and begins roughly thrusting, your rips slamming against the altar again and again. She reaches a hand around to rub at your clit and you clench tightly on the toy. 

Father Agatha starts saying things while you keep reciting your prayers and she’s just loud enough to hear over your words. 

“Angel, you’re so perfect, stretched around my cock like this, can’t wait to fill you up, to breed you, watch my cum drip out of you, God you’re taking me so well, need to do this every day, can’t wait to breed you.” 

You don’t really know what she means when she says she wants to breed you, but just based on the way she sounds when she says it, like it’s making her feel as hot as you do, makes you even more wet. 

At this point, you don’t even know if you’re saying the right prayer but things just keep spilling out of your mouth and you go with it. You don’t know how many you’ve said or how many you have left, all you can think about is Father Agatha. 

“You’re so close, angel, just one more and then I’ll make you into the next Virgin Mary with my cum,” she grunts into your ear and you gasp out the words. 

“Amen,” you finally pant out, and you can feel her hand brush past you as she reaches down between her own legs, and the next thing you know, a warmth spreads through you. It triggers your own orgasm, feeling your walls being painted with her cum, and she gently thrusts in and out while you seize around her. “Did it work?” You ask weakly. 

Father Agatha strokes your hair as she says the Glory Be and the Fatima prayer herself. You realize that you forgot to say those after your second orgasm, but you can’t find it in you to care. Since you’re carrying God’s child, you don’t think He will either. 

“I’m going to stay inside you like this to keep the cum in while you say the fifth mystery. It’s called cockwarming. This way, we can try to let it take hold.” 

You nod and begin on the Finding in the Temple. Since she isn’t moving, you aren’t constantly distracted and you’re able to get through the Hail Mary’s without too much of a hassle, although the feeling of being full still is forefront on your mind. 

When you finish the rosary, she pulls out, turns you to face her, and you gasp at the feeling of her cum oozing out of you. 

“But, it was supposed to stay inside me!” You cry, watching in horror as it leaks out and down your legs. 

Father Agatha frowns and collects it with her fingers. “Something must have gone wrong,” she says and then looks up to meet your eyes. “Guess we’ll just have to try again.”