#i did everyone i could think of who i often interact with

[annawry]

I think something that gets overlooked in discussions about fandom interaction and building community and so on, is the way the internet has changed specifically around the profound lack of privacy we experience now. Back in ye olde pre-Facebook days we had a fair bit more anonymity, but even then there were people who would suddenly up and disappear all of their fics because they were afraid of the consequences if their hobby was discovered. There were some people who were discovered and suffered social and career consequences. I know of at least one person in America who had to move states because someone at their job found their fan writing and made it an issue at their place of work. And that was before. These days we have virtually no anonymity. It is frighteningly easy for people to connect our online profiles to our real selves, or for us to just accidentally doxx ourselves. And while being involved in fandom might a little better known and accepted (that heavily depends on where a person is in the world, as well as their individual social situation) it can still have real consequences for someone’s fanworks, or their reading habits, to be discovered.

Obviously Why Fandom Is The Way It Is is a complex mess of the way facebook and twitter changed the way we socially interact online, people looking back at the past with blinding nostalgia, the push towards a division of Creator and Consumer, the way The Endless Scroll is conditioning people into mindless consumption, what Netflix did to TV by killing the 22 episode week-by-week show in favour of the 8-to-10-episodes-dropped-all-at-once-and-cancelled-after-the-first-season-or-maybe-the-second-if-you’re-lucky format, and so on. But I think we sometimes forget that not everyone wants to risk people knowing that they read fic, especially if that fic is R-rated or contains taboo subjects, and that not engaging in any visible way with fanworks is one of the only ways to really protect anonymity now.

(As an aside: AO3 does an admirable job of not collecting any more data than it absolutely needs to in order to function, which is fantastic, but it’s also important to realise that things like kudos and comments given on a public fic while logged in are publicly visible, connected to the account, and, at least for kudos, also permanent. Guest comments and kudos are amazing! But even those can be uncomfortable for people with anonymity concerns.)

And I think it’s not just the possibility of being discovered in real life, but of being discovered by other fans for liking the ‘wrong’ thing. I think we’ve all witnessed some really horrific bullying occurring within fandom spaces. The kind that drives people offline entirely, but again, there such a thin divide between online and offline that that kind of bullying can ruin a persons actual life, at least for a while. I love the idea of fandom as a safe space, but it’s not. It’s a public space. Sections of it can be made safe but often out of necessity (especially in large fandoms with a lot of wank/bullying) that does mean creating small friend groups. And those can be daunting if not impossible for a newcomer to breach.

(There’s also a conversation to be had here about the causes of the loneliness epidemic and that fandom is not somehow magically immune to things like atrophied or not-taught basic social skills and misunderstanding Being Useful as being a friend, etc, and people not being able to build these friends groups for themselves. Saying “just start a conversation!” is well meant but often entirely unhelpful advice. Like go for a walk, take up yoga, for people with depression. Would if I could, Barbara! But, you know, much bigger conversation here than just what’s happening (or not) in fandom.)

There’s, I don’t know, maybe some kind of irony in the fact that I write fic and could not care less who knows it (with the exception of my parents, for all the gods I do NOT want to have that discussion with either of them. Yikes.) but I’m so uncomfortable having an opinion in fandom spaces that I very nearly didn’t add this. It’s not even a controversial take. Oh no, privacy might be a part of the issue! Also, bullying. I’m also going to say that I’m white and only visibly queer because I’m noisy about it. I’m going to hazard a guess and say that for POC and trans folk the lack of anonymity, online privacy, and the threat of being bullied and/or doxxed just for what they read is exponentially more of a concern.

(I also feel like the idea of fandom as a communal safe space is a very privileged perspective, if I’m being honest.)

When you talk about why someone might want engagement with their fics, I do think there is one crucial reason you always overlook.

Sometimes the reason is not a bid for popularity or reassurance or even community, but for me at least if I am writing a fic, it is because I am passionate about the show and the characters and I tend to approach my fics as a way to sink my teeth into what makes the characters tick, how they might act like in different circumstances and so on. Therefore I post because I want to geek out with others about it. For that same reason, I cannot shut up in other writers' comment boxes if their story resonates with me.

I agree with you that community makes fandom infinitely more fun and rewarding but the rush of happiness at getting a (multi sentence) comment to me is not unlike when you say strike a conversation with a stranger in a museum in front of your favourite painting or finding out that a friend or an acquaintance shares a hobby or a passion for a dear book or movie with you, after which you jump into a fevered and lengthy discussion.

It is also for this reason that fandoms where I have gone to the trouble of building community in the first place are those where people generally want to tell interesting stories and to talk about them and have interesting things to say. Sometimes that's three fandom friends leaving wall of text comments on one another's fics (that no one else cares about), and sometimes it's a larger more diffuse group of strangers leaving short comments that say "I screeched with delight reading what Character A said" - but it always is a place where people are not afraid to share their enthusiasm and joy and passion about the stories told and the act of story telling itself.

That's an excellent point, anon. I think I'm mentally including that concept under the umbrella of community but it's a fair point that I should really break it out when I'm describing the concept.

It's one of the aspects of fandom that I really enjoy as well. Having a space where people feel comfortable being enthusiastic is a core component of community to me, but that doesn't necessarily mean that a "community" forms.

Thank you for sharing your thoughts! It's an excellent reminder and food for people to think about.

[kiame-sama]

Humans Are Extinct (Yandere!TWST x Fem!Reader) Monster AU pt 62

(As a Shinigami, Idia is very cold to the touch despite his flame hair. He is the second youngest of the Shrouds though he is technically a fully fledged adult by Shinigami standards. At 88 years old, Idia is well past young adulthood which most Shinigami reach around 24 years. Despite Idia's age, his maturity levels are closer to young Shinigami due to his isolated upbringing. This isolation was- primarily- by choice as Idia finds it difficult to connect with others outside of his family. Shinigami are rare and not often seen in the living world, so others are rather skittish around Idia. Idia can technically frighten others by speaking the language of the Dead which is rarely heard outside of Tartarus and causes other species to panic.)

Warnings: Yandere au, monster au, fem reader, multiple yanderes, platonic and romantic yanderes, tension between yanderes, suspected poachers, conflict, injury, anger, comfort, Drider, Hellcat, Naga, Fire Nymph, Sphinx, Dragon

~~~~

You walked among the bustling streets of Fleur City, several folks calling out to you and tossing you fruits to snack on. It seemed like everyone among the various vendors and stall owners were keen to give you something. Rook, who had been following you closely- was the one to catch most of these tossed items, handing them down to you so you could choose what to do with them. Grim was happy to eat whatever was offered to him and you were glad Rook had such good reflexes.

None of those citizens around you seemed particularly displeased or angry with you, most of them smiling and waving as you went by. Even though they all seemed so pleased with your presence, you were not foolish enough to believe that everyone was happy with you. Your trip to the Queendom of Roses told you as much, as most had seemed pleased with you but an attempt on your life was still made.

Jamil slithered up next to you as you handed an apple down to Grim, his little fangs puncturing the skin of the red fruit as he purred. Though you didn't have as much interactions with Jamil as you did the others, you were happy to have the Naga with you. His scaled arm brushed up against you as he paused to look down at Grim who was still trying to tear pieces off of the apple.

"Here, I can split it for you."

Grim held up the fruit to the Naga who expertly twisted the apple and split it in half with his bare hands, careful of the juice that slid down the sides of the fruit before handing the halves back to Grim. Grim easily sunk his little fangs in and this made Jamil smile in a gentle way. Your understanding of the Naga was that he was Kalim's guard and cook, a kind of kindred feeling in your chest for the snake-man.

"Wow, look at that! I've never seen a Lamia before. Rare to see one of your kind around here."

The sudden interjection from one of onlookers had you confused as Jamil's smile dropped into a scowl. Something about his sudden displeasure interested you as you looked up at the handsome Naga. You had heard of Lamia before from your world and once in Trein's class, but Jamil's reaction told you that he took offense to the words.

"I'm a Naga."

"Aren't they the same?"

"No. I understand why you may think we are, but we are not."

"Oh. Sorry, I've just really wanted to meet a Lamia."

She seemed to lose all interest in Jamil in that very moment, wandering away from him without even saying goodbye. Her manners seemed to be rather lacking but Jamil seemed to be taking it the worst. You decided to reach out to his shoulder, surprising him somewhat as he turned to look at you in confusion.

"You alright?"

Jamil grappled for a moment with himself before sighing, crossing his arms in an almost self soothing way. He refused to meet your gaze as his lip curled somewhat before he spoke.

"Not really."

"Would you like to talk about it?"

"Maybe we can talk later? I just... Hate how some people think similar species are the same. It's probably such a little thing to get so heated over, but it is frustrating all the same."

It was obviously bothering Jamil more than he let on. He was more tense than he had been prior and seemed almost on edge. His gloved hands rubbing over his arms slowly as it to pet and soothe himself.

"I seem to be learning about new species every day. There's just so many of them, but I hope I can at least learn about all of you. Do let me know if I ever make a mistake like that, okay?"

Jamil paused at this, almost seeming to let his emotional walls down for a moment as he smiled gently at you. His red eyes seemed soft despite their reptilian appearance as his pupils widened as he looked at you. The numerous gold tassels moving with him while he nervously toyed with his long hair, picking at the small feather woven into the one long braid.

"Don't worry, I'll let you know. There are differences between Lamia and Naga, but what she was saying was nowhere near true. Lamia and Naga come from different regions and evolved separately despite being so similar. Lamia tend to have shorter tails and are more effeminate than Naga as most Lamia hatch as females. Granted, both species have snake-like bodies and scales, but we are considered different. Odds are, a Lamia would be just as insulted to be called a Naga as most Naga are to be called Lamia. It would be like saying a Satyr and a Faun are the same species."

"It is common for others to mess up what species someone is?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Before we all sleep tonight, we can talk more about it. I'd be happy to help you learn about different species."

Jamil smiled slightly and seemed to notice how his tail had wound up, almost surprised when he saw his coils stacked up around you. Grim was still just as content as he finished the apple, licking the juices off of his fur. When you are about to ask Jamil what other species this happened to, the coils around you suddenly tightened and engulfed your figure without squeezing you.

"(Y/n), Jamil!"

You heard Rook's voice before you realized what had happened, noticing a red trickle of blood seeping through the wall of coils that wrapped around you. Jamil let out a deep hiss as his coils fell away and you could see what had happened. Sticking from the upper side of his large tail was a rather thick bolt that looked to be from a crossbow, deeply embedded in the scales as he hissed and tried to hold it still.

The sudden attack caused an absolute uproar from those around you, your guards and the citizens suddenly on high alert while searching for whoever took a shot at you. Shouts from further down in the market told you that the citizens found your would-be-assailant and were actively trying to stop them or bring them to justice. It was during these shouts that you noticed something was happening to Rollo.

A kind of rage had taken over his expression as flames licked at his skin. His once ashen gray flesh burning an intense pinkish red as flames leaked out of the lines across his body until they engulfed him completely. He looked more like a whirlwind of fire as he turned to where the shouts were originating, the ball of fire near sprinting towards whoever had dared to take a shot at you.

You didn't really care what mob justice would be enacted by the citizens or by Rollo, you were worried about Jamil.

The bolt itself seemed to be deeply buried in the scaled hide of the Naga as you tried to find out what you could do to help him. A kind of guilt weighed in your heart to see him wince in pain as he had only been injured because he tried to save you from being hurt.

"Don't worry," Jamil tried to soothe you despite how he was clearly in pain, "it doesn't hurt that much. I'm just glad you're safe-!"

He winced again and you felt an intense worry for him wash over you. It was clear the bolt was deeper than he was letting on and a large part of you understood he was lying to you to keep you calm. Grim was also becoming upset as he realized Jamil was injured and you could have been injured if Jamil hadn't intervened.

The shouting quieted down as a far more displeased Rollo returned to your side after he calmed down somewhat, seemingly ignoring the fact that Jamil had been wounded as he looked you over instead. Something about his stress seemed to be the trigger that made the lines along his body to let out small flames, the fire itself behaving almost like a liquid as it danced across his flesh. Interestingly, the flames themselves didn't actually burn you as his palms slid over your skin while he searched for any sign of injury.

"Did they hurt you? Are you alright? To think someone would be willing to attack you in broad daylight, let alone attack you in Fleur City!"

"It wouldn't be the first time someone has gone after me like this... This is why I told you, I am constantly being hunted and therefore constantly need guards around me. No matter where I go or how friendly the people are... There is always someone targeting me."

You looked toward where the commotion had been and saw whoever it was being dragged away by what looked like law enforcement of some kind. You were mostly interested in seeing what kind of beast had targeted you, but Jamil's coils and the fussing of Rollo kept you from getting a clear view. Malleus was also quick to intervene, pulling you and Grim away from the Fire Nymph and from Jamil's coils.

"Did you get wounded, (Y/n)?"

"No, but Jamil-!"

Before you could finish your sentence, a loud hiss escaped the Naga as Rook stabilized the bolt in Jamil's scales so it wouldn't move and injure him further. Malleus, upon seeing how distressed you were, gathered magic in his hand and ran it along the area encompassing the wound, stopping the blood flow and seemingly numbing the worst of the pain. Naturally, all of your guards were now on high alert and were keen to keep watch just in case someone else tried to attack you.

"(Y/n), we should return to Noble Bell College immediately. I understand you wish to see the rest of Fleur City, but it is simply not safe enough for you right now."

Trein spoke, his eyes worriedly glancing to Jamil. Rook had picked him up and placed him upon the large abdomen of his arachnid body, the uninjured part of the Naga's tail winding around the Drider. You couldn't help but agree with Trein, making sure to stay by Rook's side to comfort Jamil who seemed to actually be soothed by your presence.

Malleus was also keen to keep close to you. The simple sight of the Dragon standing over your shoulder kept even the friendliest of citizens away from you.

Getting back to Noble Bell College was less of a hassle than you expected and it was likely thanks to your multitude of guards and the seemingly general good nature of most of the citizens. Several professors from Noble Bell College were quick to greet your group at the door, unwinding Jamil from Rook and immediately doing what they could to properly treat his injury. This left you trying to calm down Grim who was crying and covering his little face with his paws.

"I don't- I don't want, S-Scales to die!"

"He's not going to die. He is injured, but they are helping him now, it will be okay, Grim."

"But what if it isn't okay?"

"It will be okay. I know it will be."

Grim let you cuddle him close to your chest as you rubbed his back, feeling how the Kit clung to your clothes. Naturally- seeing as he was so young and had already seen you gravely injured- Grim was easily upset by this turn of events and needed more than a little soothing. His sobs turning to sniffles as he pressed his forehead into your neck.

"(Y/n)."

You looked up to see Rollo approaching, his skin had returned to that ashen gray and he almost seemed uncomfortable in his approach. The lines along his body were no longer spitting out flames and almost seemed dull as if he had suppressed his own fire down.

"I wanted to be the first to apologize to you. I let my anger get out of hand and you shouldn't have been subjected to that."

"What do you mean?"

"I... My fire is so often untamable, it was inappropriate of me to get so upset."

"Why would I be angry with you for protecting me?"

Rollo almost seemed confused by your words, grabbing his handkerchief to cover his mouth again. It seemed to be a habit of his whenever he was confused or displeased by something.

"... My flames."

"What about them?"

"Don't they frighten you?"

"Rollo, I'm going to hold your hand when I say this," you picked up one of his hands, using the other to cradle Grim on your shoulder, "I am surrounded by magic at all times. Malleus literally breathes out smoke and fire when he is particularly upset. Grim's ears are engulfed in flames. Idia and his little brother Ortho have flame hair. Their ancestor- one of the Great Seven- also has flame hair. I am the only member of my species and spend my days surrounded by creatures I didn't know existed. You having flames coming out of your body leans on the tamer side of the scale."

The Nymph stared at you dumbfounded as if he couldn't comprehend what you were saying. Being closer to him let you see that these lines were literal cracks in his skin where the outer-layer of his body ventilated heat from deeper within. Like porcelain covering a cracked and flame engulfed center that was slowly creeping out. Those flames began licking across his skin once more as his ash gray hair tinged a gentle red akin to embers burning from within.

"You... trust me? Why? Everyone seems to be such a danger to you, I am astounded you would have it in you to trust anyone."

"I can't afford to mistrust those that guard me."

"Even that Dragon?"

"Especially Malleus. The stronger my guards, the higher my chance of survival."

You let his hand go, now fully cuddling Grim as you turned to find where they had taken Jamil. Rollo watched you go with a warmth settling in his chest and blazing strongly. Most withdrew from his fire whenever he showed it, himself included, yet here you were. You didn't recoil from him or panic upon seeing his flames. You instead smiled and willingly held his hand after seeing such a dark side of himself.

How could he possibly let someone so sweet and understanding escape him?

~•§•~

You sat next to Jamil, his side wrapped and packed with gauze. The bolt itself has hit closer to his torso than you thought at first, now able to see where the scales ended and the smooth flesh began. He lay with his body wrapped as he seemed to be lamenting his injury. Despite how much he perked up upon seeing you enter the room, he was clearly feeling the full impact of the injury he had endured in your defense.

"Thank you."

"Hm? For what, Jamil?"

"For sitting with me. I doubt it is particularly interesting."

"I'm comfortable, Jamil. Don't you worry. I just want to know what I can do to help you. I mean, you took a crossbow bolt in the side for me. The least I can do is keep you company."

Jamil chuckled at this, wincing slightly from the movement. It slowly came to the front of your mind that you genuinely didn't know the anatomy of these monster men. You had no idea where Jamil's heart was located or if he had several hearts. This injury could be far worse than you realized because you simply didn't know what could have been punctured inside of him.

"At least I can spend some time with you. Any prior chance I had to talk to you was taken over by more pressing matters. Did you want to hear about the other species? I'm sure I could at least tell you about a few of them."

"Sure. I would like that."

Waiting just beyond the door and guarding you from anyone else who may attempt to interrupt was the typical dour Dragon. His arms were crossed and his ears perked for anything and nothing in particular. Where he was distressed you had been so close to being injured, he was happy to let you spend time with the one who protected you.

The Dragon's eyes slowly scanned over those in front of him, narrowing when he noticed that troublesome Fire Nymph casting glances towards the door. Malleus would need to keep an eye on the suspicious Nymph, lest he risk adding yet another contender for your affections.

There were already so many on Sage island, the Dragon was not keen to share your precious time with more outsiders. A strong part of him willed him to simply take you away to Briar Valley where you would be safe in Blackscale Castle with him, not poached or chased by others. An even stronger part of him was terrified of upsetting you, so it won the Dragon over for now. Your comfort meant more to the Dragon than satisfying his instincts. For now, all he could do to keep them at bay was guard you closely.

There was simply too much risk to let you be alone for long, especially in unfamiliar territory. For now his instincts quieted by protecting you, guarding you from those that longed to have you and lurked just beyond his influence.

[rinis-rift]

1- Haunting the Horizon.

A God’s Last Warning

The Masterlist! | YOKAI FILES | prev. | next

ꕥ Yokai is from Japanese folklore, so what is one doing, wandering around the streets of Korea? Grabbing attention from the other beasts who dwell in their own underworld as well as their hunters? And when the dust settles, who will have the pleasure to have their blessing?

wc: 1.1k

Yokai!Male! Reader x Saja boys + Huntr/x

Extra: I'm gonna try to fit the prologue in 2 chaps, and because this is kind of short, i think the next one will be hella long...

Look, you know that you’ve been reprimanded by the Gods for interfering with humans on the surface world more than once, the usually jolly fat man berated you for hours on end each time. 

Yelling and teaching something about how it's taboo to try to communicate with the humans, and something about how Yokai can’t do anything more than coexist and indirectly interact with the humans above.

Your main director who was in charge of your types of Yokai was a happy guy to everyone, it was common knowledge that Daikokuten was like that. At first, when you were younger, he’d just give you a pat on the back and a thoughtful lecture on why what you did was bad. As you got older, he’d give you a slap on the wrist then let you go, now you were at the age where there was no excuse for what you’re doing.

And you didn’t break any of those rules!

…

Ok, maybe you’ve bent the boundaries you could cross a little too much… too often. But in your defense, all you did was try to appear in your haunting form during the day in front of a poor dad that genuinely thought you were an intruder..! As well as try to arrange the chopsticks to form a sentence that the kids of the house spilled tears over. (You only wrote “How do your eyes produce tears?”, you were so confused from their reaction, but wrote it down nonetheless.) 

But it seems like this time, your bosses had enough of you. Even the other Yokai, they’d tease and jab at your mountains of notebooks, filled with enthusiastic observations of the human world. They called you ‘A joke’ and ‘an idiot’ for even trying to communicate and learn more. Always telling you it was a waste.

They’d say you’re a “human-wannabe”, and you know what, that doesn’t hurt as much as they think. You were fine with being a Yokai, never got any discomfort from the fact that you were one, you were just curious about the people upstairs…

It’s just that they’ve existed with your species for generations upon generations- theorized to have existed before the Yokais! Well, at least that’s your theory. Who wouldn’t pique interest at the history of the beings that are like an upstairs neighbor. When they’re making a loud mess, you can’t help but wonder what's going on up there.

The fellow Yokai’s jabs hurt at first, especially when you were nothing but a mere child, clutching the paper you stole from a family's Shoji door, on the other hand were crumpled candy wrappers from the candies that people left out for you. Tears brimming your eyes as they fell down your ceramic cheeks.

You’d always run back to your little hut alone, your hair messy from the wind, your kimono wrinkled with your frustration, your hands and cheeks were cold, devoid of happiness and acceptance. It always ended like that for you as a kid.

Each time you asked for acceptance and not alienation from your peers, you always got weird looks and discouraging words. Your idea of fun was so different from the other beings your age, the older ones would belittle you and tell you backhanded compliments that you caught onto too quickly.

They rejected you when you were nothing but a new doll, and they continued to ignore you when you got older. 

But after a while you ignored their ignorance, you grew up. It was all the same things, said over and over again. Your skin toughened up when it came to your Yokai environment, if only they saw what you saw, maybe then they’d understand. You always saw it as: Their brains aren’t as big as mine. Of course, you’d never tell them that.

But to the others, you’re already exceptionally rare as it is, a male Zashiki Warashi? There’s only a pinchful of those every generation! So to see that you’d waste your talent, time, and good looks on the simpleminded humans? It was laughable to the rest, but you always defended your interests and hobbies, but it always resulted with you being outnumbered..

But it seems like this was the final straw for the fat jolly man..

This time you had gotten in trouble for unlocking a form that no other Zashiki Warashi has transformed into before. A human form. Or at the very least, a form that could blend in with the human crowd. And the Gods found out faster than you anticipated, you swore you’d get at least three days of exploration! They found out that night.

Regardless of what you thought, you received another yelling session from your boss, the loved and revered Daikokuten, a name prayed to in almost all homes for the chance of fortune and to avoid disaster. But this time, he seemed more enraged than before, he was waving his mallet with much more ferocity, you even had to step back because he swung it directly at you.

“You insolent child! It’s been years and you still don’t know when to stop, don’t you?! You go as far as test your ghostly body to see if it’ll be anything more? Now you’ve done it! You’ve mutilated your body into something disgusting, repulsive, corrupted- and for what?! To play with humans?!” His voice boomed off the walls, and for the first time in a long time, you felt genuine fear.

You’ve forgotten that as much as you were pushing his good graces, he was still a God, and a powerful one at that. Your eyes widened, your porcelain body shuddered as the ground shook beneath your feet. Your cheeks burned at the shame he made you feel. His words cut deep. To say you mutilated your body. It wasn’t mutilation.

You chanted that in your head, you couldn’t even look him in the eye. Your previous pride and excitement at your discovery was washed away, overwhelmed with mortification, you felt your hollow body grow cold. You then noticed that despite your ears ringing, the yelling had stopped. You look up.

You don’t know what you were expecting, but the heavy God sat there, on his hay barrels, catching his breath from yelling. He raised his magic wooden hammer, you felt your doll eyes strain from how wide you were opening them.

“I have had enough of entertaining your fantasies. Maybe a change of location and a burning of your journals ought to do it. Come back when you’ve learned your lesson.” Something heavy inside you dropped to your stomach.

The mallet in his wrist swung with such animosity and force you haven’t seen before, he hit the hay barrel on his left, and suddenly, light consumed you.

taglist: @tofumiarchives @kaikaikarasu @amery-benson-cvii@the-drowning-dreamer

@simp4myself

[moths-in-a-coat]

it kind of baffles me how people can have like clear defined memories and emotions of their childhoods. for me, it’s genuinely such a blur. i don’t know if it’s because i grew up with everyday pretty much looking the same, but i have to put in a significant amount of effort to remember specific events.

[les4elliewilliams]

❝𝐎𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐒𝐒𝚰𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐃𝚰𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑.❞

ghostface!bestfriend!ellie ✗ fem reader

❝𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐒 𝚰 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔.❞

⚠︎︎︎.ᐟ ⌞warnings ⊹ cw⌝ ﹕ approx 20k words. (ik im sorry im always yapping too much.) headcanons!! mention of blood/murders, drugs usage. childhoodbestfriend!𝑒, perv!𝑒, ghostface!𝑒, switch!𝑒, v light knife play (𝑒!receiving+giving), handcuffing ghostface😊, oral/fingering, strap-on sex (r!receiving), extremely jealous/obsessive!𝑒, ellie gets off to eepy reader and they get off together on the couch yummyy... i think that's it?? ps ignore that ugly ass edited pic pls😭

.ᐟ.ᐟ ⌞author's note⌝ ﹕ this isn't like the movies, it's a 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 story. proofread by @sapphichotmess!!

#.ᐟ ⌞taglist⌝ ﹕ @aouiaa @kaykeryyy @whoucallingalesbian @taylormarieee @co0kiemuncher @myathegoat @joordynn @iamhellagae @hearts444olivia @ion-news @broskideedle13 @ladyofcain @cheyisagirlkisser

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

˳·˖𖤐 During her childhood, Ellie had a stern and intimidating demeanor that unintentionally scared other kids away. They’d be too scared to approach her, let alone play or talk with her, which left her in solitude most of the time. She got used to playing by herself and spent her recess in the corner of the playground. During lunchtime, she would eat the dino nuggets that her dad had meticulously prepared for her while sitting alone at the lunch table (being picky about food, she only ever had dino nuggets and was firmly convinced that regular nuggets did not taste as good). She seemed to find solace in drawing and would spend hours sketching in her green notebook, lost in her world of imagination.

˳·˖𖤐 Maybe, just maybe, the kids’ fear toward Ellie wasn’t unmotivated. She loved to cause chaos and conflicts among the other kids. She would start small fights, encourage others to fight, push kids off swings, or even break their toys. Even more concerning was that she seemed to get a kick out of other people’s misery and would laugh at their distress and discomfort, which was why many feared and avoided being near her.

˳·˖𖤐 Joel would often find himself rushing to his daughter’s school, trying his best to convince the school officials that his sweet little girl could never do anything to hurt other kids. Despite being smart and quiet, Ellie would sometimes find herself in trouble for things she claimed she didn’t do. She always stood her ground, insisting that if she ever did start something, it was only because another child had done something to her first. And, of course, her father always believed her and would go to great lengths to defend his baby girl.

Once, Joel was called to the principal’s office. When he entered the room, he saw the principal sitting behind his desk, looking stern and serious. Joel's heart sank, he could sense something was off. “My daughter would n—” Joel tried to speak, but the principal cut him off without missing a beat. “The teacher saw her. She pushed Jason off the swing and kicked him,” the principal stated, his tone firm and authoritative. Joel's eyes immediately darted to his sweet little angel, who was crying and pouting, giving him doe eyes as she shook her head to dismiss all the accusations. “No, Dad, I didn’t, I swear. He hit me first,” she said, trying to defend herself. “Heard what she said? She didn’t do it.” Joel always fell for that little dotted face. He would still stand by his beliefs no matter what the teachers or other kids' parents said. His baby girl would never hurt anyone. He couldn’t imagine her doing anything wrong.

˳·˖𖤐 You were never really scared of her—the quiet, introverted girl. In fact, you were quite intrigued by her. She always seemed to be the odd one out, sitting in the corner of the classroom or standing far away across the playground, watching everything and everyone so intently. What really fascinated you about her was her attention to detail. She never missed a thing and could remember every single detail of everything, almost like she had a photographic memory or something. 

˳·˖𖤐 Ellie was fascinated with you. Ever since you helped Ellie pick up the pencils she had accidentally dropped, she couldn’t help but notice your gentle and soft smile, and from that moment on, she found herself unable to take her eyes off you. She’d just sit across the room, sipping on her apple juice box as she studied you curiously. To her, you were a delicate and pretty little girl, reminding her of a flower. She had always thought other kids weren’t as bright as her and weren’t good enough to be her friends, which led her to isolate herself from others. She thought of herself as better than everyone her age, and it was also why she would beat them up, finding them too stupid to put up with. But you were different. There was something about you that stood out to her, something that her childish brain couldn’t quite put a finger on. It wasn’t just your kindness, although that certainly played a big part in it. There was something more that made her feel like she wanted to be your friend, your close friend.

˳·˖𖤐 Even as a little kid, Ellie had always been a strategic and calculated person.

One day, she saw you playing in the sandbox and felt the urge to approach you, but she needed an excuse to do so. So, she concocted a plan. She told another kid that you had said something mean about him, knowing that he would confront you about it—Jason was a little of a troublemaker from what she noticed, so she was certain it would work. In fact, when the little boy confronted you, and you denied it, he quickly became angry and pushed you, causing you to fall into the sand. The sand got all over your beautiful frilly clothes, making you feel embarrassed and upset, your bottom lip wobbling. Ellie saw this as her chance to approach you and comfort you. She walked over to you and pushed the other kid, causing him to storm off. She quickly helped you up and offered you a slight smile, “You can’t let other kids treat you like that.” You nodded in agreement, grateful for her help, and threw yourself in her arms, hugging her tightly. “Thank you so much,” you uttered. She nodded and squeezed you, rubbing your back. “Maybe we can watch each other’s back from now on,” she suggested with a shy smile, the one that always fooled her dad as well. You were beyond ecstatic at her offer. You had long admired her from afar, and the idea of being friends with her was something you had dreamed of for a long time, but your shy nature had always caused you to keep to yourself. Even to you, she seemed smarter compared to other kids. “Can you be my friend?” you asked with a toothless grin on your face, batting your lashes at her. “Yes, I would love to,” followed by “Can I show you my dinosaur collection?” From that day on, you and Ellie became close friends, and her strategic and protective nature was always there to help you when you needed it.

˳·˖𖤐 You and Ellie have been inseparable, going through all the ups and downs of school and puberty together. She has been a constant source of support, always by your side through your best and worst days. You have shared countless memories and experiences over the years, and she has always been a true friend in every sense of the word. She was always there to protect you and stood up for both of you in any situation. You did everything together—you laughed, cried, and confided in each other like you were the only two people in the world. You shared all your first-time experiences, like getting drunk for the first time, going to parties, and even sneaking out of your house at night just to see her or hang out. Her father quickly became like a second dad to you, someone you could look up to and trust. You have always felt like a part of their small family, spending time together, sharing meals, and celebrating holidays with them. Your friendship has only grown stronger over the years.

˳·˖𖤐 During middle school, Ellie’s behavior remained consistent. Even in the new environment, she continued to find ways to get herself in trouble. She had a habit of talking back to teachers, getting into physical fights with other students, and arguing with pretty much everyone, almost as if she couldn’t contain herself; causing trouble was second nature to her. It was evident that she found pleasure in disrupting the peace wherever she went, which often landed her in serious trouble. Not that she cared, of course.

“Miss Williams, get your shoes off the desk. You are not at home, and you cannot do as you please,” The middle-aged teacher, who appeared to be in her late fifties, scolded her with a stern voice, her eyes narrowing with disapproval as she spoke. Her wrinkled forehead was furrowed with a frown, and her thin lips pursed tightly together. The teacher’s glasses, once perched on the bridge of her nose earlier, now hung from a chain around her neck as she continued to chastise the auburnette.

With a mischievous smirk on her face, the copper-brown-haired girl replied, “You can bet your wrinkled ass I’ll do as I please,” causing the whole class to erupt in laughter.

˳·˖𖤐 Ellie couldn’t help but feel a surge of anger when Cassie, a girl from math class, called you stupid. You were her best friend, and she couldn't bear the thought of someone insulting you like that. She wouldn’t let anyone walk all over you. So, that same day, she approached Cassie after class with a fake calm demeanor and explained that her comments were hurtful and disrespectful. She initially tried to remain ‘polite’ to make you happy, but the situation quickly escalated to a physical fight. Unfortunately, this resulted in Cassie ending up in the nurses’ office with a broken bone. But she couldn’t help it. She had to look out for you, and Cassie fucking deserved it.

˳·˖𖤐 It was always just you and Ellie hanging out together. Other kids weren’t allowed to join you. Everyone in your school thought of you two as weirdos, but you didn’t care, both preferring each other’s company over anyone else’s.

˳·˖𖤐 You spent everyday together, either at her place or yours. Homework, video games, comics, and movie marathons filled your time, but the one thing that truly brought you together was your shared obsession with horror movies. You’d watch a new one each day, feeding off the adrenaline of jump scares and twisted plots. Ellie seemed to devour every film, but her favorites were always the slasher flicks—especially the Scream series. The thrill of being scared out of your mind became your thing. Soon, though, it wasn’t just the horror movies that captivated Ellie. She developed a deep fascination for true crime documentaries, and afternoons blurred into nights as the two of you sat in her room, binging tales of real-life terror, lost in your macabre little world together. You both would sit there, transfixed, eyes glued to the horror playing out on the screen, completely enthralled by the spine-tingling and mysterious events unfolding before you. The chilling stories on the screen drew you in, and your fascination with the morbid and the inexplicable would lead you to spend countless hours online reading creepypastas. 

˳·˖𖤐 You were each other’s first kiss.

One Friday night, you went to Cassie’s house for a small party—yes, the same Cassie that Ellie beat up and broke her arm. You guessed she had invited Ellie to get on her good side, considering their last fight. The poor girl was tired of fearing Ellie, but Ellie didn’t like her one bit and never would. Your best friend was reluctant at the idea of being surrounded by too many people, but you convinced her to go with you, saying it might’ve been fun to do something different for once. They kept teasing you, insinuating that you were more than just best friends. You were always around each other and touchy in ways that made them suspect that you were girlfriends. They noticed how you frequently held hands, hugged, and even kissed each other on the cheek. So, during a truth-or-dare game, they dared you to kiss your best friend. You looked over at Ellie, feeling shy and uncertain. You were waiting for her to say something to stop you from going along with the dare, but to your surprise, she didn’t. In fact, she had a small smile on her face, which made you feel more nervous for some reason. Feeling hesitant, you finally mustered up the courage to ask her, “Can I kiss you?” Your cheeks heated up as you spoke. The freckled girl rolled her eyes, trying to make you feel like you were being dramatic, “It’s just a game.” Finally, you leaned in and gave her a soft peck on the lips. Everyone in the room giggled and clapped their hands, but you couldn’t shake off the feeling that something had changed between you and Ellie, yet neither of you dared to acknowledge it.

˳·˖𖤐 Ellie had always been very open about her attraction to girls. She never cared about what other classmates might have thought about her preferences. Even though they were not always accepting, they never dared to say anything negative to her face, fearing Ellie’s reaction to their comments. She openly rejected guys who showed interest in her, saying that she was not interested because she was a lesbian. Always commenting about pretty girls—and man, if that didn’t make you jealous. You’d often feel this intense jealousy inside you every time she talked to other girls or whenever other girls would approach her, even if she always rejected them, 99,9% of the time.

˳·˖𖤐 Why 99,9% and not 100%? Well, because another girl named Cat entered the picture. From the very start, it was clear that Cat was head over heels for Ellie, and how could you blame her? She’d blush every time Ellie glanced her way, always laughing obnoxiously at your best friend’s puns, even when they were terrible—and that was, like, all the time. She would also go out of her way to shower her with small gifts, all of which Ellie would accept with a sly grin that you found infuriating. She’d get her snacks and pass her cute little notes during classes, and the worst part was that your friend began to reciprocate Cat’s feelings, and the two of them grew even closer. You tried to accept their ‘friendship’ but found it increasingly difficult; watching them together became too much to bear, and you knew you had to take care of it. You never liked sharing, not even as a kid, so why start now with the most important person to you?

As the lesson dragged on, you grew more restless, your thoughts tangled in a knot of anxiety. You needed to have a little chat with Cat. Urgently. Unable to focus any longer, you raised your hand, asking the teacher if you could go to the toilet. When he gave you a nod in response, you hurried out of the classroom, your pulse quickening as you slipped through the quiet hallways. Reaching into your pocket, you pulled out a small Post-it note, your fingers trembling slightly as you scrawled a quick message:

“Meet me in the bathroom after third period. — Ellie :)  ”

You carefully folded the note and slid it into Cat's locker, hoping she would see it soon. The next few hours felt like an eternity. You kept checking the clock, counting down the minutes until the third period. Finally, the bell rang, and you made your way to the bathroom, hoping Cat would be there. As you entered the bathroom, you saw her standing there with a big smile. The same smile that faded in an instant as she saw you instead of the girl she liked. You greeted her with a mischievous grin and asked her if she was waiting for Ellie. “Yeah, she told me to come here after third period,” the raven-haired girl responded, looking puzzled. “Did she, or did I?” you giggled. Cat took a small step back, suddenly feeling creeped out by the way you were looking at her, almost as if you were planning to hurt her. You had never started fights in school or caused any sort of trouble, though Cat feared you. Maybe it was the endless rude comments you threw her way at any chance you got or the little things you did when Ellie wasn’t watching to make her feel threatened. “Is this some sick joke?” surprise flashed across her features before a more terrorized look replaced it. “Stop seeing her, don’t come near her, stop talking to her, don’t even look her way,” you demanded. Your tone was firm, almost possessive, as you stepped closer. She backed away with each step you took. “Wha-” Cat tried to speak, but you cut her off. “I catch you lookin’ at her again, I won’t be as nice.” you threatened. “I won’t—I’ll stop talking to her,” she stammered nervously, her voice trembling. A few sniffles escaped her before she ran off, mumbling her sorrys on her way out. “I hope you mean it.” She was already out of the bathroom, but you were sure she had heard you loud and clear. And you weren’t even gonna feel bad. She deserved it. How dare she come near the most important person in your life? What was she planning to do? Take her away from you? You sure as hell weren’t gonna let that happen.

˳·˖𖤐 Ellie was struggling to understand why Cat had suddenly started ignoring her like a deadly disease. It was almost perplexing that the brunette wouldn’t even look at her, and whenever Ellie tried to approach her to talk, Cat would leave the conversation abruptly, only briefly glancing over at her. It was particularly puzzling to the redhead as she could not recall any misunderstanding or disagreement between them that could have caused such a drastic change in Cat’s attitude towards her—for once, she was nice to someone who wasn’t you, and this was the result? She felt confused and soon enough began to harass the girl, making sure her life was a living hell at school. How dare Cat ignore her? She wasn’t even that smart or pretty. Ellie only ever liked the attention she'd get from her; she was there just to boost her ego, and now she was ignoring her?

˳·˖𖤐 As you both entered high school, you remained inseparable, sticking to the shadows for the first few years, trying to blend in and avoid unwanted attention. Neither of you joined clubs or sports teams, preferring to keep to yourselves and steer clear of socializing. But by junior year, the routine started to feel stifling, and restlessness set in. You both realized you wanted more—something bigger than just being on the sidelines. Your best friend took the leap first, joining the soccer team, eager to break out of the monotony and possibly make new friends. She thrived there, quickly falling in love with the game’s intensity and the adrenaline that came with it. She never lost that sense of superiority, though—deep down, she believed she was different, better than the people around her. She stood out, and she knew it. You, on the other hand, joined the cheerleaders team. Dancing and performing had always been a passion, and it seemed like a perfect way to get involved. But as you spent time with other girls, you couldn’t help but notice how wrapped up they were in things that felt trivial to you—obsessed with popularity, looks, and gossip. It was hard to feel like you fit in, knowing damn well you didn’t. While your best friend thrived on her sense of superiority, you were left feeling like an outsider, trapped in a group you didn’t belong in.

˳·˖𖤐 Ever since you joined the cheerleading team, you stood out from the crowd. Your undeniable beauty did not go unnoticed, and soon enough, boys began to show interest in you. Every week, a different guy would try to catch your attention, hoping to ask you out or make a move on you. But Ellie was fiercely protective of you, claiming that none of these guys were good enough for you, whether it was a potential friend or partner. She would always find a way to scare them away, making it clear that you weren’t interested, always there reminding you that you were way too amazing for all of them and that no one could ever understand you like she did, even if they tried. She did not want anyone she deemed unworthy of your time to come close to you, and you liked it that way. To you, that was your definition of love.

“—so he just fell in front of the whole class, he couldn’t even-” You were interrupted by the sound of your name being called from across the room. Your best friend was out sick, missing all the juicy details, but before you could finish the story and turn to see who it was, the auburn-haired girl beside you spun around first. Her brows knit together almost instantly, and you could see the flicker of jealousy in her eyes. Her expression darkened as she processed the moment, clearly thrown off by the sudden attention directed your way. A kid you knew from theater class was walking toward you with a nervous smile, carefully holding a flower, making sure not to prick himself on the sharp thorns of the beautiful red rose. “Hey, I just wanted to ask you if-” He didn’t even need to finish his sentence—she was already prepared to go off on him as if he’d just insulted her entire family. In reality, he hadn’t even noticed a fuming Ellie standing right beside you. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, eyes locked on him with an intensity that made you sure if looks could kill, he’d already be dead. You opened your mouth to say something, but Ellie quickly raised her hand in front of you, silencing you instantly. She was going to handle this, just like always. “What makes you think she would ever go out with a loser like you?” Ellie hurled venomous words his way, leaving the poor guy stuttering and stumbling over his response. His face flushed bright red as if all the blood had rushed to his cheeks. He stood there, frozen in shock, his mouth hanging open like a fish gasping for air. His eyes darted nervously between you and the girl at your side, clearly unsure what to do next. He swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words to express himself, his expression desperate as if he was silently begging for a reaction from you, anything. But before he could even get a syllable out, Ellie cut him off again, shutting him down before he could speak. “Heard what I said? She is not interested,” she repeated, but this time, her voice was tinged with impatience. “I’m sorry, I just—take this.” He handed you the flower, looking utterly defeated. As soon as it was in your hands, he turned around and walked away hastily, like a puppy with its tail tucked between its legs. She watched the guy walk away, her leaf-hued eyes fixed on him, unwilling to let go of the sight. Her face was slightly scrunched up in annoyance, her mind clearly racing with thoughts as she seemed lost in her world. After a while, she finally tore her gaze away from him and glanced at you briefly as if snapping back to reality. She let out a small ‘tssssk’ under her breath, trying to collect herself and shake off the jealousy lingering in the pit of her stomach. “Jesus, El. You’re evil,” You let out a small giggle and brought your hand to your mouth to cover it up. “Might have to kill half the school just for you,” She suddenly joked with a grin. She snatched the rose out of your hand and threw it on the floor forcefully. Red petals scattered on the ground as you both continued walking. Ellie made sure to stomp on the flower. She always had a very dark humor, which sometimes left you wondering if she meant any of what she said. She always spoke in such a serious tone, but maybe it was just her sarcasm being that way. Her words were often laced with a hidden meaning, and she had a way of making you question your interpretations, but you laughed at her joke anyway.

˳·˖𖤐 So, were you surprised when a few students started going missing? 

˳·˖𖤐 The leader of the cheerleaders that always gave you a hard time? Gone.

˳·˖𖤐 Ellie was your biggest fan, always showing up to watch your cheerleading practices.  Manspreading on the benches, her gaze never left you, not daring to miss a single move. The sight of you, all sweaty with wisps of hair escaping your ponytail, only made you look cuter in her eyes. She loved seeing you in that little cheerleader uniform. Whenever you smiled and glanced at her, her heart would thunder in her chest. It was as if her whole world revolved around those fleeting glances and spontaneous smiles you’d throw her way. You were awfully adorable.

What Ellie found far less adorable was how the head cheerleader constantly picked on you, always putting you down. What frustrated her even more was that you just let it happen. In her mind, Amanda wasn’t better than you—no one could even come close to you. To Ellie, you were perfect, and she wished you could see it too. When she saw you walking toward her, she quickly set aside the leather-bound journal she had been scribbling in, placing it on the empty spot next to her as she greeted you with a warm smile.

“You’re doing great, beautiful,” She turned to grab her backpack, which had been thrown carelessly on the empty benches behind her. Her tattooed arm reached inside the already unzipped, worn-out bag. “Yeah, you say that, like, every single time.” You sat on the bench next to her, sweat beading on your forehead as you let out a slight huff, feeling winded after your practice. “‘s true though.” She pulled out a small towel and handed it to you with a gentle smile. She was always considerate, constantly looking out for you and ensuring you were taken care of. She expressed her love for you through these little gestures, like bringing things she thought you might need in her green backpack. Her obsession with you was apparent in how she hovered over you, but you couldn't deny that it was comforting to have someone care for you so deeply. That was love—real love—and you had never experienced that from anyone else.

“Goood, you’re so perfect,” you accepted the towel from her outstretched hand and began to pat your forehead, feeling some relief from the heat. But a little towel wasn’t the only thing she brought for you—she also handed you a refreshing bottle of water to quench your thirst and a cherry-flavored lollipop as a little treat. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of that beloved childhood candy in your hand. A soft smile spread across her lips when your words reached her ears, and she looked away, her gaze drifting toward the horizon. Her shoulders lifted ever so slightly in a subtle shrug, “Oh, I know” her elbows propped up on her knees as she leaned forward. She was deep in thought, and her hands were intertwined. You took a few sips of your water and unwrapped a lollipop, both of you fell silent, completely focused on watching Amanda, who was the target of Ellie's intense gaze, she was studying her. “She’s a bitch” the freckled girl next to you muttered under her breath. You hummed in agreement, savoring the sugary goodness. “Why do you even let her speak to you that way?” she shook her head in disapproval, you could feel her gaze on you even if you weren't looking at her. “What do you want me to do? She’s the leader, El. She’ll throw me out of the team if I confront her.” You reached up to your mouth and pulled the lollipop out with a loud smack noise, feeling a sense of defeat wash over you. Ellie expressed her disagreement with a small scoff that barely registered on her plump lips, almost imperceptible. She picked up her journal once again and resumed whatever she was doing, and the silence between the two of you fell once again, punctuated only by the sound of the pencil scratching across the page. When you looked down at her journal, you couldn’t help but notice a drawing she was making of Amanda. The drawing portrayed Amanda in a rather disturbing manner, physically harmed with a knife in her chest. The details of the drawing were quite graphic, and you could tell she had put a lot of effort and passion into it. “Oh, well...that's detailed,” you commented, still sucking on your lollipop, savoring the sweet taste in your mouth. You noticed a small curl of her lips as if she felt proud of her drawing skills. “But that’d be too messy,” you added, her head shot up to look at you. “Yeah? How would you do it then?” she asked, almost challenging you to come up with a better idea for the hypothetical scenario. “The bitch’s allergic to almonds,” Your eyes were fixed on Amanda, who was laughing with her friend. Ellie raised her brows at you, an amused smile appearing on her lips. “That’s it? A good ol’ accidental allergy reaction? Where’s the fun in that?” you shrugged at her words. “No blood, no traces, it’d be harder to get caught,” you explained, proving your point. It was logical and more calculative than her hypothesis. “True but stabbing her to death seems funnier, I dunno.” She inhaled deeply, leaning back into her bench, her back pressed on the benches behind her. “Hearing them beg for mercy, scream in pain, and the look in their eyes…” She went on, entirely absorbed in her twisted narration. As she spoke, the details grew darker and more grotesque with each word. You watched her, bewildered, struggling to tell if this was still just a “what if” game. When Ellie finally realized you hadn’t responded, she looked over at you—the familiar warmth in her eyes had drained away, leaving something sharper, emptier, a chill that made you feel as though you were staring into someone else entirely.

“And where would you hide the body?” you asked.

She smiled sadistically, almost as if she already had an answer ready for that question. “I know the perfect place for that kind of thing.” she put down her journal, her emeralds back on you as she told you about the place she had in mind. “No one would ever look there,” You agreed, giving her a nod, the cherry taste of the candy lingering as you let the sweetness melt off your tongue, an amused grin playing at the corners of your mouth. The plan was actually well-thought-out—impressively so.

“I told you,” she said softly, her gaze darted between your lips and the lollipop. “Oh? Want some?” you teased, holding the lollipop just a breath away from her. Slowly, you edged the glistening, saliva-coated candy toward her, and she parted her lips, wrapping them around it, savoring the artificial cherry taste with a quiet hum of satisfaction. Her fingers replaced yours on the stick, her fingertips brushing lightly over yours, lingering just a little too long. She held your gaze, her eyes softened, almost entranced, though the depth of that look was something you couldn’t quite place. In reality, she was gazing at you enamored, her pupils wide open, but you were completely oblivious to her feelings and failed to pick up on her infatuation. Shortly after that day, Amanda was gone. Disappeared into thin air, nowhere to be found. You knew it wasn’t adding up, especially when you asked Ellie about it. She’d be so nonchalant, like she had nothing to do with her it. But you knew she was lying. Did you care about that stupid cunt being gone? Absolutely not. You soon became the leader of the cheerleaders, and everyone looked up to you.

˳·˖𖤐 The girl who was grinding on you at Daniel’s party? Found dead the morning after.

˳·˖𖤐 The first few months of college had set in, and you were already drowning in a sea of assignments and deadlines, feeling overwhelmed and stressed out. To stay close to you, Ellie took the bold step of enrolling in the same college as you. She even went as far as to choose the same major─Psychology─just to be in the same classes as you, ensuring that you both had the same schedule, did the same assignments, and even hung out with the same people. 

˳·˖𖤐 It was ironic, really, how someone as anti-social and apathetic as her would pursue a field that involved studying human behavior and emotions. But she did it anyway because the mere thought of being away from you for even a second was unbearable to her. She didn’t want anyone else to get closer to you or share the dorm with you, so she followed you and moved in with you because no one could take care of you better than her. You both decided to get an apartment together to share the bills and responsibilities of living independently. Your parents were more than willing to support you financially, making sure that you had everything you needed for college and the apartment. You were attached by the hip, and wherever you went, she was there with you, and whenever she wasn't, you became nervous and anxious, wondering what she was doing and if everything was okay. It was as if you had become too dependent on her, and the thought of being alone scared you. But the dependency was mutual; she needed you just as much as you needed her.

˳·˖𖤐 Ellie was not a fan of parties and preferred staying home, indulging in horror movies while getting high with you. However, when you told her about Daniel’s Halloween party, she knew she had to accompany you to ensure your safety and protect you from any potential creeps. You had been eagerly waiting for Halloween, your favorite holiday, and Ellie didn't want you to miss the opportunity to dress up and have a good time. Despite her initial reluctance, she was somewhat excited, not for the party itself but because she finally had a reason to wear the ghostface costume that had been sitting in her closet, untouched and unused. 

Ellie was already ready, her costume simple but somehow annoyingly perfect—but that was the price that came with being effortlessly beautiful—and her Ghostface mask thrown lazily on her shoulder. She stood at the bathroom entrance, arms crossed, eyes unwavering as they followed you. You slipped into the tight black dress, pulling it into place with a little struggle as it hugged every curve. You, on the other side, loved taking care of every little detail of your makeup and costume, ensuring your appearance was always on point. “I hate these things,” she muttered under her breath, brow furrowed, though her gaze was anything but annoyed as it lingered on your body. With her hip pressed against the doorframe, she watched as you adjusted the neckline, her head tilted to the side, eyes scrutinizing each inch of skin exposed. “Why’d you have to pick something so revealing?” she asked, voice low, almost a grumble. You sighed, rolling your eyes playfully. “It’s Halloween, Ellie,” you huffed out, “I can wear whatever I want. Don't be such a buzz kill.” “I meant for Halloween parties. Last year, you were that damn sexy nurse. This year, it’s a tight dress. What’s next? A slutty bunny?” the freckled girl quipped, her lips curling up into a wry smile as she raised an eyebrow at you, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She let out a light chuckle, the sound echoing softly in the small bathroom. “And you’re here complaining,” you retorted with a mischievous grin as you reached for your high heels and effortlessly slid your feet into them. You took a few confident steps towards her, giving her a complete view of your stylish outfit. Her eyes roamed up and down your body. Your dress hugged every curve, revealing just enough skin to accentuate her drool. She licked her lips, imagining what she could do with you in that skimpy outfit, but she had to keep her hands to herself, unfortunately.  “You look fucking amazing.” 

You gave her a soft smile, turning toward the mirror and reaching for your makeup bag on the countertop. “Just need to fix my makeup, and we’re all set,” you informed her, pulling out your favorite berry pink gloss and a tube of mascara, both essentials for tonight. Ellie let out a low chuckle from the doorway, fingers tapping lazily on the frame. “You’re gonna make me want to commit murder tonight,” she joked, eyes flicking over you as you leaned in closer to the mirror. Without looking away from your reflection, you rolled your eyes, your long lashes nearly brushing against your brows. “Oh, shut up. You’ll survive,” you replied, carefully gliding the gloss over your lips. She sighed, tipping her head back against the doorframe. “Honestly, I don’t know why we’re even going. It’s gonna be full of drunk assholes, all crowding around like moths.” “C’mon, El, it’s gonna be fun,” you insisted, catching her eye in the mirror. She rolled her eyes, exhaling dramatically. “Oh, yeah, can’t wait to watch people hitting on you,” she drawled, her voice heavy with sarcasm. You snorted, giving her a smirk as you grabbed your mascara. “Well, thank God I’ll have you by my side, scaring them all away.” “Damn right,” she shot back, and you both chuckled. Finishing up, you turned on your heels to face her, your eyes locking with hers. The two of you were only inches apart now, close enough to share each unspoken word in the air between you. “So, what do you think? How do I look?” you questioned, seeking her approval, though you knew the answer already. Ellie’s gaze drifted over you, her lips twitching into a scoff. “You already know you look hot,” she murmured, unable to hide a small smirk. She seemed momentarily lost as she looked at you, her green eyes flitting from your lips to your eyes, drawn in despite herself. You felt a pulse of satisfaction at her reaction, the way her attention lingered on you. “Ellie…” you murmured, leaning a bit closer, your voice dropping to a whisper that sent a shiver down her spine. She licked her lips almost instinctively, her gaze dropping to your glossy ones, and the air between you grew thick, the energy snapping with tension. “...Yeah?” she breathed, her voice barely audible. Her breath hitched as you inched closer before coming to a halt. You smirked, tipping your head to the side. “Can I be your helpless victim?” you teased, catching her off guard with the unexpected line. Ellie’s face contorted into one of confused disbelief, and before you could hold it back, laughter escaped you at her expression. In response, she gave your shoulder a playful shove, rolling her eyes as she fought a smile. “Fuck you,” she groaned, a hint of laughter in her voice, and she ducked out of the bathroom, completely flustered, leaving you grinning after her.

When you arrived at the party, your best friend was glued to your side. She didn’t want you to be alone for even a moment, telling you that she’d stay sober to keep an eye on you in case you decided to drink. However, despite her best efforts, she lost track of you for just a few minutes. When she finally found you, she swore she felt her whole organs sink. You were dancing with a girl. Everything seemed to slow down, and jealousy and pure rage quickly built up inside her as she registered that girl’s hands guiding your hips as she ground on your ass and her lips devoured your neck. When your gaze met hers, you couldn’t help but notice the striking green color of her eyes had turned into an intense, almost ominous shade. Her jaw was tightly clenched, and you could feel a sense of discomfort creeping up on you. It was like you had crossed an invisible line and were now doing something you shouldn’t do. Almost instinctively, you pushed the girl off of you, and before you could give the drunken girl an explanation, Ellie was already walking toward you.

“We’re going back home,” She spoke with a harsh, demanding tone. She grabbed your wrist tightly and forcefully pulled you away from the girl you were dancing with. You didn't even have a chance to say goodbye or explain the situation as she dragged you away.

“Why are you acting like this? Can’t I make friends?” Your words were slightly slurred, the tipsiness settling in as you tried to pull your wrist from her grip, but Ellie’s hold was firm. You didn’t want to leave the party yet; the night had just started and had been so much fun, and her urgency to get you out only made disappointment grow. The music and chatter gradually faded as she dragged you both toward the exit.

“Didn’t look like a friend to me,” she muttered, voice sharp with an edge that cut through your drunk haze. “Looked more like she wanted to fuck you right there in front of everyone—in front of me.” She cast a glance back at the party, the girl long gone already. “Besides,” she added, “—you have me. I don’t see why you need her.” There was an ache in her tone as if she felt betrayed by your actions, a hidden desperation she was trying to keep under wraps. Couldn’t you see? She was right there, ready to be everything you needed, the one person who knew you better than anyone else. You narrowed your eyes, pushing her, testing her. “So what if she did want to fuck me? What are you, my girlfriend?” The words came out in a perfectly thought-out taunt to poke the emotions she preferred to keep hidden under the surface. You couldn’t deny that you’d thought about it too—what it would be like to actually be with her. Her green eyes darkened, shifting from their usual warmth to something intense and possessive, jealousy sparking in the depths. It was rare for you both to argue, but this time it felt like there was something deeper brewing beneath the surface, something that had been sitting there gathering dust, waiting for the right moment to bubble out like scorching lava. There was a palpable tension in the air, more-than-friendly feelings in your eyes. Even a fool would’ve been able to see the unspoken feelings and desires that neither of you could express aloud. Perhaps it was the fear of rejection or the uncertainty of how the other person felt kept you both from taking that step. “I just don’t want you getting hurt or taken advantage of.” She lied, her words sharp, unyielding, and tone laced with frustration and anger. That wasn’t a complete lie, but it was still not the whole truth. She took a slow, deep breath to calm herself down. Gradually, her tense body relaxed, and her previously sharp tone softened. “You’re all I have.” As she spoke again, her eyes, which had been stern, took on a gentler expression, and you could sense vulnerability in her voice, suddenly yearning for ‘reassurance’. “I’m sorry for being rough. It’s just… seeing anyone else with you just… fuck, I don’t know why it pisses me off so much.”  Ellie wanted you to believe she was reacting out of fear because she didn’t want to lose you. But her motives were more complex than that. While it was true that she was afraid of losing you, her actions were purely driven by a sense of selfishness. She strongly believed that you were meant to be together and that it was only a matter of time until you realized she was the one for you. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “No one could ever replace you, and I hope you know that.” With a gentle tug of her costume, you pulled her close. Your arms wrapped tightly around her, and you could feel the weight of her body press against yours as she leaned into you. As you held her, you could feel the tension slowly start to melt away, replaced by a familiar sense of safety that usually came with being in her arms. “No, you’re right. I’m not your girlfriend, you can do whatever you want—fuck whoever you want.” Her voice quivered with hesitation, and her heart felt like it was weighed down by a heavy burden. She almost sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than anything, the words tasting sour on her tongue. She knew it wasn’t normal to be so possessive of your best friend, no one acted this way toward their friends. So what was she supposed to do? Lock you up in a glass cage and never let you go? Although the idea was tempting she knew she had to set you free─free enough to find someone at least, even if it felt extremely wrong. What were the chances it would last?

˳·˖𖤐 Despite her promise to let you go, to let you be with whoever you wanted, the girl you’d danced with that night was found dead the following day, her body left in a state so brutal it was as if every ounce of someone’s anger had been carved into her. The pieces didn’t quite fit, but you couldn’t bring yourself to confront it—not yet. Maybe it was all just a coincidence, a horrible coincidence.

˳·˖𖤐 And yet, every time the news flashed across the screen or a passing conversation brought it up, her casual comments made your blood run cold.

“Oh, what a shame,” she’d murmur, not a hint of genuine sympathy in her tone.  “Guess this is what happens when you hoe around,” she’d remark, her voice steady, an almost imperceptible smirk ghosting her lips. “Hm… sucks. ‘s not even her best picture,” she’d add, a detached sort of amusement glinting in her eyes.

˳·˖𖤐 When you tried to confront her and ask questions that had been gnawing at your mind, her responses were so calm—too calm, too controlled. Her voice was smooth as she answered, almost as if rehearsed as she tried to make you feel ridiculous for even asking.

“I was with you last night. What are you implying?” she’d say, her tone just soft enough to make you question yourself. “You sound crazy right now,” she’d whisper, eyebrows raised in concern. “Maybe all these murders going on are messing with your head.”

With every word, she seemed to pull you deeper into self-doubt, her gaze softening, her voice laced with an almost painful sweetness. “Are you listening to yourself right now? I love you, but… you’re scaring me. You’re being paranoid.”

˳·˖𖤐 Her words lingered, a shadow in your mind until you couldn’t tell if it was your sanity or hers that was starting to slip.

˳·˖𖤐 The third person to disappear into thin air was your boyfriend.

˳·˖𖤐 Shortly after that heated argument with your best friend, you got into your first relationship. She gave you a little more freedom to talk to people, to socialize, but her jealousy flared whenever she saw you with him—or anyone else, for that matter.

God, why him? she’d ask herself, the question gnawing at her each time she saw the two of you together. He wasn’t exceptionally bright, his style was awful, and, to her, he wasn’t even remotely attractive. Whenever he was around, she’d mock him or throw out casual, biting jokes. She always seemed to be the only one laughing. Strangely enough, her snide remarks never fazed him—he never seemed intimidated by her like other guys who quickly fell away, discouraged or unnerved after a few seconds of her scrutiny. But not him. He stuck around, seemingly immune to her attempts to chase him off. So she took care of him. You were left with nothing but a single message, his name lighting up your screen in a sudden, unexpected end. He said he had to break things off because he was moving out of town, needing a “clean break,” a “fresh start.” The words felt hollow, calculated, and as you read through the message, your emotions twisted—hurt, anger, betrayal, all swirling within you. It was your first relationship, and he had chosen to end it over a text message without any explanation or warning. You felt like you meant nothing to him, and the fact that he disappeared from your life without as much as a goodbye added insult to injury. You were upset, not because you were particularly in love with him, but because you hated the feeling of being rejected. You had always been in control, the one rejecting people, so it was a blow to your ego to be on the receiving end of a breakup. 

˳·˖𖤐 Ellie, of course, had been there for you, providing support and care during this difficult time. She had to be here, because what kind of friend would she be if she wasn't there for you for something she had caused?

She squeezed you tighter, those strong, toned arms wrapping around you with an unbreakable and relentless grip. Her breath was hot on your neck as she murmured against your ear, lips grazing your skin with a smug smirk. “I told you this would happen,” she’d mutter, words slipping out with that intoxicating blend of annoyance and affection. She’d let her slender, cold fingers trace your spine in a way that left a shiver behind, and her hand would possessively rest on the small of your back, pulling you impossibly closer. “No one—no one will ever love you like I do. No one knows you like this. He could never do what I can.” “You should’ve known better, angel.” There was a dark satisfaction in her voice, almost sounding like she was taunting you, leaning in just close enough for you to feel the heat of every word against your flesh. “Told you he wasn’t the one for you, baby girl.” 

˳·˖𖤐 Not only did Ellie ensure that your boyfriend would never come anywhere near you, but now she seemed to be spending more time than ever clinging close to you, cuddling with you, and sharing the bed with you—all under the guise of offering you comfort. 

˳·˖𖤐 Your friendship had always been intense and boundaryless, it had never been anything but healthy. And it had always been increasingly clear to anyone looking in from the outside that your relationship was more than platonic. Ellie had always been obsessed with you, and her love for you had bordered on devotion. But while others could see this, you remained oblivious to her true feelings, always wondering if she liked you back.

˳·˖𖤐 And that’s when things started to change. Maybe it was the fact that you now lived together and got to spend every second with each other, or maybe it was the fact that your stupid boyfriend was out of the picture─you weren’t sure, but you didn’t mind, and neither did she. Slowly, it was back to just you and her again. Your boyfriend was nowhere to be seen, and there were no other distractions. It was just the two of you like it always used to be.

You were leaning back on the couch, a joint held between your lips, your eyes heavy and red as you focused on the big TV in front of you. It was Friday night, a time when everyone else would usually go out, but for you, it only meant one thing: movie night with Ellie. The living room was dark, except for the light cast from the TV, making your faces glow in the darkness. You let out a throaty chuckle, taking another hit before sinking deeper into the couch and passing the joint back to her. You were rambling about random stuff as the movie went on, just filling in the background noise at first. Neither of you was really focused on the movie, too high to pay attention to what was happening on the screen. Your mind was wandering to other places, and it was easy to lose track of the scenes as they unfolded.  But then, a steamy scene suddenly caught both of your attention. You could feel the heat rising from the joint and maybe something else; the smoke filling your lungs and a fuzzy feeling spread throughout your body, filling you with a sense of relaxation and mellow contentment. But there was still a tiny fluttering sensation in your stomach, even though you knew it shouldn't be there. It was a strange feeling, like a soft and unexpected rush of excitement, and it made you feel both giddy and nervous all at once. As you watched the steamy scene playing out in front of your eyes, you caught a glimpse of Ellie licking her chapped and dry lips, her green, dilated eyes fixed like a laser on the screen. Her breathing was slightly faster, and you could feel her body tense up as she watched the scene. She didn’t take her eyes off the screen for a second, as if her life depended on watching it. “Y’know, you were my gay awakening,” she spoke suddenly, her husky voice breaking the silence and snapping you to attention. She stared at you, her eyes lingering on every part of your body before settling back on your face. It was a bold confession, coming out of nowhere, and suddenly, you felt your heart beating faster. A dry chuckle slipped out of you, catching in your throat. Even though you were high and a little out of control, her admission had you feeling speechless. “Is that so?” You ran your tongue across your bottom lip, trying to wet it as your throat suddenly felt parched and your pulse thrummed in your ears, hard and loud. “Hmmm-mmmh,” she hummed lazily in response, sounding almost like a low purr in your ear. Her hand rested on your bare thigh, squeezing gently, her touch delicate but firm. Heat pooled in your stomach almost instantly. “Always thinking of you when I touch myself.” “Show me.” You challenged her with a sultry tone.   Ellie scoffed, her scarred auburn brows lifting in disbelief. Had she heard you right? She swore she was hallucinating. “What?” “You heard me. Touch yourself,” you commanded, your voice firm, leaving no room for doubt. The corners of your lips lifted into a smirk, the confidence in your gaze obvious.

“And you’re just gonna sit there and stare like a creep?” She shook her head slowly, an amused smile on her face as if she wasn’t sure whether to take you seriously. But the soft chuckle and the way her eyes stayed locked on yours hinted that she was not entirely opposed to the idea. “Maybe, maybe not.” You shifted on the couch, turning fully to face her, now closer than ever. Practically in her space, watching her, you could almost feel her heart about to explode. Those little pajama shorts you had on had her captivated. Her eyes kept slipping down, caught on how tightly they hugged your curves, tracing every inch of your legs and hips. She tried to keep her gaze on your face, but it was impossible to stop glancing lower.  “If you do it, I’ll do it too,” you added, your voice dripping with temptation as her silence stretched out. And with that, something in her snapped, a fuse blowing in her mind until the only thing left was pure, raw need. No hesitation, no questions—just her fingers reaching into her waistband, spurred on by that hungry look in your eyes. You both sat there, legs spread, your hands slipping inside your panties, each of you putting on a show for the other.   Ellie’s breath hitched, and her fingers moved with fervor, sending shivers down your spine. You couldn’t help but watch, mesmerized by how her parted lips let out shallow breaths, quiet gasps escaping as her hand worked. She moved with purpose, fingers gliding through her wetness, quickening her pace to get you to keep up.  “Do what I do,” she groaned, her voice low and rough. You obliged, your fingers following her frantic rhythm.  “Fuck, Ellie,” you moaned, biting back the whimper that her every move pulled out of you. 

She didn’t miss a thing, loving how you trembled and squirmed under her gaze, your body aching, practically begging. Her wildest fantasies were unfolding right in front of her, and she was greedy, wanting every sound, every gasp, every moan.   “You like that, yeah?” she rasped, her voice so rough it made your walls clench. The empty ache inside you was unbearable, your fingers slippery and soaked as you followed her every twist and stroke. You nodded, desperate, moans spilling out without restraint, each one making her move even faster. The sight of her, her touch, her ragged breaths was dizzying. She wanted to own every second, to make you crave her as much as she craved you. Your needy voice rang out, soft and breathy, “Mmmhh… need more, El.” You sounded so desperate, so whiny, it made her heart race. You were just so fucking pretty, and she couldn't stop thinking about how it would feel to have her fingers inside you, feeling every desperate pulse, every needy clench around her as you milked her fingers deliciously. Before she could even process the thought, you slid your other hand down, sinking two fingers past your folds with a soft sigh, filling yourself as deep as you could.  The sight made her breath hitch, a low moan slipping out as she watched, knowing that this image would be carved into her brain forever. She could already feel herself getting off to the thought of this moment, over and over again. Your fingers moved in sync, one hand teasing and torturing your clit while the other pumped inside, stroking that perfect spot that made your thighs tense and shiver. Ellie watched, her brows knitted, barely able to tear her eyes away from your sadly still-covered cunt. “God,” she gasped, her chest heaving as she took in every pretty little expression, every sound slipping from your lips as you finger-fucked yourself. She was beyond turned on, completely mesmerized by how good you looked, and couldn’t hold back any longer. With her hand still buried in her boy shorts, she flicked her clit faster, fingers rubbing in desperate, frantic messy circles as she got swept up in the sight of you. “So fuckin’ needy,” she taunted, her voice low and hoarse.

“Gonna...g’na cum,” you whined, eyes squeezed shut, breaths coming out in short, shaky bursts. In a move that sent a shiver down your spine, Ellie reached out and gently tugged your hand away from your shorts, intertwining her fingers with yours.  “Me too—wanna cum with you, need you close,” she gasped, her words breaking into soft moans as her own high built. She squeezed your hand tight, needing the contact as her hips jerked up, chasing her release. Your other hand kept moving, your fingers hitting that perfect, spongy spot again and again until— “I’m coming!” you cried out, your moans reaching a pitch that filled the room, echoing through the walls, your fingers slamming into yourself as you came, waves of pleasure crashing over you. 

“Ooooh fuck!” Ellie groaned, her hips bucking as she rubbed herself faster, her hand squeezing yours hard as she climaxed, her voice hoarse and breathless. 

You sat there, chests heaving, bodies still trembling in the aftermath, catching your breaths in silence as the euphoria slowly faded. For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, gradually, reality seeped back in as you both glanced at each other, feeling completely blissful. Her lips pulled into a soft smile, cheeks flushed as her thumb absentmindedly stroked the back of your hand.

Feeling a rush of warmth, you leaned back, wiping your fingers on the soft fabric of your pajama shorts, a quiet contentment settling over you. Ellie tugged gently at your tank top, silently inviting you to come closer. You obliged, sinking into her embrace as she wrapped her arms around you. She pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, whispering in her dazed, dreamy voice about how perfect the moment had been, dropping little words of affection she’d usually never say out loud. With the weed still buzzing in her system, it all slipped out way too easily.

You drifted off in her arms, her warmth and steady breaths lulling you to sleep as the TV murmured softly in the background.

˳·˖𖤐 It was as though her infatuation with you intensified after that night, if that was even possible. She couldn’t get you out of her mind, and her focus on every little detail of your appearance became more and more pronounced. You were all she could draw, your lips, your nose, your brows, your eyes. She was convinced that she was the only one who truly appreciated your beauty. She believed that everyone else was too superficial to appreciate you for who you really were. To her, no one else deserved you─not like she did. You were the center of her world, and she couldn’t stop thinking about you. You were like a drug to her, and she craved you more than anything else, her mind was consumed with thoughts of you.

˳·˖𖤐 There was this sick habit of hers, one that she’d never admit out loud but couldn’t shake. Every night, she watched you as you slept, eyes glued to how your oversized shirt barely hung onto your curves. It was like she was waiting—no, hoping—for that shirt to ride up just a little bit more, enough to give her a full view of those soft legs and the tiny slip of fabric that barely covered you. 

You always seemed so relaxed, so at ease around her, never thinking twice about what you wore, especially when you two shared a bed. You’d just crawl under the covers, no pants, no bra, just that soft, baggy shirt. And every time, it drove her wild. Part of her wondered if you knew exactly what you were doing, the way you’d stretch and twist, giving her those little glimpses that made her pulse race—and to answer her silent dilemma, yes, you were doing it on purpose.  She couldn’t look away. Her hand would slip under her waistband, touching herself as her eyes roamed over you, desperate for more than just a view. She couldn’t resist ever since she admitted she’d been touching herself to the thought of you for as long as she could remember.  Even you could feel the tension every time her eyes lingered on your body or lips. Every time she shifted closer, her fingers grazing your thigh just a little too long just to pull away again, chickening out. All you wanted was for her to close that painful gap, to stop playing around and just touch you the way you knew she wanted to. Every night was a silent invitation, a wordless game where every move you made was another way to get her attention, pushing her until she couldn’t stand it any longer. Ellie licked her lips, her eyes glued to the sight beside her. Watching you sleep like this always turned her on─it was the combination of ‘innocence’, vulnerability, and sheer beauty that did it. The slight roll of your shirt had exposed just enough skin to make her heart race, her mind filled with naughty thoughts. You were never aware of how much she wanted to feel you and touch you inappropriately, but she knew it might ruin your friendship, and she couldn’t risk it.  Feeling her arousal increasing with every passing second, she slipped her hand under the covers. She knew it was wrong; she shouldn't be doing this while you were asleep next to her, sleeping peacefully as she came all over her fingers at the sight of your half-exposed body─but that didn’t stop her from doing it anyway. The temptation was too strong, and it was impossible to resist you. “Fuck... You’re killing me…” she thought to herself, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. It was late at night, and she couldn't resist anymore.

Without hesitation, she slid her hand into her shorts and started playing with herself. Her green, concentrated eyes never left your body, studying every curve and dip hungrily. Calloused fingers brushed against her sensitive nub gently, her hips slightly jerking away from her hand. She was so sensitive; you had her pussy throbbing like crazy, and the worst part was that you didn’t even do shit. It was her fault, her perverted and filthy mind's fault. But good lord, if she would sell all her organs to touch you. “The fuck are you doin’ to me…” she murmured under her breath as she played with her wetness, feeling how messy you made her. When her fingers returned to her clit, circling it gently, her breath hitched. She knew she had to be quiet; you were occasionally a light sleeper, and she couldn't risk getting caught. She parted her legs further apart as she kept teasing her clit slowly. “God…” She whispered, her breath coming out in short, shallow gasps, causing her voice to be soft and sultry as she rubbed herself with increasing tempo. There was no hesitation or inhibition, just raw, unadulterated desire dripping from every fiber of her being. So fucking nasty. She wondered what your reaction would be if you woke up and caught her in the act, but, yet again, there was something exhilarating about the risk, about the idea of you seeing her in the middle of her filthy act. Her face flushed as she imagined this, her mind filled with naughty scenarios as she rubbed herself harder and faster.  “Mmph... so beautiful…” Her eyes never left your body, even while touching herself. For some reason, it felt so good knowing you were just inches away, unaware of what she was doing. She couldn't help but fantasize about you pleasing her—she needed your fingers, you, and she also fantasized about reciprocating the favor.  “Can't wait to taste you... touch you…” She mumbled, lost in her fantasies. Her body trembled slightly from anticipation, she was close. “Mmm... fuck... gonna cum” Her voice was strained, increasing the pressure on her throbbing clit. It was becoming challenging to stay quiet, and she just hoped you wouldn't wake up to this.

When she did come, she pulled her damp and sticky hand out of her boxers, sucking her fingers clean before turning her head slightly to look at you, admire you. You laid there sleeping like an angel, your hair cascading down your face. She watched you with mixed emotions. 

Ellie’s chest rose and fell rapidly as she breathed, and her forehead was damp with sweat, her red-brown hair sticking to her freckled lush skin. Despite the guilt she knew she should be feeling, she couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. She promised herself she wouldn’t do it again, but deep down, she knew it was merely the first of many more. 

˳·˖𖤐 The more she did it, the more confident and bold she became, convinced that you’d never catch her.

˳·˖𖤐 One night, you had a bit too much soda before falling asleep. As the night wore on, you began to slowly wake up, feeling the urge to go to the bathroom.

She was so caught up in the moment that she didn’t notice the slight shift beside her. Your eyes fluttered open just wide enough to catch a glimpse of her hand moving under the covers. Her pale face was flushed, a blush covered her cheeks and her cute nose, her skin coated with a light sheen of sweat. She was biting down on her bottom lip, her eyes tightly shut, trying to keep herself quiet, while her tattooed arm was stuffed deep inside her boxers. Her toned abs tensed up subtly as her perky tits peeked through her black t-shirt, jiggling with every tiny movement she made. Fuck, what a sight. You thought you were dreaming. Hell, you were sure of it. Why would she even do that next to you? You knew you should’ve done or said something, but the sight of your best friend pleasuring herself right beside you only made your pussy throb madly, and the way she dirty-talked to herself to make herself cum. God.

You squeezed your thighs together, pretending to be asleep. Her soft moans made you feel indescribable things, and you felt yourself getting increasingly wet; it felt like torture to lay there and pretend to be asleep while she pleasured herself like that, but at the same time, it was addictive.  So, instead of confronting her, you decided to play along. Wearing slutty thongs to bed became your new routine, and of course, it didn’t take Ellie too long to notice. Some nights, you could feel her lifting your beloved oversized shirt up just a bit to take a better look at your body. It was hard to suppress a smile, but you managed.

“A fucking thong, really? God.” you could hear her mutter quietly.

She’d mumble random shit like, “Wanna fuck you real bad,” when she was close to her orgasm. 

You’d often shift a bit too close to her to make her freak out, interrupting her imminent orgasm. It was entertaining hearing her panic and freeze. The little sigh of relief she'd let out when she looked over you to make sure you were ‘sleeping’ was even cuter to you.

˳·˖𖤐 One day, while doing the laundry, your eyes caught a flash of red fabric peeking out of her sweatpants, tucked deep inside the pocket. A brief moment of recognition made you realize it was your thong, one that you had lost long ago. And you remembered vividly how you had always wondered where it had gone. You knew Ellie had something to do with it—indeed, you were not wrong. “Perv,” you let out a breathy chuckle as you withdrew the thong from her pocket and tossed it inside the washing machine. 

˳·˖𖤐 Though you couldn’t say shit. You weren’t really in a position to, not when you had stolen her boxers—the very ones she had made a mess of the other night, getting off to your ‘innocent’ form in that thong, all sprawled out for her eyes only. Unlike her, you had tucked it away, ensuring she’d never find it—in your bottom drawer, buried beneath a pile of neatly folded clothes.

˳·˖𖤐 Everything had been rainbows and roses since your boyfriend was out of the picture, leaving Ellie with you all to herself, just as she liked it. She’d half-expected this wouldn’t last forever, but she didn’t think it would unravel so soon, too soon.

After your shower, wrapped only in a towel, you realized you’d forgotten to grab fresh clothes. Too lazy to trek back to your room, you decided Ellie’s closet would do just fine. “El! I’m borrowing your clothes!” you called out, already swinging open her closet door without waiting for a response. The woody, warm scent of her filled the small space, mingling with the crisp smell of laundry detergent.

Your gaze drifted downward, catching on a gym bag lying half-zipped. The black fabric looked dull under the dim light, but something about it drew you in. There were dark stains on the shirt peeking out—a rusted, dried red that had you swallowing hard. Right next to it sat a Ghostface mask, its hollow, grinning face staring up at you, taunting you, like it knew something you didn’t. 

Just then, Ellie’s voice cut through the silence, a little too rushed, a little too panicked. “Wait, I’ll get it for you!” You heard her footsteps nearing, but by the time she appeared in the doorway, you were already crouched down, inspecting the items, your fingers clutching your boyfriend’s shirt—now stiff with dried blood—and a stained knife in the other.

She froze, her already pale face drained of color as your eyes met. She didn’t say a thing, didn’t try to explain or reach out. She simply stood there, like a deer caught in headlights, waiting for you to make the first move.

“What the fuck?” you choked out, anger tangling in your throat. Your voice cracked, but you didn’t let it stop you. “Why do you have this, Ellie?!” The words were sharp, edged with accusation, and your fingers tightened around the shirt, clinging to the blood-soaked fabric like it was proof of a reality she couldn’t deny. 

Ellie flinched, cursing herself for not getting rid of that piece of evidence. Maybe it was the procrastination, or perhaps she was just too wrapped up in you—you had that effect on her. Her expression flickered between panic and something else, something guarded, as if she were mentally scrambling to find the right lie to feed you.

“I swear, it’s not what it looks like.” Her voice was low, almost eerily calm, meant to keep you from losing your mind and freaking out even more, but it was doing the opposite. “Sit down. I can explain. I promise.” She inched closer, coaxing you back toward her bed, trying to control the situation, as if talking you down would make all of this disappear. But you stepped away from her, backing toward the closet instead.

“Then fucking explain,” you demanded, your voice rising, heat flooding your cheeks as your pulse hammered. Your eyes trailed down to the Ghostface mask lying on the floor, and you kicked it toward her. “What the hell are you doing with all this shit? With my boyfriend’s shirt?”

“Ex-boyfriend,” she corrected you, as if that made a difference in the moment. But she cared enough about it to not hold her tongue. You scoffed in disbelief at her correction, and your stern look only prompted her to keep talking, desperate to answer your question. “I found it in the trash,” she began, her tone too smooth, her words practiced. “I was going to take it to the cops.” But you both knew that was a shitty excuse. The explanation hung in the air, feeble and hollow, cracking under the weight of your inquisitor glare.

“That’s a fucking lie, and you know it,” you spat, tightening your grip on the knife, its sharp tip now aimed right at her. 

“Just sit down, please. I’ll tell you everything.” Her words spilled out, each one more frantic than the last, thick with desperation as she inched closer, hands reaching out like she was steadying herself—or preparing to corner you.

You held your ground, pressing your back into the cold closet door, “No, fuck that!” you snapped, refusing to let her control the moment. Her jaw tightened, and in an instant, she lunged forward, catching your wrist and forcing it up against the wood, pinning the knife-holding hand in place.

“Listen to me!” she growled, her voice growing louder, almost vibrating with a tension that rippled between you, making you quiver. Her face was close, too close, so close that her warm breath hit your face, and her eyes locked onto yours, wild verdants unwavering, staring into your dilated pupils.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” you shouted, fury shaking the air between you as you pulled at her iron-tight grip. But it was useless. You were sick of her lies, of her half-truths. All you truly desired was for her to lay it all bare for you ‘cause you weren’t fucking dumb, and deep down, you knew it. You had known all along. Her grip only tightened, her knuckles turning white against your skin as her breaths came fast. This Ellie was raw, untamed—a far cry from the girl you had around every day. But in this harsh intensity, there was something real, something you’d been craving for.

“You wanna know the truth? Fine!” Her voice rose, each word bitten off, hard enough to make you flinch. She gazed down at the bloodstained shirt sprawled across the floor, her face hardening, “Yeah, that’s his. And yeah, that’s his blood. He deserved what he got.” 

“What the fuck, Ellie, you had no fucking right—” She slammed her other hand against the wooden surface of her closet door, inches away from your head, causing you to cut off your words before they could be fully uttered.

“He was cheating on you!” she interrupted you, her voice rough with anger, her face flushing red. “I saw him, alright? With that girl from the bar—the one you were always paranoid about. I fucking saw him with her. So yeah, I followed him, and things got… out of hand.”

You scanned her face, searching for any hint of regret or guilt, but all you found was a complete lack of remorse, an expression that only seemed to scream she’d do it all over again if she could. But it was exactly that thing in her eyes that pulled you in even more. “Then why not just tell me?” 

Why couldn’t you fear her? Why weren’t you grossed out? Shouldn’t you have had a typical reaction to her revelation, like screaming or crying over the brutal murder of your boyfriend? Instead, here you were, feeling oddly fascinated, giddy even.

“I wanted to,” she admitted, her voice a little raspier, her eyes glistening with what looked like tears—fake ones. The sudden empathy felt odd, something that didn’t belong to her, and you knew her too well for this shit. “But then I saw you, finally free, happy without him dragging you down. I thought I’d done you a favor. And then I just… couldn’t say it.” 

You pressed yourself harder against the closet door, staring at her like you were seeing her for the first time. You shook your head, “You’re lying,” you stated flatly, watching her mask drop.

“What? You think I’d lie?” she shot back, trying to twist the situation, like you were crazy for even suspecting her. But you knew better. Psychology classes were really paying off.

“Yes, Ellie, you’re lying.” you leaned in, and her jaw clenched as you continued. “You did it to Amanda and that girl at the party? You think I don’t remember that night? Just admit it!” You practically yelled, and a shadow passed over her face like an ominous cloud, her expression hardening again, her eyes growing cold, dark in a way that caught you off guard. One thing was for sure—there was a certain beauty in the way her captivating jade orbs effortlessly switched between the deceptive facade and the cold, calculated gaze of a serial killer. 

“Admit what?” her tone was mocking, like she was daring you to say it.

“That you—” The words stuck in your throat, your gaze slipping to the Ghostface mask on the floor. That’s when she ripped the knife out of your hand, her grip firm as she held it close to you, not quite pressing it into your skin, just close enough to see if it’d rattle you.

“C’mon,” she murmured, leaning in with that daring, dark smile, “say it.” Her eyes flashed with an edge of mania like she was enjoying this, feeding off your reactions, like some sick parasite.

“You killed them all.” you managed, voice barely a whisper, and she threw her head back in a laugh that sent chills down your spine.

“God, do you hear yourself? You sound pathetic,” she chuckled darkly, her knife tracing a line along your cheekbone, slow enough to make you shiver, close enough to cause goosebumps to erupt on your skin. Your chest tightened, your heartbeat loud in your ears as her lips curled in that contorted smile. ​​Your breath hitched as she leaned in, her gaze piercing through your irises, capturing every fleck of color.

“What? Gonna kill me now?” you breathed, your words almost taunting, a faint smirk pulling at your lips as her eyes narrowed.

She tilted the knife against your throat but still put no pressure. You felt yourself leaning into it, letting the thrill course through you and that familiar excitement growing in your tummy. “Gonna make me?” she whispered, voice thick and low, and for the briefest moment, her composure cracked—just enough for you to see her desperation, like she was hanging onto a thread. She needed you to stay, even after all this. She couldn’t live without you.

“I just want the truth,” you uttered, your voice soft, never breaking eye contact. And if you did, it was only to let your eyes drop to her lips, she was so tantalizingly close that it was impossible not to. “Drop the mind games. I want the truth.” You didn’t know how the hell you could still want her, adrenaline tangling in your chest, but you did. Maybe even more than before.

Her brows rose in mock surprise as she cocked her head. “You want the truth?” she echoed, lips parting in a cold smirk. “Fine. Yes, I killed your stupid fucking boyfriend. He died like a pussy,” she sneered, anger flashing as she clenched the knife, thinking of his hands on you, touching what had always belonged to her.

“Why?” you whispered, watching her like you were peeling away her layers, seeing her stripped of all pretenses.

“Why do you think?” she scoffed, rolling her eyes like it was obvious.

The words that tumbled from your mouth after her revelation left her almost astonished.

“How’d you kill him?” then, with a morbid fascination you added, “What did it feel like?” your head tilted slightly to the side. 

˳·˖𖤐 The more she went on and on about the macabre details, the more it turned you on. She was taken aback by your enthusiasm and curiosity, the specific questions flowing from your lips with an unsettling calm that she struggled to comprehend. It was almost as if you were savoring every twisted word that came from her. She couldn’t wrap her head around how her dark confessions had led to this moment—both of you naked, with you perched on top of her.

Ellie was gorgeous—way too gorgeous to be a serial killer, or a psychotic person. She was even more gorgeous beneath you, auburn strands of hair splayed across the pillow, messy but not as messy as her dripping pussy. Her breath hitched as your fingers tightened around the handle of her switchblade, the cold metal gliding from her neck down to her chest, drawing lazy white scratches all over her alabaster skin.

A low, frustrated groan escaped her lips as you drew lazy circles around her areolas with the sharp point of the knife, watching with satisfaction as her pink nipples hardened, standing at full attention for you, as hard as rocks and begging to be tortured. You could feel her grow restless beneath you—her hips bucking in a desperate attempt to grind against your pussy, but you lifted yourself ever so slightly, just enough to deprive her of the friction she craved.

“Desperate?” you mocked, your bottom lip jutting out in a cruel pout. Ellie’s eyes flicked up to yours, glazed with lust and frustration, but a small smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. A cocky front, even now. But it was just a front, she was so fucking weak for you.

“Yeah,” she rasped, her voice betraying her need, but her eyes showed a glint of defiance. She couldn’t resist trying to fight back. “But you’re dragging this out like a coward.”

You hummed sultrily, letting the blade press just a little harder against her dotty complexion—not enough to cut, but enough to leave faint red marks across her flesh. “Oh, you think you’re in a position to talk back?” you spat, your free hand pinning her wrist above her head as she squirmed. “You’re fucking sick, Ellie.”

“Like you’re any better,” she sneered, though her voice trembled as the tip of the knife traced down her sternum toward her stomach. Goosebumps rose on her sun-spotted skin as her breathing became more erratic, her hips lifting in vain again to seek the friction you kept cruelly out of her reach.

“Not the one going around killing people, am I?” you snorted, the blade now grazing and lingering just below her belly button.

Ellie’s defiance cracked, her voice weaker, more fragile as she muttered, “I did it for you.” it made your heart skip a beat or beat faster—you really couldn’t tell from all that adrenaline clouding your rational thoughts.

“You’re trembling,” you noted with a sly smirk, her cocky grin faltering as the knife inched lower, closer to where she needed you most. Ellie bit her lip hard, a needy whimper slipping through despite her best effort to stifle it.

“I need you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, one hand reaching up to rest on your hip. Her touch sent a shiver through you, and you couldn’t help but lower yourself closer, pressing your body against hers. 

A wicked smirk tugged at your lips, pride swelling in your chest at the sight of her—the usually cold, calculated killer, reduced to this. All because of you. Seeing her this weak for you truly made you want to do the unholiest things to her, things you knew she would never forget about. You tossed the switchblade aside, forgotten as soon as your lips descended on her neck, sucking dark spots on her soft flesh. You let your teeth sink in, biting just hard enough to get a soft sound out of her. The auburnette was so desperate and sensitive that everything seemed to make her moan—every brief touch, every kiss, even your breathing fanning over her skin. She was already half-gone, and you were barely even getting started.

Her skin flushed beneath your lips as you kissed your way down her body, taking your sweet time, savoring each second of her squirming beneath you. Her breaths grew more ragged, her thighs twitching as you moved lower. Ellie’s body was a temple, and right now, it was all yours to worship.

She’d killed for you, it was the least you could do. So, was romance really dead?

˳·˖𖤐 You’d never imagined Ellie would care that much, never thought she’d be capable of that level of obsession. And you didn’t mind it one bit. No, quite the opposite. The realization only made your pussy throb madly, heat pooling between your thighs as your mind replayed her confession over and over like a broken record, focusing on the brutal details she had given you. It wasn’t just the idea of her killing—it was that she did it because of you, because she couldn’t let anyone else have you.

Every single muscle in her body tensed, her legs trembling as you hovered right above her hairy mound. You could see it—the way her wetness coated her folds, her pink clit, swollen and impatient, her pussy practically begging for attention, and it only made you want to tease her more. Your thumb teasingly drew tight, gentle circles on her aching nub, making her whimper almost exaggeratedly.

“Aww, look at you…” you purred, retracting your hand, your voice low, honed in sweet mockery. You leaned in closer, your breath ghosting over her sensitive skin. “Soaking wet, desperate for me to touch you. Gonna start begging now?”

Your words made her whine, her resolve crumbling more with each passing second—not that there was any left. Her body betrayed her, hips lifting toward your face, her need palpable. But you weren’t done playing with her yet. You had all night ahead.

Your arms curled around her toned thighs, pulling her closer as you knelt at the edge of the bed, your face mere inches from her pussy. You could see how wet she was, how desperate she had become—there was even a dark wet patch on the sheets beneath her. You smirked up at her, eyes locking with hers as you lowered your mouth to her slick folds. With the tip of your tongue, you spread her moistened lips, and it was enough to make Ellie’s entire body jolt, a choked moan tearing from her throat as you tasted her, her sweet juices coating your lips as you lapped at her with slow, deliberate cat licks.

Ellie’s head fell back against the pillow, her hands gripping your hair with white-knuckled desperation as you ate her out, tongue flicking over her clit every now and then with just enough pressure to drive her mad. You sucked, your lips closing around her swollen bud, and Ellie’s back arched painfully off the bed, her thighs trembling around your head.

“Fuck… fuck…” she gasped, her hoarse voice scratching her already dry throat as her hips bucked uncontrollably and you held her down, refusing to let her squirm away from the relentless onslaught of your mouth.

You smirked against her, the vibrations of your giggle only making her moan louder. “Look at you, El,” you teased, your voice muffled between her thighs. “So sweet ‘n perfect f’me,”

You didn’t wait for a response, diving back in, your tongue swirling around her clit as you slipped two fingers inside her, curling them with brutal precision, finding that sweet spot that had her toes curling, her breath catching in her throat. Her gummy walls clenched around your fingers, and you could feel how close she was, her legs shaking violently.

Ellie’s moans grew louder, more frantic, her hands tugging at your hair hard as she tried to ground herself, grinding against your tongue. But you didn’t slow down—if anything, you fucked her harder, your fingers pumping into her fast and deep, your mouth never abandoning her needy clit, your nose buried in her trimmed bush.

“Beg me,” you commanded as you pulled away to breathe, her core swallowing every inch of your fingers greedily. All those years of plugging her fingers deep inside her wet cunt imagining they were yours instead were so worth the wait.

“I—fuck—” the green-eyed girl’s breath caught, her body shaking uncontrollably, her voice barely a whisper now. “Please… please…” She couldn’t even fucking function; you had reduced her to a broken mess.

“Can’t hear you,” you prompted her, your fingers plunging deeper, harder, until her back arched off the bed, a cry of pure need tearing from her throat.

“Fuck! Please, I need it—I need you—fuck, I’m so close!” she sobbed, her voice cracking as her orgasm crept closer, promising her to see stars, but you weren’t about to give her what she wanted—no, not yet.

You grinned wickedly, pulling your fingers out of her soaked pussy just before she could. A strangled, frustrated sob escaped her plump lips as her body writhed beneath you, her orgasm stolen, leaving her aching and needy.

“Aw, you’re not so smart, are you? You really thought I was going to let you come?” You leaned in, pressing your lips to her ear as you whispered, “Oh no, El… we’re just getting started. You’re not going anywhere.”

˳·˖𖤐 Ellie’s eyes widened with a mixture of frustration and confusion as you told her you’d let her come after you were done using her. You reached for your favorite strap-on, adjusting the harness until it sat snugly around her hips. Her wrists were bound securely to the headboard, the cuffs’ soft, fluffy lining pressing firmly against her skin. Her breath caught in her throat as the realization dawned on her, her eyes darting between the toy and your wicked grin. 

Her pupils were blown with lust as she watched you lower yourself onto her, the thick silicone toy sliding in with ease after you’d teased your throbbing bud with its tip. Her hands twitched, desperate to reach out, to touch you, but she couldn’t do much with the handcuffs keeping her wrists locked to the bed, the soft restraints holding her firmly in place. She watched with wide eyes as her cock stretched your needy, wet heat, sliding in and out. At first, your movements were slow and teasing, letting her take in every inch, but it didn’t take long before you picked up the pace, your body already accustomed to its size, moving with a frantic, eager rhythm.

“Fuuuck…” you panted, rolling your hips against the toy, your breath hitching as that familiar feeling built in your stomach. Ellie’s gaze was glued to you—your bouncing tits, your parted lips, the way your body moved smoothly above her. She wanted to touch, to feel you, but all she could do was watch as you used her, as you fucked yourself on the strap like she wasn’t even there. It was cruel, truly. Her body trembled with need as she watched you lose yourself in the overwhelming pleasure, her pussy throbbing with unmet desire as yours seemed to suck the toy deeper, and for a moment, she swore she could feel your walls tightening around her—perhaps it was the desperation playing a sick joke on her. She couldn’t help but let out a moan.

˳·˖𖤐 She had tried begging but she’d only be met with things such as:

“Cry about it,” you sneered, your voice cold and mocking as you watched her squirm restlessly beneath you.

“You’re such a fucking crybaby,” you murmured, fingers gripping onto her chin and forcing her to look at you as if her desperation was nothing more than a joke to you.

“I’m putting up a whole show for you, and you’re still complaining,” you chuckled darkly, a twisted satisfaction curling at the corners of your mouth as you looked down at her, reveling in her helplessness, your wetness dripping down the harness, making a mess on top of her.

“Please,” she whimpered, her voice cracking as she thrusted up. Mewls slipped out of your soft lips as the tip of her silicone cock hit your cervix, desperation written all over her flushed face. “Please let me touch you... let me do something...” Her voice hitched as she choked on a sob, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her glassy eyes locked onto yours, her cheeks streaked with the remnants of her pleas. “Fuck, I can’t—” she cried out, voice breaking again, her head tilting back as she tried to hold herself together. Her gaze flickered back up to you, trailing to your chest, lingering there hungrily. Bushy brows furrowed with longing as she licked her chapped lips.

But you weren’t listening. You were too lost in the pleasure of fucking yourself on her, your head thrown back, sobs pouring from your lips as the strap-on hit that perfect spot against your cervix. Your movements grew more frantic, hips slamming down harder, faster, the toy sliding in and out of your slick folds with ease. The wet sounds of your arousal filled her room, mixing with the desperate, needy gasps that escaped Ellie beneath you, her fingers curling into fists as the cuffs dug into her velvety skin, promising bruises she’d feel long after this was over.

Her eyes glazed over, chest rising and falling rapidly as she watched you ride her with reckless abandon. The sight of you, your body glistening with sweat, pretty tits bouncing with every thrust, was too much for her. She was on the edge, teetering, her body aching to release, but you wouldn’t let her. You wouldn’t let her do shit.

Ellie groaned, frustration and lust mixing in her voice as she bucked her hips uselessly beneath you, trying to gain even a fraction of relief from the sight of you fucking yourself senseless. “Please… please, I’m begging you,” she whimpered, her voice hoarse and broken, and god if it nearly made you squirt. “I need it—I need to come, please…”

You smirked down at her, not stopping, your hips grinding harder, riding the strap with everything you had. You leaned down, your breath hot against the shell of her ear as you whispered, “You’re not coming until I say you can. You’re going to sit there and watch me get off, and there’s nothing you can fucking do about it.” Cruelly pressing damp and sloppy kisses on the column of her neck, kisses that had her gasping pathetically.

˳·˖𖤐 And it went on and on, her eyes locked on the sight of your milky cum dripping down the thick, black strap, each drop making her bite back a groan. She wished she could taste you. Every time she tried to move or squirm too much for your liking, you’d smack her hard across the face, or switch to a new position just to tease her even more, making sure you were giving her the best view. It was only after the fifth—or maybe the sixth—orgasm that you finally uncuffed her.

The moment her wrists were free, she flipped you over, quick as lightning, giving you no time to react. She pinned you beneath her with a mischievous glint in her eyes, you looked up at her, panting and spent, your brows knitting together in a mix of frustration and exhaustion. She just smirked down at you, spreading your trembling legs apart with ease, her grip firm and unyielding.

“Oh fuck, no—” you gasped out, trying to squirm away as she wrapped her hand around the slick toy, guiding it right back to your abused entrance. She knew she could probably come right then, grinding against the back of the strap, but the thought of pushing you past your limits was far more thrilling. 

“You’re not stupid enough to think I’d let you go so easily, right?” she repeated your earlier words, her voice low and dangerous as she lowered herself over you, your sweaty bodies pressing together. “Didn’t you wanna be my helpless victim, babe?”

The redhead pushed in relentlessly, forcing your pulsating walls to swallow every inch, your back arching as she made you hold on just a little longer. Before long, your legs gave out beneath you as she pounded into you from behind, each thrust deep and brutal, your cheek pressed into the soft mattress. Her hand came down hard on your ass, leaving a sharp sting that burned like a bitch. The smacks kept coming, over and over, until your skin was bruised and your body was shaking with overstimulation. “This is for leaving me high and dry,” she hissed, her voice rough with frustration and desire, slapping the same bruised spot again and again, until you knew you’d be sore for days, unable to sit down.

˳·˖𖤐 When it was finally over, the two of you laid tangled together, breathless and sticky. Ellie’s chest heaved as she tried to steady her breathing, but a question lingered in her eyes—one that seemed to claw at her even now, despite everything you’d done to show her you weren’t running, that you weren’t disgusted by her nature. You had never been, for the matter, even when you were kids.

“You’re not gonna tell on me, yeah?” she rasped, her voice rough, her grip tightening possessively on your hip while her other hand gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face. Her touch was surprisingly tender, contrasting with the weight of her words, like she was scared to hear your answer. It made your heart swell knowing she feared losing you so badly.

But you were so drunk of the overwhelming contentment that you barely registered the tension in her voice. Instead, a sleepy smile tugged at your lips, and you blurted out, “Wanna be my girlfriend?” The question slipped out before you could think, your gaze locked onto her freckled face, admiring every angle and curve, the way the warm dim light softened her expression.

Ellie blinked, caught off guard, before a playful smirk curved her lips. “I am your girlfriend,” she gave your hip a gentle swat that made you chuckle softly, the sound mixing with the quiet hum of the fan.

“Y’know…you’re right,” you mumbled suddenly. Her hand drifted to your back, scratching lightly, soothing you as your body relaxed into hers. You turned your head, meeting her soft eyes again, while something darker flashed in yours. “He fucking deserved what he got,” Your voice was low, carrying a finality that made Ellie’s breath hitch. It was all the reassurance she needed. A wide grin spread across her face, her eyes lighting up with something almost feral, a giddy kind of joy. It was a smile so genuine, so purely her, that it was impossible to resist leaning in to kiss her, your lips meeting hers in a messy, heated kiss. 

“But yeah, if you leave me I’m gonna tell on you.”

˳·˖𖤐 She had gotten clingier and more eager after that night, always looking for an excuse to touch you, to keep you within reach. Whenever you went somewhere, Ellie trailed right behind you, like a shadow that wouldn’t leave your side. And honestly, you loved it—you thrived on bossing her around, enjoying how she would drop whatever she was doing just to be with you. If the two of you were inseparable as friends before, it had only gotten worse. Not that the obsessive, morbid love wasn’t there before, but now you both let it show, with no boundaries left to be set, no rules, just whatever twisted thing you both had become together.

˳·˖𖤐 Time flew by, and soon Halloween rolled around again, your favorite holiday. Ellie knew it, too, and she didn’t even try to say no when you convinced her to tag along to a party you’d been invited to. It was supposed to be a small, “close friends only” type of thing, but you dragged her with you anyway, making it clear you weren’t going to take no for an answer. Plus, you’d been at each other’s throats lately, bickering more than usual, and she didn’t want to risk making you any angrier. It was either coming along without putting up a fight or dealing with the idea of you going solo—knowing she’d just end up following you like the little creep she was, lurking in the shadows, making sure no one even dared to touch you.

˳·˖𖤐 The party turned out to be better than either of you had expected. A few drinks in, and you both started to loosen up, Ellie sticking close, practically attached to your side with some invisible rope. It was like she couldn’t let you out of her sight, even for a second, her hand always finding its way to your back or waist, keeping you close. You danced together, swaying in the colorful, pulsing lights, your bodies brushing intimately against each other. Her eyes stayed glued to you the whole time, like you were the Holy Mary herself, and she just couldn’t get enough. You reveled in her devotion, the way her grip on your hips would tighten as you moved. It was such a turn-on.

Eventually, the party began to wind down, and it wasn’t long before it was just the two of you left with Allison and her boyfriend, Lucas. The four of you gravitated toward the kitchen, where Ellie leaned against the counter, elbows propped up on the cold granite. She played with the knives, her fingers casually tracing the handles, sliding them in and out of the block absentmindedly.

Allison scrolled through her phone, her brown eyes squinting at the screen’s dim glow. “Another guy went missing,” she announced, her voice wavering as she scanned through the article. “I bet Ghostface has something to do with it.”

“Tragic,” Ellie muttered, her tone devoid of sympathy. Her eyes remained fixed ahead, a ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips. You watched her, catching the unsettling indifference in her voice. When she noticed your gaze, she raised an eyebrow in mock innocence, daring you to question her. Instead, she shrugged. Allison went on and on about how creepy it was that Ghostface could be literally anyone, her voice holding a mix of fascination and fear. 

“I mean, think about it,” she said, eyes wide as she gestured dramatically. “It could be your neighbor, your friend, even someone you totally trust! Just wearing that mask and knife in hand, ready to strike any moment. It’s so fucked up!” As Allison thought about the countless times she had passed by potential killers, she couldn’t help but shudder in fear at her luck. How many times had she walked down a dark alleyway, taken a walk alone at night, or even trusted the wrong person? The thought of her mortality sent a chill down her spine and made her wonder how long her luck would hold out.

“Yeah, it’s scary,” you hummed, but then the conversation shifted back to the guy who had gone missing. 

“You’ve got to be dumb to get killed like that, though,” Ellie scoffed, her tone dripping with disdain. “Came all the way from Michigan just to end up dead? Pathetic. Guess all those muscles didn’t help much.”

Allison frowned at Ellie’s lack of empathy, but she shrugged it off, scrolling through her phone for more details, her thumb flicking faster across the screen. “That’s… awful,” you murmured, chewing on your bottom lip as you glanced over at Lucas, who seemed unfazed by the conversation.

Lucas noticed your look and mistook it for unease. “You okay?” he asked, genuine concern in his eyes. “Want a drink or something?”

You nodded, playing into his kindness. “Sure, thanks.”

He leaned over, pressing a kiss to Allison’s head before heading to the kitchen, leaving you, Ellie, and Allison alone in the dim living room.

“Wait—” Allison’s brows knitted in confusion, her voice soft but growing with unease. “How’d you know he was from Michigan? It doesn’t say anything about…” Her voice trailed off as she continued scrolling, her eyes flicking back and forth over the screen, trying to make sense of what Ellie had just casually dropped.

Ellie’s smile barely flickered. “Just a guess,” she replied smoothly, her gaze icy and unbothered, creeping Allison out.

You chuckled at the exchange, and Allison turned to you with a confused look. “C’mon, cheer up, Allison! We’re just messing with you. Can’t you take a joke? It’s Halloween!”

Allison’s frown deepened as she glanced between you and Ellie, her eyes clouding with suspicion. She let out a nervous laugh, trying to shake off the unsettling vibe. “You two are… really something,” she said, brushing it off, not wanting to overthink it. Maybe paranoia was just doing her dirty. Oh, if she only knew.

Ellie smirked, she leaned forward, her voice dropping low. “Oh, you have no idea,” she whispered, her tone laced with something dark and final, a warning the girl didn’t quite catch.

Lucas handed you the drink, his face lighting up with an easy smile, completely unaware of the exchange. 

“You guys wanna play a game?” you asked, grinning at Allison and Lucas. The suggestion hung in the air, deceptively playful. Allison exchanged a look with Lucas, her unease melting a bit, as if convincing herself she was just imagining things.

She forced a smile. “Sure. What kind of game?”

Ellie’s grin widened, a gleam of mischief in her eyes. “How about something… fun?”

˳·˖𖤐 Maybe it was the thrill of the game or the intoxicating rush of chaos, but after a few questions were answered and it was your turn, your eyes widened in shock as the blade pierced your stomach. Time seemed to slow down as you locked eyes with Ellie, and what you saw there sent a chill down your spine—your girlfriend’s eyes were empty, devoid of emotion—not even guilt shone in her eyes. It was like staring into a void. 

Blood poured from your mouth, warm and sticky, and panic coursed through you. When a week ago she had suggested trying something new, never did you think that would lead to this—her knife buried deep inside your insides, and blood pouring out of you like a crimson-tainted waterfall.

“W-why…?” you choked on your own blood, the words barely audible but with the stillness of the room, they seemed to echo louder. 

Allison and Lucas stood completely frozen, utterly speechless, their bodies rigid with shock as they watched the horrific scene unfold before their eyes, feeling useless and not knowing how to stop it. The crimson blood pooled out of your wound, soaking the fabric of your shirt, while Ellie’s gloves gleamed with a sinister shine. The red wasn’t so visible against the darkness of her attire, but it was there, unmistakable. 

“It was the wrong answer, babe,” Ellie whispered, her words dripping with a sickening sweetness that made your skin crawl, and the innocent faint smile on her face made Allison want to rip her hair out. 

“WHAT THE FUCK!” Allison screamed, her voice laced with disbelief, her eyes wide as she took a shaky step back.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Lucas followed, his voice tinged with a mix of fear and anger, trying to process the madness unfolding in front of him.

“YOU’RE A FUCKING MONSTER!” Allison yelled, her voice cracking as she cried, her hands shaking.

Your body hit the floor with a heavy thud, and through half-lidded eyes, you saw the panic set in as Allison and Lucas before you stopped breathing entirely. They scrambled for the door, nearly tripping over themselves. Allison’s frantic, manicured hands rattled desperately the knob, her voice shrill as she screamed for help, but the door wouldn’t budge. Locked. 

And she hadn’t locked it. She was sure she hadn’t.

Lucas, desperate to protect her, grabbed a vase from the entry table and hurled it at Ellie, the glass shattering against her shoulder with a harsh crack. It staggered her for a moment, just long enough for them to dart in separate directions, fleeing up the stairs. 

Ellie grinned, her eyes flashing with excitement as she took off after Lucas, her steps heavy but steady, savoring the thrill of the chase, like a cat chasing a mouse. She looked over her shoulder at you before she raced up the stairs. Allison stumbled into the guest bedroom, slamming the door behind her. The auburnette could hear the blonde girl breathing heavily, panicked, the creak of the floorboards giving her away as she backed into the room.

But she decided to take care of Lucas instead, having labeled Allison as the weakest between the two. She successfully cornered Lucas at the end of the hallway. He threw open the door to the master bathroom, eyes darting desperately around for anything he could use to defend himself. He grabbed a towel rack, ripping it off the wall and wielding it like a bat as Ellie advanced on him, her face lit with a twisted satisfaction. A stupid towel rack wasn’t going to stop her, and honestly, it excited her. She loved how people fought for their lives, no matter how fucked up the situation was. It was fascinating to watch, like a wild show of survival instincts kicking in. The panic, the desperation on their faces and in their actions—it was what got her heart racing and made her feel alive.

“You… you’re insane!” Lucas stammered, brandishing the metal rod with trembling hands.

He was taller, bigger, stronger—details that only made the auburnette’s grin widen, her attentive eyes narrowing with anticipation. To her, he was nothing but a challenge, one she was all too eager to take on. Ellie chuckled darkly, her eyes never leaving him as she took one slow, measured step forward. “Only now figuring that out, huh?” She took another step, her shadow looming over him as he shrank back against the tiled wall, his breaths coming in panicked gasps. He swung the metal bar, catching her arm with a glancing hit, but it only seemed to amuse her more. She couldn’t feel pain—not even the faintest pulse of her own heartbeat, completely drowned out by the surge of adrenaline flooding her veins. She felt invincible.

With a swift, practiced precision, Ellie caught his wrist, twisting it sharply until the rod clattered to the aquamarine floor. “Nice try, Lucas,” she hissed before shoving him backward, hard enough that his head cracked against the tile. He slumped to the floor, groaning, his vision swimming as Ellie towered over him. But he fought nonetheless, his hands trying to stop her from sinking the sharp knife into his throat, but it didn’t last long. He didn’t last long.

“That was stupid,” she panted, standing over his corpse, her look sharp and full of disdain. Her face was scrunched in anger, but the adrenaline flooding her veins felt incredible—like a drug she couldn’t get enough of. The thrill of it. A loud noise snapped her from her thoughts. The old wood creaked under her black boots as she headed toward the room where she’d last seen Allison hide.

˳·˖𖤐 The guest bedroom door was slightly ajar, and she shoved it open with a firm kick. Her eyes locked onto Allison, sprawled lifeless on the floor, blood pooling around her still body. Her face was frozen in horror as if she’d seen a ghost in her final moments. Her gaze drifted up—to you, standing just a few feet from Allison’s lifeless body.

“Hey, babe,” you said with a crooked smile, giving her a little wave, clearly nervous but with a spark of excitement in your eyes that made her stare in awe. She remembered that feeling all too well—the jitters, the high that followed her first time. And here you were, cheeks flushed and grinning ear to ear like the fucking Cheshire cat, looking so damn giddy as you took it all in—like a kid who had just discovered their new favorite toy. 

Trying new things had definitely been the right move, and Ellie didn’t regret it for a second, because you were practically glowing. For the first time, you felt truly alive. It hit you then, just how much emptiness you’d been carrying all these years, how you’d learned to live with that hollow feeling. But this? This made you feel whole. Euphoric. Alive in every possible way.

“How’d I do?” you asked, almost childlike, looking up at her with eager eyes, fishing for approval—her approval. It was all you needed, and it felt like trying to impress a middle school crush all over again.

“Pretty good, my love. You did great,” she praised, a hint of pride sneaking into her voice.

“Yeah?” Your eyes lit up, a satisfied grin spreading across your face.

Her gaze softened briefly, a low, amused, throaty laugh slipping from her lips as she pushed a stray lock of hair back with the back of her blood-stained glove, leaving a smudged streak of red across her cheekbone. Her emerald eyes sparkled as she took in the mess you’d created. “You know, for a second there, I didn’t think you’d go through with it. Look at you now.” Her tongue darted across her bottom lip as she looked at you up and down, ready to pounce on you any time now.

You blushed, a bit sheepish, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the floor. “What can I say? Guess you’re a bad influence,” you smirked, shrugging it off like it was nothing.

She tossed the knife aside, and you mirrored her every move, watching as she peeled off her gloves and stepped closer. Her toothy smile widened as she pulled you in, her thumb brushing softly across your cheekbone, still warm from the adrenaline rush, while her other trembling hand rested on your waist. “Oh, yeah? Gonna start blaming me now?”

“Maybe,” you shot back, eyes sparkling with mischief. 

The freckled girl leaned in, pressing her lips against yours, soft and warm and she tasted so sweet.

“Your performance down there was flawless, and your technique…” she trailed off, her eyes trailing down to Allison’s body, “Not bad for your first time. A little shaky on the left stab, but hey,” she shrugged, lips curling into a teasing smirk, knowing damn well that even the gentlest dose of constructive criticism would get under your skin, “we’ll work on it.”

You scoffed and swatted her hand away, but Ellie just giggled, her laugh soft and breathless. “Can’t believe you got that question wrong, though,” she reached up to cup your face, her thumb brushing your cheek again, she couldn’t keep her hands off of you. That familiar smug smirk tugged at her heart-shaped lips as she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a more playful one, her breath warm against your heated skin. “We’ve only watched the first Scream movie a hundred times together,” she said, almost mockingly offended, her green eyes bright with mischief, the ones that told you exactly what she had in mind. And she swore she was falling deeper for you, you had her in a chokehold.

You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile. “I only watched it because you were obsessed with it and I thought you were cute,” you admitted.

Her eyes sparkled with delight, and she raised her scarred eyebrow at you. “Oh, is that so?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, feeling her hand drift lower to your waist, pulling you closer, you cupped her cheek, your thumb caressing her blood-stained cheekbone lovingly, staring at her enamored.

Her lips brushed against your ear, voice low and teasing. “You know what I'm really in the mood for?” Her hand slipped lower and lower until it was resting on your plush ass, giving it a suggestive squeeze.

You chuckled, pretending to think. “Pizza?”

She let out a soft laugh. “I was gonna say you, but…” She gave you that crooked, lopsided smile, shrugging playfully.

You snorted, “Oh, well, that too. I just didn’t know killing works up your appetite.”

Her smirk deepened, revealing that dimple on her left cheek you loved so much, her infatuated gaze lingering on your lips almost as if she wanted to swallow you whole. “My bad. Should’ve warned you,” she murmured, then backed you toward the bed behind you, her hands rough but confident, pressing you down as she crawled on top, her breath hot and insistent against your supple skin.

Before you knew it, she was buried deep inside you, slender, calloused fingers curling and pressing against that spot that had you whining, and your legs trembling. Her other hand gripped her switchblade, cool metal tracing up to press it against your throat, and she could feel you squeeze her fingers. “Awwhh, baby,” she taunted, voice dripping with mockery. “You keep squirming like that, and it’s gonna cost you your life.”

You choked out a laugh, though it came out breathless and shaky. “You’d cum at the sight, wouldn’t you?” You bit your lip to stifle a moan, body struggling to hold still as she kept up that relentless rhythm, her fingers stretching and curling deep inside you, making your whole body shudder. You couldn’t help but trap her arm, a weak attempt to slow her down because you knew you wouldn’t last. Not with her pressing a knife on your throat. “Fucking psycho.”

“But you love me.” She said it so matter-of-factly, her lips curling with satisfaction as she watched you nod, helpless and needy, your eyes fluttering shut as your walls clenched around her, drawing her in like you couldn’t get enough.

“Yeah, I love you! F-Fuck…” you gasped, grinding down on her fingers, desperate, craving that friction your hungry clit needed. 

Her smitten gaze drifted to the lifeless body sprawled across the room, a proud smirk tugging at her lips. “So proud of you. You did such a good job. Look at her.” She tilted your face, forcing you to take it in. “Your work.” And in her fucked up mind, she truly believed it—your work deserved to be worshiped, just like Picasso’s after he was gone. A masterpiece, painted with every kind of brutal emotion.

You let out a shaky breath, almost dazed. “Yeah, I… I did that,” you stammered, voice breaking, caught somewhere between a whimper and a sob, you could feel it, you were close already and all that praising surely wasn’t helping.

“That’s right,” she murmured, nodding as her eyes roamed over you, taking you in like she was seeing you for the first time, it made you melt. “You’re so fucking hot, god. Made just for me. Perfect for me.”

˳·˖𖤐 Maybe she was right. You felt it deep down, a truth that clung to you. A match made in hell. And as long as you had her, you’d be more than fine.

[thalwri]

I HATE YOU, BUT I LOVE YOU!

synopsis: your friends think caleb's got a bit of an obsession over you since he's always by your side. what they don't know is that you're equally as obsessed. and you'll go to very extreme lengths to ensure everyone knows that he is yours.

warnings: porn no plot, heavy smut, shower sex, orgasm denial, inappropriate evol usage, body worship, making a sex tape, biting, marking (with lipstick and a few hickeys), cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, creampie, needy!caleb, possessive!reader, unhinged!reader, basically, you're matching each others freak. a lot.

wc: 2,4k

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

“you’re mine, caleb,” your whispers pierced his ears like a sharpened knife– the most stimulating sound he had heard in days. “mine. mine to touch, mine to post, mine to please and be pleased by. mine.”

he could only nod, and so he did. frantically and heated with need for you. for access to adore you. 

you had found him in the shower, muscular back turned to you. he had returned home in silence, almost plagued by his own thoughts. though you were deafened by your own mind too. the only difference was that you were infuriated.

you had seen some of his colleagues post pictures of him with them at his annual dinner with the fleet. the captions were provocative at the least, rumbling with desires to touch him in ways only you could, to have privileges only you owned.

they didn’t know him like you did. they didn’t experience everything you two had gone through together. 

so it was only fair for you to remind him of that fact. and show the world that he was only for you.

“i’ll burn and bury anyone who talks to you or even looks at you.” your eyes trailed down from his eyes to his swollen and bite-bruised lips to his neck adorned with fresh love bites. “i should keep you by my side, yeah?”

“yeah, you should,” caleb could only hold himself from getting giddy by this new sight of dominance. he’d rarely seen you behave this intensely with him and he wasn’t afraid to see more.

your hand gripped his, feeling the instantaneous surge of his evol resonating to you. before the surge could fade, with the flick of a wrist, you forced caleb to his knees. the gravity surrounded him alone to keep him at your feet, at your mercy.

he often got a kick at using his evol on you but for the tables to turn like this? he’d cum on the spot. his cock twitched, reddened and swollen by your refusal to give him the attention he needed.

“c-come on,” a loud whine flowed from the depths of his throat. he had been moaning and whining without you even having to touch him. you were feeding off his delicious noises, feeling as though he was egging you on to paint him in your lipstick kisses.

“please, i won’t even let them near me,” his lips found your thigh, pressing wet breathless kisses onto your skin in worship and reverence. “i’ll push them as far as possible and only open my space to you.”

“yeah?” you kneeled down to straddle him, holding his face in your hands. his eyes were swollen from the tears shed by you teasing him to the point where it hurt so much. he just had to beg for you, grovel, and whine. all of it.

“they’d even see that i’m yours.” he panted, lips curving into that beautiful smile you loved. the same smile you hated to see him give to others. he leaned to kiss your skin, peppering your flesh with light nibbles and bites, marking his affections and desire for you.

“we could record it,” his breathless sighs warmed up your dampened neck. “me declaring my heart is yours and broadcasting it for the world to see.”

a short giggle left your lips before you plopped down on his hips, completely filling yourself with his twitching cock. caleb’s eyes– brimming with tears of impatient need– rolled straight back into his head both agonised and delighted by how concerningly tight your pussy was– almost sucking him of everything he had. 

your hips slowly rocked back and forth allowing your nectar to leak out of you and lubricate him for easier movement between you. though you wouldn’t have had a problem with the roughness. 

“maybe i should take a picture of me riding you.” you deepened your grinding to emphasise your point. “i’ll crop out your face, to protect your reputation of course.”

caleb quickly shook his head in a daze– eyes clouded with lust and excitement. was he enjoying this?

“let– let them. let ‘em see me,” he forced a smile to stretch his swollen lips. that was the only thing keeping him from moaning loud enough for the fleet kilometres above to hear. “let ‘em know how weak you make me.”

the slick wetness from you and the now cold shower water kept his grips on your hips painfully tense to the point of indenting bruises. you could just feel his heavy sacks rubbing against your entrance as you squeezed your walls around his girth. every vein, every throb, every single divine twitch did not go unnoticed. 

it was boiling hot. the shower was off and yet the glass walls got so foggy so quickly. your hips slowly dragged up as you adjusted yourself to bounce on his length before you slowly dropped down and up and down in a broken rhythm. 

you so desperate to chase your high and feel him paint your insides, so horny for caleb that it pissed you off even more. and yet, through all that anger, you couldn’t help but adore and admire him beneath you. he looked so serene, so beautiful. how could you not love him?

feeling his cock effortlessly slide in and out of you hitting those delicious sensitive spots felt like pure ecstasy for you. your ass jiggled and clapped as it bounced, slapping his thighs and huge balls, screaming into the deafening silence of the afternoon. 

you caught your lower lip between your teeth to hold off the overwhelming urge to cum all over him at that very moment. just a bit longer. you had to torture him a little bit longer.

“you’re the only one for me,” caleb whined almost like he read the thought directly from your mind. a wide grin graced your pretty, flushed, cock-addicted face as he repeated himself over and over for you to hear and understand him clearly.

“i’m yours. yours. yours.’m gonna prove it any way you need me to.”

and a devilish idea struck your mind mid-bounce. you paused and slowed your pace to grind on his hips, curling his cock deep into you with no chance of him leaving your tight grip– not to mention your soaked pussy (as per usual) had a death grip on him.

you reached to the abandoned towel outside the shower and pulled out your phone, swiftly opening the camera app. caleb’s eyes slowly widened as he realised exactly what you were doing. he exhaled a laugh in disbelief and intrigue as you set the phone down to show you both in the frame without your faces being exposed. 

your finger hovered over the button to record and your grinds came to a halt. your eyes bore into his with complete sternness. “do you want this?”

he didn’t even hesitate. “yeah. show them who i belong to, baby.”

a ring sounded in the bathroom, and your hips returned to its torturous work. you planted your hands over his plump chest and squeezed to feel that muscular, soft flesh. your thumbs brushed over his nipples as drips of sweat and water pebbled from them, drawing a long moan from his lips.

“f-fuck,” he panted. he’d never experience a feeling like that before. they felt so sensitive and sore and yet the pain translated to pure pleasure by the time it reached his cock. it leaked globs of precum deep within you as your tantalising grinds picked up speed and friction.

your lips found their way to the shell of his ear and a wet swipe of your tongue sent shivers down his spine. you were so dominant today. and he was enjoying perhaps a little too much.

“i want you to be louder,” you hissed, nibbling the soft flesh of his ear lobe. “you know you can be.”

“‘m gonna need you to make things rougher for me,” the soft mounds of your pretty ass were caught in his grip, being fondled and massaged as he egged you on, using his strength to lift you up bit by bit until you could plop back down on his cock.

the mere sound of it made him groan, bowing his head to restrain himself. having his hands so comfy on your ass was divine, such a privilege. he pulled you higher and higher until your moans turned to cries. 

his leaky cockhead continuously pounded your spongy, sensitive point, throwing you into a frenzy. your rhythm became erratic, breath laboured and ragged. lines of red scratches marked his torso, victim of your nails painted the exact same colour as his reddened tip. 

your personal nicknames ran from caleb’s lips in a slur, connecting the syllables as if it were a lengthy poem he was reciting to you. his tongue lulled out, dripping strings of his saliva onto your bare chest, creating a sticky mess on you as your tiddies slapped against each other– colliding and changing shape like a malleable pair of heavenly flesh. he couldn’t keep his eyes off them, calling them his favourite melons in his mind– a perverted thought and description, but that was the least of the nasty thoughts he had of you.

“please– oh my god!” his moans quickly turned into whimpers. you couldn’t help but giggle. he was just too cute. 

his tongue ran up your collarbones to your neck until they tickled the corner of your lips to pull you into a lascivious kiss, tongues swirling and dancing in pursuit of getting closer than their bodies could allow. he was addicted to you. he wasn’t afraid to say it with relentless pride.

to be able to please that sweet cunny of yours with his cock, to be able to love and adore you, to live alongside you, that was all the pleasures he had of being yours. and he refused to trade it for anything else. nobody would ever be worth as much as you were to him.

you are his everything.

caleb swiftly lifted you up into his arms, almost using his evol before he remembered you were being recorded together. you yelped as he swung you both around so that you leaned against the wall, back warmed in place of his position. 

he sat on his knees, still holding you by your hips to align his cockhead with your dripping opening. in tempted arousal, he lifted you up to hook your legs on his shoulders, leaving only your ass and legs in view of the frame and his head completely concealed in between.

his hot tongue swiped up and down your folds, teasing its entrance into your hole. teasing you. he relished in your hitched cries and groans, you cursing him and demanding he stop teasing you. somehow it just got him harder that he already was. 

but because he loved you, he conceded and buried his face into your pussy. his nose nudged and tickled your sensitive bud while his tongue explored the mixed taste of his precum and your sweet nectar all stored in your pussy. the flavours blended perfectly. 

his loud, obnoxious slurps and his head occasionally shaking side to side brought you to a tremble, finally drawing that sweet climax out of you with a cute cry.

“ca– cale– oh fuck!” his name almost slipped out of your lips before you could restrain yourself. caleb moaned into your pussy before quickly pulling away to guide you back down to his hips, instantly dropping you onto his cock.

it slipped in so smoothly yet so roughly, sending every sensory signal in you screaming in alarm. too much, too much, my god, too much. 

caleb gripped your ass, kneading his fingers into your flesh, and pounded his hips right up into you. you hiccuped with each thrust, losing composure and falling deeper and deeper into your cockdrunk daze.

“too- too fast–“

“uh-uh,” he breathlessly moaned in your ear, rolling his hips faster and harder into you, so desperate to fill you with his seed. to claim you as you claim him. “you can take it.”

a deep groan rumbled in you making you grip the base of his neck with your hand, slowly squeezing until he gasped– and yet his psychotically fast pace never faltered. 

“i’m sure you can take– fuck– this– mmh– pussy too, huh?” your walls intuitively tightened around his thick, pistoning cock matching the hold you had on his neck. “this is the only pussy you’d worship, yeah?”

“the– only– one.” he gasped as he choked out his words. you were tempted to call him a good boy. despite the overwhelming entanglement of overstimulation and pure delight that caleb fucking you through and straight past your orgasm gave you, you were just so insatiably greedy for more.

“you wanna cum, yeah?” you crooned, wrapping your arms around his neck. you thought you had begun to taste a new degree of pleasure with caleb in that very position. 

“wanna make you cum again,” he said. a loud smack! resonated as a delicious sting spread around your ass cheek. “mmh, wanna cum in you so fucking bad.”

“then do it.”

and that he did. almost like it was on command– with a final harsh thrust, hot ribbons painted your walls like paint falling right onto the canvas. it was so hot, and creamy that the sting of his heat left you in near shambles.

there was just so much spilling into you that it spurted out of your pussy with each slowing jut of his hips. his mouth mumbled on, rambling i love you, i love you, i love you like a prayer and oath. even as he pulled out, cum still spurted out of his slit, painting the shower walls white with lust and satisfaction while the recording still ran, abandoned by both of you.

“you think you can let those people prance around you while knowing i am all you need?” choked gasps fill the air as your grip on his neck tightens. “no caleb. you don’t have that right.”

he merely nodded with a smile. “ ‘m all yours, my love. my eyes, my heart, my body, and my soul are only for you.”

now, caleb has experienced a great many terrifying things in his lifetime. a great many things. but you? you were an endless galaxy he would spend eternity exploring. all your complexities and charms just waiting for him to perceive. 

your peers had believed he was insane. clingy. obsessed. but they didn’t know you could be much, much, worse. and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

a/n: I've been listening to too much Tyler, the Creator. Also, this was inspired by one of @/cruxifixe 's works on tiktok

[yuujispinkhair]

ILLICIT AFFAIRS

You show me colors I can't see with anyone else

You are stuck in an unhappy marriage, not brave enough to leave your cheating husband. Until you meet Sukuna.

Pairing: Modern!Sukuna x Reader (female) Word Count: 10k Warnings: 18+, fluff, hurt/comfort, smut, but not explicit, cheating (Reader's husband cheats on her, and later on, she cheats on him with Sukuna). Sukuna is a CEO (or can be read as a Yakuza boss, too). Sukuna + Reader are both in their thirties. The fic title is taken from Taylor Swift's "Illicit Affairs", but in this story, the secret affair has a happy ending. This story is super self-indulgent, but I hope some of my fellow Sukuna lovers will enjoy it, too! Minors don't interact. Divider @./lovwoung

You often ask yourself what went wrong. How did you end up trapped in this unhappy marriage? Maybe you were too young, too inexperienced, too naive when you met your husband. Maybe you were too insecure, convinced no one would ever want you, and so you gratefully settled for the first man who showed interest in dating you.

Your relationship was never like those romances you knew from books or movies, but you assumed that was just how things were in reality. Your mom, your aunt, and everyone else told you how lucky you were to have finally found a man willing to be with you. How lucky to have found someone with a good job and from a good family. They were also the ones who pressured the two of you to get married, and ever since then, things have gone downhill.

Your husband hasn't shown you any love or affection in years. The only time he shows interest in you is when he wants to have sex, but even that is without any real intimacy. He hasn't kissed you in years, and if he did at this point, you would probably be disgusted by it. There is no love in this marriage.

The worst thing is you know he is cheating on you. You already suspected it when he suddenly had to stay at work a lot longer than usual and when he began to hide his phone screen from you. And then one night, you woke up and walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water, and that's when you overheard your husband talking on the phone with some other woman calling her angel and baby and telling her how beautiful she was.

Even though you didn't love him anymore, it still made your world tumble down around you.

You want to leave him, but you can't. Everything is too much, too overwhelming. You have always found it very hard to make decisions, and this one is huge. You have no idea where to go or how to get by on your own. All your savings went into buying this apartment, and now what?

And it's not just the financial aspect that worries you. Everyone has always told you that you would never survive on your own. They always kept you small, turning you into someone who is dependent on others. You got told that you are weird, not good enough, and incapable of ever taking control of your life. And at some point over the years, you started to believe that. Your self-confidence is non-existent.

You tell your mom about the cheating, and she tells you to stay with your husband.

"It's just a little fling. At least you are lucky that he doesn't want to divorce you. It would be such a financial disaster, and you know how you are. You don't do well on your own. Just stay with him and find joy in other things. Maybe pick up a new hobby. I could give you Kira's number. She just joined a nice Yoga class!"

You don't go to the Yoga class, but you also don't leave your husband. You try to pretend everything is fine. Try to gaslight yourself into thinking that maybe you are really just a hysterical, insecure, and overjealous idiot who misinterpreted things.

The months pass, and you catch him flirting on the phone several times. An annual business event is scheduled, which you always accompany him to, but he tells you it got canceled this year. Only to find out from the wife of one of his coworkers that the event took place as usual, but you and your husband simply never showed up. You know why. He didn't want you there. He didn't want to risk his little affair and his wife running into each other.

You've given up on love by now. You hate seeing ads for romance novels or rom-coms. You stop listening to music because most songs are lovesongs. For all you know, romantic love is just a made-up thing that people sing about and write about, but it's all just lies.

Or maybe it does exist in real life. But not for you. Maybe you simply aren't the type of woman who deserves to be loved. Maybe your mom is right, and you should just accept it.

So you stay with your husband, but you are dead inside.

Until you meet Sukuna.

He is everything you ever dreamed about in your secret fantasies that you started to develop to comfort yourself. A dreamed life, but now it's right in front of you, close enough to touch. Sukuna is a real gentleman. An attractive mix of a bad boy and a successful, serious businessman. Smart, confident, and sexy, with a boyish playfulness beneath his professional appearance.

Ironically, you meet him the night you try to save your marriage.

You are already sitting at the table for two you booked for a date in one of the best restaurants in the city. You put on makeup and spend an hour picking a dress in which you feel at least half attractive. And now you sit here, sipping your red wine, waiting for your husband to arrive, to hopefully bond with him again over a delicious dinner and a few hours where you can talk and maybe laugh together.

Only that your husband never shows up. You have already finished your first glass of wine and received several pitiful looks from the waitress when your phone buzzes with a message. It's your husband telling you he can't make it. "Something has come up at work. I don't know when I will be able to leave. Just have dinner without me."

You stare at the message for far too long, not even knowing how to respond. Feeling utterly humiliated, utterly hurt, and abandoned. Worthless. You know he is going to see his girlfriend instead tonight. His girlfriend, who is young and sexy, and can give him what he wants.

And suddenly, you can't hold back the tears anymore. You blink hastily, wiping angrily at your cheeks, trying everything not to ruin your makeup or have a breakdown in the middle of the crowded restaurant. But the waitress chooses that exact moment to walk up to you with an overly bright smile, asking,

"Excuse me, Madam. Would it be alright if someone joins you at your table?"

You look at her, caught off guard, really not wanting a stranger at your table in this horrid moment, but you are too polite to say no, and so you smile weakly back at her, pressing out in a tear-thick voice,

"Of course, I don't mind."

You wipe your eyes again, trying to will the tears away, as a tall man in a fancy-looking black suit and slicked-back pink hair comes into view. He is snapping at the waitress, clearly annoyed, saying something about how rude it is to forget his reservation and that this will have consequences since he is a regular customer, etc.

But he sits down across from you, still fuming as the waitress bows deeply several times, apologizing profusely for the mistake, promising that the man's food and drinks will be free tonight.

He lets out an exasperated sigh and orders a glass of red wine, which the waitress immediately scrambles to get for him.

You gulp hard, trying to regain composure, hoping you don't look as forlorn as you feel. You lift your head to nod at the man across from you, trying to muster up a polite smile because, after all, you have been trained from a young age to always be friendly.

You take him in and draw in a surprised breath. He is gorgeous. The most attractive man you have ever seen. Tall and broad-shouldered with masculine but beautiful features. Angular jawline, intelligent maroon eyes, and sensual lips that are lifted in a smug smirk as he nods back at you,

"Excuse this inconvenience. I will make sure whoever is responsible will get fired."

And, of course, you splutter and are quick to try doing damage control, not wanting some poor person to lose their job over this.

"Oh no, please, it's no problem at all!"

The pink-haired man laughs softly, a low, husky sound that makes your pulse flutter nervously.

He looks intimidating with his tall height and muscular build, and the tattoos that line his handsome face. But he is distinguished and elegant, wearing a designer suit and an expensive watch. Clearly, he is a regular guest of a restaurant like this.

He looks like a successful CEO (or a Yakuza boss, your mind provides not helpful at all). He's definitely someone in a powerful position, judging by his whole appearance and the dominant and confident aura he exudes. But he also has pastel pink hair, a boyish grin, and a playful attitude that makes him seem not as scary as you first thought.

His wine arrives from a different waitress, and he thanks her politely, telling her,

"Put everything the lovely lady across from me orders on my card."

The waitress is quick to bow deeply with a polite, "Of course, Mr. Itadori," at the same moment, as your eyes widen, and you quickly argue,

"Oh no, please, I can't..."

But he smirks his charming smirk and lifts a large hand dismissively,

"It's the least I can do for ruining your evening in much-wanted solitude."

Much wanted solitude.

His words hit you to the core, making all the sadness well up in you again. If only it were true. If only you were truly a single, independent woman who came here after a successful day at work to enjoy dinner on her own in voluntarily chosen solitude.

But you are none of that. You are an abandoned and unloved wife with a boring job and no money, sitting here at a table for two because your husband ditched you to fuck his pretty little assistant in his office.

And suddenly, the tears are back in your eyes, making it hard to see. You quickly avert your shameful gaze, your hand grabbing your wine glass so tightly it almost breaks.

Your sight is blurry, but you can still see the shocked look on the man's face across from you. His eyes dart away from you but then back again, obviously not used to the company of a crying stranger. He clears his throat before he leans slightly across the table, lowering his voice to a soft murmur,

"Are you alright?"

You feel embarrassment flood you, feeling so mortified at your behavior. You wish the ground would just open up and swallow you! This is so typical of you, ruining this stranger's evening, because you don't have your emotions under control and act like a complete fool. It's something your husband would chide you for or make fun of if he saw it.

"I... I am so sorry! Please just ignore me."

You hate how your voice breaks, and before you can suppress it, a pathetic-sounding sob falls from your lips. You press your hands to your face, sobbing silently into them, trying to hide from the world and from the poor guy who's forced to share this table with you.

But then you feel a tentative touch, a warm hand gently brushing over your arm, and you pull your hands from your face, blinking at your table partner, feeling your lips tremble and your face burning, knowing that you must look so ugly right now with your makeup ruined and tears and snot coating your face.

Another apology is already waiting on your tongue, but he shakes his head, and somehow, it's so authoritative but also gentle that your apology dies on your tongue. Instead, you blink at him, as he cocks his head and watches you thoughtfully, that low voice so smooth and soothing when he says,

"Don't apologize."

You nod, trying to smile gratefully at him, but fail miserably as his kind reaction only causes more tears to fall.

He shoves his hand into the pocket of his suit jacket and pulls out a handkerchief. Not a paper tissue, but an actual handkerchief. He offers it to you, and you reach for it automatically, thanking him. But you freeze the moment your hand wraps around the fabric, realizing it's made out of fine silk.

He raises an eyebrow,

"Please, take it."

"But I... I will just ruin it with my makeup..."

He huffs, a soft smirk lifting his lips,

"I don't care. I'll just buy a new one. Take it. I insist."

"Th.. thank you, sir. That's really sweet of you."

His lips twitch,

"You're welcome. And for you, it's Sukuna, not sir."

You sniffle, pressing his handkerchief against your cheeks as you nod and tell him your name.

His smirk softens to a small smile, and he jerks his tattooed chin toward your empty wine glass.

"Do you want another one of those? Looks like you could use it."

You nod as more tears well up in your eyes, and Sukuna snips his fingers, instantly summoning a waiter to your table as if they are all hovering nearby just waiting for Sukuna to voice a wish.

Five minutes later, you have another red wine to hold on to and sip on, which causes a comforting buzz in your head, and suddenly, it all breaks out of you, and you tell Sukuna everything. You tell him about your failed marriage, about how lonely you feel, how unloved. About your cheating husband. About how pathetic you think you are for not daring to leave him because you have never been on your own before and you have no one who has your back.

You cry and sob and take big gulps of the wine while pouring your heart out to this beautiful stranger sitting across from you. This guy who, despite his intimidating look, is surprisingly gentle with you and who doesn't mind that you stain his silken handkerchief with your mascara and lipstick.

Sukuna actually listens to you. He looks earnestly at you, clenches his jaw when you tell him how your husband treats you, and shakes his head when you say under tears how stupid you think you are.

"No, you aren't. Don't blame yourself. It's him. He is the problem. He is the asshole."

Sukuna is the first one who tells you that you deserve better.

You feel an unexpected relief at finally being able to pour your heart out to someone. And just when you get yourself enough under control again to begin feeling embarrassed at your outburst, Sukuna flashes you a smirk and raises an eyebrow, asking,

"Do you want me to get rid of him for you?"

Which makes you forget the embarrassment and instead stare at him with big eyes and hurriedly splutter,

"Oh my god, no! This is not what I..."

You don't get any further because Sukuna begins to laugh, shaking his head slightly as his eyes sparkle amusedly at you.

"Don't worry. I'm just joking."

You huff a breath of relief, followed by a little laugh. Sukuna's comment managed to pull you out of your little moment of regret, and you feel better again, taking another sip from your wine and even managing to eat a few bites of the meal Sukuna ordered for the two of you, claiming that an empty stomach is never good.

Sukuna is nice to you. It's astounding to you because, with the way he looks with those face tattoos and the slightly dangerous aura surrounding him, you would have never thought a man like him could be so nice. It brings more tears to your eyes, feeling too emotional from all the wine. But you use Sukuna's handkerchief to blot them away.

He leaves with you when you say you have to go home, walks around the table, and pulls out your chair like a real gentleman. He offers you his strong arm when you sway lightly on your heels. He helps you into your coat and accompanies you to the exit.

You stand in front of the restaurant on the busy street, but all you see is Sukuna, who stands so close to you that you can smell his cologne, a sensual, woodsy scent that fits him perfectly, smelling expensive and sexy.

He puts a large hand on your tear-stained cheek, cupping it gently, wiping a few fresh tears away, and you take a step closer to him as if drawn in by a magical force, craving this tender touch, even if it's just a stranger touching your cheek in the middle of a busy sidewalk.

Sukuna is so tall and broad, making you feel so safe somehow, and before you can stop yourself, you lean your head against his broad chest, closing your eyes for a moment and sighing longingly. For the first time in so long, you feel as if you can breathe.

You reluctantly take a step back again, tilting your head to smile up at Sukuna, thanking him again for everything he did for you. And he grins at you and leans down, his lips brushing over your ear, while his hand still caresses your cheek,

"You deserve so much better than your asshole of a husband. Don't hesitate to call or text me when you need a break again."

And with that, he presses a gentle kiss to your cheek. It's such a delicate feeling, so soft and gone again in a split second that you aren't sure if it really happened or if you just imagined it, but it fills you with such warmth that it almost hurts.

Sukuna pulls away with a smirk, and you see a business card dangling from his long fingers. You take it from him with a small, grateful smile.

+++

Several days pass, during which you firmly ignore the business card that's still in your purse.

Waking up the next morning after meeting Sukuna made you feel strange. Guilty somehow. As if you had done something wrong. It's ridiculous, of course. Nothing happened between Sukuna and you. And if someone was supposed to feel guilt, it was your husband. And yet you refused to even look at the business card, feeling like you would be doing something bad if you even so much as entertained the idea of adding Sukuna's number to your contacts.

No, you would never contact Sukuna. You would do as your mom had said. Just accept the circumstances of your marriage and create your own happiness. Maybe you should really find a new hobby. Or maybe you could get a pet? A cat or a dog?

For the next few days, you almost manage to convince yourself that you are fine with your life. You keep yourself busy by researching different cat and dog breeds and starting a new TV show.

But then you walk in on your husband flirting with his affair on the phone again, and you see red. This time, you can't stop yourself from confronting him, from snapping at him and screaming at him under tears to stop it.

It leads to nothing, though. He is so unbothered, so smooth, lying through his teeth, downplaying it, claiming she is just a good friend, making you seem like some nutcase who overreacts at every little thing.

You escape to the bedroom, sitting on the bed, staring off into space as tears stream down your face, feeling so helpless in your rage and misery. What are you supposed to do when your cheating partner refuses to admit he is actually cheating on you?

You wish you had the courage to leave him. Or better, you wish he would take the decision from you and leave you so you won't be the one everyone blames for ending this seemingly perfect marriage! And so you won't have to be the one who makes a decision that will change your whole life.

You yank open your nightstand, searching for some paper tissues. And that's when you see Sukuna's handkerchief again, peeking out from under a package of chocolate cookies.

You brush tenderly over the soft, silken fabric. A small smile lifts your lips as your fingers brush over the initials embroidered on it in one corner in a fancy gold thread. S.I.. Itadori Sukuna.

You let out a long breath, wiping your tears away with one hand while the other holds the handkerchief. And suddenly, the clouds seem to disappear as you remember the warmth you felt when Sukuna cupped your cheek and wiped your tears away. And suddenly you know what you want to do.

You jump up and walk to your dresser, pull it open hurriedly, and yank out the purse you had with you in that restaurant. You open it, impatiently emptying its contents over your bed, until you see the business card with Sukuna's contact information.

On any other day, you would overthink things and take an hour to even make up your mind about what to write, but in the state you are in right now, everything seems so clear.

You grab your phone, add Sukuna's contact, and open a new text message. Your fingers seem to do the work without you consciously having to think about it as they quickly type a message:

"Hey. It's your surprise table partner from last Friday. Thank you again for being so nice to me and for your handkerchief."

You feel triumphant as you place your phone down on your nightstand. And then it buzzes, and your heart jumps to your throat. There's a reply.

"I'm glad you finally texted me. You are very welcome. How are you feeling?"

"I am ok. What about you?"

You cringe at your poor small-talk skills, but Sukuna is surprisingly easy to talk to. He tells you about his day, about business meetings, and what he will have for dinner.

There's a strange feeling spreading through your chest. A kind of longing. You crave the feeling of being near Sukuna again. How safe you felt when leaning your head against his chest for a few seconds. How seen you felt when he listened patiently to you and reassured you.

You want to see him again. Want that feeling again.

"I want to give you back your handkerchief. Where can we meet?"

You know you sound weird as fuck, but it's the only way you dare ask him to meet you again.

"I don't want that handkerchief back, sweetheart. But we should meet up anyway. I quite enjoyed your company. How about you join me again for dinner sometime this week?"

Oh.

Your heart is racing uncontrollably, and your hand shakes as you stare at Sukuna's message.

This is it. This is where things become dangerous. You know the right thing to do would be to say no. It's what a married woman should do. But your husband is in the living room, probably sexting his little affair, so why should you be a good wife?

And so you text Sukuna back, letting him know that dinner sounds great.

+++

The dinner with Sukuna is nice. Really nice. You catch yourself feeling so much lighter, your lips lifted in genuine laughter, your eyes shining with happiness as you spend your evening with Sukuna. He is a very charming conversationalist. Cocky, but in such a playful way that it makes you giggle and feel your face get hot from all the joy it brings you to playfully joke around with him and let him tease you in such a charming and light-hearted way.

Your meeting is innocent, nothing that could be counted as cheating. Just a man and a woman who enjoy good food and wine together and chat about everything and nothing. The occasional small touches don't count, right? Like when Sukuna's large hand brushes over the back of your much smaller hand that's resting on the table.

Or when he reaches across the table to cup your chin and wipe some cherry sauce off the corner of your lips with his thumb. But just because his gentle touch makes your skin tingle and your pulse quicken doesn't mean there is anything going on between Sukuna and you!

Sukuna refuses to let you pay, saying it's a delight for him to have you keep him company. And you laugh bashfully and wave him off but feel so giddy. Sukuna offers you his arm when you walk out of the restaurant, and you take it happily, marveling at how tall he is and how safe you feel walking at his side, biting your lip when you wrap your hand around his upper arm and feel his big biceps flex under your palm.

You say good night on the street in front of the restaurant, and before you know what you are doing, you wrap your arms around Sukuna for a light hug. You intend to pull away again immediately, just a quick, friendly hug, but you get stopped by Sukuna's strong arms wrapping around you, holding you firmly, hugging you back, and not letting you go yet.

He rests his chin on your head, and you have the enticing scent of his cologne in your nose again. You feel so warm and comfortable with Sukuna's strong arms around you, his tall, muscular body pressing against you, warm and reassuring. It makes you let out a shaky breath, overcome with feelings, because you can't remember the last time someone hugged you like this.

Sukuna's low voice is a velvety rumble when he says,

"I am on the National Museum's VIP list. There will be a pre-opening event for a new exhibition this coming week. Heian era. It sounds interesting. Would you like to accompany me?"

You lift your head, looking curiously at Sukuna,

"What must one do to get added to the National Museum's VIP list?"

An amused smirk lifts Sukuna's lips, making him look so unfairly handsome,

"Oh, nothing much, just make one or two generous donations every year."

He shrugs, and you laugh, beaming up at him in amusement as you nod,

"I would love to accompany you."

"Sweet. It's settled, then. I'll text you the day and time."

You want to walk to the subway, but Sukuna stops you with a warm hand on your arm, saying he will drive you home. For a moment, you freeze, not knowing what to say. It feels wrong somehow to let another man drive you to the apartment you share with your husband. And maybe you should be cautious and keep a distance and not let Sukuna know exactly where you live.

But you shake yourself out of it. All of those things have been hammered into your brain all of your life, making you anxious and scared and never truly living your life. You are already meeting with Sukuna for dinner and will accompany him to a museum next week. The world won't end if he knows your address!

You smile at him and nod, telling him it would be very nice if he drove you. And Sukuna smiles back, a pleased look in his maroon eyes. He gently steers you towards the parking space with a large hand resting lightly on the small of your back as you stroll down the street.

You catch yourself having a more upright posture than usual, your head lifted, your lips adorned with a soft smile. You feel like the passerbies are all looking at you and Sukuna. Maybe thinking the two of you are a couple on a date, and the thought makes your stomach tingle.

Sukuna's car is a black Porsche. You don't even know why you are surprised. He grins lazily as he opens the door for you and helps you slip into the passenger seat, handing you your purse when you sit and carefully closing the door behind you before he walks around the front of the fancy sports car and gets into the driver's seat.

"Nice car," you say, and Sukuna turns to look at you with a teasing twinkle in his eyes,

"Well, I'm not a nice guy, so at least my car should be."

"Oh, I think you are very nice."

The two of you hold eye contact for a long moment, both pairs of eyes filled with amusement before you burst out giggling, and Sukuna joins you with his low laugh.

+++

You spend the next evenings at home, having dinner with your husband, who is busy with his phone most of the time, making the cold, heavy feeling in your stomach even worse.

Your only joy is the anticipation you feel in looking forward to Wednesday afternoon when you will meet Sukuna at the museum.

He is already waiting when you arrive, leaning casually against a pillar next to the entrance, tall and handsome with his perfectly styled pink hair and his Tom Ford suit. A dark red one this time, which makes his eyes look like red wine.

Sukuna is a beautiful man.

For a moment, you feel a nervous flutter in your chest, but it vanishes again when Sukuna grins at you and greets you with his warm, low voice and a large hand on your back, pulling you into a half hug.

He doesn't even have to say his name when the two of you approach the young man who greets the guests and ticks off their names on the guest list.

"Ah, Mr Itadori! Have fun at the exhibition. And thank you so much for your generous support."

Your hand slips naturally around Sukuna's arm as you stroll through the exhibition. It feels nice to be here. It makes you realize how long it's been since you last visited a museum. Or did any kind of activity, really. Your husband never had time for you during the last few years.

You can tell that Sukuna is genuinely interested in the exhibition. He already seems to be an expert on the topic, adding interesting facts to the already detailed info sheets next to each exhibition piece.

It's an equal amount of endearing and sexy how nerdy he seems to be about this. Attractive. You like smart men. You like it when a man is passionate about learning everything about a topic that interests him. And Sukuna is like that.

You hang on his lips, soaking up his knowledge, feeling way too hot when you watch the sparkle in his maroon eyes as he goes into a passionate monologue about political intrigues during the timeline of one of the exhibition pieces.

And he seems to like that you also show genuine interest in the exhibition and in what he has to say about it. He blesses you with a soft smile that makes your stomach flutter. You feel exhilarated, your heart pounding in your chest, almost bursting with happiness. A long-forgotten feeling emerging again after so many years.

You thank Sukuna profusely for the fun afternoon, and he grins that charming, boyish grin at you and tells you he is grateful that you kept him such lovely company.

This time, there is no doubt about whether he really kisses your cheek or not. His lips linger on your heated skin for a long moment, soft lips pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek before Sukuna smiles at you and cups your other cheek with his hand, his long fingers caressing it slowly.

"Let's meet again for dinner next week, sweetheart."

+++

You pace your living room restlessly.

Your trip to the museum with Sukuna made you realize something. It made you realize what this giddy feeling is that has been filling you ever since you started to meet up with him. That light-hearted, fluttery, happy feeling you get when you see him or even just when you think of him (which is almost every waking second of your day).

You try to shut down those feelings, telling yourself it's dangerous to let someone make you feel so much again. It makes you too vulnerable. It will only lead to more chaos and more hurt.

Why would a man like Sukuna even be interested in anything serious with me? He can probably have anyone. Either he only sees me as a friend, or I am just a little fling to him. I have to stop this before I get in even deeper!

In the coming week, you cancel your dinner with Sukuna by sending him a short text telling him you have a cold. He sends you a get well soon message and asks if you need anything, which you deny, even while you sob silently because Sukuna is so caring, and all you want to do is run into his strong arms and forget about your joyless life.

But you stay strong and put your phone away, forbidding yourself from sending more messages to Sukuna.

Your husband makes a rare attempt to talk to you, and you already know what he wants. After tiptoeing around you for several hours, he asks you for sex. You join him in the dark bedroom, feeling nothing as you slip out of your clothes and climb into bed with him.

You have learned to close your eyes during sex and let your mind wander, imagining all kinds of fictional scenarios to help you feel anything at all. But this time, you don't think of a fictional love interest out of a romance novel or an actor you find attractive. This time, you think of Sukuna.

You feel dirty afterward as you stand under the shower and scrub at your skin. Dirty for thinking of Sukuna while you slept with your husband. But what makes you feel even dirtier is that you still let your cheating husband touch you even though Sukuna is so nice to you. It feels as if you are cheating on both of them.

You cry so much that you feel like you have no tears left.

+++

Even though you haven't met or talked to Sukuna in over a week, he is still constantly on your mind. You are haunted by images of him. That beautiful tattooed face. That sexy low voice and the playful smirk. That tall and muscular body that makes you feel so tiny in comparison and so safe when you are standing in front of him or leaning against him.

You sigh. One would assume that acknowledging that you are developing romantic feelings for Sukuna would make things easier for you. Clearer. But the thing is, even though you know what your heart wants, you are still too scared to end things with your husband. There are too many insecurities. Too many risks and you feel so useless and weak, just like your parents always told you you are.

You feel frozen, unable to make a move. There is this wonderful man who treats you as if you are special and shows you how a man is supposed to make you feel, and yet you lack the courage to get out of your loveless marriage.

You have always been an overthinker, always scared to trust your instincts. Brought up to always be sensible and make decisions with your head and not your heart. So how could you just leave the security of this marriage? Especially when you are trying to convince yourself that Sukuna would never want a relationship anyway.

No, you can't let yourself believe that you could have a future with Sukuna. This is just a stupid dream born out of your naivety, which your parents always warned you about.

And how could you even go about ending things with your husband? Sit him down and tell him it's over? But what then? What do you do when he just refuses to accept it?

Or should you just pack your bag and leave while he is at work, letting him return to an empty apartment and a goodbye letter on the kitchen table? But where would you go? To a hotel? You have no money. To your parents? You would feel so ashamed, and you fear their judgment. To a friend? You don't really have any friends anymore who you are close enough with to ask this of.

You sigh. None of it seems achievable. Not for you. You are too chicken to do any of it.

Your husband informs you that he will be gone for two days for a business trip, and you let out a breath of relief, happy about the freedom you feel when he is away and you have the apartment to yourself.

You open a bottle of wine, listen to your favorite playlist, and dance around the kitchen, almost able to convince yourself that things will be ok and you can just live a life feeling detached from the hurt your marriage causes you.

And then your iPad dies. You groan, quickly walking to the spare room you use as an office to grab your husband's laptop, only to get greeted by his e-mail inbox, where you see a booking confirmation for a romantic couple getaway for the next two days.

You stare at it wide-eyed. And then you sit down in a daze and go through the received and sent e-mails, only discovering more outrageous things. The escort girls your husband booked over the last year, the flowers he ordered for other women, while you never got any flowers from him in all your years married to him. The romantic getaways he booked anytime he claimed to go on business trips.

You can't even cry about it anymore. The sadness is replaced by cold rage. And by a strange feeling of resignation. You know you could show all of this to your mom and finally make her believe what you told her all this time. Finally, presenting her and everyone else with proof of how badly your husband treats you.

But even as you snap pictures of the e-mails, you realize you can't bring yourself to do it. And the infuriating thing about it is that it's not even because it causes you hurt, but because you still want to protect your husband. If you show your mom this, she will confront him and make a huge scene. And you don't want that to happen. Even after everything he did, you still are too much of a good girl to let him face the rage of your mom.

That's why you close the laptop again without doing anything. You make sure to put it back to where you found it.

But a different kind of conviction has settled over you. If your asshole of a husband can go on romantic getaways and sex meetings, you can allow yourself some fun, too, can't you?

It's not even that you plan to have sex when you text Sukuna. You just want to meet him for dinner or another trip to the museum. You just want to talk to him, and laugh with him and soak up the light feeling he gives you.

He calls you instead of texting back. Your heart races when you take the call, and Sukuna's velvety low voice fills your ear,

"I just came home from a big grocery haul. So how about instead of meeting at a restaurant, you come to my apartment, and I cook for you?"

You agree instantly.

+++

Unsurprisingly, Sukuna lives in one of the most expensive neighborhoods of the city. The luxurious apartment complex makes you feel nervous and a bit out of place. But that uneasiness slips from you the moment Sukuna opens his door and greets you with that sexy, teasing smirk and a playful little comment.

It's the first time you see Sukuna dressed casually. And it undeniably does something to you to see him in a pair of gray sweatpants and a rather snug-fitting white t-shirt that clings to his buff pecs and gives you a nice view of his muscular arms and more of his tattoos. You aren't sure what is more mouth-watering, the food that is simmering in one of the pots on Sukuna's stove or his big biceps that flex deliciously with every move.

Sukuna lifts you onto the kitchen counter, easily picking you up and setting you down as if you weigh nothing. A fact that makes you all flustered and sends your pulse racing, making you gratefully grab the wine glass Sukuna is offering you, so you can hide your face behind it and let the alcohol calm your nerves.

No man has ever cooked for you before, and watching Sukuna do it is one of the most attractive things you have ever witnessed. He is so sexy. Passionate and skilled, and still always taking time to playfully flirt with you or ask you to try one of his dishes, feeding you food from a spoon or from his fingers.

There is a special kind of electricity between you tonight. An almost touchable tension that makes your skin tingle anytime Sukuna brushes up against you.

His voice is husky when he tells you what ingredients he uses to marinate the roasted vegetables. And you can't help but let your tongue flick over his fingers when he pushes a slice of roasted zucchini against your lips.

Sukuna groans softly. Your breath hitches in your throat, and you look up at his tattooed face. You are met by a hungry glint in those beautiful maroon eyes that remind you of the wine Sukuna poured for you.

You are caught in Sukuna's intense gaze, unable to look away. Everything else seems to fade away.

And the next thing you know is that Sukuna is kissing you. Or maybe you were the one who pressed her lips against his first. You don't know. All you know is that you are kissing right here in Sukuna's kitchen while you sit on the kitchen counter, and he is standing between your legs. His large hands are cupping your cheeks and tilting your head back, and your hands are twisting in the front of his soft white t-shirt, pulling him closer to you as you sigh needily into his mouth.

Sukuna kisses you like you have never been kissed before. Passionate, fiery. Deep and sensual, making your head spin and your pulse flutter under Sukuna's hands.

You can't get enough of him and wrap your arms and legs around him as if you are scared he will vanish into thin air if you let go of him. You kiss him with a hunger unknown to you until now. Like a starving person being presented with a life-saving meal.

Sukuna's large hands trail down your sides, fingertips grazing over the sides of your breasts, eliciting a needy little whine from you, and further down until they reach your thighs. You are drunk on his kiss, drunk on him, melting under every little touch.

And Sukuna hums in the back of his throat and deepens the kiss even more. His large hands slip under you, cupping your ass, kneading it while he makes you moan around his tongue.

You have always been shy, but there is something about Sukuna and the way he makes you feel that makes you slip a hand under his t-shirt, feeling him up, greedily caressing his flexing abs, feeling dizzy at how good his firm muscles feel under your fingertips.

You both can't seem to stop kissing, both tumbling down further and further into this heated desire. You are faintly aware of Sukuna mumbling against your lips that the sauce needs to simmer for another hour anyway, and then he picks you up and lifts you easily off the kitchen counter while his lips claim yours again.

Sukuna carries you to his bedroom while never breaking the kiss, and you suck on his bottom lip and run your greedy hands through his soft pink hair and down his bulging biceps, wanting him so much that you think you will die if you don't get all of him tonight.

You sleep with Sukuna on his fancy bed, and it's nothing like it was with your husband. It's like you finally learn how sex is supposed to feel with a man who truly wants you.

Sukuna makes you feel wanted and desired, a feeling that is so new to you after all these years caught in a loveless marriage where your husband made you feel undesirable, unattractive, and like you would never be able to find anyone else with how your body looks and how lousy you are in bed.

But with Sukuna, it is completely different. You feel sexy here in his bed with the way he looks at you when he undresses you. And with the way he moans sweet praise in your ear before his lips and hands worship your body.

Sukuna is a real man. Experienced and confident, but so loving and patient with you when you get shy and tell him that you aren't very experienced and that your husband was disappointed in your skills in the bedroom.

At one point, you tense up, thinking Sukuna will get angry like your husband when you are clumsy during sex. But the opposite is the case. Sukuna is calm and gentle, talking to you in that sexy low voice, all soothing and sexy, telling you that it's ok and that you don't have to be scared or embarrassed.

He kisses you until your head spins and then asks you why you got so tense, asks you what you need. And you almost break out in tears, hugging him tightly, hiding your face in his defined pecs, inhaling his scent, and feeling so loved and so safe in his strong arms like never before.

"I just... I have only been with my husband, and he told me I am not good in bed. He always got mad at me when I didn't know how something worked. I am sorry if I am not what you are used to."

And you feel Sukuna's arms tightening around you, feel him tense up. But he isn't angry with you, only with your husband.

"That man is such a fool. Look at me, darling."

You lift your head off his chest and look at his tattooed face when he looks at you all earnestly,

"You are a beautiful woman, sexy and desirable, and I want to fuck you so good you forget your own name. Because that's what you deserve. And you don't have to be experienced or fuck like a pornstar. You are perfect the way you are, and you drive me crazy. And if you don't know how something works and you want to learn it, then I will teach you, and I promise I will be patient and gentle."

You nod wildly, feeling too emotional to speak, and instead press your body against Sukuna's and capture his lips in another needy kiss. You can feel his smile against your lips when he wraps his large hands around your waist and takes control.

Everything is so easy after that. No words are needed. Just hands and lips exploring each other's skin in heated caresses and bodies entangled in feverish passion. You let yourself fall, give yourself fully into Sukuna's loving hands. Let him take care of you like no one has ever done before.

He fucks you so good you cry.

All the years of feeling undesirable and not enough slip off you now that you are in Sukuna's bed under his gorgeous, tall, and heavy body, your nails leaving scratches on his broad back, hot tears of bliss streaming down your cheeks, and his name falling sweetly from your lips over and over again like a prayer.

It's like you are finally alive, like you are a flower that finally blooms after all these years.

+++

That first night in Sukuna's bed changed you profoundly.

You catch yourself smiling all day. There's a new bounce in your steps. You feel so much lighter. Your stomach is filled with butterflies as if you are a teenager again who has her first crush. Your chest feels so warm. You're filled with new hope. Maybe there is more to life and love than you thought, after all.

You feel like, for the first time, someone has really seen you. You weren't aware that sex like this existed in real life. That a man could make you fall apart like that. Sukuna fucked you in a way that was life-changing, making you feel like you gave him not just your body but also your soul.

And as passionate and nasty as the sex with Sukuna was, he made you feel respected the whole time. Adored. That is what makes you lose your mind anytime you think of it. You have been with your husband for so long, and yet even in the beginning, when the feelings were still fresh, he never made you feel adored or loved in bed. You didn't even know it until now, but he only ever made you feel used.

When your husband asks you for sex, you turn him down his time, telling him you aren't in the mood, and you don't even feel guilty for it.

You keep running back into Sukuna's strong arms over and over again. Into his bed, under his heavy body, where you feel loved and wanted. It's like he opened your eyes, and now you can see all those new colors that you only seem to be able to see with him.

+++

Your clandestine meetings continue for weeks. It surprises you to see winter turn into spring, and yet Sukuna is still texting you, inviting you to more dinner dates and to more intimate meetings in his bedroom. You always assumed he would end your little affair before things became too serious.

But somehow, he is still in your life, reserving his Wednesday evenings for you, buying you roses, and taking you to the best restaurants in the city.

One night, you sit up in his bed on the ruffled silk sheets and bite your lip as you let your gaze trail over Sukuna's naked body. His tattooed skin, his buff muscles, his beautiful silhouette. And you blurt out,

"Why do you keep seeing me?"

It's what you have been asking yourself from the start. What does Sukuna see in you? You are mediocre in every way. Average looks, no real talents, and no impressive career. A wife who got neglected by her husband because she wasn't good enough in his eyes. A woman in her thirties, who was replaced by a younger, more attractive version.

Sukuna, on the other hand, is gorgeous, powerful and rich, and his age only makes him more attractive. He could have anyone.

Sukuna hums softly and turns onto his side, lifting his head to watch you with curious maroon eyes.

"What do you mean, darling?"

You avert your gaze, sighing, bringing up your hands in a helpless little gesture,

"I... I mean, you are you, and I am me. And I just don't understand what you see in me."

Now, the noise Sukuna makes sounds a bit like a growl. You feel stupid for saying anything, already about to scramble out of his bed and flee before you make an even bigger fool of yourself. But you don't make it out of bed. Sukuna's strong arms wrap around you and stop you. He pulls you back into his arms and against his solid, broad chest.

"Don't belittle yourself like that. I keep asking to see you because I want to. Because I like spending time with you. You are so sweet. You make me feel so warm when I have always felt so cold."

His words hit you like a truck. You blink rapidly, your eyelashes fluttering against Sukuna's chest.

"R... really?"

He huffs softly, letting out a low chuckle as his large hand pets your hair,

"Yes, really. I used to only have one-night stands or casual flings. Just sex and nothing more. I used to think that was all I needed. But you showed me something different. Hell, I've never spent so much time with a woman before I slept with her for the first time. And I enjoyed every second of it! I like spending time with you to talk and laugh with you and just have this companionship. You make me feel like maybe I am not that cold-hearted asshole I always thought I was."

You gulp hard, tears filling your eyes. But this time, happy ones. You sniffle against Sukuna's naked chest and press a tender kiss to his tattooed skin.

"You are so sweet, Sukuna."

He laughs softly, and you can feel it against your cheek, a low rumble, where your face is resting on his chest,

"You are the first one who told me I am sweet. Are you sure?"

Now, you laugh softly, too. The insecurity you felt a moment ago forgotten,

"Yes, 100% sure. No one has ever treated me as sweet as you."

"It's what you deserve. You are so sweet that I want to be sweet for you, too. And..."

Sukuna's large hands tighten around your hips, and he flips you over. He rolls on top of you, covering you whole with his tall, broad body. His lips find your neck, trailing little kisses over it, his low voice a seductive murmur in your ear,

"You're not just sweet, but also beautiful and sexy, and you make me laugh, and I want to take you places and cook for you and also want to keep you on my cock all night and feel you squeeze around me and hear you cry my name."

Sukuna grinds his hips against you, pushing you into the mattress, taking you with one powerful, deep thrust for the second time tonight. You gasp and cling to his broad shoulders, your legs wrapping around his hips, welcoming him, craving him, needing him.

He takes it slow. Slow, deep thrusts, his forehead resting against yours, his low voice moaning sweet nothings in between deep, sensual kisses.

It's then that you realize that Sukuna is doing what no one else ever did to you. Sukuna is making love to you.

And you cry hot tears, drowning in his love and his body and everything he gives you. Your nails leave scratches on his broad back, your heels dig into his firm ass, as you throw your head back and cry out his name in the sweetest ecstasy.

He holds you afterward, lies behind you, and wraps his tall, strong body around you. He hugs you with his strong arms and nuzzles his face into your neck, breathing kisses onto your skin, not letting go of you, taking care of you, cuddling you. Something you also never had before. A man who is willingly holding you like that for hours after he came in you.

You sigh happily, still in a daze. The occasional tear still runs down your cheek as you snuggle against Sukuna's muscular body, and your hands caress his tattooed forearms tenderly. You never want to leave his arms again. You want to stay right here.

As if reading your mind, Sukuna's low voice murmurs against your skin again,

"I mean it, darling. I like having you in my life. So much that I want you in it all the time."

One of his large hands caresses your belly, so tender, so loving, sending butterflies fluttering in it like crazy. And Sukuna breathes in your ear,

"Be mine."

You draw in a sharp breath and turn around in Sukuna's arms, cupping his face with your hands as you kiss him, long and sweet, and in between kisses, you murmur against his lips,

"I am already yours."

You know it is the truth. Even though you are still married to another man, even though you are still living with your husband, you are Sukuna's woman now. You suspect you have been Sukuna's woman for several months already, long before you allowed yourself to admit it out loud.

+++

Two hours later, you are buttoning up your coat, about to leave Sukuna's apartment and the sweet bliss of his arms and return to your cold, loveless marriage, and your lonely apartment, when Sukuna stops in front of you. He reaches out, wordlessly helping you with the buttons, dominant in such a caring way, and somehow, that small loving gesture makes your lips tremble as you are overcome by emotions.

He is so good to you. Such a giant of a man, so tall and broad and powerful. And yet, he treats you so gently. Large hands buttoning up your coat for you. The hands that also cook Michelin-star-worthy meals for you, or wash your hair in his luxurious bathtub. The hands that make you see stars when they finger you oh so good. The hands that caress your cheek tenderly and brush your tears away with so much care. Hands that give to you over and over again. A hundred little acts of service that this powerful man gives to you.

"Sukuna, I..."

You trail off, not able to put into words what you want to say to him. How much he means to you. How much you want him. How he made you believe in love again. How much you crave to leave your old life behind and start over new with Sukuna even though you are so scared of change.

Before you can say any of it, Sukuna grabs your wrists, takes them firmly but gently into his larger hands, and looks at you intensely.

"Leave that asshole. He doesn't deserve you, princess. If a man can't see what he has in you, then he is trash. Don't be scared. I can take much better care of you than him. I'll fuck you good and make you only cry happy tears. I will appreciate you like you deserve. I will love you like you deserve. I will ensure you always have everything you need. I have money, and I can protect you. Tell me, darling, who would you feel safer with waking through the city in the middle of the night? That joke of a man or me?"

Of course, you know the answer.

"I love you, Sukuna."

"I love you, too."

His strong arms wrap around you and pull you into a hug, and you nuzzle your face into his chest, inhaling the comforting scent of his cologne. And finally, here in the safety of Sukuna's embrace, you say those words you have been too scared to say until now,

"I will leave him. I want to be with you. Only with you, Kuna."

You can hear the smile in Sukuna's voice when he replies,

"I'll help you, sweetheart. I have one of the best lawyers in the whole country. I'll call him tomorrow to prepare the divorce papers. I'll take care of everything for you."

Sukuna cups the back of your head and leans down to kiss your forehead gently, reassuringly. He looks at you with that boyish grin you fell in love with and adds in a playful and husky voice,

"And once all of this is dealt with, I will make you my wife."

He takes your left hand into his, turning it around, inspecting the wedding ring you are still wearing, scrunching his nose at it,

"And I'll give you a much prettier ring."

+++

You let the door fall softly shut behind you one last time as you walk out of the apartment you had been sharing with your husband for over a decade. A smile lifts your lips. You are glad to close this chapter of your life.

You know that a braver woman would have left her husband sooner, would have moved out, or kicked him out the moment she found out he was cheating on her. Maybe even sooner, when she realized she was unhappy in that marriage. But you aren't brave. You have always been full of self-doubts and fears. Too ashamed to crawl back to your parents and admit that you hadn't been strong enough to endure your marriage. Too scared that you would never recover from the financial loss of the divorce. Too insecure to believe you could ever make it on your own.

But now you have Sukuna. And the fall doesn't seem so high anymore. You know Sukuna will catch you in his strong arms. He won't let you crash to the ground.

In the end, you think it doesn't matter how you got out of that unhappy marriage and into this loving relationship. All that matters is that you got a second chance to learn how love is supposed to be.

And it still takes bravery to leave your husband and walk into Sukuna's arms. To close the door of your marriage and open the one that leads to the man who came into your life as an illicit affair but has become your one and only.

OH SUKUNA, I NEED YOU 😭😭💗💗 He really took one look at Reader having her breakdown in that restaurant and was like, "I will steal that woman from that loser and give her what she deserves." Thank you, Kuna baby ;)

Thank you so much if you read the whole thing! This story became much longer than I thought, but the words wouldn't stop flowing out of me because this story made me so happy. I hope it could give some of you the same feeling.

I often see posts/articles that victim-blame the women who don't have the courage to leave an unhappy marriage, so I wanted to write something where Reader isn't a strong, independent woman but someone who needs a little encouragement and lots of love from a man like Kuna before she dares make the decision to leave her husband. She deserves all the happiness!

I hope you enjoyed the story and maybe fell a little in love with this version of Sukuna, too 💗

Comments and reblogs would be very sweet.

[rainb0ws-h4t]

Another imagine before I dissapear again

Tw: slight yandere, stalking

Imagine you are a background character in the main plot of Twisted Wonderland. You hold no use in the story's progress, neither do you interact much with the main cast. You aren't aware of this at all, and continue to live your life as a regular student in Night Raven College.

Until a fascinating phenomenon happens that summons a magicless human from another world. Everyone gravitates towards them as they spend more and more time in Twisted Wonderland.

But who wouldn't be enamoured by their presence?

The magicless prefect of Ramshackle who is a denominator at every overblot? The magicless prefect of Ramshackle who melts down the walls of every stone cold housewarden (no Kalim‼️) of Night Raven? The magicless prefect of Ramshackle who fascinates and impresses you with each heroic act they do?

They're lively, strong, and dazzling.

Their name was a common topic in the bustling halls. Heck— some students even became fanboys of the infamous prefect, gushing about them during breaks like a teenage schoolgirl.

You honestly thought you'd just be another nameless student in the crowd of people vying for their attention. After all, you had no involvement in whatever plot was happening currently.

And you were fine with that.

With the shit they've gone through, you'd rather not get involved with any of the things they do daily. Plus, the people they interacted with either scared you to death or just annoying and loud students that you'd rather rip your ears off than listen to them yap.

Until, you've did something that redirected the entire plot entirely.

You strolled through the halls of NRC at an ungodly hour. You couldn't sleep, and frankly— just didn't want to be in the presence of other dorm mates sleeping.

You'd didn't expect anyone to be awake at this time. After all, a test was being held early in the morning. You were confident you could wake up in time for that though.

As you walked calmly through the silent halls, yu noticed a figure standing next to a window. You hoped it wasn't a teacher or anything. Getting caught sneaking out wouldnt look good on your record.

You opted to just sneak behind them quietly. Not like you were being loud anyway.

While you did so, you just happened to notice how familiar the figure appeared. So eerily familiar to that infamous prefect you've grown to admire so fondly...

*Thud*

FUCK.

You weren't paying attention to whre you were walking and tripped on practically nothing. The figure turned around, alarmed and frightened. The original alarmed expression now transitioned into confusion at the display of your pathetic state.

"W-who are you?"

Every living thing dies once in a lifetime,

You died two times in your lifetime.

Awkwardly, you attempted to stand up without looking even more like a moron. "Just another student... Strolling around.."

"And what are you doing here.?" They asked.

"Well,.. I didn't really feel like sleeping right now." The prefect nodded in response, they didn't seem intent on responding with anything else.

"What are you doing here?" You asked suddenly.

The prefect looked up at you at that, making eye contact. "I... Everything..." They kept opening their mouth and closing it. They looked so vulnerable and timid that you doubted that this was the prefect that assisted in every overblot.

"It's just so..." Tears streaked down their eyes.

Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around them and engulfed them in a big hug. Hoping that the warmth that you can provide would be enough to clear the tears.

"I just w-wanna go home... I dont w-wanna be here anymore." They sobbed, pulling you closer.

That night, you comforted the sobbing prefect and woke up with five minutes left to get ready for the test.

You're not sure if that's what stared it, but the prefect has been gravitating towards you a lot. They sat in the same lunch table as you, they strayed away from her friends more often (with only grim as a companion), walked to classes with you, and even invited you to their ever growing friend group.

Past you would've relished in the attention being showered on you personally by the prefect, but...

Everywhere you went with Yuu (they told you to call them that) was followed by a lingering feeling of multiple pairs of eyes that bore into your skin. You hated it. And that feeling only began to increase whenever you were alone.

There was one time that you escorted Yuu home, and they hugged you as a thanks. A loud thunder rang through the entire campus the second it occured. You slipped out of their grasp and scurried away immediately.

You forgot to mention but..

Yuu radiated a dazzling and alluring aura that everyone was attracted to. Whatever they felt towards Yuu was not your business, but those people they interact with always made it clear they wanted Yuu. It disturbed you in a way. They seemed so dazzled and the way they wanted to be in their presence 24/7 was borderline creepy and obsessive.

One thing you learned about Yuu was that they noticed it too. They were exhausted from keeping up the facade that they had on. And basically— exhausted from the guys that lurked wherever they went. They confessed that they felt disturbed by how erratic their behaviour was around them, but they were too frightened to say anything that might cause them to react suddenly.

You couldn't bring yourself to confess how you felt the same about them.

Those creepy ass leech twins with their menacing grins.

That rule-obssesed maniac that stopped you in a hallway and demanded you stay away from Yuu. (Rule 636? 352? Who even cares anymore?)

Some advanced machinery that circled the garden you were trying to rest in.

You swore you were nothing more than a side character in the story of theirs. You swore that if did get involved with Yuu, it wouldn't even have a lasting impact.

Now as Yuu gushed about how the boys seemed to have lessened their weird behaviour and began to act normal. You couldn't help but feel the curse that was placed over Yuu, was now transferred over to you.

You know you couldn't be alone from this point onward.

__

Heartslabyul Savanaclaw Octaniville Scarabia Pomefiore Ignihyde Diasmonia

[earthtooz]

lighter x gn!mechanic!reader, 1k wc lighter is down bad for reader. like. DOWN BAD, lots of cute banter, pining from both.

Whenever you visit Blazewood, the Sons of Calydon mark it as a significant day in their metaphorical calender.

You’re their precious mechanic, the one who ensures all of their bikes and engines are running smooth for any operations (read: trouble) they get themselves into. Having been long-term friends with Caesar, you make the effort of travelling from Sixth Street to the outskirts of New Eridu every few weeks. Granted, for how many times you’ve travelled between the two places, you’ve grown rather close to the tight-knit biker gang, so it's an exciting time for all.

However, the reason it’s marked down is because they know it’s a special occasion where they can all tease a certain, aloof boxer a bit more than usual.

“Y/n!” Burnice’s voice cuts through the bustling atmosphere of Cheesetopia, capturing everyone’s attention as you walk through the door of the diner.

They all wave you over the booth they sat in, Burnice and Luci shuffling over so you can sit down with them. You don’t see the way Caesar nudges Lighter as you settle down opposite him. 

“How was your trip?” Caesar asks. 

“Good, a little tired though,” your yawn is perfectly timed. “My limbs still feel stiff.” 

“Oh no! Do you need a little rest?”

“No need, I wanna get started working as soon as possible, I'm itching to tinker some engines."

The dark-haired across from you chuckles, adjusting his sunglasses to sit higher on his nose bridge. “There’s the Y/n we all know. If you need a little help, let me know, I’m happy to lend a hand.” 

The group giggles between themselves.

“Thanks, Lighter!” 

The giggles intensify when Lighter’s ears flush red at the tips. 

This is why your visits are a marked occurrence: because the rare blush and nervous appearance that overtakes his normally cool and collected character is incredibly entertaining, and watching him bumbling about around you is a hard opportunity to come by. All Lighter can do is admit defeat and be susceptible to all the teasing that’s sent his way, because he might as well accept it.

He’ll turn a blind eye to the blonde heads popping around the garage every so often as he helps you out in the garage as long as it means they leave the both of you alone. He’ll ignore the giggles of the girls as they listen in on the quiet conversation exchanged between you both in the dim lighting of the dreary space.

“Any biker gang fights happen recently?” You ask whilst observing the rear wheel.

“Nah,” Lighter grunts, “just a few challenges here and there.”

You extend your hand out to him. “Spanner, please.” He places the tool comfortably in your hands and you resume working. “A few challenges? Did you win?”

“‘course. Wouldn’t be a good champion if I lost.”

“Sounds easy in theory,” you murmur, peeking around the bike. “I bet you don’t even know the names of the gangs you won against.”

His silence is the only answer you need and you sneak a smug glance at him. You look away before you could notice the red blush creeping up his neck. “So what if I don’t? I won against them, ain’t that all that matters?”

“Sure. Guess your memory gets knocked out of you after a couple fights.” You giggle at your own joke.

“C'mon, quit teasin’ me.”

“Sorry, just can’t help it when it took you almost five months to remember my name.” It’s light-hearted, he can hear the smile in your voice. 

“Gosh, you just don’t know how to let things go,” he counters, a smile of his own developing.

“Nah, it’s just fun to tease you.” Then, you stand up with a grunt, looking at your handiwork closely one last time before making your way to your workbench. “Besides, it’s not everyday I get to interact with a cool guy like you.”

Lighter’s heart skips a beat in his chest before jumping against his ribcage. “You think I’m cool?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” You ask. “You’re the cool guy who cares about everyone, and that’s a good thing. I like that about you.”

Oh, you’re gonna kill him. He’s not gonna make it out of the garage if you continue this onslaught of compliments. He doesn’t really want you to stop either, wants you to say something that really shows how you feel about him, like how you think he’s handsome, or that he’s admirable, or better yet, that you like him as well.

‘I like that about you’, ‘I like … you’, yeah. That’s also good enough for now. 

Instead, you fall silent as you rearrange all your tools, locking the box that cuts through the tense atmosphere with a ‘click’. 

“Well, I’m beat,” you huff, stretching your arms over your head, “my back hurts and I’m hungry.” 

“You’ve been working real hard, let me treat you to dinner.”

“Really?” 

“Really.” 

A few minutes later, you end up at the Fuel Truck, enjoying some food together and continuing your conversation in the cool, breezy night of Blazewood. It’s easy being with you, effortless, doesn’t really burn through his energy like some other social interactions do, and Lighter can’t help but feel like this is how it’s meant to be. Sharing stories, talking about the important and mundane alike, he doesn’t know when you became more than the cute mechanic Caesar was good friends with, but he’s glad he finally got your name down on the sixth time of trying. 

He tucks a strand of stray hair away from your face before you can get it in your mouth, and the grin you give him almost paralyses him. 

Plates are emptied, drinks finished, and dessert is done, but you’re still talking into the late of the night, until the employees need to wipe down the bar and call it a day. All good things come to an end, and Lighter wishes you could stay with the Sons of Calydon for longer than just a few days, but you have your own business in Sixth Street, so he monopolises your time whenever he can.

Which is how he ends up walking you to your motel, letting the long day draw to a close.

“Thank you for dinner, Lighter, today was fun.”

He chuckles, the sound deep and full. “No problem, it’s my pleasure.”

“Come back tomorrow, yeah? Swing by the garage anytime you want.”

“Anytime?” The biker rubs his chin. “Careful with your generosity, I might end up annoying you.”

“I doubt it.”

“And if I overstay my welcome?” 

“Then apologise by keeping me company.”

You shoot him a wink before going up the stairs of the motel, quickly disappearing from his sight as he laughs to no one in particular. He lightly punches his chest, as if trying to tell his hammering heart to calm down. 

Yeah. You really are trying to kill him. 

© EARTHTOOZ 2025, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[natlovesls2]

Never Really Over

Lando Norris x Sainz! Reader

*ੈ✩‧₊˚warnings: 18+ MDNI, one bed trope/ forced proximity but barely, slight fake dating, alcohol mentioned/ used, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, small amounts of angst, minimal swearing, talks of marriage and children, please let me know if I missed any

*ੈ✩‧₊˚word count: 3.8k

*ੈ✩‧₊˚summary: You and Lando had broken up though decided it was best that no one knew. Max and Kelly's wedding forces you to come together, making it hard to disguise your true feelings. What can possibly go wrong?

.ೃ࿐request: found here

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚

It was difficult being an open book while simultaneously attempting to hide your break up from not only your brother, but anyone who had been invested in seeing the relationship prosper. More often than not you found yourself having to make up answers to questions pertaining to the subject or switch the topic all together. And even if the news of the breakup did somehow come out, you weren’t sure how you’d explain the situation that led to it. The memories of that night were hazy to say the least. 

You could faintly remember the fuzzy feeling of alcohol and the buzz of music around you that night. There was no doubt that you had been out at some party or club, as you often found yourself at one. Though everything beyond that felt like a badly painted watercolor portrait; the colors, or events in this case, bleeding together into a cruel image of that night. 

“What are you saying?” he asked, voice cracking as he searched your face for an answer. The words coming from your mouth slurred but determined. 

“I’m not an idiot, Lando. What else would you be doing when you go out to celebrate your wins for races I didn't attend?”

“You think I’m cheating on you? This is what this whole thing is about?” his voice raised with slight anger. 

“Yeah,” you raised your voice back at him. You wanted to blame the sudden burst of jealousy completely on the alcohol, but you knew that would be a lie, there had always been an insecure pit in your stomach that had only been growing since you began dating. “You’re an attractive, famous athlete. It would be weird if you weren’t.”

“What's the point of being in a relationship if you can’t trust me?”

“The door is wide open, Lando. No one is holding you here by force,” you hadn’t meant those words, but they couldn’t be taken back. 

“Is that what you want? You want to break up?” you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, let alone answer his question. “Fine,” he whispered, running a hand over his face, pacing around the hotel room, “Alright.”

The only memory that seemed to feel concrete and not muddled by all the drinks of the night prior, was the moment you woke up the following day. The sloppily written note on a receipt from some club letting you know that he had left per your request. And even though he didn’t explicitly say things were over, it wasn’t difficult to understand what the note was implying. Beside the fact that you two no longer interacted as a couple, everything else seemed normal, especially to those who didn’t pry beyond surface level. It was for good reason that you two did this; Carlos would have taken your side regardless of the situation, and you didn’t want to be the root cause of a possible falling out. Maybe that's why you didn’t blame Max and Kelly when they told you that you would be sharing a room with Lando for their wedding. 

You had somehow arrived before Lando, taking that time to unpack and mentally prepare to be in such an intimate space with him after such a long time apart. Things were definitely going to be awkward; you were certain you would have to tell everyone the truth about the status of your relationship. It was becoming increasingly clear to you that lying to everyone hadn’t been the best idea. But telling the truth now, when it had been months of lying, was certain to dampen the vibe of the next few days and put a rift between everyone involved. So as Lando walked into the room you couldn't stop yourself from blurting out your disapproval. 

“We can’t possibly tell them the truth– it would ruin everything, and I refuse to ruin Max and Kelly’s wedding week.” 

He stared blankly at you, shutting the door and placing his suitcase beside it, “Jesus, could you give a man a few seconds. I’ve just barely walked through the door.” You ran a nervous hand through your hair, pacing across the expanse of the room. How could he look so calm about this, you envied how well he played things off. No matter how much things truly affected him, he always had to have an obnoxious nonchalant air to him. “You’re making me dizzy,” he let out a slight chuckle that made your eye twitch.

“I’m sorry for being the only one concerned over this, Lando.” 

“More like paranoid. Relax, there's nothing to be concerned about,” he said with a light shrug, throwing himself onto the only bed. It stuck out like a sore thumb, a reminder of how difficult it would be to ignore him over the next couple of days. 

“What are we going to do about that?” you asked, nodding towards the bed a tense expression plastered on your usually calm face. 

“We’re adults, sharing a bed isn’t a big deal, right?”

“Not a big deal at all,” you agreed, letting out a shaky breath attempting to calm your nerves. He nodded, giving you an awkward smile– the only sign of the emotions he was hiding behind his mask. For a moment you were sure he was just as concerned as you were, if not more.

ʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ ♡ ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ

Rehearsal dinners, a momentous event for any wedding. Sure, the actual wedding ceremony and reception are consequential, but the rehearsal dinner sets the tone for those two. Landos presence alone hand you high strung, now add the high stake of this fake commitment you both had. The clamminess of your hands increased tenfold as you sat beside him, occasionally giving a small smile as Lando conversed with those around you. The conversations around you seemed to fade as you focused on the napkin in front of you. Its stark whiteness against the deep colors of the tableware around it making it stand out. It almost felt like the napkin was taunting you, as if saying, “You’re not fooling anyone, you two stand out as much as I do in this sea of real couples.”

“Are you okay?” Carlos asks you from across the table, face etched into a mix of concern and suspicion. Your silence throughout this whole ordeal becoming a clear indicator that something was wrong. 

“Hm?”

“I asked if you're okay,” he repeated, eyes glancing between you and Lando. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you responded with a shaky smile. 

Carlos' eyes narrowed at you, clearly not buying your answer, he seemed to want to say more but hesitated. Lando quickly intercepted the conversation moving on to a topic he could easily control. 

“How much do you want to bet that Max will cry tomorrow?” Lando asked, a playful smirk making its way onto his face, “I say he starts crying as soon as he gets ready for the ceremony.” 

“I bet you’ll cry more at your wedding,” Carlos says smiling at you and Lando, it's clear he's fond of the idea of a wedding between his sister and close friend. 

“Yeah, probably, but we have a few more years until we even start worrying about that,” Lando placed a hand behind your chair, his fingers gently grazing the exposed skin of your back. 

“You didn’t deny the idea of a wedding, does that mean you plan to marry my sister?”

“Let's slow down, mate. I'm not going to deny or admit anything,” Lando let out a laugh, tracing soft shapes onto your shoulder. For once his words and actions didn’t feel forced, as if this were second nature to him. It was almost impossible to tell if he was being truthful in his response or if it was all part of the act. You stared at the half empty glass of wine in front of you, hands moving on their own accord to bring the glass to your lips allowing you to nearly down it all in one go. You were going to need a lot more to drink if you were going to sell the act.

Maybe you had underestimated how much you had to drink or perhaps everything was becoming too hard to control. You felt Landos arm wrap around your waist as he guided you back to your shared room, whispering about something you had done though you didn’t catch what he said and you could hardly remember the rest of the dinner. 

“You’re a lightweight,” Lando sighed as he sat you at the edge of the bed, kneeling down to unstrap your heels. His touch against your bare ankle felt nothing short of electric, something so intense and mind numbing. 

“I’ve missed you,” you drunkenly admit, running your foot against his chest. 

His grip on your ankle tightens in an attempt to hinder your movement, “hm,” he hums out as a response, impulsively lifting your leg up to press a small kiss to the inside of your ankle. The familiar pressure of his lips against your skin erupts your skin in goosebumps. 

“We’re more in love than ever before,” you say, giving Lando one of the most sincere smiles he's seen from you in a while, his grip on your shoulder tightening slightly as you talked to Kelly, “Right, Lando?”

“Absolutely madly in love,” he says, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek. He hadn't expected you to move and plant your lips against his in a sloppy drunk kiss, drawing laughs from those around you. 

His lips continue to travel up your calf, his eyes trained on your face to catch any glimpse of change in your expression. He pushes you down against the bed, hovering over you, “You’re drunk,” he lets out a sigh, resting his head in the crook of our neck. 

“And?”

“We shouldn’t do this while you're drunk– I refuse to do this while you're drunk,” Lando whispers, unsure if he's trying to convince you or himself, “I don’t want you to regret this when you're sober, and it's just wrong.”

You grab his face, pulling him away from his hiding spot in your neck. You stare at him for a while before bringing his face closer to your own, gently meeting your lips in a surprisingly fluid kiss. 

Lando quickly pulls away, standing from his spot on top of you, “No, not while you’re… like that,” he rubs a hand on his face, gesturing frustratedly at you. He grabs a pillow and a sheet from the bed, laying on the decently sized couch in the room deciding it would be better to sleep away from you– considering the state you were in. 

The blinding light coming from the window awoke you the following morning, your pulsating headache the only reminder of the night before. Lando was already awake, still laying on the couch typing away on his phone. He seemed to feel your gaze on him, “How are you feeling?” he asked, sitting up to get a better look at you, his voice filled with slight concern.

“I’ve felt better, can’t remember shit,” you admit, placing a hand on your forehead as if it would do anything to calm the pulsing headache. 

“That's probably for the better,” he stares at you longingly, it's clear that he does remember whatever happened at the rehearsal dinner and your shared room, “we should begin getting ready, we can’t be late to Max and Kellys big day.” You wanted to press him for answers, force him to reveal the source of his distant attitude, but decided against it. Things couldn’t get more tense between you, especially not tonight.

ʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ ♡ ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ

The wedding ceremony had been beautiful, Max had indeed cried almost as soon as Kelly began to make her way towards him. And even now as they sat together at the wedding reception you could catch the hint of a happy tear poke its way out of his eyes. 

You felt Landos hand slip around your waist, pulling you closer to his side. He had remained by your side since the wedding ceremony, refusing to leave you for even a second. His actions felt less forced than they had previously felt. And as he leaned in to whisper something in your ear bits and pieces of the day prior began to escape the floodgates of your mind. 

You let out a small giggle as Lando whispered into your ear, “stop it, you’re not acting like yourself. They’ll catch on,” his breath tickling you. 

“I just love you so much,” you whispered back, placing a kiss to the corner of his lips, giggling to yourself like a child. You’d never been big on PDA but in your drunken state you couldn’t seem to keep your hands and lips off of Lando. 

“You too are adorable, as in love as when you first started dating– perhaps even more in love,” Alexandra said from beside Charles, smiling between you and Lando. 

“Our love has definitely grown. We’re going to get married and have kids,” you leaned into Landos touch, your smile widening at Alexandra's words. 

“Okay, you've had way too much to drink– I think it's time to go to bed. We’ll see you guys tomorrow,” Lando announced to the table, shaking his head with a nervous laugh. 

“Oh we’re sure you're gonna go to bed,” Daniel teased, causing the table to erupt in laughter.

“Hey, you okay?” Lando asked, concern written all over his face, his eyes dancing across your face. 

“Yeah.”

“You spaced out, didn’t even react to what I said.”

“What did you say?” you asked, finally snapping out of the memory of the night prior. 

He stared at you, his face still overtaken with concern, “I said, we sold the lie pretty good…” he whispered. If you didn’t know better you'd think he was upset, upset that it was all a show. For a moment he frowned, quickly smiling again, “Lets go dance,” he grabbed your hand, dragging you to the dance floor. 

Lando placed his hands on your hips, pulling you close to him, moving you both to the rhythm of the song. He smiled tenderly at you, and everything began to blur into a confusing mess. You weren’t sure what was real and what was a lie fabricated to convince everyone that you were still madly in love. He played the role of loving boyfriend so well that you were beginning to fall for the charade too, you were starting to believe that he still loved you and had never stopped. 

Your head found its way to his chest, resting there as if it were its official home. The both of you continued to silently sway to the music. The world around you seemed to disappear, almost as if you were the only ones that mattered at that moment. It was confusing how you felt so connected to him yet so far.

 Lando rested his shin atop your head for a moment. He straightened out his back, bringing your dancing to a halt, hand reaching to grasp your chin so that you were staring at him. “Please tell me you’re not faking it,” he whispered, his eyes desperately searching yours, “tell you still love me. That you’ve meant every fleeting touch, every stolen glance, every kiss you’ve given me this weekend… please.”

You weren't sure if it was the alcohol or his words that made the room around you spin, forcing you to grasp onto the jacket of his suit to stabilize yourself. The music you were dancing to just a moment ago now a murmured buzz in your ear. You wanted to be truthful, to admit that you had never stopped loving him and possibly never would. The look of desperation on his face urging you to confess your soul to him. “Of course I love you” you finally said aloud for the first time in months, relief instantly flooding his face. 

Lando cupped your cheek, gently caressing it, a genuine smile spreading across his face. Neither of you had been faking anything, that much was clear as his lips found their place on top of your own. It was gentle, not rushed but relaxed, as if you had until the end of times to relish in each other's presence. He pulled away after a while, letting your lips hover– barely touching, breathing in each other's shaky breaths. “Do you think they’d notice if we left?” he asked, looking around the reception.

“No, everyone is focused on Max and Kelly.”

“Good,” he said, slightly out of breath as he led you towards the exit. You silently thanked Max and Kelly for choosing to have their wedding close to where you were all staying. 

It didn't take you long to get back to your room, instantly finding each other in a heated kiss. Bodies pressing against one another as you desperately tried to get closer, almost as if you wanted to become one. 

“Take this off,” Lando mumbled against your neck as he pulled at the zipper of your dress in a pitiful attempt to help you get undressed. You let the fabric pool on the floor, kicking off your heels, leaving you exposed to his hunger filled eyes. 

“It's not fair that I’m completely naked you’re not,” you complained as he guided you towards the bed, gently pushing you onto it when the back of your knees hit the edge. 

He tossed his suit jacket aside, his fingers attempting to quickly and smoothly unbutton his shirt, “better?” he asked as he was left shirtless. 

You sat up for a moment, your hands working to rid him of his trousers, smiling and resting back on the bed when you finally succeeded, “Much better.”

Lando pressed himself against you, placing kisses down your neck, “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, your hands tangling themselves into his hair as you pulled him up for a kiss. It was much more rushed than the previous kisses had been, his teeth clashing against your own, your tongues pressing against one another. His hands ran up and down the expanse of your body before finding their new home atop your breasts, each one kneading at them. 

You wrapped your hand around his wrist, pulling his hand down towards your pussy, gasping at his thumb rubbed against your clit. He pulled away from your lips, leaving you out of breath, kissing down your body. "Please,” you whispered as he positioned himself between your legs, pressing soft kisses to your thighs. Running his tongue up your slit, wrapping his lips on to your sensitive nub. Lando continued to switch between lapping at your cunt and sucking at your clit– teasing your entrance with his middle finger, slowly pushing it in. Encouraged by your moans and the wet squelching sound coming from between your thighs, he sped up his actions, swallowing at you like a starved man. You pushed against his head, back arching off the bed as your first orgasm of the night washed over you. 

Lando pulled away, smiling up at you, “still know how to get you off,” he said smugly, pressing a quick kiss to your thigh.

“Just shut up and fuck me,” you urged him, pulling him back up, pressing a kiss to his lips. 

“But teasing you is so fun.”

You rolled your eyes, wrapping your legs around him, quickly switching your position so that you were on top of him. “Don’t make me regret this,” you spat on your hand, taking his hard cock in your hand giving it a teasing jerk. 

“Please don’t” he grunted, your finger running against his slit. Your brows drawn together in concentration as you lined him up to your entrance, letting out a shaky breath as sank down onto him. You took a moment to adjust to having him inside you, resting your hand against his chest to steady yourself as you lifted your hips and brought them back down. You let out a shaky breath as you began to ride him, guiding his hands up to your breasts and they bounced with your movement. You had forgotten how full it felt to have him within you– clenching around his cock as he sucked at one of your breasts, rolling the other nipple between his fingers. 

Your pace faltered as you lost yourself in the pleasure, letting out loud gasps as Lando began to thrust up to meet your movements. He wrapped his hand around your hips, bringing them down harder to meet his thrusts. Landos pace increased as your nails dug into his chest, rhythm becoming sloppy as he felt his orgasm approach. “I should probably pull out,” he rasped but made no attempt to do so. 

“It's okay, I'm on birth control,” you breathed out. 

“Shit,” he stilled your movements, spilling inside of you, his fingers finding their way back to your clit in an attempt to pull another orgasm from you. Your head fell into the crook of his neck as you came for a second time. The room around you spinning slightly as you attempted to catch your breath. 

“Do you think they’ve noticed we’re gone?” he asked breathlessly, voice still shaky. 

“Definitely.”

“Should we go back?”

“No,” you respond, lifting yourself off of Lando to lay beside him. You had no desire to redress and mingle at the reception after what had happened. You couldn't trust your feet to carry you for the rest of the night, especially when you still felt the dizzying effects of sex.

ʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ ♡ ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ

They had noticed your absence, and they teased you relentlessly about it the few days after the wedding. You had reconciled with Lando, your relationship going back to the way it was before the stupid argument. And with that reconciliation came the confession, in which you confessed to everyone that you had briefly broken up. Although the break up had been entirely your fault, upon hearing the confession Carlos glared at Lando– muttering not so empty threats to him about not hurting you. You were certain he would have strangled Lando if you hadn’t reconciled. 

You smiled up at Lando as you lounged in the living room, resting your head back onto his chest. He placed a lingering kiss on the stop of your head, wrapping his arms around you. This had been your reality since Max and Kellys wedding, pure bliss. You couldn’t experience and explore for one another every waking moment. 

“I could stay like this forever,” Lando whispered into your hair, his grip around you tightening as if he were scared to lose you again. Or as if he thought this were a dream and you'd vanish at any moment with the simple sound of an alarm. But you were real and you weren’t going to lose one another again, you wouldn't allow that. 

“Me too,” you whispered back, “I love you.”

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚

*ੈ✩‧₊˚Note: feel free to request something, Beware: I am slow at posting and have a lot of drafts that are yet to be posted. I'm like running on 4 hours of sleep and celsius, so I apologize for the grammar and spelling mistakes. I didn't do this request justice but I tried (I swear)

[cherry-leclerc]

lust ☆ fc43

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

word count: 16.6k

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

nsfw warning under the cut!

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you serious?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Buzz! Buzz!

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

“Looks like it just did.”

-

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

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

You laugh. “How so?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instantly connecting his gaze—with you.

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

Especially with how fast your heart is beating.

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

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

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

-

Franco Colapinto is one of a kind.

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

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

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

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

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

He just loved the attention.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh God, he’s coming.”

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

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

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

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

“Hi, I’m Franco—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Franco ignores the dig. He ignores the murmurs. 

But he doesn't ignore you.

“What about you?”

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

A firm nod. I do.

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

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

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

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

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

A wince. “Lissie, I—”

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

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

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

And dear God—were there signs.

-

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

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

Why?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Spanish lessons.”

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

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

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

“I can teach you.”

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

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

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

He was being completely serious.

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

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

“But—”

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

Blinking, you look up.. “Uh what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

“Just…grabbing coffee.”

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

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

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

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

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

“That's not true,” you mumble weakly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now there was a winner amongst them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that someone was sweet ‘ol Elisabella.

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

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

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

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

He was supposed to have you by now.

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

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

And I’m all in.

-

“What did you say to her?”

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

“To who?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I already told you, nothi—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

Your lessons start right away.

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

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

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

“Color,” he says, helping you out.

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

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

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

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

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

You shouldn’t be doing that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink. “I suppose it is, yeah…”

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

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

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

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

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

He can pretend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chosen someone you just met—over her.

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

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

“I am not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re right.”

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

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

“There’s nothing wrong with being—”

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

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

“Want what?” you ask curiously. 

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Prizes?” 

Franco nods. “An award? A reward? A—”

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

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

“Her?” you echo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Better.”

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

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

You freeze.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

-

“Hey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And there it was.

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

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

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

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

Similar to Lissie’s.

“Don’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You freeze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which it was.

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

“You’re just saying this…”

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

You blink.

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

Of course you do. 

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

“Why did you lie to me, Franco?”

Okay. So you definitely know something. 

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

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

You say nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Exactly.”

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

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

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

And that’s all thanks to Franco.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His jaw goes slack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More guilt. “I haven’t…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And would you look at that? 

You’re in love.

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

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

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

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

“Say something else,” he encourages.

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

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

“Wha—” 

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

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

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

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

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

It was Lissie’s.

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

Of course no one would believe her.

And you?

You’d probably regret it all.

And he doesn’t even care.

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

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

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

This is what a virgin tastes like.

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

You flinch—hard. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Newsflash—you don’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s not talking about you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your smile expands. “Te amo.”

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

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

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

“You don’t know what you're saying.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now—now he’s done.

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

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

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

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

Silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t say anything.

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

He doesn't say anything.

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

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

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

He feels guilty.

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

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

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

So then why—why does this hurt him?

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

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

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

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

All you do is change.

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

-

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

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

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

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

“I know I was.”

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

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

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

Okay, you deserve this.

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

Or three.

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

And by some miracle, she stays.

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

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

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

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

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

Logan snickers. “True.”

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

“Right,” they chorus.

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

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

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

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

“No one—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There's nothing to say.”

“Oh, so it was physical?”

“I will kick you.”

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

As if he never even happened. 

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

A rude flinch, then: “I did.”

“But you regret it?”

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

A beat.

“I told you so.”

You glare. “Seriously?”

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

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

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

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

She freezes. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I feel bad for lying to her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Lissie? Lissie’s not that far behind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hold on a minute—am I right?” 

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

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

Who’s fucking keeping score anymore?

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

Franco freezes. “What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blue eyes connect with brown ones.

She smiles, a childlike dimple popping innocently.

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

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting @chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire @alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious @notkaryna @wanderingreigns @aykxz98 @ruti26-11 @esposamultifandom @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @r0nnsblog @aeriblu @inchidentofftrack @natashaklein @rutaceae-gelato @bowielovesyou @lilypat @folklaur21 @dustie-faerie @ajordan2020 @oscobabe @briefkittenearthquake @anayaverse @cassielikereading @satorinnie @ginsengi @n3versatisfied @koalalafications @ashley-k @mxm47max @jaejer-chan @oddends @sweetwh0re @fortunapre

[dcxdpdabbles]

John Constantine doesn't usually like to get involve with beings from the Infinite Realms. They are too chaotic to predict most of the time, makes it harder to trick them. But there is one contact Constantine has and that is Ember. Constantine knew Ember as a human, when he was in his punk rock band Mucous Membrane. They had some good memories together before both their lives went to shit. The only thing Ember asks in return for her help is that Constantine has to play a set with her. No one in the JL or JLD know about this until Constantine has to pull out his Ember card.

"I know someone who can help." John's voice rises over the chatter of multiple conversations, effectively silencing everyone. As one, the group of volunteer defenders- not heroes, John refuses to label this lot as heroic when most of them agree with the crazy shit the governments around the world get away with- turn to stare at him.

He smiles lazily, uncaring of the hundred pairs of eyes that run over his body. A few of the costume-wearing vigilantes grimace when they catch sight of who's spoken, but John recognizes that some of the lingering looks are appreciative, so he peens just a little.

He's a handsome one, he knows, but it's nice to be reminded.

"You know someone who can help?" Zatanna repeat though her words are edged with doubt. It would have been hurtful, but they were in the middle of an "off" of their on-and-off relationship, so it's no surprise. "Someone who could help stop a black hole from sucking in the earth?"

"It's not really a black hole, is it?" He counters, waving his hand at the screen, which is still flashing red and displays the word 'Emergency' across it. The three speesters —Barry, Wally, and Bart —were running around it, attempting to slow down the formation with their own vacuum, but they wouldn't be able to keep it up forever. "More of a portal made of dark matter that some loony scientist ripped open because his wife left him, isn't it?"

"No." Hal breathes heavily, looking utterly horrified from behind his mask. "That's not how dark matter works-"

"Yeah, so we need someone dead enough they can go in and stabilize it, but alive enough that they can use Batman's machine, yeah?" John cuts off the pilot. He's not in the mood to listen to a sky bus driver re-explain everything that Batman just said (though to be honest, John did tone him out). "I know a ghost who can help."

"A ghost," Bruce repeats, his voice steady. That's what he always liked about the detective. No matter what came out of John's mouth, the man always took it in stride and somehow managed to look in control and steady.

That made him so fit that John often fantasizes about breaking Bruce's careful control. He sends the man a flirty little grin, but Bruce doesn't so much as blink. "I thought ghosts weren't able to interact with the physical world."

"They're not usually able to." Zatanna scowls, looking upset. She crosses her arms, sending John a narrow eye and an accusatory glare. He thinks it's unwarranted since she was the one who asked for their relationship to end. He's allowed to flirt with Bruce, come on, it's Batman. "Not unless that ghost has a contact with a living or found some place so drenched in ectoplasm it may as well be on the other side."

"What kind of contract?" Clark questions. John wiggles his eyebrows back at the Kypotian suggestively and has to bite back a grin at the blush that rises on the man's cheeks.

What an innocent little farm boy.

"The sexy kind," John declares smugly, just to make Clark flush darker. It's hilarious when he succeeds. " I'm joking! Ha, no, it's more like a favor between two friends. Ember and I go way back. I knew her in life-"

"That's dangerous!" Zatanna snaps seemingly at her wits' end. "You shouldn't be messing with spirits you knew in life. They tend to get corrupted!"

"Meh, Ember has always been corrupted," John shrugs, not caring that his ex's eyes go wide with horror. "We grew up together. We were even the original members of our own band before her Pa got a new job in America, and he moved the whole family across the pond. She got bullied bad by the stupid rich kids over here until a fire took her life. Her soul came back home to jolly old England, not even an hour after her death. I found her drumming on her guitar in our old hideaway, glowing and flouting. It's actually how I found out I had magic. Anyway, Ember made a pact to always be my friend before she flew into the sunset- and I mean that literally, a natural portal opened up into the Realms. She sent postcards."

"She can help?" Bruce cuts in, obviously trying to get John back on track. At the magic user's nod, the man seems to settle, uncoiling his muscles. It's gratifying that someone on Batman's level trusts John's expertise so much. Say what you will, but Bruce never doubts his comrades' abilities. "Good. Call her."

John grins, pressing his hand against his mouth and blowing out a kiss. "Ladies, Gents and Gits, are you ready to rock!?"

A woman's voice screams back, "Yeah!" causing a few people to jump

"I can't hear you!"

"Yeah!"

"I'm Johnny Con-Job on mic and this fine piece of arse is Ember! Listen to those strings~!" John screams, mimicking a mic while a fast past air guitar riff rips through the air. The noise is coming from everywhere and nowhere, leaving the many volunteer defenders to twist and turn, trying to pinpoint its origin.

Ember burst into the scene, her flaming hair whipping around her whole body as her means of travel before shrinking back onto her head. She's playing fast, angry, and grinning like a devil.

Someone in the crowd lets out a loud scream of joy, "Oh my god, it's Ember McLain!"

John's lips twitch with amusement but he's too busy singing the familiar words that they once wrote together while hiding out from his shitty father and her shitty mother. Both were just a couple of troubled teens no one thought would amount to anything, so they had to believe in themselves and each other back then.

He remembers thinking he would one day marry this girl. Life wasn't fair to those troubled like them.

Once their song ends, Ember lets out a whoop, flouncing down to John's level and punching him in the arm. He grins at her, trying not to notice how she looks exactly the same as she did sixteen years ago when the fire took her and he aged on without her.

"You git! How's it going?!" She laughs, punching him again. Ember's hair is a healthy flame, reaching to the middle of her back, which suggests she has likely enchanted a few humans lately. He's glad. She needs all the stabilization she can get. Her eyes roam his face before snorting "You're old as shit now."

"I'm thirty-two," He scoffs mockingly offended

"Wow, twice my age...." His words trail off as a familiar loneness sinks into her expression, and he wants to kick himself. Right, they were the same age once upon a time. Her face clears up long enough for her to smirk, "I bet your knees hurt from watching other people jump."

John gasps for real this time, but he doesn't have a chance to rebut because Bruce steps up, explaining what was happening to the superstar.

Ember gives him her full attention, nodding along to the plan. She's going to help because she knows the request is coming from John when he summoned her.

"You know Ember McLain!?" Someone hisses into his ear. He turns to the person fully prepared to gloat that, yeah, he knows the rock/pop star that was sweeping the nation, only to gape at the sight of Diana-Wonder Woman for Pete's sake- a starstruck gaze.

For a moment, his tongue doesn't work as Diana grips his upper arm. "My sisters and I used to listen to her music on repeat back home. Do you suppose you can get me an autograph for them?"

John doesn't know how to say no to Wonder Woman, so he finds himself asking his childhood friend, who is preparing to go into a portal made of science, if she can sign five hundred or so cards for free. She squints at him but shrugs. "Only if you can beat up Phantom for me."

"I told you, I'm not going to fight a child, Em."

"Even though he deserves it?!"

[matchlatt]

OPPOSITE ATTRACT (SECRETLY OF COURSE)

synopsis — you and bakugo’s personality are the total opposite and no one would expect you guys to ever be friends until…

word count — 1.1k

a/n — BAKUGO IS SO FINE LIKE I WAS DYING WRITING THIS. I LOVE HIM SM LIKECJEJFJJS. anyways

The common room of Class 1-A was filled with energy, as it often was after a long day of classes. The girls had claimed one corner of the room, lounging on the couches and chatting away as they were talking about boys and their types.

“I think Kirishima is cute,” Mina mused, swinging her legs over the couch armrest. “He’s got that golden retriever personality, you know?”

“He’s definitely charming,” Hagakure giggled.

Ochacco tilted her head. “What about you y/n? Any crushes?”

y/n, the kind-hearted sweetheart of the class, smiled softly. “I don’t really know.. I guess I like someone strong but caring deep down.”

Asui blinked. “Ribbit. That’s a pretty broad answer.”

Before y/n could elaborate, the boy’s voices echoed from the other side of the living room. They were being their usual loud selves, Kirishima, Kaminari, Tokoyami, and of course, Bakugo.

Kirishima heard the girl’s conversation before suddenly turned to Bakugo with a sly grin. “Hey, Bakugo, what’s your type?”

The room fell silent. Everyone knew Bakugo was not the type to entertain such conversations, which is exactly who Kirishima had asked, just to get a rise out of him.

“Oi! What kinda dumbass question is that!?” Bakugo’s voice immediately exploded through the air.

Kaminari snickered. “C’mon, man, we’re just curious.”

“Tch. As if I’d waste my time thinking about crap like that,” Bakugo scoffed, folding his arms, His face had taken on the slightest tinge of red, but he masked it with an aggressive scowl.

From the girls’ corner, y/n giggled. She wasn’t even trying to hide it. Bakugo’s annoyed reactions was just too funny.

That did not go unnoticed. Bakugo’s crimson eyes snapped to her, narrowing suspiciously.

“The hell are you laughing at?” he growled.

y/n shocked her head, still smiling. “Nothing, nothing!”

But the damage had already been done. Mina and Kirishima immediately locked eyes with each other, their expressions screaming, suspicious.

-

Later that night, Mina and Kirishima crouched behind the corner of the hallway, whispering excitedly.

“Okay, tell me you saw that,” Mina said. “y/n laughed at Bakugo’s reaction. That’s weird.”

Kirishima grinned. “And Bakugo actually reacted to her. That’s even weirder.”

They had been low-key theorizing about Bakugo and y/n for weeks. Sure, they never interacted much in public, but there was something off about how Bakugo didn’t seem to direct his usual rage at y/n. And that giggle? That was their confirmation.

So, when they saw y/n quietly slipping out of her dorm room and tiptoeing toward Bakugo’s, they had to investigate.

“Okay, let’s wait a few minutes, then bam! We barge in,” Mina whispered.

Kirishima nodded. “If we die, it was an honor.”

Mina smirked. “We’re heroes in training, we’ll be fine.”

-

The Class 1-A dorms had settled into a quiet hum for the night. Most of the students were relaxing in their rooms, some playing games, other studying, and a few, like Mina and Kirishima, engaging in questionable activities.

y/n on the other hand, had other plans.

She tiptoed down the hallway, hand gripping the hem of her hoodie as she scanned the area. The last thing she needed was for someone to see her sneaking in his room. Though, knowing her luck, someone — Mina and Kirishima most likely was already watching.

Reaching Bakugo’s door, she raised a delicate fist and knocked twice. No answer. Not unusual.

Rolling her eyes with a soft smile, she carefully turned the knob, it was never locked for her. The door creaked open just enough for her to slip inside before closing it behind her.

The moment she entered, the atmosphere shifted.

Katsuki Bakugo lay sprawled across his bed, one arm lazily tucked behind his head while the other draped over his stomach. His ash-blond hair was messier than usual, and his uniform jacket was discarded on his desk chair, leaving him in his black t-shirt and black sweats.

At the sound of the door shutting, his crimson eyes lazily flickered open.

“You took forever,” he grumbled.

Y/N let out a breathy laugh, walking over to his bed. “You didn’t even answer the door.”

“Didn’t feel like moving.”

She shook her head fondly before settling onto the bed beside him. The second she did, Bakugo wasted no time. With a low grunt, he shifted closer, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her down onto the mattress with him.

“You’re clingy tonight,” Y/N mused, her fingers instinctively threading through his messy hair.

He only grumbled, nuzzling into the warmth of her shoulder. “Tch. Shut up.”

She giggled, the vibration of her laughter making him hum in satisfaction. They stayed like that for a while. Bakugo was completely relaxed, his breathing steady, his grip firm but comforting. This was a side of him no one else saw.

During school hours, he acted as if she barely existed. But in moments like these, when it was just the two of them, he couldn’t keep his hands off her.

“You laughed at me today,” he muttered suddenly, voice muffled against her hoodie.

Y/N blinked, then smiled. “Because you were funny.”

He huffed, pulling her even closer. “Dumbass.”

She rolled her eyes playfully but made no move to push him away. She liked this side of him, this soft, vulnerable, needy side. And no matter how gruff he tried to sound, she could hear the underlying plea in his voice when he mumbled.

“Shut up and stay here.”

Y/N hummed, running her fingers soothingly along his scalp. “I wasn’t going anywhere.”

It was peaceful. Too peaceful.

-

Outside the door, Mina and Kirishima crouched low, exchanging glances at each other with excitement.

“Okay,” Mina whispered. “This confirms it.”

Kirishima nodded. “They have to be dating.”

“Or at least something.” Mina’s grin widened. “Now, we need proof.”

The two waited a few more moments, letting the suspense build. Then

BAM!

The door slammed open.

“OH. MY. GOD,” Mina screeched, her phone already raised.

Click! Click!

Kirishima doubled over in wheezing laughter. “DUDE! YOU’RE SO CLINGY!”

Bakugo shot up immediately, his entire face exploding into a furious shade of red.

“YOU DAMN EXTRAS!!!”

Mina howled with laughter, waving her phone like a trophy. “I GOT PICTURES! THIS IS GOLD!”

“DELETE THEM, YOU PINK HAIRED GREMLIN!” Bakugo roared, lunging off the bed.

Mina screamed, scrambling out of the room at lightning speed, Kirishima hot on her heels.

“RUN, RUN, RUN!” Kirishima yelled between bouts of laughter.

Bakugo exploded after them, quite literally, his hands sparking as he chased them down the hall. The dorms erupted into chaos, doors creaked open as confused classmates peered out, blinking at the spectacle of Bakugo launching himself after Mina and Kirishima, his furious shouts echoing through the building.

y/n, who walked out of the room, covered her mouth as she burst into laughter.

So much for their little secret.

[purinfelix]

YOU ASK FOR REQUESTS AND I SHALL GIVE. since most riki aus r often w him being the ‘nonchalant’ guy, what if its switched.. riki being riki who is the most troublemaking, silly, goofy, wont-get-off-your-tail guy while the reader is always keeping to herself, quiet. but when they get close shes a whole diff person

just for me - n. riki ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

summary: you and ni-ki's friendship makes no sense, but maybe that's what makes it so special ─────────── extroverted ni-ki x introverted reader || fluff, wholesome, college au || w/c: 1.5k

a/n: I LOVE THIS IDEA AAA i think so many people forget about how silly and cute niki can be when he's around someone he's comfortable with so i loved writing thissss hope u enjoy pookie!! <333

To most people, it didn’t make sense for you and Niki to be friends. 

Almost everyone on campus knew who Niki was, and those who didn’t had at least heard stories. It was hard not to, with the way he was constantly getting told off for chatting loudly during class - on the rare occasion that he actually showed up - or bounding down halls like he was on a mission, his backpack barely hanging on one shoulder, the other arm slung around whichever friend he’d dragged into his chaos for the day.

Most often, he could be found at the campus basketball courts, dunking on his opponents and then making sure everyone heard about it after. He was the kind of person who naturally demanded people’s attention wherever he went - loud, unfiltered, and almost annoyingly attractive.  

You, on the other hand, had yet to be late to a single lecture and could almost always be found in your favourite front-row seat. People typically only heard your voice when you’d answer questions, and even then, you only said what was needed to get your point across. Sure, it might’ve had something to do with shyness or introversion, but more than anything, you just preferred the peace that came with quiet - the control you felt when enjoying your own company. 

It was just your luck that Niki seemed to like your company almost as much as you did.

“Doesn’t he annoy you?” One of your friends whispered in a hushed tone as you left class together, being greeted by a familiarly lanky figure waiting out in the hallway. 

You don’t blame her confusion because, a couple of weeks ago, you would’ve reacted exactly the same way. He did annoy you, at first at least - you had always reserved a special kind of irritation for people like him. People who showed up late to things, were disorganised and loud for no reason, who always seemed to be disrupting things for others without so much as a modicum of guilt. 

But it was difficult to be so snarky when you were slowly trudging home from an almost 10-hour-long study session at the university library. And it was there, when you were dragging your feet along the dimly lit pavement, that you heard Niki’s voice calling out to you. Lifting your head just enough, you saw him bounding quickly towards you, chasing after a stray basketball.

It hits your feet, but you don’t move, seemingly frozen in place. He jogs up to you, scooping it up in his arm casually before turning to you.

“Sorry about that,” he says in between pants, and it hits you that this is the first time he’s actually spoken directly to you. 

“All good,” you mumble curtly, without much thought. 

You’re waiting for him to turn back around, to just leave this tiny insignificant interaction between two people who should be strangers at just that. But he doesn’t - instead, he stands there silently, as if studying you, running a hand through his hair. 

“Can I help you?” you ask, and it comes out a little meaner than you’d intended. You blame this on your exhaustion, hours of studying muddling the lines between what’s polite and not - though you can’t deny the sudden shyness you feel under his attention. 

“No, sorry,” he pauses, caught off guard by your tone, “you just look sorta tired, are you alright?” 

It’s your turn to be surprised, the sudden concern in his words feeling so alien that you’re unsure of how to respond. “Yeah,” you breathe out, “I mean, I’ve been at the library almost the entire day, so I am kind of tired.” 

The laugh you let out is almost self-depracating, an attempt to make light of your pathetic admission, and you wait for his response - for him to mock you for being such a nerd, or a try-hard. But it never comes.

“Wow,” he says instead, somewhat impressed, “you work really hard in class, don’t you.” 

You raise your head to catch his eye, trying to study his expression for any signs of mockery. “I mean, I guess.” 

Behind him, you spot his group of friends huddled around watching the two of you talk from a distance, presumably waiting for their ball to return to their game. 

“Your friends are waiting.” You shove your hands in your pockets, unsure of what else to do with them. 

“Oh, right,” he says calmly, and with a swift motion, he tosses the ball over to them, but doesn’t go to join them. There’s a beat of silence, the awkwardness of the whole situation heavy. 

Then, after what feels like forever - “You don’t have that little keychain today.” 

Your brows furrow as you look up at him in confusion. “What?” 

He blinks, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud. “Uh- just, you know that little stuffed keychain you have? I’ve seen it before, on your bag, I think - it’s, it’s not there today.” 

You stare at him for a moment, genuinely at a loss for words. It’s such a small, stupid detail, something that no one else has ever pointed you - not your classmates, not even your friends. But somehow, he of all people noticed. “Oh, the little bear?” 

“Yeah!” he smiles bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck, “Sorry, that sounded creepy. You just always had it when you walked past the courts - I thought it was cute.” 

You don’t really know what to say, but before you realise it, your cheeks are warming up and a smile is tugging at your lips as if threatening to break through. 

“Thanks,” you say softly, but earnestly, “I think it fell off somewhere.” 

He offers a small frown. “That sucks, I thought it suited you.” 

There’s a weird flutter in your chest that you try not to think too much about. He glances over his shoulder at his friends, and you take that as your cue for the conversation ending. 

“Well, I’ll uh- see you aro-” 

“Are you headed home now?” 

You nod without thinking.

“Mind if I walk with you?” 

You nod again. 

And you hadn’t really thought much of it then, but that walk proved to be the first of many. What started as a rare one-off encounter turned into something regular. Turned into meeting before class for drinks, into late night study sessions, which were basically you tutoring him - and once you both came to the conclusion that his grades were a lost cause, even later night snack runs. 

Something strange happened when you were around him.  You let yourself say things without filtering them in your head first, you laughed louder, and more often. Being around him felt a little less restrained, a little less quiet. 

And now here he was, waiting for you outside your class to take you to the newly opened cafe you hadn’t shut up about. 

“He’s not as bad as everyone makes him out to seem,” you say, turning to your friend with a small shrug. 

“I mean, no offence, but he’s Niki,” she sighs, like that explains everything “the only times I hear about him is people complaining about him tanking their group assignment, or whatever went down at his last party. I mean, you saw those photos, who even thinks ot hire a bouncy castle for a 19th birthday party?” 

You let out a soft chuckle that contrasts your friend’s incredulous tone, but she doesn’t stop.

“He’s never on time for class, I mean, I don’t think he even knows our professor’s name.” 

“Well, he’s never late to meet me,” you say, watching as she shoots you one last look - half confused, half resigned- before leaving. 

“Hey,” Niki says through a smile, waving you down, “ready to go?” 

“Of course,” you say, beaming up at him as he falls into step beside you like he’s done a thousand times before - like he belongs there. 

“Oh wait,” he says, stopping just before you reach the building’s door, “got you something.” 

He slings his backpack around, rummaging around in the mess inside it for a bit as you stand there, curious. Finally, he pulls something out with a dramatic flair, dropping it into your hands. 

You look at it - a tiny stuffed bear keychain, a little squished, but adorable nonetheless. Your breath hitches. 

“I know it’s not the same one you lost,” he says sheepishly, “but I saw it and it reminded me of you. Plus-” 

He holds up his own keys which you now notice has the exact same bear, just in a different colour. You stare at it, then back at him. 

“Twins,” he smiles. 

You let out a breathy laugh, fingers curling around the bear as you attach it onto your bag quickly. “You’re unbelievable,” you laugh. 

“Unbelievably thoughtful,” he corrects, shrugging smugly as you continue to walk beside him.

To others, it shouldn’t have made much sense - and really, it didn’t.

But whenever he flashed you that warm smile, or laughed honestly at a joke you made, one that really wasn’t that funny, it all seemed to make sense, at least to you - and that’s all that mattered. 

taglist for niki fics! <333 - @miniw0nz @microwvdstrawb3rri3s @charsworld96 @jenjnk @nocturnebite @nodoubtily @teireiii @starniras

[leriexoxo]

Rumor Has It…

Bully! Jeongin x Fem Reader

Genre: Bully AU, Rivals to Lovers, College AU

Tags: Smut, Angst, Fluff, bullying themes, toxic behavior, jealousy, possessive behavior, rough kisses, emotionally confusing situations, mutual obsession, protected sex, soft aftercare

Word count: 5.5k

Summary: You had a crush on the golden boy junior everyone loved. Jeongin noticed—and didn’t take it well. Now you’re his favorite target, his sharpest insult, his worst-kept secret. The tension between you two builds until it breaks… or explodes.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

A/N: This was a request from an anon. (Next time, ask with your account so i can tag you and also be sure you’re not a minor 😩 I only wrote this cos I actually loved the idea) Hope you enjoy it!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You didn’t mean to draw attention to yourself.

Especially not his.

College was supposed to be your quiet reset. New campus, new people, no more high school drama or cafeteria hierarchy. You weren’t aiming for popularity, just a peaceful freshman year with decent grades and enough coffee to survive it.

And for a while, that’s what you had.

Until Jeongin.

Jeongin was a junior—untouchable in every sense. Smart, smooth-talking, always surrounded by people who hung onto his every word. Girls giggled louder when he passed by. Guys looked up to him like he ran the place. Professors loved him. The kind of person who could talk his way out of anything and charm his way into everything.

You noticed him early on—how could you not?

The way his hoodie always hung loose off one shoulder, the curve of his grin when he was teasing someone, the casual way he leaned against doorframes like they were made for him. He was so far out of your league it was laughable. But you still found yourself watching.

A crush. That’s all it was. Harmless.

Until that seminar.

The class was small—thirty students tops—and you’d arrived late that day, flustered and sleep-deprived. The only seat left was next to him. You hesitated, but the professor had already called your name.

So you sat beside Yang Jeongin.

He didn’t look at you. Didn’t acknowledge you. Not at first.

You didn’t mean to answer the question out loud. You really didn’t. But the professor had asked something you’d actually studied, and your hand went up before you could think twice.

And Jeongin looked at you.

A slow turn of his head. Just a glance. But it lingered. And when he smiled—sharp and unreadable—it felt like the floor dropped beneath your chair.

“Freshman’s got opinions,” he said, not even bothering to whisper it.

The class laughed. You shrank.

He didn’t stop there.

After that day, something shifted. He started showing up next to you more often—always with some offhanded comment.

“Didn’t know they were letting high schoolers audit this course.”

“You sure you’re not lost? Cafeteria’s two buildings down.”

“Careful. That bag looks heavy. Don’t hurt your baby arms.”

It was constant. Subtle enough that no one really called him out, but pointed enough that you felt it. Always you. You’d seen him joke around with his friends before, but this was different. He wasn’t laughing with you—he was smirking at you.

You stopped sitting near him. Stopped speaking up in class.

But it didn’t matter. He always found you.

One time, you heard him tell someone you were “the new campus kitten—jumpy, clueless, probably still using Apple Notes to write essays.”

You hated him. You hated him.

And still, your stupid heart stuttered whenever he leaned too close.

Still, your eyes searched for him in the crowd.

You wished you could stop noticing him. Wished his cologne didn’t stick in your lungs after he brushed past. Wished he wasn’t so effortlessly hot when he was being awful.

Wished he didn’t make you feel so small and seen all at once.

And he had no idea.

He didn’t know you ever liked him. Didn’t know you still kind of did.

Didn’t know that even when you clenched your fists and scowled in his direction, your throat tightened whenever he said your name.

And you swore to yourself, if he pushed you one more time—just once more—you’d snap.

You tried to avoid him.

Switched lecture sections. Ate lunch in the library. Took the long way around campus if you so much as sensed him nearby.

But Jeongin was like smoke—always finding its way into your lungs, no matter how tightly you sealed the windows. And once he’d gotten a taste for your discomfort, it was like he couldn’t get enough.

He started showing up in places you knew he didn’t belong. The student lounge outside your psych class. The library’s third floor where you studied every Wednesday. Once, he even joined your shared elective’s group chat and volunteered for your project team—just so he could be across from you during meetings, watching you squirm.

And yet, he never touched you. Never raised his voice. Just words. Looks. Quiet mockery, sugarcoated in charm.

Golden boy, they called him.

But he was especially cruel when it came to you.

“You always this jumpy?” he asked once, sliding into the seat beside you without warning. “Relax. I’m not gonna bite.”

You didn’t answer.

He leaned closer. “Unless you want me to.”

You’d swallowed hard, gritting your teeth through the heat crawling up your neck. “Do you enjoy this?” you muttered under your breath. “Being a dick?”

He chuckled. “Only when it works.”

You hated that you flushed. Hated that your mouth went dry and your pulse picked up. Hated that he could reduce you to that with a look.

So you buried it. You ignored him. You let him win.

Until the party.

You hadn’t even planned on going. But your roommate begged you, and honestly, you needed the distraction. Music, noise, new people. Anything that wasn’t Jeongin’s smirk or his voice in your ear.

You didn’t expect him to be there. It wasn’t even his crowd.

But of course, he was.

And he noticed you immediately.

He didn’t approach. Didn’t say anything. Just stood across the room—red cup in hand, dark eyes locked on you like he’d been waiting for you to walk in.

You turned away.

Which was probably why you ended up talking to the guy by the drinks table. He was nice. Funny. A little nerdy, but in a charming way. He made you laugh. And it felt good—so good—to be seen without malice.

But then something shifted.

You felt it before you saw it. A weight. A pull.

And when you turned your head, Jeongin was watching again—this time with his jaw tight and eyes sharp, like he was trying not to feel something.

You brushed it off.

Until the next week—when whispers started following you around campus.

Heard she’s easy.

Thirsty freshman.

Already trying to climb.

You froze when you heard it. Your hands shook when you opened your phone and saw the vague, biting posts floating around socials. No names, of course. Just cruel implications.

But you knew. Everyone else might not—but you knew.

And so you stopped avoiding him.

You found him.

He was outside the dining hall, laughing with a few people you didn’t recognize. Sunglasses on. Perfect smile. Still untouchable.

You didn’t wait. You walked right up to him, heart pounding, fists clenched.

His smile faltered when he saw you. “Well, well. Campus kitten found her claws.”

You didn’t blink. “Did you start it?”

He tilted his head. “Start what?”

“The rumors.”

Silence.

Then: “Why? Upset someone finally saw through the act?”

That was it.

You stepped forward, shoving at his chest—harder than you meant to.

He caught your wrist before it could fall. His fingers closed, warm and sure, his grip firm—but not rough. Not quite.

“Careful,” he murmured. “You’re not built for war.”

Your breath hitched. His face was close. Too close.

“You’re an asshole,” you whispered.

“And you,” he said low, eyes flickering to your lips, “should stop looking at me like that if you really hate me.”

And just like that, you weren’t sure if you were about to slap him… or kiss him.

Your wrist slipped from his grip.

And you didn’t hold back this time.

“You’re a fucking coward,” you snapped, voice louder than intended. “That’s what you are. You act like you’re too cool to care, but you’re the one hiding behind whispers and petty rumors. What—scared people might think the golden boy actually gives a shit about someone like me?”

It was the first time you’d ever seen Jeongin freeze.

His smile dropped.

His jaw clenched.

And you didn’t wait to see what came next.

You turned on your heel and left.

Stupid.

Stupid, stupid.

Your hands were still shaking as you pushed open the dorm stairwell door, taking the stairs two at a time just to get away from the weight in your chest. You didn’t know what hurt more—how badly you’d wanted him to say something real, or how stupid it was to expect anything from someone like him.

You barely made it to your floor when the door slammed open behind you.

“What the hell did you just say to me?”

You spun around.

Jeongin stood at the bottom of the stairs, eyes blazing, chest heaving like he’d sprinted the whole way.

“I said you’re a coward,” you bit out, “and a dick. And I hate you.”

He was in front of you before you could blink, cornering you against the wall at the end of the hall. Not touching. Not yet. Just close—his breath ghosting across your cheek, his expression unreadable.

“You hate me?” he echoed, voice low.

You nodded, stubborn. “With every fiber of my being.”

“Funny,” he muttered, “you didn’t look at me like you hated me the other night at the party. When you were smiley and giggly for that guy by the punch bowl.”

Your stomach twisted. “So you did start the rumors.”

“Maybe” he said flatly. “After I saw you with him.”

You blinked, thrown off. “What—?”

“Because I didn’t like it,” he said, voice sharp now, as if he hated admitting it. “I didn’t like watching you laugh with him. I didn’t like how close he stood. I didn’t like that you smiled like that for someone who wasn’t me.”

The air thickened. His eyes dropped to your mouth.

“I don’t like any of this,” he whispered. “And I don’t know what the fuck to do about it.”

And then he moved even closer—just enough to skim your cheek, his lips barely brushing the corner of your mouth. A heartbeat. A single breath between contact and restraint.

“I’m not the only one lying here,” he murmured. “You say you hate me, but your body doesn’t know how to fake it.”

You hated how your breath hitched. How the heat between you tightened into something unbearable.

“Say it again,” he challenged. “Look me in the eye and say you hate me.”

You swallowed.

But you didn’t say a word.

Because you couldn’t.

And he knew it.

“You’re a sick asshole, you know that?” you spat, cornered between the stairwell wall and the weight of his body again.

Jeongin didn’t flinch. If anything, he looked satisfied. Like he wanted you mad.

“Because I didn’t like seeing you with someone else?” he asked, dark eyes narrowing. “Because I made sure no one else would touch you after that?”

Your pulse jumped.

“You spread a rumor that I sleep around,” you hissed, throat tight. “You called me easy, Jeongin.”

“I didn’t say your name,” he said coolly. “They just knew who to talk about.”

Your chest heaved.

“You ruined my reputation just because I talked to someone who wasn’t you?”

His jaw clenched, and this time, he didn’t hide it.

“Yeah. I did,” he said.

Simple. Sharp. No excuses.

“You’re disgusting.”

“You’re the one who made me do it.”

You shoved him, hard.

He didn’t budge.

“Get away from me,” you said, though your voice cracked on the last word.

“Say you didn’t like it,” he muttered, dipping his head lower. “Say you didn’t like knowing I cared that much.”

Your mouth opened—to scream, to curse, to spit in his face—but the only thing that came out was a weak, shaky breath as your back hit the wall harder than before. He didn’t touch you, but his words slid across your skin like hands.

“You want me to apologize for it?” he said, tone mock-soft. “Or do you just want to know if I’d do it again?”

You swallowed hard.

Because you should slap him. Scream at him. Run.

But instead, your thighs pressed tighter together, heat crawling traitorously up your neck.

And Jeongin saw it.

His lips curled into something dangerous.

“You hate me,” he murmured, brushing his knuckles against your cheek. “But you still want me.”

“I don’t.”

“Liar.”

Your heart thundered.

You hated him.

You hated him so much.

And if he leaned in just a little closer, you were going to do something really fucking silly.

You shoved your hand against his chest, breathing hard, trying to steady your voice through the fire crawling up your spine.

“Say you’re sorry.”

Jeongin blinked.

“What?”

“You heard me,” you snapped. “Say. You’re. Sorry.”

He stared at you, eyes flicking between your lips and the frustration trembling through your body. You didn’t think he’d do it—he wasn’t the type. But then something in him cracked.

His hand curled behind your neck, fingers threading into your hair, the tension in his jaw cutting like glass.

“I’m sorry.”

You froze.

His voice was low, but not mocking. Not cold.

Real.

“I’m sorry for the rumor. For the way I talk to you. For being a complete fucking asshole.”

Your breath caught. Your heart stuttered. And before you could react—

He kissed you.

Hard.

It wasn’t sweet or slow, not at first—it was messy, wild, weeks of sharp words and stolen glances crashing together in one devastating second. His lips crashed against yours like he was trying to make you forget every insult, every time he looked at you like you were nothing—and you kissed him back like you knew he was lying every damn time.

His hands slipped down, palms flattening against your waist, dragging you closer. Your fingers fisted in his shirt like you were trying to keep from drowning.

He broke the kiss first, barely.

“I meant it,” he whispered, lips brushing yours. “I’m sorry.”

Your hand cupped his jaw. “Then shut up and kiss me again.”

He did.

And this time, it was slower. Deeper. A different kind of desperate—like he was trying to memorize the taste of your mouth, like he’d waited too long to do it right.

You hated him.

But God, you wanted him.

—

It had been three weeks since Jeongin kissed you in that stairwell.

Three weeks since he muttered an apology against your lips, like it physically pained him to admit he’d been wrong. Three weeks with your heart in your throat and your mouth still tingling from the way he kissed you like it meant everything.

And in those three weeks, Jeongin hadn’t touched you once.

But he texted you.

God, he texted you.

At first, it was random.

[1:47 AM] Jeongin:

can’t sleep

You didn’t answer. The next morning, he texted again.

[9:04 AM] Jeongin:

ignore me like that again and I’ll kiss you harder next time

Then it was constant.

He started sitting behind you in lecture. Not beside you—behind you. Close enough for you to hear his breath shift when you adjusted in your seat. Close enough to drop texts mid-class.

[11:12 AM] Jeongin:

stop playing with your pen like that unless you want me to take it away and put your mouth to better use

You nearly choked in the middle of econ. Your professor shot you a look. And Jeongin? He just smirked when you glanced over your shoulder.

You tried to pretend it didn’t happen. The kiss. The texts. The fact that now, every time he passed you in the hall, your chest got tight and your thighs pressed together instinctively.

And he pretended too.

On campus, he was the same cocky golden boy—loud with his friends, always joking, always charming.

But when you caught him watching you—really watching—you felt it.

All of it.

The tension. The hunger. The subtle claim of ownership buzzing in the air.

Because he wasn’t just watching. He was waiting.

And you were starting to want to give in.

⸻

You didn’t dress up for him.

You told yourself that over and over as you checked your reflection in the bathroom mirror before class.

But the skirt was short—barely thigh length when you stood still. The top? Cropped just enough to tease, especially when you leaned forward. And your lip gloss shimmered in a way that would catch the light—and his eyes—without even trying.

You didn’t dress for him.

But when you passed him in the hallway and caught the way his gaze snapped to your legs, lingered, then dragged up your body like he was physically starving—you didn’t look away.

Not even when he pulled his phone out with a clenched jaw.

You were halfway through your next lecture when your phone buzzed. Then again. And again.

[1:13 PM] Jeongin:

you wore that on purpose

don’t lie to me

[1:14 PM] Jeongin:

I can’t fucking focus

all I can think about is bending you over the desk and making you forget everyone else is in the classroom.

[1:15 PM] Jeongin:

i’m not even expecting a reply

i just needed you to know what you’re doing to me

You stared at the screen, heat crawling down your neck.

For weeks, he’d been needling you—softly, slyly, like he was waiting to see how far he could push before you snapped.

And today? You’d pushed him.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard. Your heart thundered in your throat.

And then you typed—slowly. Just one sentence.

[1:16 PM] You:

Then why don’t you do something about it?

Three dots.

Then nothing.

You smiled to yourself and tucked your phone away.

Class hadn’t even ended yet when your screen lit up again.

[1:27 PM] Jeongin:

be at my dorm in 20

door’ll be unlocked

You stared at his message until your vision blurred.

be at my dorm in 20

He didn’t even ask. He just knew you’d come.

And the worst part?

He was right.

Your knee bounced under the desk as the professor droned on about behavioral economics. You weren’t hearing a single word. Not when your body was buzzing, not when your thoughts were stuck on that stairwell—the taste of his mouth, the way his hand gripped your waist like it was the only thing tethering him to earth.

You hated him.

God, you hated him.

But then why did your fingers burn remembering how soft his voice went when he whispered sorry against your lips? Why did your stomach flip every time your screen lit up with his name? Why did every guy on campus seem suddenly, painfully uninteresting?

And why—why—couldn’t you stop thinking about what it would feel like if he kissed you again?

You exhaled sharply as you stood and left class early, ignoring the stares.

Your dorm was in the other direction.

But your feet didn’t take you there.

You weren’t even sure what your plan was—if you’d knock and leave, if you’d tell him off, if you’d kiss him senseless or slap him across the face. Maybe all of it. Maybe neither.

But you found yourself standing in front of his door anyway, pulse thudding at your throat, your hand frozen mid-air.

You didn’t knock.

You pushed the door open.

And there he was—sitting on the edge of his bed like he’d been waiting the whole time, elbows on his knees, head tilted.

Jeongin looked up. Smirked.

But his eyes… His eyes burned.

His room was warm. Too warm. Or maybe it was just you, standing there like your skin was one breath away from catching fire.

Jeongin didn’t move. He just watched you.

Like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

Like he felt the chaos in your chest because it mirrored his own.

“You really came,” he said, low and casual—like you hadn’t been losing your mind over him for weeks. Like he hadn’t humiliated you, kissed you, texted you filthy things between lectures and then acted like none of it mattered.

You crossed your arms, stepping in but not too far. Not close enough to fall.

“I almost didn’t.”

Jeongin’s smirk faltered. His eyes flicked down to your mouth, then back up.

“But you did.”

You hated that he was right.

“I should go,” you mumbled, even as your feet stayed planted. “This was stupid.”

“You think I didn’t mean what I said?”

“That’s the problem, Jeongin,” you snapped, voice sharp to cover the tremble. “You always mean it. Until you don’t. You kiss me, then you treat me like—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, standing slowly. “Don’t do that.”

You flinched as he stepped closer, crowding your space. He didn’t touch you—but the heat of his body was magnetic, unbearable.

“I do mean it. I meant the kiss. I meant the texts, the apologies. I mean this.”

You shook your head, eyes stinging, throat tight.

“I hate you,” you whispered, chest heaving.

He took one step closer, gaze fixed to yours.

“No,” he said softly, “you don’t.”

His fingers brushed your wrist. Not forcefully. Not demanding.

Just asking.

Your breath caught.

And for a second—just a second—you leaned in.

Not enough to kiss. Just enough to want it.

The air between you buzzed, full of heat and panic and everything unsaid.

He stared at your mouth like it was the answer to a question he didn’t know how to ask.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathed.

But you didn’t.

You didn’t answer with words.

Just leaned in, slow and steady, until your nose brushed his. Until your lips ghosted over his—soft, deliberate, electric.

And when he didn’t move?

You kissed him.

Deep. Slow.

A kiss that said I heard you. A kiss that said I’m still mad, but I want this too. A kiss that let him in.

Jeongin exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for months.

His hands came up, featherlight at first—one cradling your cheek, the other finding your waist, fingertips curling into your hoodie like he couldn’t believe you were real. The kiss deepened, his lips parting, tongue brushing yours with cautious reverence.

But the caution didn’t last long.

Because the second you whimpered—barely audible, barely there—he broke.

A low, strangled groan vibrated in his chest as he backed you against the wall, lips still locked to yours like he’d die if he let go. His hand slid down to your hip, gripping just a little tighter, guiding you flush against him.

You could feel it—all of him.

Thick, hard, throbbing through the denim he probably didn’t even realize he was grinding into you.

Still, his voice cracked when he pulled back enough to breathe.

“Let me make it up to you,” he rasped, forehead pressed to yours, his mouth swollen and trembling. “Please. I’ll do anything. Just let me touch you.”

You shivered, fingers fisting in his shirt.

“Jeongin—”

“I’ll be good,” he whispered, breath hot against your skin as he kissed down your jaw, your neck. “I’ll take my time. I’ll make you feel so good, just, please—please—let me show you.”

You didn’t answer with words.

You grabbed his wrist, turned toward his bed, and pulled.

And the way he followed you—obedient, breathless, burning—it was almost needy.

The second your back hit the mattress, he was on you. Not rough. Not greedy. Just everywhere at once.

He kissed you like he owed you every apology he never said. Like he was trying to etch I’m sorry into your skin with every slow drag of his tongue against your throat, every trembling grip of your thigh.

He took his time undressing you.

Lifted your hoodie like it was sacred. Pressed soft, reverent kisses to your stomach as he pulled it over your head.

“God, look at you,” he whispered, eyes hungry, hands gentle. “I’ve thought about this so many times.”

Your breath caught when he dipped his head and kissed down your chest, your ribs, your hips.

But when he knelt between your legs and looked up at you?

His voice broke.

“Please let me taste you.”

And when you nodded?

He moaned. Not quiet. Not controlled.

Desperate.

And then his mouth was on you—tongue slow, deep, greedy. Like he wanted to drown in you. Like he needed to.

You’d never felt anything like it.

The way he licked. Sucked. Worshipped.

And when your hips started to tremble, when your thighs squeezed around his head, when your hands clawed at the sheets and you tried to push him away from overstimulation?

He didn’t move.

Just growled into your core and held you still.

“You’re not running from me,” he murmured, voice slick with praise. “Not when I’m making you feel this good.”

And fuck—he was right.

Because you came for him, hard.

And he didn’t stop until your legs were shaking and your voice was wrecked and all you could say was his name.

Over and over and over again.

You were still gasping when he kissed his way back up your body—wet mouth trailing fire across your skin, up your stomach, your chest, your throat. His lips met yours again, soft but needy, and you tasted yourself on his tongue as he murmured against your mouth.

“So sweet,” he whispered. “Could stay down there forever.”

His voice was cracked wide open now—low, breathy, almost reverent. His hands cradled your face like you were something breakable. Sacred. Untouchable—except you’d just let him touch you everywhere.

And he wasn’t done.

Not even close.

He kissed you again. Slower. Deeper.

Then his fingers curled around your hips and turned you over—gently, guiding you onto your stomach with a press so tender it made your spine arch without thinking.

You shivered.

He leaned over you, chest brushing your back, breath hot at your ear.

“You okay?” he whispered.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

His lips grazed your shoulder. “Still want this?”

Your answer came out like a gasp. “Yes.”

He groaned—quiet, strained, like the word physically affected him.

And then he reached into his back pocket.

You heard the foil tear, the soft rustle of denim and the shift of his weight as he got ready.

Still, he paused—one hand pressed flat between your shoulder blades, the other gripping your hip like an anchor.

“Can I fuck you now?” he asked, barely audible.

Like he couldn’t believe he was really asking. Like he needed to hear it from you, one last time.

Your stomach flipped.

“Yes,” you whispered. “Please.”

And that was it.

He lined up behind you—slow, careful, the blunt head of his cock sliding through your slick folds, teasing until you whimpered, pushing just enough to make you ache.

Then he sank in.

Deep.

You choked on a moan.

He cursed softly, both hands bracing on your hips now. “Fuck—baby—you feel so good…”

He moved slow at first. Long, shallow strokes that stretched and dragged and made your body melt beneath him. His fingers tightened around your waist, but not to hold you down—just to stay grounded. Like he needed the contact. Like he was trying to memorize the shape of you.

Every inch. Every sound.

And the second he found the right angle—that spot—he grunted low in his throat, hips rolling deeper, slower, like he was trying to fuck an apology straight into your soul.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, leaning over you again, lips pressed to your shoulder. “No more games. Just this. Just us.”

You whimpered.

“Say it,” he begged. “Tell me you’re mine.”

You turned your head just enough to meet his eyes.

“I’m yours.”

His breath caught.

Then he fucked you harder.

You couldn’t hold back the moans anymore.

Not when he was fucking you like this—slow and deep, every stroke dragging a whimper from your throat, every grind of his hips sending sparks up your spine.

“God, Jeongin,” you gasped, gripping the sheets. “You feel so fucking good.”

He cursed under his breath, hands tightening on your hips. “Yeah? You like that?”

You nodded, breathless. “Yes— fuck!” you confessed, hips pushing back into him. “Give me more.”

That wrecked him.

You felt it—the way his rhythm faltered for a second, the way his grip trembled.

Then he growled.

Deep in his chest.

He pulled out and flipped you over in one quick, effortless motion, pressing you into the mattress with his body before sliding back in deeper.

This time you could see him—his cheeks flushed, blown-out eyes, lips parted as he watched you fall apart beneath him.

And you did.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, hands gripping his back like you needed to hold on or lose your mind entirely.

Every thrust punched little gasps out of you, soft and high and needy.

“Fuck,” you moaned. “Don’t stop—don’t you dare stop—”

“I won’t,” he panted, forehead pressed to yours. “Not until you come all over me. Not until I feel it.”

You kissed him then—fierce, messy, hot—and he groaned into your mouth, hips grinding deep as you rocked up to meet him.

But you wanted more.

You needed control.

So you pushed at his chest until he got the message.

He let you flip him—only because he wanted to see what you’d do.

And you didn’t disappoint.

You straddled him, slick and flushed and trembling, and sank back down onto his cock with a moan that echoed off the fucking walls.

Jeongin’s hands flew to your thighs, head tipping back against the pillow.

“Jesus Christ,” he gasped. “Look at you—fuck, baby—ride me.”

And you did.

You moved like you were trying to make him lose his mind.

Grinding down slow, bouncing just enough to tease, clenching around him until he was a mess beneath you.

He tried to thrust up into you but your hands pinned his chest, keeping him down.

“I’m in charge now,” you whispered, breath hot against his jaw. “You want to make it up to me?”

He nodded, frantic.

“Then take it.”

You started to move faster.

Harder.

And he broke.

Whimpering your name, begging for release, hands bruising your thighs as he tried to hold on.

“You gonna come for me?” you asked, biting his lip.

“Y-Yeah—fuck—gonna come so hard, baby—please—don’t stop—”

You leaned down, moaning into his mouth, and let your hips roll just right.

And that was it.

He came with a shout, deep inside you, fingers digging into your skin, body shaking beneath you.

You followed a second later—head thrown back, spine arching, vision blurring as the orgasm crashed over you like a wave.

You collapsed on his chest, both of you breathing like you’d just run a marathon.

And then—He laughed.

Quiet. Breathless. Disbelieving.

“Holy fuck.”

He didn’t let you move. Not at first.

He just wrapped both arms around you and held you like you might vanish—his face buried in your hair, heart pounding so hard beneath your cheek it echoed in your ears.

“Jeongin,” you whispered.

“Mhm?”

You pressed a slow kiss to his collarbone. “You okay?”

He nodded against you, but didn’t speak. His arms stayed locked around your waist, one hand drifting up and down your back, fingers tracing the curve of your spine like your skin grounded him. Like if he let go, the moment would disappear.

Eventually, he shifted just enough to meet your eyes.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you said, voice low. “You were perfect.”

A shaky breath left him—half a laugh, half a sigh of relief.

“Good,” he muttered, brushing your hair away from your face. Then, he exhaled hard, eyes flicking down to your mouth before settling back on yours.

“I mean it,” he murmured. “No more rumors. No more games. I want this to be real.”

You swallowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” He hesitated, like the words scared him. “I want you to be mine. For real. Like—actual dates, hand holding, annoying you on purpose just so you’ll kiss me to shut me up. All of it.”

Your heart skipped.

You stared at him for a beat too long—just long enough for panic to flicker behind his eyes.

Then you kissed him.

Slow. Certain.

His whole body softened beneath you, arms tightening again as he melted into your mouth.

“I’ll go on one condition,” you whispered when you pulled back.

He blinked. “Yeah?”

You smirked. “You have to stop bullying me in school.”

He groaned, hiding his face in your neck. “Fuck, no promises.”

“Jeongin—”

“Fine,” he muttered. “But only because I like you. So much it makes me stupid.”

You grinned, curling into him as he pulled the blanket over both of you.

And for once, he didn’t have a single sarcastic thing to say.

He just held you.

Like he meant it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: Hey baby girls! Soooooo yeah like i said earlier, requests are open but i wont be taking any from anons, (cos i need to know i’m not feeding minors tbh 😩) feel free to send in requests, i’ll write the ones i can relate to!

Don’t forget to drop that like and comment! And follow for more fics if you haven’t, cos i post almost daily!!! Reblog too!!!!

Taglist: @tsunderelino @innieandsungielover @inlovewithstraykids @reignessance @jeonismm @sttnficrecs @herejusttemporary @krssliu @sagestarlight @kenia4 @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @malunar28replies @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @universeyuto @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @imseungminsgf @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss @firelordtsuki

[blackcat-star]

A YANDARE JINWOO WHO GETS OBSESSED WITH A ERANK HEALER READER WHO DOESN'T EVEN KNOW WHO HE IS OR BIG HUNTERS ARE LIKE SHE JUTS WANNA SAVE LIVES.

(idk if u do yandare though😓)

Whatever this feeling is.

Yandere!Jinwoo x E-rank Healer!Reader.

____________________________

You never thought of becoming a hunter.

In fact, if you could, you would rather live a normal life like everyone else: go to work in the morning, come home in the afternoon to eat with your family, read a few pages of a book and go to sleep.

But this world is not for 'normal' people. When the gate appears, when monsters start to flood across the border, you are forced to choose: either become prey, or become part of the war. You are an E-rank healer - not enough power to fight, cannot lead any party, and are often left behind in raids.

But you don't care. You don't need the power to kill monsters.

You just want to save as many people as possible.

___________________________

The first time you met Jinwoo was in a C-rank dungeon. The party was short of people, and you and Jinwoo were thrown in to 'make up the head count.' They didn't expect anything from you. It was only natural, you were weak, healing magic was like a drop in the ocean.

Then everything became chaotic when a high orc suddenly appeared. The party disbanded, everyone ran away. In the chaos, you saw a person with a severe injury on his arm, curled up near the stone wall, blood pooling at his feet.

No one came to help.

They didn't want to help him. You knew that he was someone of the same rank as you. Jinwoo was only an E-rank, even called The weakest hunter of all mankind, so everyone thought it was useless to save him.

But you didn't think so. 

Your determination to save everyone never wavered even though hope was barely visible to you because you valued each person's life as if it equaled one thousand pieces of gold. Your belief in saving him compelled you to rush toward him before you dropped to your knees. Your hand trembled from anxiety while you pressed it against his bleeding wound to stop the bleeding and save his life.

Stay motionless and wait patiently for only a short time because everything will turn out fine. I'll heal you," you said, not looking up at his face.

A light glinted from your palm - weak, small, but strangely gentle.

You didn't see the way he looked at you - as if you'd opened a crack of light in his thousand-year darkness.

"Are you...a healer?" He spoke in a raspy tone which made his question sound like he had not interacted with anyone in days.

"Yeah. E-rank, nothing special." You gave him a small smile, as gentle as a touch to a wound.Then you give him your handkerchief so he can wipe the dirt off his face.

And he didn't say anything else. He just looked at you. Silent. Silent to the point of suffocation.

__________________________

After that day, you didn't think too much about it. The dungeon ended, you went home, took a shower, ate instant noodles, and went to bed early for tomorrow.

And yes, everything was still going on normally, you had also gradually forgotten about the E-rank hunter who was on the brink of death and was saved by you.

Little did you know that from the moment you bent down among the blood and stone dust, the faint light from your hand touched the body of a person who seemed to have been abandoned by the world, you became all he had left.

Little did you know that Jinwoo wanted to die that day.

He entered the dungeon to earn money, to support his family, to try to earn at least some money to make his life better. But that day, after being attacked by the high orc, he lost his faith in life. The title of 'weakest hunter' hung over his head like a curse, turning him into a shadow of himself.

Until you came. Not with a weapon. Not with a look of disdain. Just with trembling hands and a choked voice, you said "I will save you."

No conditions. No expectations. No matter who he was.

For the first time in his life, Jinwoo felt alive.

____________________________

Weeks later, things continued as usual.

You took on a few healing missions for low-rank hunter groups, or simply went whenever someone needed another hunter to fill the space. You ate cheap sandwiches for breakfast, drank cold coffee, and then went to the guild to sign up for the next mission. Life was simple, steady.

You didn't think about Jinwoo.

It wasn't that you tried to forget - it was that you never thought you were important enough for anyone to remember. In this world, an E-rank healer like you - no one remembered your name, no one bothered to notice.

And at that time, the whole country was buzzing about the appearance of the country's 10th S-rank hunter.

You don't know who he is. And you don't really care.

Honestly, you don't really care about the names of famous hunters. To you, names like Choi Jong-In or Baek Yoonho are just wind. The same goes for this new S-rank hunter. After all, you're just an E-rank healer, and those stronger than you aren't interested in a lowly rank like you. Right?

The moment after that incident you began to experience unusual feelings.

The feeling of being watched accompanied you throughout your time outside the house. Your steps became trapped by a weighty stare which clung to you as if it were an endless moonless darkness.

______________________

Snow falls lightly outside the window, creeping through the thin curtains like white ghosts. You tighten your coat as you step out of the subway station, the cold air stabbing your neck like hundreds of needles. You exhale a thin puff of smoke and walk quickly towards the training area where an F-rank team has asked you to help them recover today.

A normal day. A normal mission.

...It's just that the feeling doesn't go away.

It feels like an invisible gaze is watching. The behavior remains neither threatening nor welcoming. You feel trapped inside a glass enclosure while an unseen observer watches you from outside.

You turn around again.

It's still the same familiar street, a few people walking by in a hurry, an old woman selling fried fish balls is playing an old radio. Nothing strange. No one.

You tighten your lips while reassuring yourself before keeping your stride.

A hazy dream awoke you during the night although you could not recall its contents. During your dream you ran through a dark corridor while behind you heard slow footsteps following you. No matter how you ran, it was still behind you, each step, each breath close to your ear.

You turned on the lights in your room, trying to find peace. But the warm yellow light couldn't dispel the cold feeling that had clung to your spine from deep within.

Little did you know, at the same time, in another part of the city, a man stood in the darkness, looking at you through the eyes of a shadow soldier in your shadow that you couldn't tell when or how he had placed it.

He couldn't take his eyes off you, as if if he left, you would disappear. Jinwoo had found you. A long time ago. He just hadn't shown up yet.

Because he was waiting. Waiting for the right moment. Waiting until you couldn't run away. When you have nowhere to run.

Wait until you belong to him.

_________________________

Today's job is to support a new group of hunters. You stand by the dungeon entrance wearing a light cloak while holding your elbows tight to stay warm. A gust of cold air passes through your collar opening while you shiver although the real cause of your goosebumps stems from something else.

It's the feeling.

You feel someone standing near your back although no one actually stands there.

You turn around. There are only a few hunters checking their weapons, passersby walking by, and a stray cat sitting under a tree licking its paws.

No one is there.

You exhaled, reassuring yourself. 'I'm just tired, maybe I need to rest.'

You had no idea that a dark figure remained hidden in the building shadows just meters behind you while keeping watch with shadow soldier eyes.

From his position in front of the big window, Jinwoo gazed down at the city below while fixating on a spot only he could perceive.

He whispered softly "My angel" with a broken voice.

His hand gripped the cold coffee cup. Not because of the cold. But because his palm was shaking.

Not because of fear. But because of desire.

From the first time you touched him - with that trembling hand, that faint light - something inside him had cracked. Or rather, woken up.

No one had saved him. No one had ever taken him seriously. Just you.

Just you.

______________________

You get used to the feeling of being watched.

You accept it in a way that does not provide comfort. You learn to accept the marks that will never heal like bruises or scars you wish to forget. You don't tell anyone, because who cares? E-rank healers have no power, no reputation, and no one around long enough to listen.

Your dreams will not allow you to ignore what is happening no matter how much you try to pretend otherwise.

Someone stands near your bed while you sleep in your dreams. You dream of a shadow moving in the corner of your eye every time you turn your head. Someone whispers your name in a gentle voice which sounds confident just like a thousand previous times of naming you.

You woke up during the night to discover a slightly open window even though you had double-checked its locked position.

Your world shows signs of reality merging with dreams because each day makes the distinction harder to discern.

A strange event occurred to you when you embarked on a D-rank dungeon quest.

The monsters avoided you.

You realized it while hiding behind a tall warrior, shoulder to shoulder with your comrades in battle. A spider-like monster suddenly rushed forward, its legs long and sharp as blades, its sound echoing like a knife scraping on stone. The group readied their weapons, preparing to receive the attack. But then it stopped.

The moment its red eyes met yours.

In that brief moment, you saw the monster freeze. Its eyes widened, not from predatory instinct, but from fear. A primal fear, almost desperate. A shrill howl escaped from its mouth before it turned to flee while its feet pounded against the stone surface creating a loud echo in the dark hallway.

The group was stunned. You were also stunned.

"What the hell?" someone exclaimed.

A hunter turned to look at you, his brows furrowed. "What did you do?"

"N-No, I just stood there," you stammered, not understanding what was happening. Your heart was pounding. You looked down at your hands, nothing out of the ordinary. No aura, no new abilities, no strange signs.

But deep down, a strange feeling began to creep in. It felt like something that didn't belong to you was following you.

You began to notice.

The single spider was not the only one. The monsters that emerged in the group's progress chose to observe you instead of their typical assault behavior. Each of them made a turn before fleeing from the scene. The creature took refuge in a corner while trembling like it sought mercy from an unseen power.

It was then that you truly felt something was wrong.

You look down and this time, in the flickering light of the torch, you catch a glimpse of your own shadow.

Not in shape, but in temperament. A dark undefined form resembling a wild creature rests behind you with its half-open black eyes observing the world through darkness.

A blink, and it's gone.

You swallow. A chill runs down your spine like a silent stream of water filling your chest.

Little do you know that, from the moment you entered the dungeon, all the monsters inside have been marked by an ancient power, a mark you can't see, can't feel, but that's covering everything you pass by. It's not coming from you but from another being that's in your shadow, or worse, watching through you.

________________________

Sung Jinwoo stood in the middle of a dungeon filled with chill – not because of the wind, but because of the presence of death that surrounded him. Hundreds of shadows swirled silently like a silent storm, not a sound, but all focused on him, loyal, absolute, and alert.

He stood alone in the center.

He held a small object in his hand, an old handkerchief, the edge of which had a friend's name embroidered in silver thread. A sign of ridiculous gentleness in this hellish space.

"Do not touch her," Jinwoo said, his voice as deep as the abyss, each word as sharp as a cold knife. "Only observe and protect."

The shadows said nothing, but one stepped forward, Beru. Beru knelt on one knee, his wings folded, his eyes glowing like two turquoises under his black mask.

"My King..." Beru hissed softly, "May I ask?"

Jinwoo did not look at Beru. His deep eyes gazed at the handkerchief while showing an unusual softness.

"Why don't you come to see her?" Beru bowed slightly. "I can feel your heart screaming for her."

The pale blue illumination of shadows fell upon Jinwoo's face. He held the handkerchief with gentle pressure while feeling each individual thread without causing any wrinkles. He whispered. "...She's not ready."

Beru raised his head, his eyes flashing with confusion, a rare emotion for a Shadow.

"Your Majesty, but she's weak. She's alone. You can protect her. You have to go-"

"No."

Jinwoo's voice cut in, soft, but the room froze. Jinwoo breathed slowly. His eyes closed for a moment, as if forcing himself. "If I come now, she'll hide."

There was a moment of silence, then Jinwoo raised his head. Those eyes, the color of night, but burning, like a furnace without oxygen, were now locked into nothingness, as if looking through time, through space at you.

"But soon."

He lowered his face to gently kiss the border of the handkerchief.

"She will understand."

Beru said nothing more.

He just nodded, then turned back to the darkness, where the Shadows silently continued to circle Jinwoo, who was holding onto a small piece of cloth as if it was the last piece of his soul that kept him from going insane.

____________________________

You never intended to join this raid.

Today was supposed to be your day off, a rare luxury, when you could sleep until dawn. But then the guild called, the voice urgent on the phone. "We need a healer. Just one more healer. This is a C-rank dungeon, easy to clear, high pay."

You hesitated, but the mention of high pay made your empty wallet feel lighter. Rent was due next week, and the cures weren't much cheaper.

A new group of strangers were standing at the dungeon entrance and you too were standing there. Upon your arrival no one took the effort to learn your name.

"Just stay behind and don't get killed," the leader told you with a dismissive wave.

You nodded silently. You had already experienced this kind of treatment before.

A jagged opening in the mountainside serves as the entrance to the dungeon which appears dark and foreboding. You feel unease rising in your chest as you enter with the group.

Something's not right today.

But before you can voice your concerns, the entrance slams shut behind you with a loud bang. The group freezes, weapons half drawn, eyes wide with shock.

"What the hell?" someone shouts.

Then it happens.

The walls around you glow an ominous crimson, illuminating shocked faces in a bloody light. The earth trembles as you stand on it. A terrifying ancient sound resonates within the cave which produces no resemblance to any known animal roar.

The leader's arrogant tone fades as he utters "A red gate. It's a fucking red gate."

Everyone knew what that meant. There was no escape. There was no rescue. Either clear the dungeon or die trying.

Your heart pounded in your chest like a caged animal. Red Gates were deadly traps. Even S-rank hunters avoided them if they could.

"Move!" the leader barked, regaining his calm with trained discipline. "Regroup, stick to the plan. We'll get through this."

But you could see the fear in his eyes. He didn't believe his own words.

The C-rank dungeon was said to have transformed. The hallways expanded into darkness while the atmosphere became heavy with rotting odors. Deformed monsters emerged from the shadows instead of typical goblins or wolves because they moved too quickly and attacked with brutal force.

The warriors formed a wall of steel and flesh while the mages rained destruction from behind. You do your part, channeling every ounce of your healing power to close the wound and numb the pain.

But it's not enough.

One by one, they fall.

First the youngest warrior, then one of the mages. The leader holds out longer, his sword flashing like mercury until a barbed tentacle pierces his chest. You watch, paralyzed with horror, as the life drains from his eyes.

You run.

It's shameful, it's cowardly, but your body moves on its own. Your lungs burn as you run through the winding passages, the screams of your companions fading behind you.

Finally, you collapse in a small cave, your legs giving out beneath you. Your body hugs the freezing wall as you attempt to minimize your size. Your healing kit lies forgotten beside you, barely used. What good is a healer who can't save anyone?

In the dim crimson light, you see your own hands shaking. Useless. Weak.

You close your eyes, waiting for the inevitable. The monsters will find you soon. A lone E-rank healer in a red portal - there is no happy ending to this story.

That's when you hear it.

Footsteps.

Not the sound of fleeing monsters or the frantic running of survivors. Deliberate steps moved through the tunnels with controlled pace and sound.

You kept your breath trapped while pushing your body against the wall to avoid detection. The footsteps grew closer. A shadow fell across the entrance to your hideout.

You expected death. You expected pain.

You heard a familiar voice which had been absent for months yet constantly disturbed your sleep. 

"Found you."

Jinwoo waited at the dungeon entrance beneath the red light. But he was different from the wounded E-rank hunter you had saved. His power emitted like scorching furnace heat which felt dark and powerful. His eyes which had previously shown fatigue displayed an unnatural blue glow which penetrated deep into your spiritual core.

"You're...Sung Jinwoo!!?" You whispered.

He stepped closer, and you noticed something strange. The shadows surrounding him displayed themselves as more than simple shadows as they became animated with glowing eyes and sharp edges. His body produced these fluid entities which functioned as extensions that moved with purpose just like natural limbs.

"My Angel," His voice sounded deeper than you remembered while expressing an emotion which escaped your understanding. "I've waited so long."

His gaze produced a deep primal dread within you that differed from disgust. These weren't the eyes of the broken E-ranker you'd saved. The predator's eyes stared at me as he had finally caught his prey following a prolonged hunt.

"This is a red gate!!" Your voice shook as you struggled to understand his arrival  "Everyone's dead. How did you get in? The gate was closed-"

"I turned it red," he interrupted, his voice cold and calm.

Your heart stopped for a moment. "What?"

"I turned the gate red." The shadows moved excitedly as Jinwoo approached. "I want to find you. Alone. Undisturbed."

Horror washed over you as his words sank in. "Y-You killed them? All of them?"

His expression didn't change. "They were in the way."

"In the way of what?"

"Us."

The solitary word remained suspended between us with deep significance. Your legs trembled as you pressed against the wall to stay upright. "Jinwoo, this isn't right."

His face brightened with a disturbing expression that seemed unnatural. "I had specifically wanted this outcome." He revealed his true nature as the person he wished to become. He reached out to you. "And you made it happen."

You shook your head, backing away until you hit the wall behind you. "No. I didn't do anything."

"You saved me," he insisted, eyes narrowing. "When no one else wanted to save me. When everyone else left me to die because I wasn't worth saving. You were the only one who chose to stay."

His next step brought panic as you understood there was no escape. The only escape was behind him.

He spoke in a soft voice while saying "I searched everywhere for you."

A cold realization hits you. "It was you. You were watching me."

His smile widens. "Always. My shadow follows you everywhere."

All the previous experiences in the dreams along with the sense of surveillance and abnormal monster behavior now seem meaningless.

"Why?" Your voice cracks with fear. "Why me? I'm nothing."

Jinwoo makes a swift forward movement with remarkable speed. The wall next to your head receives his first blow as he stands before you then he grabs your chin with brutal force. He glares at you as he says through clenched teeth "You will never say that to me again. You're everything. The only light in my dark world."

His eyes fix directly on yours as his pupils expand showing a strange blue light. His eyes reveal the madness which transforms into his delusional belief of love.

He whispers. "I'll protect you. Keep you safe. Forever."

You struggle to break free from his grip. "Jinwoo, please. You're hurting me."

He maintains his position yet lets go of your chin right away. His touch on your face becomes so delicate that it creates a feeling of unease. "I'd never hurt you. Never on purpose."

Pushing against his chest, you muster the last of your courage. "Give me a break. I want to go."

His face briefly flashes with what appears to be pain. Then it hardens into determination. "You don't understand yet. But you will."

The moment he stepped away you felt a tiny bit of relief but the shadows appeared. These icy chains started at your ankles before they began their slow ascent up your legs.

"What are you doing?" You panicked while attempting to shake off the shadows yet they refused to budge. The objects felt strange because they remained unbreakable as if they combined smoke and stone properties.

"Make sure you don't flee." Jinwoo's head tilted slightly as he watched you struggle with mild curiosity. "I have exercised patience. I can't wait anymore."

A deep rumbling noise spread through the dungeon before the dungeon floor creaked from approaching footsteps. Monsters, drawn by your fear and Jinwoo's strength.

"They're coming," you said desperately. "We need to go!"

"Yes," he agreed calmly. "We must leave."

The cold darkness enveloped you completely when the shadows that surrounded your feet disappeared. Your spinning head combined with blurring vision led to unconsciousness.

Your last vision showed Jinwoo's face with shining eyes while he displayed an evil look of victory.

He said softly. "You can sleep now, my angel. We'll be home when you wake up."

__________________

You come to in a nurturing surface with dim light penetrating the heavy drapes. A few seconds of disorientation sweeps over you regarding which place you have landed. The building you are in does not resemble your cramped studio space with wet roofing and noisy flooring. 

An avalanche of past experiences surrounds you. The red gate. The massacre of your group. Jinwoo's confession.

You bolt up, heart pounding in your chest.

You crawl out of bed, running to the window. It doesn't open. Of course it doesn't. Next, you try the door. It's locked. You use your fists to knock on the door while yelling for help but the heavy wood remains unmoved from your strikes.

You beg for help before you drop to the floor with your back against the door. "Someone. Anyone."

Someone behind you responds with "There's no one here anymore."

You turn around with a startled yelp. Jinwoo stood in the middle of the room, though you were sure he hadn't been there a moment ago. He had changed - now wearing a perfectly tailored black suit that made him look like the CEO of some shady corporation.

"Just us," he continued, flashing that gentle, terrifying smile. "And my shadows, of course. But they won't bother you unless I tell them to."

"How did you get in? The door's locked."

Jinwoo's smile widened. "This is my territory. I can go wherever I want."

You pressed yourself against the wall, trying to put as much distance as possible. "Why am I here? What do you want from me?"

He moved toward you with the gentle pace of a person who wanted to avoid disturbing a wild animal. "I want exactly what I've always wanted in life. You."

"You can't just take people," you said, your voice shaking. "This is kidnapping. This is wrong."

"Wrong?" Jinwoo appeared confused as he examined your perplexed expression. "The protection of personal belongings seems inconceivable to you."

"I don't belong to you!"  Your words escaped before you could recover.

You saw a flash of dangerous predatory energy cross his face before it disappeared again. A quick move had him standing directly in front of you.

"Yes," he said softly and dangerously. "You do."

His hand reached out, surprisingly gentle as it cupped your cheek. You flinched but couldn't pull away - the solid wall behind you.

His words continued "When your light shone on my darkness, your beauty claimed me from that first touch of your hand on my wound. You used to remain beyond my possession."

Shadows curled around your ankles, cold as a winter stream. More shadows gathered in the corners of the room, watching with countless shining eyes.

"But now," Jinwoo's thumb traced your lower lip, "I have all the power in the world. I finally can show my love to you."

You tried to reason with him. "Jinwoo, this isn't love. This is obsession. You don't even know me."

"I know everything about you," he countered immediately. "I know you drink coffee with two sugars but no cream. I know you read science fiction when you can't sleep. I know you volunteer at the pediatric ward at Seoul National Hospital every other Sunday." He looked you straight in the eye.

You experienced a feeling of terror when you understood the full extent of his surveillance. "Did you observe me during this entire period?"

"Since the day you saved me. Every moment. Every breath." His whispered words came closer to your ear. "You're never alone."

Your legs gave way and you slid from the wall onto the floor. His gaze never wavered as Jinwoo sank to his knees beside you.

"Why?" you whispered. "Why this obsession? I barely did anything."

He explained that people had never seen him before because they only looked through him. "People ignored me as if I did not exist. I was invisible. Worthless." His hand squeezed your face lightly. "But you saw me. You touched me without repulsion. You saved me without expecting anything in return."

The desolate quality of his voice approached a state where you almost sympathized with him. Almost.

You began to speak with deliberate intent to Jinwoo "Your current actions destroy all the kindness I have ever extended to you."

Something changed in his expression, hardening like concrete. "You don't understand yet. But you will." He stood abruptly, pulling you to your feet. "I will help you understand."

You pled for freedom while desperately trying to escape his hold. "Please. I will keep this secret between us both. Just let me go."

"Let you go?" He looked genuinely confused by the offer. "Back to what? Poverty? Danger? Being used by groups of people who don't even remember your name?" 

He clenched his fists. "I can give you everything. Safety. Comfort. Power."

"I don't want power," you said. "I just want freedom."

"Freedom is an illusion in this world," he said disdainfully. "The strong rule. The weak must serve or die. That's the truth I've learned."

His eyes softened a little. "But you will never be weak again. Not with me."

Tears welled in your eyes because the worst part was that he was right. In this world of hunters and monsters, of daily survival and constant struggle, you had become isolated. Alone. The perfect victim.

Your voice weakly emitted a single pleasless request. "I just want to go home."

Jinwoo stated in a firm voice "You are already at your home."

You pushed against Jinwoo's chest, breaking free from his embrace. "This isn't home! This is prison!"

His eyes narrowed dangerously. "I have bestowed upon you comforts which surpass everything you have experienced before. Safety. Protection. What more could you want?"

"Choice!" you shouted, anger finally overcoming fear. "My own life! Not to be a pet or a possession!"

Something snapped in Jinwoo's expression, the careful control giving way to something darker, more primal. Shadows exploded from his body, filling the room like smoke, eyes flashing from every corner. A sudden temperature drop resulted in condensed breath vapor forming in the air.

Despite the surrounding shadowy scenes he spoke with a composed voice to ask "Do you know what I am?"

Shadows writhed around him like an aura of living darkness. "I command an army of the dead. I can flatten cities. Destroy countries. I am becoming something beyond human."

He moved toward you, each step leaving frost on the expensive hardwood floor.

He whispered as he continued "But you are the one thing I want most even though I cannot acquire you with ease. Your willing acceptance. Your..." he hesitated, searching for the word "your heart."

The darkness retreated a little, shrinking into his body as he regained control. He reached out, his fingers hovering just above your cheek, not touching.

"I could force you," he said softly. "I could use my darkness to bend your will. Make you think you loved me. Make you forget everything else." He let go. "But that would be a lie. And I've waited too long for lies."

You looked at him, trembling. "Then let me go."

"No." The word was absolute, excluding any objections. "You'll stay. You'll learn. And eventually, you'll understand that this is where you belong."

He turned away, walking toward the door. "This room is yours. This entire floor, actually. You'll find clothes in the closet, food in the kitchen. Books. Entertainment. Anything you need."

Jinwoo paused at the door, looking back over his shoulder. "This world is changing faster than you know. The portal is just the beginning." His eyes met yours, burning with that strange blue light. "War is coming. A war unlike any humanity has ever seen."

He opened the door. "When it happens, you'll understand why I did this. Why I need you to be safe."

"Jinwoo," you called as he stepped through the threshold. "This isn't love. Whatever you think you feel for me - it isn't love."

He paused but didn't turn around. "What is it?"

"Obsession. Possession. Control." You swallowed. "Love doesn't imprison people."

He was silent for a long moment. Then, so quietly you almost didn't hear. "Maybe you're right. Maybe what I feel isn't human love."

Finally he turned, his eyes shining in the darkness of the door. "But I'm becoming less and less human. And whatever this feeling is, it's the only thing keeping me clinging to my humanity."

The door closed behind him, and you heard the lock click.

You found yourself locked inside your elegant prison while an unknown beast used his obsession toward you until he became a grotesque entity. 

 You crashed to the ground while hugging your knees against your body. Outside your window, Seoul went on as usual, unaware of your situation. Somewhere out there, you are being declared dead, another victim of the red gate incident.

No one comes to save you.

And the scariest part? A small, shameful part of you wonders if Jinwoo is right. In a world filled with monsters and gates, daily death and constant danger - is freedom really worth more than his absolute protection?

You push the thought away, disgusted with yourself.

But in the corner of the room, the shadows watch with shining eyes, patient as the grave.

They have all the time in the world. And so do you.

Because Sung Jinwoo, the Shadow Monarch, has decided that you are his. And what Jinwoo has declared, he will keep.

Forever.

__________________________

I'm tired and exhausted af but I can't stop writing

I already know what will happen after this, no inspiration to write -> can't stop writing -> no inspiration

Anyway, hope you like this 💗