#like he really did all that that’s wild

[pucksandpower]

Rumour Has It

Franco Colapinto x Princess of Norway!Reader

Summary: you’ve never heard of Franco before and Franco has certainly never heard of you … but when gossip magazines decide to set you two up, Franco realizes that he wouldn’t mind making the rumors a reality

“Have you seen this?” Noora says, bursting into your study with a tablet clutched to her chest, her eyes wide and frantic.

You look up, half-expecting the sky to have fallen or for Oslo to be under siege. “Seen what?”

Noora slams the tablet down on your desk, and your face is met with a tabloid headline in bold, obnoxious letters: Norway’s Princess Caught in Secret Romance with Argentinian Racing Prodigy Franco Colapinto!

You blink at the screen, then back at Noora, and then at the screen again, as if maybe the headline might rearrange itself into something more sensible. “Sorry, who?”

“Franco Colapinto!” She says, exasperated. “The Argentine driver — the rookie! In Formula 1!”

You tilt your head. “I don’t know who that is.”

Noora gives you a look that’s somewhere between sympathy and horror. “Okay, well, apparently you’re dating him. And half of Norway seems to think so too, thanks to this article.”

“Dating? Noora, I’ve never even heard of him, let alone met him! And this … this is nonsense!” You shove the tablet back at her, feeling your cheeks flush. “How did this even happen?”

Noora sighs, sliding the tablet away. “It’s the internet. They don’t need facts to build a story — they just need a blurry photo and a wild imagination.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, exhaling sharply. “And why didn’t anyone tell me sooner? It’s not like we don’t have a whole team for this.”

“Well, to be fair, it only surfaced last night,” she says, crossing her arms. “But now it’s all over social media, and your name is attached to his. People are actually talking about you two as if you’re the new royal couple.”

Your stomach does an uncomfortable flip. You’ve spent years cultivating a careful, respectable image — a modern princess who’s still traditional enough to respect the expectations placed on her. And now, you’re supposedly dating a race car driver?

“What exactly are they saying?” You ask, your voice quieter, laced with dread.

Noora hesitates, but you give her a pointed look until she relents. “They’re saying you met him at some secret event in Monaco and that you’ve been hiding your relationship to avoid the media frenzy. Apparently, he’s been visiting Norway on his off-days just to see you.” She snorts. “It’s absurd, really. But people are eating it up.”

You stare at her, your pulse thrumming in your ears. “This cannot be happening.”

“Oh, but it is. And the comments …” She trails off, biting her lip.

“Out with it, Noora.”

She sighs. “Some are saying it’s refreshing that you’re dating someone so … I don’t know, normal. But others …” She winces. “Others think it’s irresponsible. That you’re … well, neglecting your duty for some glamorous fling.”

You take a shaky breath, willing yourself to stay calm. “Neglecting my duty,” you repeat, more to yourself than to her. “Because I’m apparently sneaking off with some Formula 1 driver I’ve never even met.”

“I know,” she says, reaching out and giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “But it’ll pass. A few days, maybe a week, and they’ll have moved on to the next scandal.”

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to imagine it blowing over. “And what if it doesn’t?”

“Then we get PR involved. Make a statement, deny everything.” She pauses, eyeing you with a wary smile. “Or, you know, we could just arrange a very public appearance with you and someone else. Nothing quashes rumors like a little royal romance with a suitable partner.”

Your eyes snap open. “Noora.”

She grins, unphased by your glare. “What? It’s an option.”

“I’m not going to parade around with someone just to make the tabloids happy,” you say, crossing your arms.

“Well, that leaves us with the boring option: addressing it head-on, squashing the rumor, and hoping it dies quickly.”

“That will just make it worse,” you sigh resignedly. “The press will think any denial means we have something to hide.”

Noora nods, still eyeing you cautiously. “You could always lean into it a little — make it sound mysterious.”

“Mysterious?” You echo. “No, Noora. I want it gone. I don’t even know this man!”

“All right, all right,” she concedes, hands raised in surrender. “But you know, you could at least look him up.”

You narrow your eyes. “Why would I do that?”

“Because people are going to be asking questions. You’re the Princess of Norway. If they think you’re dating him, it would help to know who he is.”

You open your mouth to argue, but she’s already pulling out her phone. “Just … humor me, okay? It’ll take two seconds.”

She taps her screen, and suddenly a series of photos pops up — images of a young man with dark hair and a serious expression, usually in some variation of a racing suit, often holding a helmet. He’s smiling in one photo, a faint smirk in another, but the confident gleam in his eyes is unmistakable.

“He’s twenty-one,” Noora says, scrolling through some text. “Started karting young, worked his way up. Got his big break with Formula 1 this year.”

You try not to look interested, but it’s hard to ignore the pictures flashing by. He has a kind of easy charisma, that much is obvious.

“And look,” she adds, holding up a picture of him on the track, eyes focused, mouth set in a determined line. “He’s pretty talented, apparently.”

You shake your head, forcing yourself to look away. “None of this matters. Because I don’t know him, and I’m certainly not dating him.”

Noora smirks. “Doesn’t matter. The media thinks you are, and as far as they’re concerned, that makes it practically true.”

You groan, sinking back in your chair. “So what do I do?”

“For now? Sit tight, let PR work their magic. But you might want to brush up on your Formula 1 knowledge, just in case anyone asks.” She grins, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “Wouldn’t want you to sound unprepared.”

You roll your eyes, reaching for the tablet and skimming the article’s ridiculous details. “He brought me roses on the first date?” You mutter, incredulous. “We had a secret dinner at a villa on the Côte d’Azur? Do they just make this up?”

“Pretty much. And it’s only going to get worse if people keep sharing it.”

You rub your temples, trying to banish the lingering image of Franco’s cocky smile from your mind. “Fantastic. Just what I needed — a fake romance with a twenty-one-year-old race car driver.”

Noora pats your shoulder sympathetically. “Could be worse.”

“How, exactly?”

“It could be real.”

***

Franco is hunched over his phone, scrolling mindlessly through his notifications as he waits for his PR briefing to start. The Williams headquarters is bustling this morning, and he barely notices when the door opens until Abbie, his PR officer, strides in, her expression uncharacteristically serious.

“Franco, we need to talk,” she says, folding her arms.

He glances up, one eyebrow raised. “Am I in trouble already? That’s got to be a record.”

Abbie sighs. “No, you’re not in trouble. But you’re in … let’s call it a situation.” She pulls up a chair across from him, lowering her voice as if sharing state secrets. “Have you seen the news?”

“Can’t say I have,” he replies, half-interested. “What, did Carlos suddenly decide to retire and I get to keep my seat for next season?”

Abbie doesn’t laugh, which is a bit worrying. Instead, she hands him her phone, showing a screen filled with a tabloid headline. Princess Y/N of Norway in Secret Romance with F1’s Newest Rising Star, Franco Colapinto!

His brows furrow as he reads, slowly, taking in the headline, the photos, the fabricated “romantic details.”

“Wait … I’m dating a princess?” He says, breaking into a grin. “And nobody thought to tell me?”

Abbie sighs. “Apparently. They’ve got edited photos, fake details — everything.”

He leans back, intrigued. “Princess Y/N,” he muses, tapping his chin with a thoughtful smirk. “Of Norway?”

“Yes, of Norway.” She leans in closer, her expression serious. “This has gone viral, Franco. Everyone’s talking about it.”

He can’t resist; he grabs his own phone and taps out “Princess Y/N of Norway.” The first few links are about her background, her position in the line of succession. “So, she’s next in line to be queen or something?”

“Second in line,” Abbie corrects. “After her father. She’s a pretty big deal over there.”

Franco’s eyes sparkle with interest. “Second in line. And she’s what … like, forty?”

“Not even close,” Abbie says, exasperated. “She’s around your age, I think. She’s twenty-something.”

Franco looks at her, skeptical. “Twenty-something? And a princess?” He scrolls through images of palaces, state functions, and some photos of you smiling politely at dignitaries. She’s dressed elegantly, impeccably, not a hair out of place.

Then, finally, he finds one candid shot, and he stops scrolling. You’re laughing in the photo, a little windswept, wearing jeans and a T-shirt, your smile bright and entirely un-royal. He smirks.

“All right, all right,” he mutters to himself, still looking at the photo. “She’s pretty cute.” He taps back to the headline with a glint of amusement in his eye. “But still not a MILF.”

Abbie groans. “You’re impossible.”

He shrugs, still looking delighted. “Come on. You know my type. I like them older. But …” He trails off, grinning wider. “I could certainly do worse.”

“You’re not actually considering this, are you?” Abbie says, horrified. “Franco, this is a fake rumor. You’re supposed to be distancing yourself from it.”

“Oh, I know. I know.” He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “But it’s kind of funny, isn’t it? Me, a royal boyfriend?” He leans back, arms crossed, still smirking. “I’m almost flattered.”

Abbie sighs and taps her own phone, clearly typing something in response to the rest of the Williams PR team. “Look, flattered or not, you need to be careful. She’s a public figure. If you say the wrong thing, it’ll just fuel the fire.”

“Oh, please,” he says, waving a hand. “What are they gonna do? Put me on trial?”

“Maybe not you,” Abbie replies, giving him a warning look, “but she has an image to protect. This isn’t just gossip for her — it’s her whole life.”

He lets out a low whistle, thinking. “Must be hard, huh? Everyone expecting you to act a certain way. Not much room for fun.”

Abbie eyes him, her expression softening a bit. “I’m sure it is. Which is why we need to treat this carefully.”

Franco glances back at the photos, his smile fading a bit as he considers. He may not know you, but he can picture the situation well enough: the relentless tabloids, the public judgment, all the expectations.

“All right, fine,” he says, finally. “What’s the plan?”

She breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you. I’ll be working with her team to prepare a statement. The usual ‘there’s no truth to these rumors’ line. But until then, keep it low-key.”

He raises a brow. “Low-key? Since when have I ever been low-key?”

“Then try for once.” She gives him a pleading look. “It’ll help her out. Trust me.”

Franco nods, though there’s a spark of amusement still flickering in his eyes. He can’t help it — he’s never been one to turn down a little excitement, and this whole thing is exactly that. He glances at Abbie. “So … if someone were to ask about it …”

She narrows her eyes. “Franco. Don’t even think about it.”

He chuckles. “Relax. I’ll be good.”

But as he heads back to the simulator, he can’t resist a smirk.

***

The meeting room is far more understated than you would’ve expected for something of this scale, tucked away in a discreet corner of a private suite in a London hotel. But it’s neutral ground, and it’s quiet, and no one outside this room will ever have to know about this awkward collision of worlds.

You’re early, of course. You’ve been pacing for the last ten minutes, scrolling through every frantic email your team has sent since this ridiculous rumor broke, trying to make sense of the tabloids’ spiraling narrative.

Franco arrives with a small entourage, though it feels like the entire room shifts the moment he steps in. He looks relaxed, perfectly at ease — too at ease. He catches your eye almost immediately, smirking as if he’s been waiting his whole life for this absurd situation to unfold.

“Princess,” he says, as if the word is a private joke just for the two of you. He holds out his hand, that ever-present glint of mischief in his eyes.

You don’t take it, instead clearing your throat and nodding a polite, “Mr. Colapinto.”

He drops his hand, unfazed. “Mr. Colapinto? Ouch. I thought we were past formalities, what with the whole secret romance thing.”

You stare, unamused, but he only laughs, taking a seat at the conference table across from you. He leans back, stretching his arms over the back of his chair, entirely too comfortable.

Abbie enters behind him, followed by Noora and two more of your advisors, who exchange a brief look with you before giving Franco a wary glance. The room feels divided: your side tense, professional; his side relaxed, as if they’re here for afternoon tea.

Noora clears her throat. “Thank you all for coming. We’re here to discuss … the situation between Her Royal Highness and Mr. Colapinto.”

Franco raises his hand like a schoolboy. “Just Franco’s fine.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “I think it’s important that we treat this with the gravity it deserves.”

“Right,” Franco says, his tone playful. “Like a royal summit.”

Ignoring him, you turn to Noora. “What’s our best option? A joint statement? Something definitive?”

Noora nods, producing a folder from her bag. “Yes, we think a mutual statement from both parties would be the most effective way to dispel the rumors. The tone should be clear, respectful, and leave no room for interpretation.”

Franco grins at you. “So, no room for romance?”

You bite back a sigh. “Exactly.”

He leans forward, resting his chin on his hand as if studying you. “Pity. I thought we made a pretty good pair.”

You shift in your seat, folding your hands tightly in front of you. “This isn’t a joke. It’s an issue of public perception, protocol-”

“Protocol,” he repeats, as if tasting the word. “Can’t say I’m big on protocol. Haven’t you heard? I’m dating a princess now. Practically makes me royalty, right? Protocol doesn’t apply to me.”

You shoot him a pointed look. “Protocol applies to everyone.”

“Boring people,” he counters, grinning wider. “Which, by the way, you are not. I don’t buy it.”

You feel your cheeks flush. “I don’t think you understand the stakes here.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly. But, come on …” He gestures to the small group of advisors around the table. “Look at this! Two teams acting like we’re two PR disasters waiting to happen … it’s ridiculous. You would think we were in the middle of an international scandal.”

“We are in the middle of an international scandal,” you say, exasperated. “People think we’re dating. It’s a breach of public trust for both of us-”

He snorts. “You’re talking like I’m some kind of international criminal. Come on, Princess. It’s just a rumor.”

“It’s more than that,” you insist, struggling to keep your voice steady. “This rumor reflects on me, on my family. On Norway.”

He watches you, head tilted, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. “And do you care?”

You frown, feeling that flush creep back to your cheeks. “Of course I care.”

“No, I mean, do you care about it — us? I mean, the rumor?”

There’s something disarming in the way he says it, like he’s testing you. You can’t help but hesitate, your well-rehearsed words slipping just out of reach.

“It’s my duty,” you finally say, straightening your shoulders, “to uphold my family’s reputation.”

He doesn’t seem impressed. Instead, he shakes his head, a bemused smile on his lips. “You’re so serious. Makes me think I really did pick the right princess.”

Noora coughs, clearly eager to refocus the meeting. “Let’s discuss the actual statement, shall we?”

You nod, relieved to move on, but Franco holds up a hand, eyes still locked on yours. “I just want to say, for the record … I don’t think I’d mind the rumors, if they were true.”

There’s a moment of silence, thick and uncomfortable. You can feel the curious stares of your team, the surprise on Noora’s face, the quiet snickers from Franco’s side.

“Mr. Colapinto,” you say carefully, “this is neither the time nor place for that kind of … remark.”

He shrugs, unbothered. “Who decides that?”

Noora jumps in. “We do. And as such, we have a preliminary draft we’d like to review with both of you. It’s brief and to the point, which is important.”

Abbie leans in, already reading over the statement. “The recent reports of a romantic relationship between Princess Y/N and Franco Colapinto are entirely false and without merit. Both parties are focused on their respective roles and responsibilities and have not been involved in any way that would support these rumors.” She looks up, pleased with herself.

You give an approving nod, glancing at Franco. “Short and factual. Perfect.”

Franco frowns, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated sigh. “It’s a little … cold, don’t you think?”

“That’s the point,” you say flatly. “We’re supposed to be shutting down the rumors, not fueling them.”

He lifts an eyebrow, eyes gleaming. “How about something more like … while I have great respect for Princess Y/N and have enjoyed our time together, I can confirm that we are, unfortunately, just friends?”

You look at him, horrified. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on.” He gives you a devilish grin. “It’s all about the narrative, Princess. People want romance, intrigue. You’re literal royalty — give them a little fairytale.”

You feel your cheeks burn, and it takes everything you have not to snap back at him. “This isn’t some soap opera, Mr. Colapinto.”

“Franco,” he corrects, eyes still dancing with mischief.

Noora clears her throat again. “I think it’s best we stick with the original statement.”

He gives you a mockingly solemn nod. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

You give a small, exasperated sigh, looking back to Noora and Abbie. “If we’re all agreed, can we proceed?”

Abbie glances between you and Franco, as if gauging the tension in the air. “Yes. We’ll finalize the statement this evening and have it released tomorrow morning.”

Franco pushes back his chair, rising to his feet. “Well, I suppose that settles it, then.” He glances down at you, his gaze lingering a bit too long. “Shame, though. This could’ve been fun.”

You fold your arms, giving him a pointed look. “We have very different definitions of fun.”

“Clearly,” he says, his smirk deepening. “But tell me, don’t you ever get tired of all this?” He gestures around at the meeting room, the stacks of paperwork, the solemn faces of your advisors. “The rules, the protocol. Doesn’t it get … dull?”

You purse your lips, resisting the temptation to give him a real answer. “It’s my duty.”

He tilts his head, his expression softening just slightly. “I get duty. But where’s the fun?”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words don’t come. And for a second, just a second, you wonder if he has a point.

Franco’s gaze sharpens as he watches you struggle to respond. And then, to your utter shock, he steps closer, his hand reaching for yours. “Here,” he says, with that sly, teasing smile.

Before you can pull away, he lifts your hand, bringing it to his lips in a slow, deliberate gesture. His eyes hold yours as he brushes his mouth over your knuckles, lingering just long enough to make you feel the heat creeping up your face.

“I promise,” he murmurs, voice low and smooth, “the next time I kiss you, Princess, it’ll be somewhere much more pleasurable.”

You pull your hand back, heart pounding, but he only grins, unbothered, and gives you a playful wink.

“Until next time, Your Highness.”

***

The bar is dimly lit, tucked away on a quiet street where no one knows who you are and, more importantly, no one cares. It’s the perfect place to slip away from the weight of your title, from the headlines, from the rules and the statement that your team is probably drafting up at this very moment. For once, you just want to sit here, nursing a drink, and pretend you’re anyone else.

The whiskey burns as it goes down, but it’s a welcome distraction. You let out a breath, easing back against the bar, feeling some of the tension in your shoulders release. For the first time all day, no one is watching, no one is whispering. You’re just … here.

Until a voice slides into the quiet like a warm breeze. “Didn’t think I’d find royalty in a place like this.”

You don’t even need to look to know it’s him. You don’t turn, but your grip on the glass tightens as Franco slides onto the stool beside you, looking annoyingly pleased with himself.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, not bothering to mask the exasperation in your voice.

“Me?” He says, all innocence. “Just having a drink. Same as you.” He signals the bartender. “Tequila,” he says, then nods at your glass, smirking. “And whatever she’s having.”

You sigh. “Of all the bars in London, you had to pick this one?”

He grins, shameless. “Maybe I just have good taste.”

You roll your eyes. “Highly doubtful.”

He chuckles, unfazed. “Come on, Princess. I know you’re thrilled to see me.”

“Thrilled isn’t exactly the word I’d use.”

He leans in, his voice dropping low enough that it feels like a secret. “What would you use, then?”

You pause, taking a sip of your drink as you consider. “Mildly inconvenienced.”

He laughs at that, a warm, genuine sound that catches you off guard. You try to keep your face impassive, but there’s something disarming about his laughter, something that makes you wonder why it feels like he’s always able to unravel you with so little effort.

“Fine,” he says, leaning his elbow on the bar, mirroring your posture. “Then I’ll just sit here, mildly inconveniencing you until you admit you’re enjoying yourself.”

You scoff. “That’s not going to happen.”

His whiskey arrives, and he raises his glass, clinking it lightly against yours. “Care to bet on that?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Do you always think everything’s a game?”

“Only when it’s fun,” he says, his gaze dropping to your lips. There’s something undeniably bold about the way he watches you, something that sends a little thrill down your spine despite yourself.

You hold his gaze, refusing to back down. “What exactly do you think you’re doing here?”

“I thought that was obvious,” he says, his voice turning softer, more intimate. “I’m trying to get to know you.”

You snort. “Get to know me? I’m pretty sure you just want to use this as an excuse to fuel the rumors.”

“Maybe the rumors are more interesting than you think,” he counters smoothly, sipping his drink. “Or maybe I’m just curious.”

“Curious?” You echo, lifting an eyebrow. “About what?”

“About what a princess does when no one’s watching.” His eyes flash with that familiar glint, and he gives you a lazy, unapologetic smile. “And so far, you don’t disappoint.”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “If you’re trying to charm me, it’s not working.”

“Oh, I don’t need to try,” he says, his voice soft but self-assured. “I just do.”

You shake your head, determined not to let him win this little game. “I don’t think you’re as irresistible as you think you are.”

“Maybe.” He tilts his head, studying you with an infuriating level of focus. “But you’re still here, aren’t you?”

Your retort dies on your lips as his hand moves closer, resting just on the edge of the bar, fingers inching toward yours. It’s subtle, but it sends a pulse of awareness up your arm, and you’re suddenly very aware of how close he is, the warmth radiating from him, the intensity of his gaze as it lingers on you.

You straighten, clearing your throat. “So what’s your endgame here, Franco?”

“No endgame,” he says easily, but there’s a promise in his tone, a flicker in his eyes that makes it hard to believe. “Just wanted a drink with a pretty princess.”

You almost laugh. Almost. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“Is that why you’re smiling?” He asks, leaning closer.

You hadn’t realized you were. You quickly straighten your face, but he’s already noticed, that knowing smirk widening as he takes another sip of his drink.

“Relax, Princess. You’re allowed to have fun, too.”

“Define fun,” you say, though you’re painfully aware that you’re actually enjoying this little back-and-forth. It’s dangerous, exhilarating — two things you never let yourself indulge in.

“Fun?” He tilts his head, eyes sparkling. “Fun is you, sitting here, pretending you don’t like me, while secretly hoping I’ll keep talking.”

You roll your eyes. “Delusional.”

“Maybe,” he says, and his hand moves again — this time, resting casually on your thigh under the bar. The touch is light, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch, enough to make you momentarily forget the carefully constructed boundaries you’ve set.

“Franco,” you warn, though your voice is less steady than you’d like.

He raises an eyebrow, his fingers tracing a slow, almost absentminded circle against your leg. “Problem?”

You don’t answer, but he takes your silence as permission, his fingers edging just a little higher, teasingly close, as if he’s daring you to stop him. And you should. You know you should. But for some reason, you don’t.

He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “Tell me to stop, Princess. And I will.”

Your mind races, every sensible thought colliding with the thrill that’s building inside you. You swallow, feeling the weight of his gaze, the heat of his touch.

“Why would I tell you to stop,” you say quietly, your voice barely more than a whisper, “if I don’t want you to?”

He grins, satisfied. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Before you can respond, he’s closing the distance, his hand slipping higher under your dress, his thumb brushing slow circles that make your heart race. It’s reckless and wild and nothing you’d ever thought you’d do — but in this moment, it feels impossible to resist.

The next few minutes are a blur of whispered words and stolen glances, your resolve slipping with every soft touch, every cocky grin he throws your way. You barely register the decision to leave the bar until you’re outside, standing on the quiet street, the night air cool against your flushed skin.

“Your place or mine?” He asks, his voice a playful drawl.

You hesitate, a thousand reasons to walk away tumbling through your mind. But when you look at him — at that unrelenting confidence, the challenge in his eyes — you feel your control waver. Just this once, you tell yourself. Just this once, you’ll let yourself break the rules.

“Yours,” you say, surprised at the steadiness of your voice.

He doesn’t waste a second, taking your hand and leading you down the street, his grip warm and solid, grounding you even as your heart races. You follow him, pulse pounding with each step, until you’re standing outside his hotel room door, the reality of what you’re doing hitting you in a rush.

But then he’s looking at you again, that mischievous smile softening into something more intimate, and your doubts fade. He opens the door, and you step inside, feeling as though you’re crossing some invisible line.

The room is dim, the city lights casting a faint glow through the windows. He steps closer, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle, almost reverent, and for a moment, you see a different side of him — something softer, deeper.

“Last chance to change your mind,” he murmurs, his voice low.

You meet his gaze, feeling the weight of his words. But instead of answering, you lean up, closing the distance between you, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that’s tentative at first, then deepening as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close.

And for the first time in as long as you can remember, you don’t think about duty, or protocol, or anything else. In this moment, there’s only you and him and the quiet thrill of finally letting go.

***

francolapinto

Liked by f1wagupdates, royalwatchers, and 714,925 others

francolapinto all the rumours are true

View all 3,816 comments

pintobean everyone called me crazy for believing the articles but look who’s laughing now!

coca-colapinto because as much as i love franco, there’s no way i was about to believe he could’ve pulled a whole ass princess

pintobean this is a lesson not to underestimate his rizz

coca-colapinto please never say that unironically again

f1wagupdates pray for their PR teams, whatever they’re earning is not nearly enough 🙏

gridgossip franco had exactly nine races to turn the paddock upside down and boy did he not disappoint

f1wagupdates who needs an f1 seat in 2025 when you can have a throne?

***

The morning arrives far too soon, sunlight streaming through the hotel curtains and casting a warm glow over the rumpled sheets. You barely have time to blink yourself awake when a loud, frantic banging rattles the door, shaking you out of the haze of last night.

Franco groans beside you, his arm lazily draped over your waist. “You expecting someone?”

You’re too comfortable, too wrapped up in the warmth of his skin and the lingering bliss to even think straight. “Not … exactly.”

The pounding persists, and then voices — urgent, unmistakable voices — filter through the door. “Franco! Y/N! Are you in there? It’s urgent!”

Your eyes widen, a flash of panic cutting through the sleepiness. Franco doesn’t seem fazed. He barely lifts his head off the pillow, his hand lazily running down your spine as he mutters, “They’ll go away.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” You push yourself up slightly, glancing over the bed, finding discarded clothes and a vague sense of regret somewhere on the floor. The pounding grows louder, and finally, Franco sits up, rubbing his eyes, his hair adorably disheveled.

He stretches, glancing at you with a lazy grin. “What do you think? Just a few more minutes or …”

“Open the door!” Comes a familiar, exasperated voice from the hallway. You recognize it immediately — Noora.

Franco’s eyes meet yours, amusement glinting there. “Looks like we don’t have a choice.”

Reluctantly, he pulls himself out of bed, grabbing a pair of pants from the floor and slipping them on with a casual ease that only makes your heartbeat quicken. He tosses you a smirk over his shoulder before heading to the door.

As he opens it, a whirlwind of people floods into the room — Noora, Abbie, and a few more members of both your PR teams, all of them looking like they’re seconds away from losing their minds.

“Oh my god,” Noora gasps, her gaze darting between you and Franco, her face turning several shades of pink. “This … this is-”

“Completely reckless!” Abbie finishes, giving you a look that’s half shock, half scandalized admiration. “What were you two thinking?”

Franco crosses his arms, unfazed. “Good morning to you too.”

One of Williams’ other PR officers steps forward, looking ready to faint. “Franco, do you have any idea what you’ve done? Those photos … your Instagram …”

Franco grins, leaning casually against the doorframe. “What, people are talking?”

“Talking?” Noora squeaks, her voice an octave higher than usual. She glares at you, her eyes wide, almost pleading. “This is a disaster! Do you understand what you’ve done to our schedule, our statement plan? And the … the-” Her gaze flickers to the faint marks on your neck, and her knees buckle. Abbie reaches out quickly, guiding her to a chair.

“Maybe we overreacted,” Abbie mutters, though she doesn’t take her eyes off you. “Or maybe we didn’t react enough.”

You feel a rush of heat flood your face as everyone’s gaze lands on you. Franco catches it and gives you a cheeky wink, clearly enjoying the chaos he’s created.

“Look,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “maybe we got a little carried away, but it’s … it’s not like we did anything wrong.”

“Nothing wrong?” Noora says, her voice faint as she studies the marks on your neck again. “You … you have no idea how this looks, do you?”

Franco, completely unfazed, strolls over to the mirror above the dresser. He takes a long look at his own reflection, tilting his head to admire the scratches and darkening bruises scattered across his skin. “Looks like a good night to me.”

Your PR teams collectively groan, and you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing. Franco catches your eye in the mirror, and the mischievous spark there makes it impossible not to crack a smile.

“Franco, this isn’t a joke!” One of his managers snaps, practically pulling at his hair. “Do you know how many calls we’ve received since you posted those photos?”

Franco shrugs, giving them a lazy grin. “Then turn off your phone. Worked for me.”

Another round of exasperated sighs fills the room, and you can’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for your PR team. Not enough, though, to actually feel bad.

Noora steps forward, hands on her hips, looking at you with an expression that’s somehow both sympathetic and stern. “Your Highness, this is … unprecedented. We need to issue a statement immediately, clarify this situation-”

“Or not,” Franco interrupts, his tone far too nonchalant. He turns away from the mirror, crossing his arms. “Honestly, I think the people like a little mystery, don’t you?”

Noora gives him a look that could wilt flowers. “This isn’t about what the people like, Mr. Colapinto. It’s about protecting reputations.”

“Oh, so we’re doing that now?” Franco glances at you, his smile playful. “Funny, last night I didn’t get the sense that the two of us in this room were all that worried about reputations.”

Your face flushes, and you shoot him a look that’s half reprimand, half reluctant amusement. “You’re not helping.”

He shrugs, unbothered. “Who said I was trying to help?”

Abbie lets out a long sigh, rubbing her temples. “Can we at least agree that this … whatever this is, stays here? Quietly?”

Franco raises an eyebrow, looking at you with a smirk. “You hear that, Princess? Quietly. Doesn’t sound like much fun to me.”

You swallow, trying to ignore the way his gaze makes your stomach flip. “Maybe some things should be quiet,” you say, though your voice sounds unconvincing even to you.

Noora, still looking a bit wobbly, clears her throat. “Please, can we just … make a plan?”

Franco sighs, feigning disappointment. “Fine. Make your plan. But don’t expect me to follow it.”

Before anyone can respond, he gives you one last smirk and strides over to the door, pulling it open. “In fact, I think it’s about time we had the room to ourselves, don’t you think?”

The PR teams exchange panicked glances, but they don’t have much choice as Franco gives them a not-so-subtle wave toward the exit. Noora opens her mouth to protest, but Abbie gently ushers her toward the door, casting one last look at you that’s a mix of concern and reluctant approval.

“We’ll be in touch,” Abbie says, but there’s a hint of resignation in her tone, as if she knows that whatever control they thought they had is slipping fast.

Once the last of them has been herded out, Franco shuts the door with a decisive click. He turns back to you, a wicked gleam in his eyes, and before you can process it, he’s crossing the room, closing the distance between you in seconds.

“You know,” he says, his voice low and teasing, “I think we gave them quite a show.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the smile that tugs at your lips. “We? That was mostly you.”

He laughs softly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. “You didn’t exactly object.”

You’re about to respond, but he doesn’t give you the chance. His hands find your waist, and suddenly you’re being guided backward, the mattress hitting the back of your legs as he eases you down. His gaze is intense, his smirk fading into something more serious, more intent.

“Franco,” you murmur, but the way he’s looking at you steals the rest of your words.

He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then to the corner of your mouth. His voice is barely more than a whisper as he murmurs, “We’re not done yet, Princess.”

Your heart races as he shifts, his hands warm against your skin, his weight pressing you back into the bed. And as he leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s somehow both playful and possessive, you realize that whatever the consequences, whatever scandal might follow … right now, none of it matters.

Right now, there’s only him, the quiet thrill of his touch, and the feeling of finally — finally — giving in.

***

The night sky over Las Vegas glitters with a million lights, bright enough to drown out the stars, as the drivers’ parade winds down the track. The grandstands are packed, the excitement in the air palpable even before the race has started.

Franco is perched atop the back of a bus, arms folded, his easy smirk in place as he surveys the flashing cameras and cheering fans. Beside him stands Lewis Hamilton, calm and collected as always, with that practiced smile of someone who’s done this a thousand times.

Franco nudges Lewis with his elbow, grinning. “So, you know we’re both basically royalty now, right?”

Lewis chuckles, giving him a sideways look. “Oh, yeah? What makes you think that?”

Franco shrugs, looking as if he’s contemplating something serious for a split second, then tilts his head. “Well, you’ve got the knighthood, Sir Hamilton,” he says, drawing out the words with an exaggerated British accent. “And I’ve got, well …” He grins, his eyebrows waggling suggestively. “The princess.”

Lewis laughs, a rich, full sound. “Ah, I see. So you’re actually out here trying to one-up my knighthood?”

Franco clutches his chest dramatically. “Exactly. I mean, not to make it a competition, but I’m basically a prince now. Which, if we’re being technical, puts me a bit above you in rank.”

Lewis lets out a snort, rolling his eyes. “Shut up, man. I’m a knight, not a court jester.”

Franco raises his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening. “Hey, I’m just stating the facts. I’m sure knighthood’s very nice, but I think there’s something to be said for having a princess.”

Lewis shakes his head, trying not to laugh. “So it’s true, then?”

For the first time, Franco’s smirk softens into something else, something quieter. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, glancing at the screen with an expression that’s unmistakably fond. He’s not looking at Lewis now, or at the cheering fans, or even the flashing cameras around them. His gaze is locked on his phone, where an image fills the screen.

It’s you, cozy on the couch with your Cavalier King Charles Spaniel in your lap, a warm blanket wrapped around you, hair falling casually over your shoulder. You’re looking straight into the camera, a relaxed smile on your face, and there’s an almost surprising intimacy in the photo — the kind that doesn’t come from a staged royal portrait but from a simple, real moment. It’s the type of photo someone only sends to someone they care about.

Franco doesn’t say anything right away. He just stares at the image, his thumb tracing lightly over the screen, as if he’s savoring the private moment before he has to lock his phone away for the race.

He nods, almost to himself. “Yeah. It’s true.”

Lewis studies him slowly, an almost invisible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t think I’d see the day,” he murmurs, a touch of amusement there. “Guess you’re growing up, huh?”

Franco finally looks up, chuckling. “Speak for yourself, man. I’m still a kid at heart.”

Lewis raises an eyebrow. “A kid at heart who’s dating a princess? That’s a combination I didn’t see coming.”

“Neither did I, to be honest.” Franco leans back, stretching his arms out along the edge of the bus, still clutching his phone in one hand. “One minute, I’m just minding my business, and the next … boom.” He snaps his fingers. “The entire world decides we’re dating. Didn’t even know her name before then.”

Lewis chuckles. “And now you’re on your phone looking at pictures she sent you. You’ve come a long way.”

Franco glances down at the picture again, a private smile playing on his lips. “Guess I have.”

The parade continues, the roar of the crowd swelling around them as they pass another section of the grandstand, but it all feels distant. The conversation falls into a comfortable silence, and Franco finds himself thinking back over the past few weeks, the whirlwind of rumors and statements, and then … the quiet moments that somehow followed.

Lewis studies him, eyes narrowing in that perceptive way he has. “So … you and her. Is it, like, official?”

Franco lets out a short laugh. “Are you kidding? This is Her Royal Highness we’re talking about. There’s no ‘official’ until we’ve been courting for at least a year. There’s procedure and … what’s the word she loves to use? Protocol.”

“Protocol.” Lewis grins. “That sounds … exactly like what you hate.”

“Oh, believe me.” Franco laughs, shaking his head. “She’s been trying to teach me, but I don’t think I’ve followed protocol a single time. I mean, she actually tried to tell me what utensils I should use at dinner. Like, why does it matter?”

“Didn’t go well, huh?”

“Let’s just say I’ve decided that those tiny forks are optional.” Franco sighs, pocketing his phone. “But that’s her. She takes it all so seriously. Makes me want to take it seriously too, in some strange way.”

Lewis tilts his head, watching him. “I get that. That’s what happens when someone really means something to you.” He pauses, as if weighing his words. “So, she’s watching tonight?”

Franco nods, a flash of pride evident in his smile. “She sent me this right before we went out for the parade.” He taps his pocket, where his phone is hidden now. “Said she’d be watching. Don’t know how she manages to get away with it, with her schedule planned out months in advance, but she’s … creative.”

Lewis laughs, shaking his head. “The lengths you two go to. Like some kind of fairytale romance.”

The bus they’re on takes another slow turn around the parade route, the lights of Las Vegas casting a surreal glow over the scene. The streets are packed with fans, all of them waving and shouting, and Franco finds himself wondering if you’re watching this right now. He imagines you, curled up on the couch with that fluffy little dog of yours, laughing at the absurdity of it all.

Franco smiles. “Yeah, I guess it really is.”

[daosies]

the only one

Sylus has a soft spot for you.

sylus ♡ gn!reader

warnings: reader is the protagonist but gender neutral, pre-established relationship, crude & violent descriptions, not proofread

notes: muehehe

You are the only one in the world who can treat Sylus like this. 

“[Name],” he calls for the nth time. “[Name].” 

Sylus observes the furrow of your brow, the wobbly line of your lips. He notices the way your entire expression scrunches up, the way you visibly gasp when your gaze drifts over the most audacious line of the book you’re reading. 

It’s endearing, really. The way your feelings dance across your face, oblivious to the crimson irises that do the same. Sylus notices all these things about you; he also notices how you don’t notice him, how your attention is fixated wholly on your book, how his adoring looks are bested by an inanimate object and how his terribly-obvious advances are shut down because of printed words on a paper.

Sylus hates losing. He hates being ignored. In fact, Sylus has never been ignored in his life—his sheer presence commands attention, his gaze alone being enough to silence a crowd. When it comes to you, however, his gaze is not enough.

Again, you are the only one in the world who can treat Sylus like this.

“[Name].” Sylus has had enough of losing. He reaches for the book and steals it from your hands. 

“Sylus?” you reply, as if he hadn’t been there the entire time. “Since when did you arrive?” 

Oh, he thinks. So, to you, he really hadn’t been there the entire time. 

“Ten minutes ago,” he states coolly. 

“Huh? Why didn’t you call me? Or tell me?”

“I did.”

“Really? Oh, sorry! That book was really getting crazy, I mean, like, the main character was—”

Sylus decides not to mention the part where he gave up. He had tried to get your attention, but somewhere along the way, he opted to sit in your presence instead, perceiving despite not being perceived. 

In the silence, Sylus’s gaze trailed over your features, from the bridge of your nose to the curl of your lips. His red eyes tied knots around your expression, burning the image into his retinas, weaving the strings towards himself, from the base of your pinky to his. Sylus hates being ignored. He hates losing and he hates the idea of not being acknowledged. 

When it comes to you, however, it’s different. 

Everything is different. 

“And then—oh, sorry. Am I boring you with the details?” you suddenly say, becoming bashful. Your pupils avert from his. Sylus is desperate to force them back on him, his brows furrowing ever-so slightly. 

Quicker than he can think, he replies, “Not at all.” 

You look at him. The tension laced into his expression eases. 

“I almost forgot to ask,” you say, switching topics abruptly, “why are you here, Sylus?” 

He chuckles at your bluntness. You are the only one in the world who can talk like that to him.

“I just wanted to see someone.” 

Your eyes widen. Sylus relishes in the sight, unblinking, desperate and wild and oh, utterly miserable. To rely only on sight is a terrible fate, but again, you are the only one in the world who Sylus cannot catch. Your image slips in between his mind, falling through the intangibility of memory and vision. You cannot be contained—your unabashed and radiant spirit, your breathtaking and limitless beauty. You torture him! With thoughts of your existence, with thoughts of your real and incomparable being! 

You—you exist! 

(Sometimes, Sylus can’t believe it. And then he looks at you, and then himself, and he realizes that you are damn near divine. You are damn near intangible, an entity he worships, a concept he follows and offers himself towards. If you were to tell him to dismember himself now, Sylus thinks he would. If you were to ask him for his eyes, he’d tell you to hand him a knife. If you were to ask him for his heart, he’d tell you to take all four chambers.)

“You… you wanted to see me?”

Sylus smirks a little. “Did I say that?” 

Your face erupts with embarrassment. “Hey! You… you!” 

“Me,” he affirms.

(Look at you.)

Mirth flickers across the carmine expanse of his irises, the scarlet of his lips and the crimson within his veins. His pupils catch your for a moment before you look away, covering your expression with the palm of your hand. Sylus is used to people avoiding his gaze, to shying away from his presence out of sheer terror. He prefers it that way, really. It makes his job easier. 

(Look at him.)

When it comes to you, however, it’s different. Sylus doesn’t want you avert your eyes from his—he wants to peer into your soul, to pick apart the temple with his own bloodied hands, to witness for himself the grandness of your presence, the impossibility of your existence. 

(How could he ever believe you exist? When he is terrible and haunted, while you—oh, you—are utterly divine?)

Sylus wants you to perceive him. He wants you to pick him apart, too. To dismember him! To peel apart his skin and come to realize that everything, everything within himself—from the branches of his veins to the curl of his ribs—have only ever flowed back to his heart. 

And you own that heart of his. That wretched, twisted little thing. You own it. And everything else that comes with it. 

“You’re so…!”

“So?” Sylus encourages you to continue, tilting his head slightly. A smirk twists at his lips. He’s enjoying this far too much. 

“Whatever!” You try to snatch the book back from his hands, your movements agile and befitting a hunter. Unfortunately for you, Sylus is used to playing things dirty, so he snaps the novel away with his Evol and calls it a day. 

“Let’s go,” he says, standing up. “You like the arcade, right?” 

You glare at him without saying a word.

You are the only one in the world who would ever make Sylus wait. Still, he obliges.

“You’re insufferable,” you mutter.

He hums. “And?” 

“Disrespectful.” 

Sylus’s cool expression remains unfazed. “I’ve never heard that one before.”

You snort. “Who would ever call you that?” 

Only you, he thinks. For some reason, the thought doesn’t irritate him. 

After all, you are the only one in the world who can treat Sylus like this. 

(As a matter of fact, to Sylus, you are the only one in the world.) 

[smoozie]

Did not just watch a full episode of Wild Life in which both of Grian's teammates desperately try to get kills and both end up on red despite (and often because of) their effort, for you guys to keep saying Scar and Jimmy are getting eliminated next episode.

Jimmy has five fucking kills man. He's doing GREAT!! I know that people are attached to the canary curse, and this is Wild Life so I understand anything can happen, but come on. I will admit I don't have high hopes for Jimmy, but I really think people are selling him short this season.

Yeah Scar failed like eight traps this session, but he's still doing well. Ya know why? Because he's good at taking advantage of a situation. That man has six kills on Etho alone for a reason. Do none of you remember last season when Gem attacked Scar early on during the boogeyman apocalypse because she thought he would be an easy kill, and she had to RETREAT because he did too much damage on her?!?

The worst part is that no one is even claiming Jimmy and Scar are in danger for reasonable things, like the fact that Grian (who has the HIGHEST kill count in the series) has just declared them his number one enemies. Everyone is acting like they're both just going to throw themselves off cliffs three times next episode. Like yeah they can both be reckless players but they aren't stupid. They know to stay safe on red. Scar especially performs well on red. (He is a LOT like Joel)

Speaking of which! The Bamboozlers have happily made an alliance with the Family. Two of the strongest pvp players on the server. "But Jimmy killed Joel" yeah and Joel congratulated him because he thought it was a good kill. Scar and Lizzie have had alliances with the Family for a while, now that Jimmy's green there's no bad blood between them. And while I don't think Gem or Joel are gonna die saving any Bamboozlers (well, Joel might for Lizzie), having them on their side may slightly deter Grian's posse considering their desperate attempts on the Family's lives this episode.

POINT BEING: The Bamboozlers are ALL in a really good place at the end of this episode. Their whole team is green, they've secured an alliance with the Family, and they're all competent players. Y'all should be really worried about Mumbo right now. I'm worried about Mumbo.

[teapot-of-tyrahn]

TUMBLR USER STELLOCCHIA UR SO RIGHT.

"[the social game] is what i'm best at, cleo! i don't survive 'till the end by actually fighting people - people just don't want to fight me!" (scott, wild life ep2, 19:02-07).

scott asked her to apologise because he loves pearl. because wanted to protect her the best way he knew how. because this is a game of social manipulation, a game gem has been ACTIVELY twisting against pearl - gem’s trying to villainize pearl in the exact same way ren villainized her in double life. scott’s trying to protect pearl from gem turning the entire server against her - because they can fight back with fire, sure, they could trap her, they could murder her, but that would only give gem more fuel to turn everyone against pearl. in the situation gem’s set up? killing her, hunting her down… that’s what she wants. she literally put a target on her skin. gem wants pearl to kill her - that would be letting her win. it would be playing right into her’ hands. it would give her just cause to tell the server that she’s wicked, that she’s a demoness, that she needs to die. and scott’s not going to let her doom his teammate. not while he can help it.

and even ADDING to ur last comment - he actually offered the life right away!! while she was on yellow!! he was ready to give it right then and there, pearl was the one insisting they wait ‘till she was red because didn’t want to take scott’s life until it was absolutely neccesary!! which i think make’s mumbo’s “if they really loved you they’d give you a life” spiel a LOT funnier because the FIRST thing scott did this session was like “PEARL U SHOULD MURDER ME”!!

“if they really loved you, they’d give you a life!” it was a jab meant to try to pull their team apart. that’s what mumbo had intended it as, anyway. but with the context? with knowing scott already offered?

all mumbo told pearl was that scott really loved her.

The way people act like Scott is such an awful teammate for wanting Pearl to apologize to Gem just shows me that a lot of people will just do anything to demonize him without trying to understand jack shit.

So, guys, I'll spell it out:

SCOTT ISN'T GOOD AT PVP OR TRAPS

He can't rely on those skills, and yet he always makes it really far into the series. Ever wondered why? Because he excels at the social game. He knows how to stay friendly with people.

That's how he keeps himself alive.

It goes without saying that the only way he knows how to keep his allies safe as well (aside from sacrificing himself for them) is to keep them in everyone's good graces. That is most likely why he's been trying (and succeed) to smooth things over between Gem and Pearl. It isn't betrayal, it isn't a matter of him siding with Gem, or liking her more than Pearl (weirdchamp kind of assumption to make that last one, we literally don't know them), it's just the only way he knows how to keep Pearl alive. And considering how much she's been dying this season, I understand why he's prioritizing her over Impulse.

Add to that the fact that Gem is also good at the social game AND she's great at PvP AND in an alliance with someone who always hates Scott's gut in literally every season, is also good at PvP and is extremely volatile, and yeah. They're not good enemies to have. Especially not so early on. We're still on episode 4 and Gem and Joel are still dark green, this is the time to befriend them so the Final Girls won't be the first people they turn on when they drop to red.

Also, just saying, but if Scott didn't care for Pearl he wouldn't have offered to give her a life as soon as she turns red.

[kooqitas]

#pairing: cheater!jeonghan x reader ♡ smut [18+ mdni], pwp ♡ wc: ~1400 #synopsis: you always knew jeonghan was worthless, you just didn't expect to see him at a school parent meeting with his wife #warnings: cheating!!!!! rough sex, semi-public sex, degradation, breeding kink, spitting, slapping, humiliation, jeonghan is dom and y/n brat. wonwoo mentioned. unprotected sex. #warnings: ok, maybe i went a little over the moral line, but considering that i fantasize abt kpop idols having sex i don't think morals matter that much here… �� m.list | inbox :D join my taglist

you knew you were fucked when he walked into that class.

yes, the guy you had been fucking without any strings attached almost daily for two weeks was at the school's parents reunion at that exact moment. the problem? you were the teacher and he was the father of one of your students... with a huge fucking ring on his finger and his WIFE by his side.

eunbin was so cute, as always, the girl with asian eyes loved you as her teacher, and made sure to show you how much her father and mother who loved each other so much were there, after going through a five-year wedding anniversary dinner last night.

you tried to be professional, you tried your best not to show how pissed you were about the whole situation, but honestly yoon jeonghan should go fuck himself!

it was the worst time of your life, a student's mother telling you how much her daughter loved you, and all you could think about was her husband cumming inside your cunt. god...

you don't know what the hell he came up with, but after the meeting was over, while you were gathering your things in your class, jeonghan appeared behind you.

"you told me you were single!" you asked, visible mad.

"well... maybe i hid some information..."

"fuck you!" you said, stupidly.

"look, it's just a... detail" he said.

one detail? seriously? you shameless son of a bitch- you wanted to tell jeonghan to go kill himself, but you took a deep breath, trying to be professional about the situation

"your wife wouldn't like to see this, you better let me go."

he chuckled, now leaning in as he placed a hand on your waist, holding you in place. 

“you are probably right, but who says that i care? do you care?”

“yes. i do!”

“really?” he laughed. his mouth on your ear now, his hands started moved over your body. “then why don’t you push me away?”

“you are married, jeonghan”

“so? my wife isn’t here, is she?” he placed a wet kiss on your neck, that make you gasped. “maybe you are enjoying this…”

“do you have a free relationship?” jeonghan didn’t answer, he just laughed again. “that’s so fucking wrong. if i knew that you are married, nothing will happened in that bar, and after… what that fuck, who owns the apartment where we had sex?”

“is mine. only mine!” he laughed.

“did she cheated you too? is it some type of revenge?”

“no” he shook his head. “i’m cheating cause i want you… so bad.” his hands start moving up your thighs, pushing up the hem of your dress. “stop acting like you really care for it, you aren’t pushing me away”

“eunbin… your kid…”

“i don’t care!” he kissed your neck. “she isn’t here, is she?”

“but if she discover it..”

“then she wouldn’t have to discover it, that’s the whole point, pretty!” he kissed your neck again, a lot of wet kiss when he touched your tight.

“you are disgusting!”

“and you are a whore! so we match a lot…”

jeonghan kissed you

he kissed you in a wild way, in the naughty and delicious way that you liked so much, his tongue dominating the kiss, his hand roaming your body without any shame, his waist glued to yours making you feel his cock in his jeans, fuck, jeonghan was the devil!

“i’m gonna tell everything to your wife!”

he laughed, and grabbed your hair, forcing you to look at him.

“are you threatening me with that? really? and what will you tell her? that you are letting a married man use you as he pleases?”

you hit him in the face, hard, before spitting out the words that were in your head.

"don't treat me like a slut."

jeonghan laughed, his typical sadistic laugh, lightly caressing his cheek before turning to you again.

"but as far as i know, a woman who moans, fucks and cums for a married man is a slut!"

you wanted to resist, you wanted to hit jeonghan and expose to his wife how much of a scoundrel he was, but you did the opposite, you kissed him, kissed him as if you needed it, kissed him sitting on the table and letting him have free access to between your legs.

"you're pathetic!" you muttered as he knelt down, leaving kisses on the inside of your thigh as he lifted your skirt.

"and you're a disgusting whore! you know, we deserve each other!"

"be quick, you've already given me enough trouble for today!" you complained.

"i'm leaving on a 'business trip' on tuesday, i promise i'll fuck you properly in my apartment" he mocked, making it clear that the times he slept with you were because he made up to his wife that he was working.

but he got the message, undoing his belt and pulling your panties to the side, mocking how wet you were with the whole situation.

"what's up? my little bitch got wet watching me be a good father? do you have some kind of breed kink, huh? do you want me to cum inside you, to get you pregnant?" Jjonghan put two fingers inside you, just to make sure how wet you were, and as he imagined, you were fucking wet. "imagine how beautiful you'd look pregnant of me."

"shut up, i'd rather die than have your child!"

"you say that but you're spreading your legs for me, like a slut!" jeonghan pulled your hair hard.

"i do charity work for motherfuckers sometimes"

jeonghan spat in your face, making you laugh, you knew you had affected him and that was what you wanted.

and the next second he was inside you, fucking you as if your office door wasn't unlocked, fucking you as if his wife wasn't waiting meters away in the parking lot, fucking you as if he were a single man...

jeonghan threw your bag on the floor, laying you down on the table and fucking you even harder, holding your mouth so you wouldn't moan loudly and draw even more attention (as if the table shaking wasn't enough)

"sluts like you are only good for this, full pussy and covered mouth!"

"what's the name of that friend of yours?" you questioned, making jeonghan arch his eyebrow in confusion "ah, jeon wonwoo..."

"what's wrong with wonwoo?"

"i'm sure he'd love to help you keep my mouth quiet!"

"slut!" jeonghan growled before thrusting into you again, this time angrily, squeezing your neck and grabbing your waist. "you're mine, only mine, this pussy is my toy!"

"no, love! a slut's pussy has no owner... and you know it!"

jeonghan's eyes darkened, you had never seen him hate him, but that was exactly what he was feeling at that moment, jeonghan tightened his grip on your neck, leaning his body against yours and thrusting into you even harder.

"you're not even crazy enough to fuck with Wonwoo, i'll end his life," he growled once more.

"i'm not yours, jeonghanie," you teased him.

"you're. mine. only mine. my personal whore. my toy. my bitch. mine. mine. mine."

and you cummed.

yes, you admit it, it's pathetic to come with a married guy calling you 'mine', but you came.

"tell me you're not mine now, damn it! tell me you're not mine after you've come on my dick!"

jeonghan kept thrusting into you, but all you did was seriously tell him to stop.

he respected you, still confused by the situation.

"what's wrong? did i do something wrong? is everything okay? did i hurt you?"

"i came!" you answered simply.

"yes, i never let you not come..." you laughed, leaving him even more confused.

and then you stood up, still staggering a little, but lowering your skirt and panties, and picking up your bag from the floor.

"what are y-"

"your time with that whore here is over, jeonghan... by the way, tell wonwoo that i changed my mind and now i really want to sit on his cock."

"he... he... WHAT?"

"shit, i thought he told you that at that party at his house he tried to fuck me while you were sleeping." you laughed, knowing that you wouldn't be the only one to find out things that night. "good night, by the way... your wife pays me not to lower eunbin's grades... but i don't think she's gonna tell you about that, right... i'd have to explain to you what other secrets i keep."

and then you closed the door, leaving a confused Jeonghan.

and hard.

♡ @highvivvy, @bath1lda, @unlikelysublimekryptonite, @gyuguys, @aaa-sia

[adelliet]

Wolverine x f!reader

SILENT HUNT

Summary: You are running from the FBI, spending days hiding and surviving until you meet a man who helped you and saved your life.

Warnings: MDNI 18+, corn with plot, soft Logan, harassment, age gap (reader in 20s Logan in his 30s), reader is much smaller than Logan, mentions of trauma, hunting animals, light fingering, oral (f!receiving), nicknames (sweetie, princess), unprotected sex ( p i v ), aftercare, praise kink, good~sweet ending

A/n: Hey so um I didn't expect it to be so long 0-0 sorry for that…but I hope you're gonna like it (I'm going insane over this man help)

,,She ran this way!” You heard one of the cops shouting. You knew they were up your ass. Despite your speed, sooner or later they will catch up. You couldn't allow that.

You quickly tried to analyze the environment around you and when your eyes spotted a thick bush, you took advantage of it and quickly hid behind it. You couldn't hide here forever, but you wanted to gain some time to think. Terrified, you looked around, desperately trying to find a place where you could hide longer.

"Where did she go?!" You recognized the bitter male voice. It belonged to one of them, actually to the main guy who destroyed you. Who used you and turned you into the monster you are now. He took away your rights, your dignity, your life. He didn't care that he could've killed you. You were just a lab rat to him who had beneficially succeeded his experiment.

Just his tone made your heart rate rise, your claws were pressing against your knuckles, struggling to break through. You concentrate all your nerves for stopping the mutant DNA inside you bubble to the surface. The rage and hatred for the man was incalculable, but you couldn't attack him. At least, not right now. You just had to wait quietly for him and his entire team to leave.

"Fuck! Find her or I'll cut your throat!" he shouted angrily. Then you heard vehicles and thousands of footsteps finally fading away from you. You were holding your breath the whole time, finally relieving yourself and carefully climbed out from the bush. You did have a clear air, for now. Time was precious at the moment and you decided to use it well. That's why the moment you left your previous hiding spot, you ran after your goal.

Any shack, abandoned building or cabin would be ideal. Well, your wish was granted. You hadn't been running for long before you saw a small wooden cabin in the distance. Your eyes lit up, excited smile forming on your face. There was still a hope.

Running to the door, you weren't even going to waste time knocking. You rush inside and close the door by leaning against it. You throw your head back, trying to calm your breathing, before opening your eyes again.

You were quite surprised. The furniture and everything in the cabin looked exceedingly good. As if someone lived here. You barely took two steps forward and were about to continue exploring, but you were stopped by sharp objects lightly touching your back. "Who are you and what do you want" a rough male voice made your breath stuck in your throat, goosebumps rose all over your body.

You started shaking and you knew if you won't speak asap, you are dead. But your ability to talk was quite interrupted by those really sharp objects pressing on your back. Yet you inhale deeply and tried to answer calmly.

"I need to hide from the FBI..." there was a moment of silence. "They want me" "Why?" You could still feel the knives touching your back, keeping you in a position where you couldn't do anything but answer. "They want my DNA..." again there was a silent pause until the man finally set you free, so you could finally turn around and see his face.

Your eyes widened. You didn't expect this. It was pretty tall man, at least 6 feet tall. You admired his beard and hair, which created a strange illusion of a wild animal. His hands were huge, not only his biceps but also his palms. When he sees your face, his eyes soften. He did not expect this either.

"Why they want your DNA?" he asked with confusion in his voice. Before you manage to say anything, you hear vehicles outside the cabin. Your instincts immediately got the better of you and claws came out of your knuckles in self-defense. Logan pulled back in surprise and looked at you with raised eyebrow.

He had so many questions but this wasn't the time to ask. He knew that. He smelled your fear and saw your terrified eyes, you've been through a lot. Besides, you didn't look like someone who wanted to hurt him. "Go, hide under the bed in that room" he pointed to one of the doors and you wasted no time.

You did as he told you so and waited, your pulse raising again. "Wait until I tell you" he whispered before he closed the door. No sooner had he closed it, than they aggressively knocked with the words "FBI open the door or we break in!”

Your mind was filled with million scenarios and they weren't in a positive light. What if they find you? What if you get caught and you never see day light again? What if they try more experiments on you until you suffer to death? What if they kill you as soon as they see you? These questions spawned in your head as you tried to control your breathing.

"Hello gentlemen, how can I help you?"

"Have you seen this girl?" you quietly listened to their conversation expectantly. "No, why is she missing or someth-" 

"That's none of your bussines sir, just answer honestly. Have you seen this girl running through here?" you heard rich laugh as you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. "Are you for real? I haven't seen a single soul in here for couple of years..." your breathing and heart raise was slowly going back to normal speed and rhythm. "Okay, let us check the cabin and we can leave" fuck. Just when you though you won…

“I told you I haven't seen her-" "We have the right to come in sir, now stand back or force will come" You could feel beads of sweat rolling down your forehead. You're done. You weren't ready for it but you had no choice. At least you tried. Hope dies last, how they say…

You quietly awaited your fate and listened to the slow stomping around the cabin. There were only a few seconds left before they will enter the room where you were hiding. "Sir I told you I haven't seen that girl!" that wolf-looking guy kept trying to save you and chase them away before they find you. It was pointless. Not only did they not listen to him, but they just accelerated the search.

There it is.

All that running, all that hiding and all that starving was for nothing. Everything led to only one result, which will now be fulfilled.

The hair on your arms stood on end when you heard a loud creaking of the door. You held your breath as you watched the massive black boots move eerily slowly around the room. Then you heard more faster footsteps, before seeing shoes. They were different, so you recognized that this was your salvation.

"I don't know what you're looking for in here. I've told you several times that I've never seen that girl!" you watched the shoes of both men with frightened eyes. There was a silence for a moment, before you heard the transmitter switch on. "All clear" a weight lift off your heart when you heard those words. You waited still, as you were told to do so.

“Alright, you can come out now” you literally jumped out from under the bed and were completely changed. The scared expression turned to excited and your eyes shone like never before. You felt incredible relief, but mostly you were grateful.

"Thank you so much!" he just nodded and checked you up and down before going somewhere else. You followed him, curious what will happen next.

"So now you're going to tell me why they want your DNA?" he raised his eyebrow as he poured rum into the glass. You watched him for a while, observing his large, big, massive hands until you caught yourself. You cleared your throat akwardly.

“I'm…a successful lab experiment” his face expression still didn't change, letting you know he wanted more. "I was born as a normal person, but these guys took me from my parents and used me as their lab rat. They tried to give me DNA from some mutant" he listened carefully, being very interested in your speech. "The chance of me dying was over 90%, but I survived even with mutant genes. They want to know how it's possible. That's why they want me"

You look down, remembering all the traumatic experiences from the lab. "I know what it's like" You look up at him. "I've been…lab rat too" he looked thoughtfully at his hand before sharp claws came out from his knuckles. You gasped quietly, before squeezing your eyes. "You are Wolverine!" you said in disbelief. He looks at you with furrowed brows. "Am I that famous?" you scoffed and shook your head. "They talked about you a lot in the lab. You were...their insiration"

"Well that isn't that something I should be proud of huh?" he chuckled, joking sarcastically but he had a point. You watched his claws. They were much bigger, sharper than yours. "Adamantium" he got your attention again, watching his claws. "Unbreakable metal. I have it instead of my bones" he slid them back in and looked at your face to finally see your reaction.

"Really? That must've hurt..." "Like hell" he agreed and took a sip. He held out the glass to you. It took you a moment to understand what he wanted. "Oh no thank you, I don't drink" you shake your hand and suck your lips into a thin line. "Good girl" he nodded and instead of placing the glass on the counter, he drank it to the bottom and only then put it down.

"But you also have…these don't you?" he asked you and you nodded. "Yeah but my bones are not made from that metal, only these" you also wanted to flex so you took your claws out. There were only two sharp ones on one hand, but they were enough.

"I see..." he poured another shot of rum into his glass and drank it immediately. You were starting to worry about his livers. "I'm Logan by the way" you smiled, introducing yourself too. He repeated your name to himself, smiling at the way those letters tickle his tongue.

"What about your family, where are they now?" your smile dropped immediately and you looked down again. “I don't know” you whispered darkly, hoping, praying that they are still alive. Logan realized that this was probably an inappropriate question and instantly began to act.

"Anyway, are you hungry?" he opened a fridge and looked around there. Of course you were hungry. You were starving. You couldn't remember the last time you had normal meat, vegetables or fruit. Practically any normal food.

You didn't want to sound annoying tho, but before you could say no, Logan was already taking spaghetti out of the fridge. “These are leftovers from yesterday…I can make more if you want” you wanted to refuse the offer, but the longer you watched and smelled the aromatic smell of meat and tomatoes, saliva started pooling in your mouth. Your stomach rumbled and that was a sign that you had to accept Logan's food.

"Here" he handed you a fork which you quickly grab and started eating like an animal. Logan was surprised, he watched you with raised eyebrows but later, he understood. He was glad he could help you. A warm grin began to form on his face so he quickly looked away and pretended to be busy with something, while he kept an eye on you and checking when you are finished. It wasn't even ten minutes and your plate was empty. Completely empty.

After you wiped your lips and calmed your beast inside you a bit, you thanked and gave Logan a grateful puppy eyes. He smiled a bit and nodded. "Do you want more?" you shake your head even though you wouldn't mind extra portion.

There was an awkward silence for a while. Neither of you knew what to talk about, however both of you were thinking the exact same thing. What will happen next? Will Logan let you stay here or will he kick you out? You were so desperately curious, but too scared to ask.

You decided to use reverse psychology. "I should get going" Logan jerked his head and frowned. "Have you lost your mind?" you look up at him, eyes big and sparkling. "You can't leave, definitely not now" and your trick worked. Your heart warmed when Logan let you stay. He was the first person in a long time to be kind to you. You valued him immensely.

The evening came. You were so tired and looking forward to wrapping yourself in the covers and falling asleep. Logan let you sleep in his bed while he slept on the couch. It must've been really uncomfortable, but he wanted to give you some space.

You evoked something in him that no one had been able to do for a long time. Compassion. You both have a pretty similar past and you've been through hard times, why should he be mean to you? Plus, you looked so innocent, so soft and beautiful. Oh you are beautiful.

The moment you turned around and your eyes met, it was as if time stood still. He felt his heart race, yet everything around him faded into silence. Your gaze held him captive, soft yet intense, as though you could see through every layer of him.

You seemed both familiar and mysterious, like a dream he wanted to keep reliving. And your eyes, there was something about them. So bright, yet with a hidden depth, as if they held secrets you weren't ready to share. Just looking into them left him breathless, his thoughts scattering with each heartbeat.

As he lay on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Of course, it was only natural that you’d occupy his thoughts; after all, you were a new event in his life. But this was different. He wasn’t just thinking about you in any ordinary way. His thoughts lingered on you in a way that maybe he shouldn’t have allowed.

There was a heat in his chest, a longing he couldn’t shake off. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have you near in a way that went beyond the boundaries of mere thoughts. The thought of you, of the way you made him feel, ignited something inside of him…a desire, a craving, that he wasn’t sure how to control.

You weren't much better of.

You could feel it, the connection between you, like an invisible thread tugging at your heart, pulling your thoughts to him. As you lay beneath the blankets, you couldn’t escape the images of him. His face, rugged and intense. His hair, wild and untamed, like the ears of a wolf, a perfect reflection of his untouchable, yet undeniable nature. You could almost smell the mix of rum and cigarettes that clung to him, that scent that was both comforting and dangerously alluring.

But it was his hands, those massive hands, that lingered in your mind the most. They were like a sign of safety, as if Logan could protect you from the world. Even now, surrounded by the softness of the sheets, you couldn’t escape the heat Logan left behind, the longing that burned inside you.

You couldn’t sleep. Your mind was too consumed with thoughts of Logan. Every time you closed your eyes, his face was there, vivid in your mind. His intense gaze, the roughness of his voice, the way he moved. It was as if he was everywhere, and you couldn’t escape him, no matter how hard you tried.

You tossed and turned, the sheets tangled around you, but no matter what, sleep didn’t come. It was like your body and mind were in conflict. You were exhausted, but the thought of him wouldn’t let you rest.

Finally, as the hours passed, your thoughts began to blur, the constant tug of his presence softening. Slowly, your breathing slowed, and the weight of the day caught up with you. The last thing you remember was the faintest image of him lingering in your mind before sleep finally claimed you.

You woke with a start, gasping for air, your body drenched in sweat. Your heart raced as the remnants of the nightmare clung to you like a heavy fog. You were back in the lab, the sterile, suffocating air, the cold metal table beneath you, the sharp sting of needles, the hum of machines monitoring your every heartbeat. The doctors—no, they weren’t doctors—had done this to you.

The pain… it was unbearable. You had screamed in your mind, desperate to escape, to survive. But it hadn’t been enough. The dream always ended the same way: your body convulsing, your breath leaving you, your heart stopping. You died there.

And then, as the darkness closed in, your eyes shot open. The scream tore from your throat before you could stop it, raw and terrified. Your body trembled, the terror from the nightmare still alive inside you.

A voice, low and familiar, cut through the panic. “Hey, hey… are you okay?” Logan’s voice, filled with concern, echoed in the quiet of the room. You blinked rapidly, your eyes focusing on him. You were safe. Your were alive. But your mind was still trapped in that place, that nightmare. The pain, the fear… it was all too real.

“Logan…” you breathed, your voice shaking, your body still trembling as his presence grounded you.His brows furrowed as he moved closer, his hand instinctively reaching for your.

He took both your small, trembling hands into his one, massive palm, covering them completely. Logan's rough thumb gently stroked across the back of your hand, the warmth and weight of his touch grounding you, bringing you back from the dark memories of the nightmare.

“Hey,” he murmured softly, his voice low and comforting. “You’re safe now. You’re okay.” He kept his voice calm, his thumb continuing to trace soothing circles as he waited for your breathing to even out. Slowly, you began to calm, your fingers loosening in his grip.

“I… I had a nightmare,” you whispered, barely able to meet his eyes, feeling the remnants of fear still lingering. Logan gave a slight nod, his gaze steady and understanding. “It’s okay. I get those too.” He didn’t press you, just held your hands in his, keeping his presence steady, like an anchor. He stayed there a few moments longer, not moving, until he was sure you were truly alright.

When he finally started to release her hands and stand, her fingers tightened around his. “Wait… would you… stay with me?” You asked, hope and despair could be heard in your throbbing voice.

He glanced at you for a moment, reading the vulnerability in your eyes, and gave a brief nod. “Sure,” he said softly, settling back down by your side. You felt a wave of relief wash over you, as his presence remained close. Gently, he kept your hands in his, his steady, quiet strength surrounding you, until you drifted off again, finally feeling safe.

The sun's rays shone directly into your eyes through the blinds, waking you up. You moved a bit and left a pleased quiet yawn from your lips. You realized you were lying on top of Logan's bare chest, his massive hand resting on your hip. The realization left you in shock for a small moment. After all, it felt comfortable.

The heat from his body warmed yours, his heartbeat was slow in rhythm and you enjoyed listening to it. It was a lovely melody that you wouldn't get tired of.

You slowly looked over at Logan, who was still sleeping. You couldn’t help but let your gaze linger a bit longer, taking in every detail. The way his profile softened under the light, the relaxed way he held himself, like he belonged nowhere else but right here, right now. Your heart began to race, almost as if you'd just realized something you hadn’t quite let yourself feel before.

There was a flutter deep inside you, a mix of nerves and excitement, tiny, electric sparks that seemed to move from her your to your stomach, filling it with a soft, almost dizzying warmth.

You'd heard people talk about “butterflies,” but until now, you hadn’t understood just how real they were. It was overwhelming but oddly comforting at the same time, like an emotion you'd always wanted to feel but never quite believed you would.

You could barely focus, all your senses drawn toward Logan, wondering if he’d notice how your cheeks were flushed, or if he could sense the way your pulse seemed to echo in your ears. In that moment, everything else faded, and it was just you. Just you, discovering that maybe, just maybe, you were falling for him.

Suddenly, Logan woke up. You quickly closed your eyes, pretending to be asleep. You wanted to avoid any awkward situation where he might realize you'd been watching him sleep. What kind of creep does that? He’d definitely think you were crazy, and you weren't about to risk that.

He took a deep breath and clumsily looked around. He seemed confused, but you understood why. After a long, deep sleep, it made sense. Once he finally got his bearings, remembering where he was or who he was, he realized the position the two of you were in. He quickly jerked his hand away from your hip. Part of him enjoyed it, but he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. That was the last thing he wanted.

He yawned loudly, and you took the opportunity to pretend you are waking up too. He looked at you and couldn’t help but smile. Even though it was morning, you still looked so stunning and majestic. You glanced at him and pretended that you had only just realized you were lying on him. Quickly, you pulled away and cleared your throat awkwardly. He chuckled under his breath and stretched his arms.

“Good morning,” he said in his rough morning voice, sending strange waves of pleasure down between your legs. Quietly and shyly, you murmured a good morning back and stretched your back.

“Did you sleep better?” he asked, sitting up so he could at least see half of your face. You nodded, looking at him with a grateful smile. He returned the smile, and when he felt his cheeks starting to warm, he decided to get out of bed. “I’ll go make breakfast,” he added before leaving the room.

You couldn’t shake the lingering scent of Logan, as you lay in bed for a few moments longer. The nightmare had already faded from your mind. You stepped out of the room and made your way to the kitchen, where Logan was at the stove, frying eggs and bacon in a skillet. He looked up at her, did a quick double-take, and smiled. Inside, though, you felt anything but fresh. You felt grimy, sweaty, and were sure your breath wasn’t at its best. “Mind if I use your shower?” You asked softly, your voice shy. Logan nodded and pointed down the hall.

Before you left the room, though, you naturally realized, that your clothes weren't clean either. Feeling a bit nervous, you asked Logan again, “Um, and could I maybe borrow some of your clothes?”

The question seemed to catch him off guard, but he couldn’t say no. “Yeah, I’ve got some shirts in the closet,” he replied, focusing intently on the bacon in the pan without looking at you.

You whispered a soft thank you and went to find something of his to wear. You found a red flannel shirt, and it smelled incredible. You couldn’t resist, taking a deep inhale of the scent was like breathing in Logan himself, a scent so intoxicating it felt like a drug.

Finally, you went to shower, freshen up, and take care of a little hygiene. You tossed your dirty clothes aside and slipped into Logan’s shirt. It hung loosely around you, the hem falling nearly to your thighs and the sleeves draping well past your hands. It felt oversized, almost like a protective blanket, wrapping you in his warmth. His scent, smoky, rugged, with a hint of rum, was woven into the fabric, surrounding you completely.

As you stepped out of the bathroom, the warm scent of breakfast led you toward the kitchen. Logan had just finished setting the plates, but when he looked up and saw you in his oversized flannel shirt, he froze.

It was clear it was his, unmistakably his, and seeing you in it stirred something fierce within him. He couldn’t stop his eyes from roaming over you, taking in how small you looked wrapped up in his clothes. But it wasn't just that, It was the way it clung to you in places, falling just so across your curves, that drove him wild. The collar hung slightly open, teasing him with glimpses of bare skin, and he found himself aching to close that distance, to run his hands along your waist and pull you close, inhaling that soft scent of yours now mingled with his own.

He swallowed hard, silently praying you couldn’t read his thoughts, because the things running through his mind right then were nowhere near decent. Trying to keep his composure, he gave you a lopsided smile. Get it together, he thought, but it was hopeless. All he could think about was how right it felt to see you in his shirt and how much he was craving for your lips right now.

When Logan finished his breakfast, he pushed back from the table and wiped his mouth. He looked ready to leave, grabbing his jacket and placing his hands on the table, looking resolute, like he planned something.

“Alright, I’m heading out for a hunt. Need to stock up for the week,” he said, his voice firm and unwavering.

You paused for a moment, then looked up at him. You weren’t sure if that was a good idea. After all, the FBI is still looking for you and who knows if they'll come to search the cabin again. This time Logan won't be there to protect you. But it wasn't just the FBI that worried you. You didn't want to be alone. You didn't want Logan to leave for god knows how long. You wanted to be with him.

“Y-you're going hunting?” you assured, trying to keep your tone as casual as possible. “Yeah,” he replied, already moving toward the door. “Won’t take long. Just need to get an early start.” You didn’t want him to go alone, and you definitely didn’t want to stay behind.

“Can I come with you?” you blurted out quickly to get his attention before he left. Logan slowly turned and looked at you blankly. “I don’t have anything else to do and… I’d like to help. Can you take me with you?”

Logan was surprised. His eyes softened a bit, but he still seemed unsure. He lowered his head slightly, his face unreadable, as he thought it over. You couldn’t tell if he was considering the idea or just trying to decide how to say no.

“This isn’t exactly a leisure trip, you know?” he said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “And it’s not exactly safe. This isn’t the kind of place for someone without experience.”

But there was something in your eyes that made him hesitate. Maybe it was the fear in your eyes for being alone, or maybe you really wanted to learn hunting… Whatever it was, he didn’t dismiss the idea immediately.

“I know it’s not going to be easy,” you replied, looking at him intently. “But I’d feel better going with you…safer.”

Logan looked at you carefully, his gaze softening a little, though his posture was still tense. “Are you sure you can handle it?” You could tell he wasn’t as convinced as he sounded, but your puppy eyes were the last straw for him.

“Alright, fine,” he said, finally relenting. His voice was still serious, but his lips quirked into something like a smile. “Just keep up and don’t slow me down.” You smiled widely, your heart racing a little faster as you stand up from the table, excited.

Logan suddenly raised both hands, holding them in front of him like a stop sign, his expression playful but firm. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said with a smirk, his eyes scanning you from head to toe. “Where exactly do you think you’re going in that outfit?”

His tone was teasing, but there was a flicker of seriousness and concern in his gaze. You look down at yourself and realize you were wearing just his shirt and panties. This is probably not a best suit for hunting.

You looked back at Logan apologetically and a little embarrassed. He shook his head amused and went to hand you some pants.

"I hope they fit...I wore them when I was 14" You both giggled and you put the pants on right in front of him. He watched you the whole time and when you were finally dressed formally, you went out.

You walked with Logan into the woods, your eyes darting cautiously to every shadow and rustling leaf. The thought of the FBI lurking around still haunted you, keeping you tense and alert with every step. But gradually, Logan’s mere presence started to ease your nerves, grounding you in a sense of safety. He didn’t need to say anything; just being near him seemed to calm your racing mind.

Then, a sudden snap of a branch echoed through the trees. Without thinking, you moved closer to Logan, pressing against him instinctively. Your heartbeat quickened, and your breath caught in your chest, certain that you were being watched. But Logan, calm and unbothered, scanned the trees and then nodded toward the source of the sound.

“It’s just a squirrel,” he murmured with a small, amused smile.

You exhaled, your shoulders relaxing as you glanced up at him, feeling a little silly but reassured.

You and Logan kept moving deeper into the woods, his steady pace reassuring even as you couldn’t quite shake the edge of tension from earlier. After a while, Logan spotted a deer grazing in the distance. He motioned for you to be quiet, and the two of you slowly crept toward it.

You both took cover behind a bush, and you watched as Logan readied himself to take aim. But something in you hesitated, you couldn’t help but feel for the gentle creature standing unaware, and a wave of reluctance washed over you. Turning to him, you whispered, trying to convince him, “It’s just a helpless animal…”

Logan’s jaw tightened, a hint of irritation crossing his face. But after a moment, his expression softened as he looked at you, and he let out a quiet sigh. Though a bit begrudgingly, he lowered his weapon.

“Fine,” he muttered, barely concealing a small smirk. Together, you moved on to search for something smaller, Logan leading the way with a slight shake of his head, as if both amused and exasperated.

After walking a little further, you both spotted a wild boar rummaging around the forest floor. Though the idea still tugged painfully at you, you managed to steel yourself, accepting that Logan would take this one down. Once again, you crouched behind cover, careful to stay hidden from the boar’s sight.

Logan took aim and fired, the shot ringing out sharply in the quiet of the woods. You flinched slightly, a quick jolt of surprise, but it wasn’t as bad as you expected. With just one shot, Logan brought the boar down, his skill evident in that single, precise hit. “Come on” he clicked his head towards the animal and you slowly followed him.

When you reached the fallen animal, a wave of sadness stirred in you, seeing it lying there. Logan noticed your expression, and without a word, he stepped closer to you, his gaze softening.

He placed a warm, steady hand on your shoulder, grounding you. “Hey,” he murmured gently, his voice low and calm. “It’s alright. I know this feels…heavy.” His hand moved in a slow, reassuring circle, and you could feel the tension in your body start to melt just a little.

“Hunting isn’t easy, but sometimes it’s necessary. Out here, it’s survival.”

You looked up at him, catching the quiet sympathy in his eyes. The faint lines at the corners of his eyes softened as he gave you a small smile. “We use what we take,” he added, as if sensing you needed something more to ease your mind. “Nothing goes to waste.”

His thumb brushed your shoulder with an unexpected tenderness, and the weight on your chest began to lift. You nodded, still feeling a little heavy-hearted but reassured by his words. “Thank you,” you whispered, feeling his warmth seeping through you.

Logan gave your shoulder one last squeeze, lingering just a moment before he released you. “Come on,” he said, his tone back to its usual steady resolve. “We’ll take care of him. I’ll show you how.”

He began to prepare the boar, his movements efficient but respectful, and you felt grateful that he understood the balance between survival and compassion.

Logan already carried two boars effortlessly over his shoulders, his strength nothing short of superhuman. Watching him handle such weight so casually stirred a flicker of admiration and something else, a heated thrill you couldn’t quite ignore.

When he looked over with a faint smirk, you felt warmth rise to your cheeks and quickly glanced away, flustered. Logan caught the gesture, and a low chuckle escaped him.

Then, without warning, he pressed a firm hand against your chest, stopping you in your tracks. His gaze turned serious, and he tilted his head toward the trees up ahead. “See that?” he whispered, nodding toward another boar just in the distance.

You nodded, heart thumping a little faster. Together, you crept forward, crouching low as you hid yourselves behind a bush. Logan carefully lowered the animals he was carrying to the ground and pulled out his rifle, eyes focused on the target. For a few seconds, he lined up his shot, but then he turned his gaze toward you, a determined glint in his eye.

“If you’re going to survive out here, you’re going to have to learn how to handle this,” he murmured, holding the rifle out to you. With a nod, he motioned for you to move in closer.

For a moment, you hesitated, but the intensity in Logan’s eyes drew you in. You stepped closer, until you were pressed against him, his sturdy form shielding you from behind. The closeness felt reassuring, comforting even, yet you struggled to focus on anything other than the way his body molded perfectly against yours.

Slowly, you reached out for the rifle, feeling its unexpected weight. Sensing your effort, Logan wrapped his hands around yours, helping you hold it steady. You both gripped it together, his strong hands guiding yours.

The warmth of Logan’s chest pressed against your back sent shivers down your spine, awakening a flood of excitement that you couldn’t control. His strong arms surrounded you, hands wrapped firmly around yours on the rifle, steady and commanding. Each breath he took brushed softly against your neck, and you found yourself unable to think of anything but his presence. Solid, protective, and impossibly close.

His touch was rough but careful, and the way his fingers enveloped yours made your pulse race. You couldn’t ignore the way his grip felt, strong and possessive, sending waves of thrill and desire through you.

He covered you like a protective barrier, making you feel safe enough to face anything.

“All right,” he murmured in a voice that was dark, smooth, almost too tempting. “Now, aim at him.” His breath brushed your ear, making it even harder to concentrate. Your fingers touched his where they rested over yours, sending sparks down your spine. But you tried your best to focus, steadying your gaze on the boar ahead.

“That’s it,” he encouraged softly, his voice a low rumble that made you take a deep breath, willing yourself to keep your aim.

Your hands were shaking a bit, but Logan’s massive hands kept the rifle steady, guiding it in perfect alignment. “Shoot,” he commanded, and for a moment, you hesitated, unsure of yourself. But then, with a gentle push from him, you squeezed the trigger, and the shot rang out. The impact sent a jolt through you, and you stumbled slightly backward into Logan’s chest. He chuckled softly, glancing down at you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low and reassuring. You nodded quickly, eyes already moving to the wild boar lying motionless on the ground.

“You did it. Good job,” he praised, and the words sent another wave of satisfaction rushing through you, a pleasant heat spreading between your thighs.

Logan then stood, offering his hand to help you up, and you both walked over to inspect the boar. You felt terrible, a heavy weight pressing on your chest as you stared at the lifeless body of the wild boar, the one you had just killed. The realization hit you like a punch to the gut, and a wave of guilt washed over you. But Logan didn’t seem bothered by it at all.

Without hesitation, he hoisted the dead boar over his shoulders, along with the two others, and started walking back toward the cabin with you.

Before getting in the truck, he tossed the animals into the back with ease, as though it was nothing. Then he climbed into the driver’s seat, leaving you standing outside, unsure of what to do next.

“Hop in!” Logan called out with a grin, and you quickly obeyed, climbing into the truck. “We’re going to the store. I’ll need something,” he said, and with a turn of the key, the engine roared to life.

As soon as you stepped into the store, everything felt new. You had never been inside a store before, and it amazed you. Shelves upon shelves filled with things you’d never seen, snacks, drinks, and foods that were completely unfamiliar to you. Logan had told you to stay close to him, but the overwhelming curiosity got the best of you. You couldn’t help but wander around, eyeing all the delicious treats you had no idea existed.

Suddenly, three men approached you. “Hey cutie” one of the slimy guys called out making you turn around. You raised your eyebrows innocently and incomprehension as you watched them approach you. They kept whispering something to each other and laughing, in a very creepy way.

"Damn you're a snack!" "Nice curves you've got there!" they said and kept getting closer. You backed up until you hit a shelf, not allowed to move away from them anymore. "What's a hot chick like you doing in a place like this?" the tallest guy with a beard, that smelled like rotten fish, reached out and tried to touch your arm. You flinched, trying to step away, but they only followed.

You took another step back, hoping to escape their grip, but it was no use. Another hand reached out to brush against your waist, sending a shiver of discomfort down your spine. “Yeah, come on sweetheart, don’t be shy. Let us show you a good time.”

Your heart raced, fear bubbling inside, but before you could react, you heard a familiar, low voice. “I think she’s good, boys”

He was standing there now, his arms crossed, his presence like a wall of muscle, dark eyes locked on the men. His voice was calm but deadly serious.

“And who the hell are you? You some kinda hero?”

Logan stepped closer, his gaze never leaving them. “No, I’m not. But I’ll make sure you wish you were never born if you keep this up.”

The men hesitated, clearly weighing their options. Logan’s stance and cold, threatening tone made them think twice. He reached out, grabbing one by the collar and pulling him a few inches off the ground.

“You’d better walk away. Now.” The men quickly realized they were outmatched, and with a few muttered curses, they backed off, turning and walking away in defeat. Logan kept his eyes on them, waiting until they were completely gone before letting the tension in his body ease.

He turned to you, his expression softening just slightly, though still protective. “You good?” You nodded, feeling a wave of relief wash over you, though your heart was still racing. Logan’s presence had been a shield, and you couldn’t help but feel safe again.

You quietly thanked him, and Logan simply nodded. He didn’t hesitate any longer, unwilling to risk more men getting too close to you. Gently, he grabbed your waist and pulled you to his side, holding you there. You didn’t protest.

Logan’s usual cool demeanor had a hint of something else now, something possessive, as his hand rested firmly on your side. He wasn’t just guarding you, he was claiming you in a way. His thoughts were elsewhere, likely simmering with anger over what had just happened. Though he’d tried to handle things calmly with words, the desire to protect you at all costs was stronger than ever.

He might’ve been trying to be civil, but if anyone tried something again, there would be no hesitation. Logan would’ve torn them apart in seconds if you weren’t around. He had a certain control over himself, but it was clear, he didn’t like anyone stepping too close to what was his.

You came to the register, Logan paid and you left. You didn't exchange a word until then. "What would you like for dinner?" he asked, turning the subject away. He didn't want to discuss the uncomfortable situation further and make you feel uneasy. Talking about food seemed like a better topic to him.

“I don't know” Logan left you from his grip, when you were already at the car. You got inside, where Logan placed the grocery bag in the back seat, before starting the car. "We'll figure something out"

It was evening when you were finally back at the cabin, and Logan was in the kitchen, preparing dinner. The scent of fresh ingredients filled the air, mixing with the smoky, earthy aroma of the forest outside. He was focused, moving with the kind of purpose you admired. You sat on the couch, leaning back into the cushions, watching him from where you were. You were wearing a new shirt, his shirt, of course, but nothing else but your underwear.

As your eyes traced the muscles in his arms, the way his body moved as he chopped and stirred, you felt yourself growing more and more captivated by him. The warmth from the kitchen contrasted with the cool air in the room, but it only added to the heat that built inside you, a feeling that had nothing to do with temperature.

You wanted to help, of course, but when you offered, Logan shook his head. “You should rest,” he said softly, glancing over his shoulder at you, a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. “I’ve got this.”

With a small, reluctant sigh, you sank back further into the couch, feeling the warmth of the room settle around you. Logan finished preparing the meal, but instead of rushing to serve, he made you a cup of warm tea. The steam rose up, delicate and soothing. He handed it to you with a soft smile, the heat of the cup spilling into your hands, grounding you in the moment.

You wrapped your fingers around the warm ceramic, grateful for the comfort he offered, both physically and emotionally. The tenderness, the care he took in everything he did for you, it made you feel both vulnerable and cherished.

Logan leaned against the counter, watching you with those intense eyes of his, the same gaze that had been on you since the moment you met. It was as though you were the only thing that mattered in that moment. And you couldn’t deny the way it made your heart race.

Logan finished preparing the meal, a hearty dish of seared steaks, roasted vegetables, and mashed potatoes, the savory smells filling the cabin and making your stomach growl with anticipation. He set the plates down on the coffee table in front of the couch where you were sitting, making sure everything was just right. You couldn’t help but smile, taking in the scene. The warm glow of the lights in the cabin made it feel cozy and intimate, a stark contrast to the chaos of your past.

You both settled onto the couch, Logan taking a seat beside you. The food was delicious, and even though the conversation wasn’t centered around anything important, it felt grounding. Logan had a way of making even the smallest details sound interesting. His deep voice, full of humor, washed over you as he shared stories of his time on the road, a mix of ridiculous adventures and near-disasters.

Logan’s laughter was like music, deep and genuine. He didn’t laugh often, but when he did, it was as if the weight of the world had been lifted from him, even if only for a moment. You couldn’t help but laugh along, his energy infectious, his smile that much brighter when he caught your eye.

As you both continued eating, you realized how easy it was to be with him. There was no need to act or pretend, no awkward silences or forced small talk. For the first time in what felt like forever, you were completely at ease. The sound of Logan’s voice, the warmth of the food, the softness of the couch beneath you, it all felt like home.

You didn’t even notice how much time had passed, how the world outside the cabin had ceased to exist in that moment. For the first time in years, you felt truly happy.

Logan’s eyes caught yours, a small smile on his lips. “What?” he asked, noticing your gaze. You shook your head, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. “Nothing, just… this feels nice,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Logan raised an eyebrow, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Nice, huh? You sure know how to flatter a guy.” You laughed, feeling a warmth spread through you, but it wasn’t just from the food. It was from being here, with him. Safe. Comfortable. Content.

“I mean it,” you said, your voice softer now. “For the first time in a long time, I feel like… I don’t have to worry about anything.”

Logan paused, his fork hovering in the air for a second before he set it down on his plate. His gaze softened, just for a moment, before he looked away. “I get that,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Things don’t have to be complicated, not when you’re with the right people.”

You felt your heart skip a beat at his words, his sincerity making you feel something deep within. You wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that for once, you could just be happy. That you didn’t need to keep fighting.

He looked back at you, his expression now more serious. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said, his voice low, yet filled with an honesty that hit you in a way you hadn’t expected.

Your chest tightened with emotion, and you nodded, trying to mask how much those words meant. It was strange, how something so simple could affect you so much. But then again, everything with Logan felt different, more real.

The night wore on, and the two of you shared stories, laughed, and ate. The weight of the world didn’t seem as heavy as it had just hours ago. You were no longer thinking about the FBI or what had brought you here. You were only thinking about the present, about Logan.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Logan’s voice was casual, but there was something in it that caught your attention. You nodded, waiting for him to continue. He took a final bite of his food, chewing slowly before setting his plate down with a soft clink.

“Have you ever been with anyone?” The question hung in the air, unexpected and direct. It startled you, leaving you unsure of how to respond. Your mind raced, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to answer. Logan, sensing the hesitation, quickly shifted his tone, as if trying to soften the impact. But you still found yourself replying simply, “No. I never really had the chance.”

He seemed to understand, nodding thoughtfully. “If you had the chance, though, I bet you’d have no trouble at all.”

You laughed nervously and shook your head in disbelief. “No way… I don’t think so.”

Logan’s expression softened as he leaned slightly forward, his eyes never leaving yours. There was a seriousness in his voice when he spoke again, but a warmth too. “Yes way, I mean look at you. You’re beautiful, not just on the outside, but in everything you are. The way you carry yourself, your strength, the way you laugh, it all draws people in. You have this… presence. I can’t imagine anyone not wanting to be close to you.”

The sincerity in his words made your breath catch. It was as though every insecurity you’d hidden deep inside was being slowly unraveled, laid bare in the best possible way. His words, simple but heartfelt, wrapped around you like a comforting blanket, making you feel seen in a way you hadn’t in a long time.

Logan kept speaking, his words filling the space between you. “I’ve never met anyone like you.” His voice was deep, full of admiration, and you could feel how much he meant it. “You’ve got this amazing energy, this fire. I don’t know how you do it.”

But despite his compliments, something inside you was aching to stop him, to silence all those words. You wanted him in a way you couldn’t explain, something fierce that pulsed through your veins. You couldn’t hold back any longer. You leaned in, your breath catching as you pressed your lips gently against his.

Logan was surprised at first, barely reacting, his lips soft under yours. He wasn’t expecting this, and neither were you, but the spark that ignited between you two was undeniable.

Before you could even think, Logan’s hands found their way to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. His lips parted, deepening the kiss. This time, there was no hesitation. His kiss was hungry, passionate, like he couldn’t get enough of you. You felt his fingers move, cupping your face gently, as though he was afraid of breaking something precious between you. But you weren’t fragile. You weren’t scared.

You responded, matching his intensity, the heat between you two overwhelming, leaving you both breathless.

You put your plate down on the table as Logan's weight weighed you down, so you were underneath him. He didn't want to rush into anything, but at the same time, he couldn't keep that desire inside him for long.

He was kissing you hungrily and you kissed him back, your fingers found a place between his soft hair, which you pulled and messed up. His knee, without his intention, slowly rubbed against your panties. He created the pressure that you wanted for a long time. Your core was pulsating, greedily, desperately wanting something to drive away that annoying lust.

Your lips leaving a soft moans between the kisses, making Logan's pants tighter. Your sweet sound made it hard for Logan to be patient with you. His hands were slowly moving down, gently exploring your body. Every touch of his filled you with doses of adrenaline. Your hips were carefully rocking against Logan's knee as a natural instinct. He scoffed and stopped kissing you to take a look at you.

"Someone's eager huh?" His voice sounded mocking but at the same time, irritated you much more than his leg against your core. You wanted him. You needed him. Lust like you've never experienced before. It was stronger than hunger or thirst, it was much more intense.

You had no idea what was happening to you but you knew you needed Logan. Much, much closer. He didn't need to read minds to see how frantically you needed this.

He lunged at your lips again, much more wildly. One of his hands traveled quite quickly to your legs. When he reached your thighs, he massaged you for a while there. Oh god he needed it as badly as you did.

He couldn't remember the last time he had good sex. It's been a while since he's been living alone in this cabin with only the animals around. Of course, when he got the hang of it, he masturbated, but over time he got tired of it. But the moment you appeared in his sight, you reawakened in him the flame of passion and especially erection, which he was still trying to hide and suppress whenever you were near him.

But now was the time when you both could finally indulge. To relax, achieve pleasure and share the most intimate moment with the person who saved you.

Logan's hand smoothly moved from your thigh to your inner thigh, way too close to the point you wanted him the most. You tried to move your hips so that he would finally touch you. He chuckled softly, noticing your movements. “Easy there”

His middle finger started gently brushing you through your panties. Your eyes widened, as you felt a tickle warm feeling in your lower stomach. You couldn't describe what exactly you felt but it was breathtaking. You couldn't get enough of it.

Logan was careful, gentle and obedient, but you kept implying that you wanted the exact opposite. You wanted more, more pressure, more fingers, but most of all you wanted him to finally take off your panties. You bit your lower lip, trying to be quiet as the soft groans of desperation started leaving your throat, without even realizing it.

"Come on princess, let me hear you" Logan put more pressure into his finger, making you close your eyes and drop your jaw. You couldn't control your voice anymore and that was exactly what Logan wanted. Hearing your moaning and seeing your eyebrows twitching in pleasure, made his dick even harder.

He wanted to feel you, he wanted to taste you, that's why he grabbed your panties made of soft fabric and pulled them off you in one swipe. You gasped a bit as the cold fresh air touched your bare core, wet and pulsating.

When Logan saw your pussy, his breath caught in his chest. You were beautiful. The transparent glistening liquid on your labia was driving him crazy. It looked like the most delicious meat he would ever taste and he decided to not waste any more time, even though he would love to look at you even longer.

He got on his knees on the couch, lowering himself so that his head was right between your thighs. You lowered your head, heavy breathing and heart beating like never before. This image will be etched in your memory forever. His devilish smile and flirtatious wink was the last time you saw, before you started seeing stars.

He buried his face into your cunt, his nose teasing your clit while his tongue was swirling around your surface. He licked off all your wetness while you had to catch on to something. You grab his already disheveled hair, pulling and tugging him.

Your strokes, which Logan barely felt, made him growl against you, sending pleasent vibration right into your core. "Logan" you gasped as his tongue finally penetrated you. He was stretching you and surprisingly, it didn't hurt at all. You were so horny that his penetration was smooth without any problems.

You bit your lips again, creating a bloody mess there, but you could care less. You kept moving your hips awkwardly as Logan created a volcano of emotions inside you. His tongue touched your walls, twirling around and tasting every drop of your juice. On top of that, his nose didn't stop at deliberately provoking your sensitive clit, sending you closer and closer to orgasm.

Logan kept his eyes on you. He watched as your nostrils flared, your brows furrowed, and your muscles tensed beyond belief trying to hold on. You could feel his cocky smile, as your walls started to tighten around his tongue. He knew you were close. “You taste so good”

Your grunt grew louder with every flick of Logan's tongue, your hips moving against his face, before you felt a pressing sensation in your lower abdomen. Goosebumps covered your entire body and a chill ran down your spine, before it happened. Your jaw fall open, your eyes tight close and you shouted over the entire cottage, that even the birds outside flew away.

You squirm all over Logan's face. The feeling of release washed over you until you fell from the height and struggled to catch your breath. Logan licked you, he was very dusty and didn't want to leave even a drop of your cum. The overstimulation started heating up your core.

Logan moved away from your crotch, sitting on his ankles and watching you for a moment. Even though you were drained, you still looked stunning. You opened your eyes when you felt huge warm hands on your cheeks. "That's my girl" you chuckled, your eyelids felt heavy but you couldn't stop looking at Logan's face. He still had the rest of your squirm on his chin and nose, glistening through the rays of cozy light around the room.

"Are you ready?" your heart skipped a beat at his question, but his messy hair with face like an angel made you nod your head. Logan smiled with a huff, kissing you harshly. His hands weren't as careful as before, he was reaching all over you and didn't hesitate to touch you under your, actually his, shirt at all.

You cooperated with his passionate kissing, both of you sighing. Suddenly you felt something poking you which started to annoy you. You pulled away from Logan's lips and looked down to see his huge erection still trapped in his pants. Your eyes widened and your core started pulsating again. Logan noticed your staring and couldn't help but chuckle.

“What are you lookin' at?” you quickly look back into his eyes, embarrassed. As a result, you started to blush and had to suck your lips into a thin line. God Logan adored you.

"Don't worry sweetie" he leans, brushing his lips against your ear as his hot breath warmed your skin. “You'll get it” with those words, he covered your face in soft kisses. You were enjoying it until you heard belt unfastening and a zipper. You knew it was coming and you couldn't wait. You were so heated up and that Logan's cock could cool you down.

You felt the excitement spread throughout your body, as Logan's pants fell onto the floor. You already felt something hard tickling you in your inner thigh. You were impatient. You let out an eager purr, indicating that you absolutely needed to have Logan inside you. He sense your hints and the uncontrollable movements of your hips, fervently trying to get some friction.

Logan look at you, eyes dark with lust, before he presses his lips against yours and at that exact same time, he slowly thrust into you. You squeak, eyes widened as he stretched your walls extremely wide. You were wrapped around him, so fucking tight. His precum mixed with the remaining juices inside you, creating a useful natural lubricant.

"Fuck" he dropped his forehead against yours, his hot breathing in shallow, uneven gasps as he continued his way to get fully inside you. You were quietly whimpering, eyes closed but you felt amazing. Logan's presence so close to you finally got rid of that aggravating aching between your legs.

“Hold onto me baby,” Logan kept comforting you and whispering sweet things that made your heart beat faster. “Just like that�� his voice low and hard, ruspy in a way that tickled your eardrums. You automatically wrapped your legs around Logan's waist when he was inside to the base. You felt so full, but that it still wasn't enough. You begged for more.

Logan, like a true gentleman, let you get used to him and catch a breath a little, before he started the rodeo. He moved his pan with incredibly gentle movements. His tip touching and provoking your cervix and places you didn't even know could be reached.

Your mouth opened automatically as you were sighing, your voice pitch and strong. "You like that?" Logan was looking at you and even though you couldn't see him, you instinctively suspected that he was watching you. You didn't mind. You didn't mind at all. You nodded carelessly and threw your head back as Logan started to pick up the pace.

Exactly what you needed and wanted. It's like he's reading your mind. As if he knew your body perfectly and knew exactly what you want, what you desire, what you need.

He took both of your hands and held them tightly as he placed them above your head. Again, you didn't mind. Your only focus was his cock in your vagina. How wonderful he feels. How his massive cock touches every sensitive spot inside you, slowly but surely bringing you to climax.

“Look at you,” he said with a smile as he fought himself not to empty himself into you yet. You're making it really hard for him though. "Such a...." he dropped his head as his dick started twitching, his thrusts gained strength and intensity. "Such a good girl”

He felt it. You felt it too. You stopped perceiving your surroundings, your ears started ringing and the rumbling in your stomach burned. Logan, on the other hand, felt he wouldn't last much longer.

He quickly unbuttoned your shirt, the buttons flew around but it was a blast for both of you. Your breasts bounced to the rhythm of Logan's thrusting, which started being unbearable. He lost control of his pelvis and movements in order to catch up with his orgasm. He got on his knees, freeing your hands but held your hips firmly, while keep pounding into you without mercy.

"You feel s-so good" he groaned his eyes tightly shut as he felt his orgasm being implausibly close. Your legs started shaking, vibrating. You stopped feeling your toes and that's when you felt it. You arch your back, jaw wide open while you moaned really, really loudly.

Your walls tightened around Logan's length, but he didn't stop. All of your muscles stiffened until in one moment, they suddenly relaxed and you let out a soft sigh of relief. Logan chuckled when you cum all over his dick and decided not to wait for his moment anymore. Few more hard thrust, before he pulled out and sprayed your belly with his seed.

His moan was really intense and turned you on again, plus the realization that he made this sound just because of you, your heart was melting.

After that he collapsed on you but carefully, not to smash your tiny body. His forehead was leaning against yours, both of you breathing heavily while giggling. "That was...awesome" Logan sighed, making you laugh and blush. It was that good, that you couldn't even talk. But Logan made sure that there was no awkward silence.

"You were quite loud, princess,” your cheeks started to blush but you didn't break eye contact with Logan, even with such close proximity. “Always so quiet and mysterious… but in bed? You’re not afraid of that, are you?” you were terribly shy, but in a good way. You didn't know you could make such sounds yourself.

He grinned, seeing you all red and sweaty was a moment of comfort for him. He didn't want to admit it, but he felt butterflies in his stomach and they just wouldn't go away since he saw you.

"Come on, let's get you clean up" Logan grunted as he stood up and didn't ask you, just grabbed you and carried you into the bathroom like a princess. You didn't complain, you swung your legs and rested your head on his chest, feeling indescribably good with him.

A few years had passed, and the life you and Logan had built together only grew deeper and richer with time. You’d both settled into a quiet, natural rhythm, a blend of strength and softness, of trust and a fierce loyalty that had grown from countless shared moments, both big and small. Logan, once guarded and wary, had opened up to you in ways neither of you expected, revealing a side that was as protective and tender as it was wild. And you, too, had found a quiet courage within yourself, rooted in him and in the life you shared. Your bond felt like something timeless and unbreakable, a connection that had only strengthened as the years drifted by, like roots that had grown deep and steady in the rich earth of your love.

Logan stood outside the cabin, dressed only in a pair of worn, dark-gray sweatpants that clung to his muscular frame. His gaze stretched out over the rugged landscape, eyes fixed on the rolling hills and dense trees, but his thoughts were somewhere far beyond the scenery. The dawn air was cool, mist rising in thin wisps over the ground, and Logan breathed it in slowly, grounding himself in the calm solitude of nature. His rugged face was softened in the morning light, deep in thought, a rare vulnerability showing in his expression as he seemed to wrestle with something private, something known only to him.

Then, as if sensing him, you stepped quietly onto the porch, carrying a small, bundled form against your chest. You approached him with a warmth and excitement that seemed to break through his solitude. The tiny child in your arms cooed softly, and Logan, feeling your presence before even hearing a sound, turned around. His face lit up with an expression that was a blend of pride, awe, and something deeper, something fierce and protective.

With a gentle smile, you cradled his newborn closer, offering the child toward him. Logan’s face softened, and he reached out, his large, roughened hand brushing over the child’s head with an almost reverent touch.

“She really do have your nose,” he murmured, a smirk breaking across his face as he looked up at you.

You laughed softly, stepping close to wrap your arm around his waist. Logan pulled you in, his warmth settling around you both. Together, you looked out over the vast expanse of trees and sky stretching endlessly before you, wrapped in the serenity of the moment.

“Can you believe this?” you whispered, resting your head on his shoulder.

Logan’s voice was low but sure. “Wouldn’t trade it for anything.” He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, his rough hand squeezing your shoulder gently.

The life you shared with him in that moment, under the quiet sky, was both humbling and thrilling, an unexpected future he never dared to hope for but now couldn’t imagine living without.

[idkdudethisisntpermanent]

Over the Limit - pt.iv

jenna ortega x female reader

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

summary: You and Jenna each reflect on your own choices and the growing tensions between you both. Torn between loyalty, responsibility, and personal longing, what does this growing conflict mean for the future of your alliance?

word count: 12.8k

————

"So, victory sex?" Hunter teased, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Victory sex?" You echoed, genuinely confused. "With who?"

"Who else? Your little Viper girl," he replied, rolling his eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

After dropping Jenna off at home, you'd shot Hunter a quick text, asking if he wanted to come over. After the whirlwind of the race, and the intense feelings stirred up by Jenna, you needed someone to debrief with—someone who knew about the tangled situation you'd gotten yourself into. Fortunately, your mom didn't know Hunter was part of the Sinners, so he was in the clear to hang out without raising any suspicions.

"Come on, Hunter, I barely know the girl."

"Doesn't seem that way to me," he shrugs, taking a seat on your couch and kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. "You let her wear your jacket, didn't you?"

Did everyone see that?

You roll your eyes and flop down beside him, letting out a tired sigh. "That doesn't mean anything."

"Uh-huh. Whatever you say." Hunter smirks, but his teasing tone amplifies after a beat. "But there's no way you didn't feel Racer's High after winning."

You didn't need him to define Racer's High. You knew he was referring to that primal, raunchy, adrenaline rush of a feeling that overtook you once you won the race a few hours ago. You shudder remembering how much you yearned for Jenna in that moment.

"So, how are you feeling about it all? The race, the attention... her?"

You hesitate, considering how much to say. You trust Hunter—he's the only one in the crew you can really open up to, but you're also not ready to dive into the whole Jenna situation. Not with everything going on, especially since you're not sure how deep things go with Percy and this "Ghost Smoke" deal.

"I don't know," you finally say, running a hand through your hair. "The race was wild. Winning felt... intense. I get why people get hooked on that feeling."

Hunter raises an eyebrow. "And?"

"And... I can't shake the feeling that there's more to this. Like, there's this whole side to racing I'm not seeing."

He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, watching you carefully. "What do you mean?"

You glance at him, trying to gauge how much you can say without tipping too much of your hand. "I don't know, man. I've been hearing things—whispers about this new stuff called Ghost Smoke floating around Brimstone. You heard anything about that?"

Hunter's eyes narrow, and for a second, you think maybe you've pushed too far. But then he exhales slowly. "I've heard the name. It's bad news, Y/n. Real bad. That shit's spreading fast, and people are already getting hooked. Some of the younger guys are sniffing around for it. Why are you asking?"

You shrug, trying to play it cool. "Just heard it mentioned. Thought it might be connected to some of the things I've been noticing. You don't think the Vipers are involved, do you?"

Hunter goes quiet, his face unreadable. Then he leans back, crossing his arms. "I don't know, and I'm not looking to find out. You shouldn't either. Percy's been getting into things outside of racing, and if Ghost Smoke's part of that, it's not something you or anyone else in the crew wants to be tangled up in."

You nod, though his answer doesn't satisfy you. Not because you don't believe him—but because you have this sinking feeling that the situation is bigger than either of you realize.

The conversation shifts after that, and the rest of the night passes with more casual banter. But the unease never fully leaves your mind.

"Looks like Madison's got a thing for you."

You raise an eyebrow, laughing lightly. "Mikey? That girl's never even cracked a smile at me. Pretty sure she barely tolerates me."

Hunter shrugs, smirking. "Nah, trust me. She was asking about you the other day in the garage."

Your brow furrows slightly. Was it because of what I asked about Percy? A small part of you wonders if Madison's caught onto your suspicions.

"And even during the Viper and Raven races, she was giving you these weird looks."

"What does that even mean, Hunter?" You roll your eyes, half-amused, half-worried.

He chuckles, clearly enjoying this too much. "Hell if I know, but winning that race definitely got you on some people's radar."

Maybe at one point, being on the radar of a few girls would've mattered to you, but not anymore.

————

While Hunter crashed on the couch, you spent the entire night tossing and turning in bed. If someone had told you a month ago that you'd be neck-deep in street races and shady dealings—all for the sake of a girl—you would have called them insane.

When dawn finally broke, you shuffled out of bed and headed into the kitchen, finding Hunter gone and your mom brewing a fresh pot of coffee.

"Morning, Mom," you yawn, stretching your arms out. "Did Hunter leave already?"

"You just missed him. He said he'd be back later," she replies with a gentle smile.

You hum in response, pouring yourself a cup of coffee, savoring the warmth. It was in these quiet, mundane moments that you hated the path you were on more than anything. Between the mess with Jenna, the unpredictability with Percy, and the weight of secrets and family legacies, you sometimes wished you could just be normal—not tangled up in rivalries or trying to make sense of feelings you didn't dare admit.

"You've changed," your mother's voice broke you out of your thoughts, catching you mid-sip.

"Changed?" You raise a brow, joining her at the dining table. "What do you mean?"

She sighs, studying you with a mix of curiosity and concern. "You seem... happier in some ways but also more stressed. Something's weighing on you."

You stare down at your coffee, catching your own reflection in its dark surface, letting your mother's words sink in. Of course she'd notice something different—you're her child. But she's right; you have changed. And now, in this rare quiet moment in the chaos your life has become over the past month, you're finally realizing just how much. You've changed so damn much—and the thought terrifies you, especially because you can't even pinpoint when it happened.

Or you do. And that was the scary part.

A month ago Anton told you to find what's your purpose, your drive. What makes your heart race. What's worth risking everything for.

But you'd been so careful, you tell yourself. You abandoned her the first night you met, didn't even share your name—but now, she's got far more than just a name. She's got you feeding her intel, leading her through Brimstone like her own personal guide, pulling you deeper into a world you swore you'd keep at arm's length.

When did it happen? When did you start dropping her home, buying each other jackets, eating ice cream together—and, hell, when did you start racing? Racing, something you'd vowed never to do. And now here you are, about to walk into a private meeting that likely involves drug lords fueling Brimstone's biggest epidemic—all because she needs leverage on Percy. Leverage to protect herself from some mystery he's holding over her, something she still won't tell you.

You try to rationalize. She's got leverage on you, too. She's got footage of you stealing her dad's car. But deep down, you know she'd only pulled that card to hook you in. She wouldn't actually use it. You knew that. You knew her.

Except—you didn't. You didn't really know a damn thing about this girl, yet here you are, throwing caution to the wind for her. Risking everything for her. Breaking your own rules, doing things you'd avoided for the past twenty years...all because of her. And all way too fast.

Maybe it's because you're finally sitting in front of your mom, and to her, you'll always be her little girl. And facing her now, all you can see is the woman who once opened the door to find cops there, telling her that her husband, the father of her nine-year-old kid, was dead. You remember watching her piece together her shattered heart, all while carrying the weight of resentment for the racing that took him. And now, somehow, you're part of it too. How could you put her through this?

"Y/n?"

Your mom's voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you lift your gaze from your coffee to her face.

"I've been calling your name for a while now. What the hell is going on with you kid?" she asks concerned.

Everything you wished you could tell her was everything you couldn't. Everything she warned you to stay away from.

"Look I know I haven't been the best mom," she sighs. "But I did it because I care. I'm strict because I know how quickly things can go south in this shithole of a town."

"You're not a bad mom, stop—"

"I can tell there's something on your mind, I don't know if it's good or bad. But I want to know Y/n/n."

Just as you were about to respond your phone pinged and of course it was Jenna.

Hey Oil spillage, just got news that the meeting moved. It's on Friday at 10p.m. now.

Wonderful news. After the realizations you just had, you were not ready to face Jenna again. In fact you would rather anything but see her. And now you can avoid her for six more days. Without replying to her message, you turn off your phone and turn your attention to your mom.

"I guess I've just been thinking about my future and what that looks like." You decide to open up a little, seeing no apparent harm.

Your mom nods slowly, her brow furrowing slightly as she absorbs your words. "And I also have to consider the fact that we're in Brimstone," you add, your voice dropping a notch.

She looks at you intently, searching your face for clues. "I get that this place can feel limiting, Y/n. But remember, it doesn't have to define you. You have the power to change your path."

You take a sip of your coffee, contemplating her words. "It's just...sometimes it feels like I'm caught between what I want and what I should be doing."

"And what do you want?"

"I don't know! I don't know what I want," you finish, softer now.

She squints, registering the tension in your voice. "Then, what do you think you should be doing?"

Racing. The Club. The Sinners.

But you can't say that. Not to your anti-racing mom, but clearly your face says it for you.

"Y/n," she sighs. "There's no place for you in that life."

"You don't understand, Mom! It's easy on paper to say 'stay away.' But people talk. I'm the daughter of a founding member; they expect me to be part of this."

"And how exactly are you hearing all this talk?" she asks, voice tinged with sass. "I thought I told you to stay away from Anton and that whole club."

"I am!" you lie. "But people at the warehouse still talk," you lie again. "Is working in a warehouse really what you want for me? For the rest of my life?"

"If it keeps you out of that club, then yes, a thousand times over. That club killed your father. I don't get your fascination with it!"

"Maybe I like cars! Maybe I want to feel close to him by doing something that mattered to him. You never even talk about him," you say heatedly, pushing yourself back from the table.

"Sit back down," she says, rubbing her temples.

You sit, your frustration simmering.

Your mom's eyes, usually a fortress, softened with a sigh. "You're right, I don't talk about him much. Not because he wasn't worth it, but because it's painful. But let me tell you something about your dad, something I should've told you sooner."

A shadow of confusion crossed your face.

"He was a founder, sure," she admitted, a bitter smile playing at her lips. "One of the Y/l/n brothers who started this whole thing. But that's not the part of the story that matters. Not the part that should define how you see racing."

Your heart stilled, anticipation prickling at your skin. "What do you mean, then? What's the part I'm missing?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly, focusing on a memory only she could see. "Your dad wanted out."

The weight of her words hung between you, more jarring than the rumble of any engine. The idea of your father—the man who had seemingly built his entire world around speed, thrill, and the camaraderie of the club—wanting to leave felt impossible.

"What do you mean, 'out'?" you asked, the question barely a whisper.

She sighed, running a hand over her tired face. "He didn't start the club for the glory, Y/n. Not for the rush or to become some legend everyone would talk about. He did it because he felt trapped, and for a while, racing felt like freedom. But when things got bigger, more dangerous... he saw where it was heading. He knew it wasn't sustainable. He wanted out before it swallowed him whole."

You stared at her, trying to process this new version of the man you thought you knew. The stories you'd grown up on were all about victory, triumph, the unmatched skills of your father and the empire he helped build. But no one talked about the nights he lay awake, second-guessing the choices that led him there.

"Why didn't he leave, then?"

Her eyes glistened with a pain that seemed older than time, a sorrow she'd carried long. "He did, or... he was supposed to. That last race—the one that took him from us—it was meant to be his farewell. He promised me it would be the last time, that after that night, we would start over, somewhere far away from all of this."

You felt like the ground beneath you had shifted. The race that defined so much of your past, the race whispered about in awe and grief—it had been an ending, but not the kind you ever imagined.

"He was going to walk away?" you asked, your own voice thick with disbelief.

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, the weight of old promises and lost dreams shining in their depths. "Yes," she whispered, a tear finally breaking free and rolling down her cheek. "He was tired of what it had become—the danger, the violence, the way it devoured everything good. He wanted out for you, for us. But fate had other plans."

You looked at her, seeing not just your mother but a woman who had lost everything for the sake of someone else's ambition. The image of your father—legendary racer, fearless leader—began to fracture, replaced by the vision of a man who was trapped, fighting for freedom that never came.

"And now," she said, drawing a shaky breath, "you have to decide if you're going to chase his ghost, or choose a different path."

Suddenly, the image of racing, of the thrill that had always called to you, shifted. It wasn't just the adrenaline, the wind whipping past and the engine's roar. It was what lay beneath—the fear, the drive to outrun something that couldn't be escaped.

"So, what does that mean for me?" you asked quietly.

Her fingers tightened around her cup, eyes meeting yours with quiet intensity. "It means you decide if racing is freedom or a cage. For your dad, it became both. You don't owe this club anything."

You sat back, absorbing the truth. Racing had always felt like destiny, an inheritance carved into the fabric of who you were. But now, for the first time, it seemed less like a birthright and more like a choice—a choice you'd have to make on your own terms.

"Do you ever... want to get out of here?" you ask, almost too quietly, afraid of the answer. "Out of Brimstone?"

A question you should've asked your mother years ago, but is only leaving you now.

She raises her eyebrows, surprised by the question. It lingers in the air between you for a moment before she sighs, looking out the window to the tired streets beyond. "Sometimes," she says finally. "Sometimes I think about it, yeah. The way this place drags people in, holds them down... It scares me for you, Y/n. I don't want you trapped here. I want you to have options, a life that's bigger than this town."

"Then why do you stay?" you press, voice softer now.

A flicker of something unreadable crosses her face. "It's complicated," she says, her voice tinged with a weariness you hadn't noticed before. "Your father was here. This was where we met, built our lives, and after he... after everything, I felt like leaving would be... giving up on him. Like walking away from the one thing he was part of."

"But you don't owe this place anything," you say, echoing her earlier words back to her. "If it's just a memory keeping you here, then... maybe we both deserve better."

She nods slowly, her gaze returning to you, eyes softer, more vulnerable than you've seen in a while. "Maybe we do," she admits, voice barely a whisper. She makes a gesture with her hand of tapping a cigarette into an ash tray—a habit you noticed since you were a child. Something she does out of nervousness.

For the first time, it feels like you're seeing eye-to-eye, both carrying parts of the same burden—one that isn't really yours to carry. You've both been holding on, afraid of what letting go might mean.

You never thought you had a bad relationship with your mom. You both just worked and worked, trying to make a life for each other. Survival mode felt like autopilot—there was no time for bonding or deep conversations. Showing care meant keeping each other going, making sure you both were okay. Talking like this felt foreign, almost like a new skill you were both trying to learn. You wonder what prompted it, this sudden need to speak the things you both usually left unsaid

"So Hunter told me you had a girlfriend—"

You face palm, "for fuck sakes."

————

"Dude you told my mom I have a girlfriend?"

"She asked me if there was anyone special in your life!" He puts his hands up defensively.

You groan, feeling a wave of annoyance wash over you. What the hell are you supposed to tell your mom if she asks about this again? The image of her face pops into your mind. "Hey Mom, here's my supposed girlfriend I met at a race I snuck off to behind your back. Don't worry, she's not a Sinner—she's a Viper, though."

Luckily, Hunter had walked in earlier from whatever he'd been up to that morning, sparing you from answering your mom's question on the spot. Now, all you have to do is figure out what to say when she inevitably brings it up again.

It's still morning as you both settle into your room, falling into the familiar rhythm of your routine. You sprawl on your bed while he spins around in your chair, his energy infectious. Hunter dives into the latest gossip, animatedly sharing every detail, and you find yourself drifting in and out of his words, letting the sound of his voice wash over you.

You phone then starts ringing, and his voice suddenly stops. You glance at the screen, and let out a heavy sigh. You've really got to change her contact name.

"Who is it?" Hunter asks, hopping off the chair and leaning closer to your phone.

"Is she not your fave Viper anymore?" He jokes, sitting at the foot of your bed. "Come on, pick it up!"

You hesitate, staring at the screen as the name blinks back at you. The tension in the room shifts, Hunter's playful smirk fading as he senses your reluctance.

"Seriously? You're just going to let it ring?"

You shake your head, biting your lip. "I—I can't, Hunter. What do I even say?"

He leans forward, a look of mock seriousness on his face. "How about, 'Hey, Jenna, what's up? Oh me? I'm just living my perfectly normal life—definitely not spiraling into an identity crisis because of you?"

You roll your eyes but can't help the smile that threatens to break through. "You're ridiculous."

"Yeah, but you know I'm right," he insists, nudging your foot with his. "Just answer it! What's the worst that could happen?"

A million thoughts race through your mind, each one heavier than the last. You're scared of what her voice will bring up—the memories, the feelings, the undeniable shift in your life since you met her. "What if she wants to see me again?"

"Uh, hello?" he raises a brow, giving you a look. "Isn't that the best-case scenario? Getting cozy with your fine, rich Summer Valley girl?"

You hesitate again, and the ringing seems to grow louder. Hunter's eyes are wide, filled with mischief and encouragement. "Come on! Just answer it already!"

"Huh, looks like I can't anymore, the ringing stopped," you smile, relieved that the ringing was cut short.

Hunter's expression shifts from playful to incredulous. "What the fuck, man? Why didn't you answer?"

You shrug, but inside, a storm of emotions brews, each thought heavier than the last. Jenna represents everything you're trying to escape, and yet everything you're drawn toward. She's the pull of a world that's dangerous, one you've seen tear lives apart—your life apart. And every second you spend with her, it feels like you're slipping further down a path you might not come back from.

You can't let that happen.

"Because I can't keep doing this," you say, the words coming out softer than you'd intended. Each moment with her feels like a step away from the life you once knew, from the version of yourself that kept your family safe. You're drawn to Jenna, but she's also a stark reminder of how much you've changed, of how close you're getting to undoing everything your mom worked so hard to protect, everything your father was trying to leave.

She makes you feel alive in ways you haven't felt in years. But that feeling comes with a vulnerability you're not sure you can handle. If you keep this up, you'll lose more than just yourself—you'll risk letting down the family that depended on you to be the strong one. The thought sends a cold chill through you.

"I don't think I'm doing the right thing, Hunter."

Hunter lets out a quiet sigh, watching you closely. "You were doing alright last night. What's got you all worked up now?"

You hesitate, the weight of it clawing at you. Saying it out loud feels like crossing a line you can't come back from. "Things just... feel different," you say, voice barely audible. "I've been doing things I never thought I would, getting in deeper than I should. I don't even recognize myself anymore."

Hunter frowns, studying you. "You're not a completely different person just because you're out there racing. Isn't this what you wanted?"

"It's not just about racing." You rub your face, trying to calm the frustration simmering beneath the surface. "Jenna's got this... hold over me. She's made me cross lines I thought I'd never touch. She's tied up in a world I swore I'd stay away from."

Hunter's gaze softens, like he's trying to understand. "Maybe she's just got you seeing things differently. Doesn't mean you're losing yourself."

But that's the problem—you can feel yourself losing your grip, and the need to push her away rises, desperate, like an instinct. You know that the closer you get to Jenna, the deeper you risk sinking into something that could destroy you both. "Maybe it's better if I keep my distance," you murmur, more to yourself than to him. "I can't let this go any further. She's in the Vipers, and that's not a world I can afford to be part of."

Hunter shakes his head, not fully understanding. "So you're just going to shut her out? Because of some fear? Even if she hasn't been around long, what you two have—it's something real—"

"No." You cut him off, a hint of desperation in your tone. "What I have with her isn't real. Not really. We just thought... we could help each other. But that's all it is."

Even as you say it, though, you can feel the lie settle in your chest, heavier than you expected.

Hunter doesn't know the whole story with Jenna and Percy, or how you got roped into digging up dirt on him. You bite your tongue, stopping yourself from saying too much. A part of you wishes you could tell him, though—because if he knew you were supposedly getting mixed up in things like Ghost Smoke, he'd be the first one pushing you to cut Jenna out of your life for good.

"Alright, let me ask you this," he says, leaning forward. "You've had your first race, you were technically a Sinner. But from what you're saying, it sounds like you've made up your mind. So, what—you're sticking to your car hijacking ways, no racing, right?"

You hesitate—even after everything your mom has told you today, and he catches it.

"There's still a part of you that wants it, Y/n. You're not sure, and that's okay. This isn't about you changing; it's about something else. Unless you can look me in the eye and say you're completely done with this racing stuff, I don't see why you have to push her away."

You don't know why either. Maybe this wasn't about racing entirely and how much you've changed. But it feels foolish now to drag yourself deeper into this world after learning your dad died trying to leave it. Point is, you need to step back before you lose yourself completely.

And as much as it hurts to admit, that might mean losing the girl who makes your heart race. Looks like you found what makes your heart race, but not what's worth risking everything for.

————

"So, should I throw the microwave at your head now or later?"

Jenna tears her gaze away from her phone, frowning at her sister. "What are you even talking about, Aliyah?"

Aliyah grins, enjoying the confusion on her sister's face. "You don't remember? You told me ages ago that if you ever fell for someone again—or got caught waiting on a text—I should throw a microwave at your head."

Jenna sighs, the memory of that ridiculous pact making her groan. "Yeah, well... Wait—hold on. I am not falling for anybody!"

Aliyah raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Uh-huh. Says the girl who's been glued to her phone all day waiting on a text. Sounds exactly like someone not falling for anybody."

Jenna scoffs, rolling her eyes, but she can't hide the faint blush creeping up her cheeks. "I'm just... checking my messages. It's not that deep."

Aliyah chuckles. "Right. Not that deep. Just let me know when to start unplugging the microwave."

The older of the two shakes her head, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself. "You're so dramatic."

"I just know you too well. Face it, sis—you're hooked."

Jenna scoffs, though her expression softens. "It's... complicated," she admits quietly, her fingers grazing the edge of her phone. "She's—" She stops, catching herself. She's. But she's not about to explain all that to Aliyah.

"Complicated?" Aliyah finishes, feigning shock. "You? In something complicated? Never."

"Okay, fine, enough!" Jenna laughs, trying to brush off her nerves. But her sister's words stick with her. She can't ignore the fact that she's thinking about her way more than she should be. And she knows all too well that if Percy found out, it would be a whole new problem.

Aliyah flops onto the bed, scrolling through her phone with a satisfied grin, fully aware that she's already planted the seed.

The Viper tries to focus on something else, anything else, but her mind keeps drifting back. "You're hooked."

Aliyah tilts her head, watching Jenna with a knowing look. "You don't even deny it. Whoever this person is, they've got you in knots."

Jenna rolls her eyes, trying to dismiss it, but the truth settles heavily in her chest. "It's not like that," she says, almost to herself. "It can't be."

Aliyah raises an eyebrow. "Why not? Because of Dad? Or because of that sleaze Percy?"

Jenna's jaw tightens at the mention of the men, and she looks away, fighting the urge to share too much about her mystery Brimstone girl. "Let's just say... it's not as simple as having someone in your life and calling it a day," she says finally.

Aliyah's playful demeanor fades a bit, sensing the weight in Jenna's voice. "Jenna... are you in some kind of trouble?"

For a moment, Jenna considers coming clean, but she shakes her head, forcing a smile. "When am I not in trouble?"

Aliyah's smile falters slightly, guilt seeping through her playful demeanor. She shifts in her seat, Jenna wouldn't even know this kind of trouble if it weren't for her.

Jenna catches the look in her sister's eyes and instantly regrets her words.

"Aliyah, don't," she says softly, the tension in the room shifting. "You know I don't blame you."

"I know, but I can't help feeling responsible," Aliyah whispers, looking down at her hands. The unspoken reality—that Jenna's entanglement with the Vipers was to shield Aliyah—lingered between them, heavier than any words.

"Dad shouldn't have made you—"

Jenna reaches out, squeezing her sister's hand. "We're in this together, remember? Whatever happens, I'm the one who chose to stay."

Aliyah looks up, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "But it's not fair. You shouldn't have to carry this for me."

Jenna offers a small, sad smile. "Family isn't about fair. It's about being there, no matter what."

Aliyah's shoulders slump as she bites her lower lip, a familiar crease forming on her brow. The guilt that's been gnawing at her shows clearly in her eyes, and Jenna's heart clenches at the sight.

"I hate this," Aliyah whispers, her voice wavering. "Every time you walk out that door, I keep wondering if you're coming back. And it's because of me."

Jenna's tough facade cracks, and she leans forward, wrapping an arm around Aliyah's shoulders. "Hey, don't go there," she murmurs. The words are steady, meant to reassure, but the tightness in her chest betrays her. For a moment, she lets herself imagine a life free of this cycle—a life where neither of them has to look over their shoulder.

"I won't be stuck for long," Jenna finally admits, a determined edge creeping into her voice. She pulls back just enough to look Aliyah in the eyes, hoping to pass on some of that conviction. "I'm working on something, alright? This isn't forever."

Aliyah searches Jenna's face, her eyes widening with hope and hints of disbelief. "You mean it?"

Jenna nods, "I mean it. I promise."

Suddenly the sadness in Aliyah's expression is replaced with a smirk, "Does she have anything to do with it?" she asks glancing at her sister's phone.

"Don't change the subject," Jenna says, trying to sound stern but unable to keep the corner of her mouth from quirking up.

Aliyah's smirk grows, the earlier heaviness giving way to something warmer, more familiar. "I knew it. Your mystery girl isn't just another risk, is she?"

Jenna rolls her eyes but can't fully suppress a small, reluctant smile. "It's complicated, Ali. She's... well, she's a lot more than I expected."

Probably the biggest risk of all, Jenna thought

Aliyah's smirk softens into a genuine smile. "Good. You deserve more than this mess, Jen."

Jenna's heart tightens at her sister's words. "Yeah," she whispers, more to herself than to Aliyah. "Maybe I do."

Suddenly an idea stirs into the younger Ortega's mind. In a swift motion, her hand darts out and snatches Jenna's phone from the bed. Before Jenna can fully process what's happening, Aliyah is already on her feet, eyes dancing with mischief as she clutches the phone to her chest like a prize.

"Aliyah!" Jenna's voice sharpens "Seriously? Hand it over."

Aliyah tilts her head playfully, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Relax, big sister. Just checking if your mystery girl left a love note or two."

Jenna takes a step forward, trying to maintain her composure as she reaches out for the phone. "I mean it, Ali. Give. It. Back."

Aliyah shifts her weight, effortlessly dodging Jenna's reach as she chuckles. Taking advantage of the height, she holds the phone above her head, reading the chat messages. "Greaser? Pet names already?"

"Aliyah."

"Left on read for almost three hours? And here I thought you had game."

"I don't like her."

"Sure you don't," Aliyah teases, tapping the screen. "Let's see if your non-existent feelings show up when I—"

Before she can finish, the familiar ringing tone starts, and Jenna's heart drops. Aliyah's eyes widen with mock surprise. "Oops. Guess we'll see soon enough."

"Aliyah!" Jenna lunges, grabbing the phone from her sister's hand after the phone rang for a while. Without hesitation, she swiftly hits the end call button. The silence that follows crackles with tension as Jenna clutches the phone, her face flushed.

Aliyah bursts out laughing. "Wow, if that's not feelings, I don't know what is."

Jenna takes a steadying breath, unable to mask the way her pulse races. "It's not like that," she insists, more to herself than to her sister.

She couldn't help but wonder why you didn't answer your phone. You had more than enough time to answer the phone while it was ringing.

————

Two days have passed since you left Jenna's call unanswered. The rhythmic clinking of tools filled the garage as you worked tirelessly on your latest project—the stolen Aston Martin. For the past two days, the garage had been your refuge, the metallic smell of oil offering a sense of your old routine amidst the chaos. In that span, you had buried yourself in work, starting early in the morning and ending late into the night, determined to keep your mind from straying.

You stepped back to study the Aston Martin, now wrapped in a deep green that gleamed under the fluorescent lights. The change from the initial black colour was supposed to help, to make the car feel less like a painful reminder of her. But as you ran your hand over the freshly smoothed surface, sighing at the ghost of memories it evoked, you realized that nothing had changed. No matter how much you worked, every inch of that car still spoke her name.

Your phone buzzed on the workbench, a sharp intrusion that pulled your attention. A name lit up the screen—Jenna's. A message providing you the address of the meeting, nothing else. Seeing her message made your chest ache with a guilt you tried to ignore. You glanced at the glowing screen, your resolve wavering for a moment before you shoved the phone into a drawer, the metallic clang echoing in the small space.

Out of sight, out of mind.

As you smoothed out the last stubborn air pockets on the Aston Martin's fresh wrap, the sound of footsteps echoed in the garage. It was nearly 1 a.m. and no one should be around at this hour.

"Y/n?"

You turned at the familiar voice, eyes narrowing slightly before recognition softened your expression. "Mikey?"

She walked toward you, eyes curious as they swept over the car. "What are you doing here so late?" she asked, curiosity lacing her voice.

You shrugged, forcing a nonchalant tone. "Just working on a car. Needed the distraction. And you?"

Mikey tilted her head, not satisfied with the answer. "I felt like going for a drive. Thought I'd stop by first."

Her gaze shifted between you and the green Aston Martin, catching the tension in the air.

"This is the car you rolled up in with your girl right? What was on the surveillance?"

Ahh yes my girl. Now you need to come up with a believable break up story for the crew.

You clenched your jaw at her question, the mention of Jenna sending a pang through your chest. "Uh, yeah," you muttered, hoping to keep the conversation brief. Mikey's sharp intuition wasn't something to underestimate.

"Trouble in paradise?"

You sigh, "something like that, I don't really want to talk about it."

Mikey nods carefully, and deliberates her next words before speaking, "Did you want to join me on my driv—

"Okay I brought Chinese!" Hunter's voice booms through the garage.

Hunter set the bags down on a nearby workbench, the crinkling of paper and the scent of takeout breaking the heavy silence. He glanced between you and Mikey, sensing the charged atmosphere and shooting you a raised brow.

"Am I interrupting something?" Hunter asked, his usual playful tone laced with curiosity as he tossed a napkin your way.

You caught it mid-air, forcing a smirk to hide the knot in your chest. "Just working late," you replied, shrugging as if that explained everything.

Mikey's expression softened, the slight edge from moments ago replaced with a grin. "Nope, you're just in time. I was about to drag Y/n out for a drive," she said, her voice lighter now, as if trying to pull you into an easier conversation.

Hunter's brows lifted. "Oh? That's a miracle. She's been glued to that car for the last 48 hours" he teased, nudging your arm.

The mention of the past few days made your stomach tighten. You hadn't told Hunter or anyone else why you'd been so buried in work. The truth was, it kept you from thinking about Jenna. The guilt, the confusion—it all seemed simpler when muffled under the sound of engines and the smell of oil.

Mikey leaned against the Aston Martin, folding her arms. "Come on, you've been cooped up in here long enough. What's a quick drive gonna hurt?"

Before you could answer, Hunter grabbed a takeout container and tossed another to you. "Food first, you too Mikey. And then drive second," he said with a grin. "Don't think we'll let you skip out on both."

You took the container, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips. Maybe stepping away from the garage—and everything it represented—would be good for you. Even if just for a moment.

You could tell a lot about a person from how they drove, and never in a million years did you think Mikey would be a careful driver. She would teeter on surpassing street limits, but was a relatively relaxed and smooth driver.

The car rolled through the night, the city gradually giving way to quieter roads framed by dark silhouettes of trees. A comfortable silence settled among the three of you, broken only by Hunter's occasional commentary and Mikey's bursts of laughter when he cracked a particularly absurd joke.

"Remember that time you tried to drive with only three wheels?" Hunter leaned forward from the back seat, his eyes dancing with mischief. "You swore it would work."

You chuckled despite yourself, shaking your head at the memory. "And you were the one who dared me to, you idiot."

Mikey laughed, the sound deep and genuine. "And you actually tried it? That's commitment."

"Or stupidity," Hunter added, and the three of you erupted into laughter that carried through the night, momentarily easing the tension that had wrapped itself around your chest for days.

The conversation meandered through old stories and lighthearted teasing as the car hummed smoothly down the open road. But then, in a pause between topics, Mikey glanced sideways at you, her gaze more serious. "So, do you plan on racing again anytime soon?"

The question hung in the air, a sudden shift in the atmosphere. Before you could respond, Hunter's smirk dropped. He leaned back in his seat, his voice more subdued. "Don't bother, Mads. She doesn't know."

Your eyes flicked to Mikey, watching her reaction. She didn't miss the slight hesitation in your expression, the way your hands clenched. Her brow furrowed, a mixture of concern and curiosity flashing across her face.

"Still figuring it out, huh?" she said softly. "If you haven't made up your mind yet and you're not already back on the track, it's probably a no."

You kept your gaze on the road, the rhythmic whoosh of the wind outside acting as a buffer for your thoughts. Mikey's insight stung more than you'd admit; she was right. Your lack of being back on the track had to mean something.

"Maybe," you said finally, offering no real answer. Hunter glanced between you and Mikey.

Mikey settled back in her seat, a subtle understanding flickering in her eyes as her expression softened. "Trust me," she said, her voice calm yet pointed. "Most racers, when they're trying to get something off their mind, they hit the streets and push their limits. But you? You're here, spending your nights working on a car. That says a lot about where you really want to be."

She was the first person to openly discourage you from racing, and you couldn't help but appreciate it. It felt different, almost liberating—a break from the endless pressure to prove yourself. For once, someone saw the side of you that wasn't caught up in the thrill, and it was a relief.

But there was also that suspicious part of you. Mikey was close to Anton, and she knew how much Anton wanted you in the crew. Does she fear that you'll replace her spot in the club if you join? You brush off your intrusive thoughts and try to enjoy the rest of your drive.

————

Two more days had passed since Jenna had sent the text with the updated meeting address, and the silence on the other end gnawed at her. She leaned against the balcony railing outside her room, eyes skimming the darkened city skyline in the distance each blinking light a reminder of how life pulsed and moved without pause.

The air was crisp, biting against her skin as she shivered, but it did nothing to numb the restless ache in her chest. She scrolled back through the last messages, the words on the screen staring back at her like a mockery of the certainty she'd once felt. It wasn't like you to go this long without responding, but then again what did she know about you? You were the definition of uncertainty, you couldn't figure your own shit out how could you help with hers. She should've seen the red flags for your ghosting tendencies from the first time you met. You had no reason to help her, there was no personal gain.

Aliyah's voice broke through her thoughts, calling from inside. "Jenna, you're doing it again."

Jenna blinked, tearing her gaze from the phone as Aliyah stepped out onto the balcony, eyes filled with concern.

"You're still thinking about her, aren't you?" Aliyah's tone was soft, not judgmental, but knowing.

Jenna sighed, slipping her phone into her pocket as if hiding it would erase the gnawing uncertainty. "I can't help it. Something's off. She's... pulling away, I can feel it."

Aliyah's expression shifted, guilt briefly clouding her features before she masked it with a small, encouraging smile. "Maybe she just needs time. You know how it is—this life, this... chaos we're in. It's not easy."

Jenna met her sister's eyes, searching for reassurance that felt out of reach. "Yeah, maybe." But it wasn't enough. Aliyah didn't know the extent of your relationship. How you were going to help her get dirt on Percy. How you were her best bet.

Jenna had noticed for a while now that Percy was spending a lot more time in Brimstone, and that anything she could find would be found in that shady town.

"I saw the messages with her... something about a meeting? If she won't go with you, maybe I could?" Aliyah ventured, her tone eager but tentative.

Jenna's reaction was immediate, sharp. "Absolutely not. It's too dangerous."

Aliyah crossed her arms, a defiant glint in her eyes. "Come on, Jenna. It could be good to do something together for once."

"I'm serious, Aliyah. This isn't up for discussion. It's not safe," Jenna said, her voice firm, eyes blazing with protectiveness.

Aliyah lifted her chin, stubbornness radiating from her. "Too late. I don't care," she declared, turning on her heel and striding out before Jenna could argue.

"Aliyah, wait—"

Jenna's phone pinged, jolting her from the tense silence that followed Aliyah's departure. For a split second, hope fluttered in her chest—a foolish, fragile thing—as she thought it might be you, breaking the days of silence that gnawed at her. But that hope quickly crumbled as she glanced at the screen.

It was from Percy.

Get yourself dolled up. Race tomorrow night. Be there. And you're on my arm. Look the part, don't embarrass me.

Jenna stared at the messages, her fingers itching to throw the phone across the room. He knew exactly how much he got under her skin and used it at every opportunity. And tonight was no different; he needed her there, not just as a racer, but as his accessory, some trophy to drape over his arm. Like she was at the Sinner race almost a month ago. It was a power move, one he'd pulled too many times, trying to keep her bound to him and his schemes.

Another ping. Don't even think about bailing. You know what happens when I'm not happy.

Jenna scoffed, fingers hovering over the keyboard. She could imagine Percy already preening in the mirror, smugly counting on her to show up, loyal and subservient as always. She could almost hear his oily tone, the mock concern he would flash when she hesitated, only to follow it with another thinly veiled threat. Percy loved to remind her how "lucky" she was that he'd given her a place in the Vipers—and what a shame it would be to lose it.

Jenna pushed away from the railing, the metallic chill of it seeping through her skin as she stood upright. The city lights looked dull now, swallowed by the storm brewing in her mind. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, a part of her tempted to tell Percy to shove it. But she knew better. Defying him could mean losing her only leverage, the tiny foothold she had in this game of shadows and lies.

With a sharp sigh, she typed out a reply, each keystroke feeling like a betrayal to herself.

Swallowing her disgust, she replied. Fine. I'll be there.

It was almost too easy to imagine the smirk that would be stretching across his face as he read her reply. She could feel her muscles tense, a quiet storm brewing beneath the surface, made worse by the fact that she'd lost any sign of you as a reprieve.

The phone slipped back into her pocket, but the weight of it pressed heavier than ever. The ache in her chest turned sharper, a reminder that even though she needed you, even though you were the one who was supposed to stand beside her, the silence between you spoke volumes. She just wished it wasn't so deafening.

Her eyes drifted to the hallway where Aliyah had disappeared moments before. She couldn't let her sister get pulled deeper into this mess, not when it felt like she was barely holding her own head above water. Yet, with every passing moment, the line between protecting the people she loved and keeping them at a distance grew blurrier. And Percy's summons felt like another shove towards the edge she was already teetering on.

Tomorrow night, she'd play the role. But Jenna swore, as she stared out at the city, that she would find a way out of this tangled mess.

Aliyah popped back into the room, her eyes bright but cautious as she took in Jenna's guarded stance. "Hey, so, the family's heading out to catch a movie right now. Are you coming?" Her tone was light, hopeful even, as if she already anticipated the answer but wanted to hear it anyway.

Jenna's gaze shifted to her sister, the corners of her mouth pulling into a tight line. The unspoken question lingered between them, though Aliyah's expression faltered as she awaited an answer.

"Is Dad going?" Jenna's voice came out sharper than she intended, and Aliyah's smile dimmed slightly.

"Yeah, he is," Aliyah admitted, her eyes darting down for a moment before meeting Jenna's again, trying to read her sister's mood.

Jenna's jaw tensed as she looked past Aliyah, the weight of years of resentment and disappointment pressing down like a vice. "Then no," she said flatly, the finality in her voice leaving no room for argument.

Aliyah's face fell, but she nodded, understanding etched into her features. She didn't push, didn't try to convince Jenna otherwise. The silence between them grew heavy, filled with all the things they weren't saying.

"Okay," Aliyah said softly, turning to leave. But before she stepped out, she cast one last glance over her shoulder, eyes shadowed with a mix of concern and quiet resignation. "Just... don't stay up all night, okay?"

Jenna forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Yeah. I won't."

But as Aliyah's footsteps faded down the hall, Jenna knew she was lying. The night was already hers to wrestle with, haunted by the things she couldn't change and the person she wished she didn't need.

————

Before you knew it, Friday had arrived—the day of the meeting. The meeting you weren't planning to attend. You started your day the same way you had over the past few days—in the garage.

You had been avoiding your phone all morning, afraid of what new messages might appear. Each buzz was a test of your resolve, a reminder that giving in would undo everything you had decided. You needed to stay strong, keep your distance, and not let the past pull you back in.

The project car in front of you demanded all your attention. You poured every ounce of focus into it, the sleek curves of the Aston Martin glistening under the dim garage lights. Tonight, you were determined to take it out for a spin, using it as an excuse to push out the stress gnawing at your mind.

The garage was unusually quiet, lacking its usual bustle. The regulars, including Anton and Mikey, were conspicuously absent, skipping their usual stops at the garage. You welcomed the peace; the last thing you needed was their relentless teasing about the car's dubious origins.

The sound of footsteps broke the monotony, and you didn't need to look up to know it was Hunter.

"Got a minute?" His voice came from the doorway, casual but laced with concern.

You nodded, wiping your hands on a rag before tossing it aside and standing up. "Yeah, what's up?"

"So you're really done with Jenna?" he asks wasting no time.

You couldn't even bring yourself to say the words.

"I'm hoping the drive with Madison the other day doesn't mean yes," he frowns. "I don't think she's right for you."

"Neither do I dude. I never said I wanted anything with Mikey. We literally all went on a friendly drive, nothing more."

"Good, she kind of gives me an off vibe," he shares. "I mean, she's cool and all, but there's just something... I don't know. 

Hunter leans against the workbench, studying you. "But that still leaves Jenna," he says, quieter now. "Are you sure cutting her off is what you really want?"

Your chest tightens, and you look away, focusing on the glint of metal on the project car. "I don't know," you admit. "But staying away feels like the only way to keep things from going up in flames."

Hunter's eyes narrow with concern, but then he smirks, the corner of his mouth curling up. "Just don't forget—sometimes running from the fire only makes it burn hotter when it catches up," he finishes with a wink.

You roll your eyes, but a small chuckle escapes despite the tension in your chest. "Trust you to turn everything into a dramatic line."

————

Hunter left around the 6 p.m. mark and time slipped through your fingers, and before you knew it, the clock had struck 8 p.m. The Aston Martin stood before you, polished and ready. It looked solid, steady—exactly what you needed. Without a second thought, you grabbed the keys, took a breath to steady your nerves, and slid into the driver's seat. Tonight, it would be just you, the car, and the open road.

You eased the car through the streets of Brimstone, your hands gripping the wheel, your mind drifting as you weaved through the winding roads. The town looked different at night—darker, quieter, with the occasional flicker of neon signs casting long shadows on the empty streets. You passed by abandoned buildings, alleyways where the stray figures of drug addicts huddled together, their glazed eyes staring into the nothingness that had consumed them. They barely registered your presence, too lost in their own world.

You drove without a clear destination, allowing the car to take you wherever it wanted to go. The sound of tires on asphalt was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. The rush of the road beneath you, the flicker of streetlights, the occasional blur of other cars passing by—it was all you needed. Just you and the road.

And then your mind went to her. Of course it did. How could it not when you were sitting in this car. You were fooling yourself by thinking a single car wrap can get the job done.

You remembered the day you took this car, how you spilled your guts to her in the midst of your chaos. The way she'd listened—really listened—and kissed your cheek when you dropped her off. The memory was so vivid, you could almost feel her lips on your skin again.

She should be heading to the meeting now. The one you weren't going to attend. The one she was walking into, blind. No idea what it was really about, no clue what she was getting herself into. Alone.

For all you knew, she thought Ghost Smoke was some sort of cereal. But no. You knew better than that. She wasn't stupid. She was smart, and she could handle herself. You tried to tell yourself that, tried to calm your racing thoughts. She could handle herself. She would be fine. Nothing bad would happen.

But even as you tried to convince yourself, the doubt crept back in. The image of her walking into that meeting—unprepared, vulnerable—made your stomach churn. You couldn't help but picture the worst. What if they used her? What if she got caught up in something deeper than either of you realized?

But then, as you took a sharp turn, you found yourself on the road you hadn't meant to be on. The track.

The place where it all went down.

You didn't intend to end up here. Not tonight. But there it was, the race track standing still under the muted glow of the moon, the outline of the old fence barely visible against the darkness. The stories rushed back like a wave—your father, Anton's dad, both gone in an instant after the crash that took their lives. The race had been their last, the night that changed everything.

You slowed as you approached the entrance, the cars long gone. There was no movement, no sign of life, just the emptiness that had followed the tragedy. The track had been abandoned ever since. The Sinners stopped racing there out of respect, unwilling to return to the place that had claimed so much.

You parked the car on the side of the road. For a long moment, you just sat there, the hum of the engine ticking down as the silence of the night pressed in. The weight of the past, of your father's legacy, of everything you thought you knew about this town and the racing world, settled on your shoulders.

You couldn't help but feel the ghosts of the past watching, waiting, taunting you—what are you going to do Y/n?

You shifted the car into drive, the road ahead a blur.

————

"Can you not be mad at me anymore please?"

Jenna rolls her eyes, frustration evident in her posture. "I told you not to come. I seriously can't believe you followed me here."

Aliyah huffs, crossing her arms. "You're in this mess because of me, and god forbid I want to help! It's not like your girlfriend was dying to come with you, so you should at least be grateful I'm here."

Jenna's stomach clenches at the mention of girlfriend, but she holds her tongue. She's too tired for this. She could've corrected Aliyah for the thousandth time, but it wasn't worth the fight now. Better to focus on getting this over with. At least until this little mission was done, she needed to push all thoughts of you to the back of her mind.

You're not here anyway. You're not helping her anymore.

Aliyah continues, clearly trying to lighten the tension, but there's a note of sarcasm in her voice. "Seriously, there's no way you're not happy I'm here. Look at this place!" She gestures toward the imposing, dark warehouse ahead, a shudder running through her as she takes it in. "It's straight out of a horror movie."

Jenna doesn't disagree. The place does feel like something out of a nightmare. She can feel the resentment bubbling inside her, a sharp, unwanted feeling that she tries to push away but can't. How dare you ghost her, leave her to face this alone? If you were here, Aliyah wouldn't be, and maybe she wouldn't feel so exposed, so vulnerable. But you aren't, and her little sister is. The sting of abandonment hangs in the air, heavier than the looming shadow of the warehouse ahead.

Jenna sighed, feeling the weight of the situation pressing in from all sides. With one final glance at the door to the meeting place, her shoulders slumped in resignation. "Fine," she muttered, voice tinged with exhaustion. "But stay close, stay quiet. Don't do anything stupid."

Aliyah gave a small, relieved nod. "You've got my word."

Jenna leads the way into the dark warehouse, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the cold, concrete floor. The place is completely abandoned, with broken windows casting faint, eerie light into the room. There's nothing in sight but dust and the lingering smell of stale air.

Aliyah looks around nervously, her eyes darting from corner to corner, but all she can see are the dim shadows creeping along the walls. The place feels like a ghost town, unsettlingly empty.

"Is this really the right place?" Aliyah's voice is low, the uncertainty clear in her tone.

Jenna pauses, squinting into the darkness, trying to make sense of the scene. She's not sure why the meeting is set up like this, or why it feels like they're walking into the unknown, but she can't let herself doubt now. "Yeah," she answers, her voice steady but with a hint of something unspoken. "This is it."

They keep walking, the air growing colder as they venture deeper into the warehouse. Aliyah keeps glancing at her sister, confusion written across her face. "What exactly is this meeting about?" she asks, her voice tinged with concern. "I mean, what's going on here? Is this about the club or—?"

Jenna cuts her off, shaking her head slightly, her gaze focused ahead. "Don't worry about it," she says, her tone sharp and final. "Just stay close."

And then, they saw him.

He was standing in the far corner of the warehouse, facing away from them, his silhouette sharp against the dim light filtering in through the broken windows. Dressed all in black, his figure was imposing in a way that sent a chill down Jenna's spine. He hadn't noticed them yet.

Instinctively, both sisters ducked behind a stack of old, dusty boxes, their breath held as they exchanged a look. The quiet tension between them thickened, and in that moment, everything felt so much more real—so much more dangerous.

On the phone, the man spoke with a low, almost mechanical tone. "Yes, boss. I'm the first one here, waiting on the other two."

Jenna made a mental note on the words. So this was a meeting between three people. Percy would be one of them.

Aliyah's voice was barely a whisper. "Do you know who that is?"

Jenna didn't answer at first. Her eyes stayed fixed on the man, analyzing his every movement, trying to make sense of the situation. Finally, she shook her head. No, she didn't know him. But something about this felt wrong—like they were in deeper than they had anticipated.

She reached out, squeezing Aliyah's hand tightly to calm her nerves. "Stay quiet," she murmured. There was no turning back now.

Jenna's heart skipped a beat when the door creaked open, and two figures stepped into the dim light. Percy walked in first, his usual calm confidence unmistakable, but it was the figure beside him that made Jenna's breath catch in her throat.

She remembered seeing him at the Raven race. The night you were racing. What the hell was he doing here? Her mind raced, the weight of the situation crashing down harder than before. Why was he with Percy?  Was he the club leader? This meeting was about something far worse than she could have imagined.

Aliyah's grip on her hand tightened, her eyes wide with uncertainty and fear. But Jenna couldn't look away. She barely registered the tension in her sister's hand, too focused on the strange alliance before her.

Without a word, Percy and the Raven exchanged brief glances before walking further into the warehouse with the mysterious person in all black. The air around them seemed to thicken, the sound of their voices indistinguishable.

Jenna's pulse quickened as her instincts screamed that she needed to get closer, to hear more.

She crouched low, glancing over at Aliyah with an intense, silent plea. "Stay here," she whispered sharply, her voice low but firm, knowing the weight of the situation.

Aliyah nodded, her face pale with fear.

Jenna barely gave her sister another glance before she began moving, silent as a shadow, staying low to the ground as she crept closer to the three men. 

But the floor of the warehouse wasn't as kind as she hoped. Her foot caught on a jagged edge, and in an instant, her body lurched forward, her heart skipping a beat.

Time slowed, the rush of panic surged through her, and in that split second, her heart seized with terror. She was going to fall—she was going to make a noise and blow their cover. Aliyah was going to be in danger.

She braced for the inevitable crash, for the sound of her body hitting the ground and the betrayal of her hiding place.

But just as the world tilted beneath her, strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back from the brink. Her heart raced, her breath catching in her throat. She blinked, disoriented, but when she looked up, her world seemed to freeze.

There you were, standing in front of her, holding her steady. The realization hit her like a punch to the gut. You were here. You had come for her.

In the six days you had ghosted her, Jenna had planned what she was going to do if she ever saw you again. First was a slap, possibly the silent treatment—a taste of your own medicine. She even toyed with the idea of keying one of your cars. But falling into your embrace, wrapping her arms around your neck and letting out a sigh of relief was certainly not part of the plan.

For a moment, neither of you moved. You could feel her breath against your chest, soft and steady, and despite everything, her warmth was exactly what you needed.

Jenna pulled back slightly, her hands lingering on your arms as she looked up at you, her eyes searching for something—answers, maybe, or just reassurance. She was still upset with your disappearing act. "You really are something," she muttered, her voice softer than usual, almost vulnerable.

You couldn't find the right words, not when your heart was racing from the sudden rush of emotions. Instead, you simply nodded, gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, a quiet acknowledgment of everything unspoken between you. "We'll talk afterwards," you whispered.

She nodded, knowing you both have a bigger issue to deal with at the present moment.  You notice Jenna worriedly glance behind you and you follow her gaze to see another girl you've never seen before.

Jenna noticed the fear that was once on her sister's face melted into a mischievous grin as she looked at her, raising an eyebrow and pointing a finger at you while mouthing, Greaser?

You'll have to figure out who that is later, but for now you take your attention away from the girl who is very close to you, and look up at the scene in front of you. Pissy, the Raven crew leader, and an unfamiliar man.

“Who thought holding the meeting here was a good idea?” Percy muttered, annoyance dripping from his tone as he glanced at the dust clinging to his shoes.

“We can’t afford any slip-ups,” the unknown man replied curtly. “Let’s keep this brief.”

The Raven crew leader smirked, eyes glinting in the dim warehouse light. “We’ve already pushed about fifty keys of Ghost Smoke into Brimstone over the past two weeks,” he said, voice smooth but full of intent. “No hiccups, no heat—just a steady stream. And trust me, the streets are starting to bite. By the time the next batch hits, they’ll be begging for more.”

"Okay, and you Percy? How's the Vipers' distribution going?"

You clenched your jaw as the conversation confirmed your worst suspicions. These guys were flooding Brimstone with product, exploiting the town's vulnerable, turning the Brimstoners into their playthings. From the corner of your eye, you noticed Jenna stealthily recording the exchange between the three men, every tense word.

Percy shifted uneasily, a flash of frustration in his eyes. "We've moved about eight keys so far," he said tightly, the disappointment in his voice evident. The number wasn't enough compared to the Raven's progress. "It’s not easy for a Viper to operate on Sinner territory without drawing attention."

"Maybe if you'd stop cozying up to your girl at races and focus on your job, things would be different," the unknown man snapped, his tone biting.

His girl?

"Relax," Percy retorted, his voice strained but defiant. "No one wants Brimstone to become a zombieland more than I do. Some of those Sinners have been getting way too fucking cocky."

Jacob, the Raven leader, let out a low chuckle and placed a hand on Percy's shoulder. "Easy there," he said, smirking at the unknown man. "I can’t blame the guy. It’s hard to stay focused when your girl’s a knockout like that." He finishes with a whistle.

A whispered "ew" sounded behind you, and you felt Jenna tense, a silent fury radiating from her. Anger roared in your chest. Not only were these men scheming to drown Brimstone in Ghost Smoke, but now they were talking about Jenna like she was just another trophy. The rage that simmered inside you sharpened into a razor's edge.

But now was not the time to get angry. You had to remain calm, get all the info you can and get the fuck out of there.

Jacob, the Raven leader, crossed his arms, his gaze sharp as he looked between Percy and the unknown man. “And what if this operation doesn’t go as planned? What happens if someone decides to interfere? I know you tried this once and failed.”

The tension in the room crackled like static. The unknown man’s expression darkened, a slow, menacing smile creeping across his face. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” he said, voice low and chilling. “We wouldn’t want a repeat of Bullet and Apex.”

You freeze.

But before you could fully process the implication, a sudden noise shattered the silence about 15 meters to your left.

“Hey! Who’s there?” one of the men barked, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Heart thundering, you whipped your head in the direction of the sound and spotted the familiar mop of curls.

Hunter.

He was crouched low, eyes wide with a reckless determination that sent a jolt of both dread and relief through you. Before you could even react, Jenna’s urgent voice sliced through the fog of panic clouding your mind.

“We have to go,” she hissed, fingers locking around your arm like a lifeline and yanking you into motion. The edge in her voice snapped you back to the present, and your body jolted into action. The girl—clearly someone Jenna trusted—was already sprinting ahead, weaving between crates like shadows. You cast a quick look back, your gaze catching Hunter’s for a split second as he, too, bolted to follow.

This was a fight against time, and survival was the only thing that mattered.

Jenna’s grip on your hand anchored you as you both tore out of the warehouse, feet pounding the ground as adrenaline roared through your veins. The cold air bit at your skin as you charged towards the first car in sight—yours.

“Stop right there!” A shout from behind sent a surge of terror down your spine.

“Hey!” you yelled to the girl ahead. She glanced back, eyes sharp, just in time to catch the keys you tossed her. She was closer to the car, and with no time to spare, she slipped into the driver’s seat.

The three of you scrambled in—a blur of limbs and frenzied breaths. Jenna flung herself into the passenger seat, while you and Hunter dove into the back, your heart hammering in your chest like it might explode.

“Go, go, go! Step on it, Aliyah,” Jenna commanded.

Aliyah didn’t hesitate. The engine roared to life, and the Aston Martin peeled away from the warehouse, tires screeching against the asphalt. The last thing you saw in the rearview was the shadowy figure of the man pursuing you, growing smaller as you sped into the dark night, leaving danger and revelations in your wake.

No one dared to speak. The air in the car was thick with tension, the adrenaline still simmering just beneath the surface. Once Aliyah had put enough distance between them and the warehouse, she eased off the gas, slowing to a steady, legal pace. They were in Summer Valley now, the bright lights of the town casting fleeting shadows across their faces.

Ten minutes ticked by in silence before the red glow of a traffic light gave them a momentary pause. It was then that everything unraveled at once.

“Hunter, what the hell are you doing here?” you demanded, voice tight.

“How the fuck did you go from boosting cars to this?” Hunter fired back, eyes wide with disbelief.

Aliyah leaned back, throwing a teasing look Jenna’s way. “You didn’t tell me Greaser was cute!”

"Since when did you know how to drive?” Jenna shot back at Aliyah.

The car was filled with a low hum of murmured conversations, each person settling into their own thoughts as the road stretched on.

“Did you follow me here?” you asked Hunter, still in disbelief.

“Yeah, I did. And I’m glad I did.” His voice was filled with concern. “What the hell are you mixed up in, Y/n?”

“I don’t know, man. I’m just finding out about all this today, too.”

Hunter let out a frustrated sigh. “We need to tell Anton. They’re trying to destroy Brimstone.”

You exhaled, mirroring his sigh. “Yeah, this is bad. Real bad.”

As soon as Anton’s name left his lips, your mind raced back to the meeting. What the men had said.

Hunter could see it in your eyes—he knew exactly what you were thinking, and the tension in the air between you both grew thicker.

Up front, Jenna’s voice broke the silence. “Okay, yes, I get it! She’s cute. Can you just… shush? She’s right there,” she muttered in exasperation, turning back to her sister, who was practically grinning.

Jenna slouched back in her seat, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. This was not what she expected when she set out to gather dirt on Percy. She couldn’t wrap her head around it—Percy, the same person she thought she knew, was tangled up in a plot to destroy Brimstone. Yeah, he was a jerk, but this... this was murder, drawn out and deliberate.

The crew she had once considered family was directly linked to the distribution of Ghost Smoke, targeting people from the town over.  She knew there was always a rivalry between Brimstone and Summer Valley, but she didn't think it would resort to elimination techniques. The shock of it all left her breathless, the pieces clicking together with an unsettling finality. 

She got her dirt. But this feels far from over.

Despite everything, Jenna couldn’t ignore the pull to check on you. She knew you had to be feeling the weight of it all—learning that your town was the target of such destruction. But there was also the anger. The unresolved frustration from you walking away earlier. She couldn’t just let you back in without confronting it, could she?

But as the drive wore on, the pull to turn back softened, and she glanced at you instead. You were lost in your own world, staring out the window, looking like you’d retreated into yourself. Nothing could touch you right now. And she didn’t blame you. Tonight had been a mess.

She turned her gaze to Hunter, raising an eyebrow, silently asking if he knew how to handle this. He met her eyes, shaking his head in that subtle way that said, Not tonight.

Jenna nodded in acknowledgment, her expression a mix of concern and frustration. She gave a quiet command to Aliyah, who turned the car toward their place. The drive was silent, the weight of everything hanging thick in the air. When the car finally stopped, both girls exited, but Jenna couldn’t help but glance back at you one last time. Her gaze softened, seeing how much this was affecting you. You didn’t look at her once as you stayed seated in the back, your face unreadable.

Somehow, without even realizing it, you found yourself sitting in the passenger seat of Hunter’s car. The shift had happened so subtly that you hadn’t even registered the transition. You assumed once the girls had left, Hunter must've taken over the drive. But the ride felt endless, every minute dragging in uncomfortable silence, like you were trying to outrun the truth without really knowing how.

When Hunter finally pulled into his driveway, the car came to a stop, and the air between you two felt suffocating. No words were spoken for a long moment.

Finally, Hunter broke the stillness. His voice was low, sincere, and filled with an understanding that made your stomach churn. “I’m sorry, Y/n,” he said, his tone full of empathy. “That must’ve been a hell of a lot to take in.”

It wasn’t easy, not by a long shot. You could feel the weight of the words pressing down on you like a heavy stone.

Bullet and Apex. Your dad and Anton’s dad, their racing names. You had tried to convince yourself that you had misheard at the meeting, that it was some twisted misunderstanding. But as you turned to look at Hunter, his pitiful eyes told you everything you needed to know. You weren’t wrong.

Your father and uncle’s deaths wasn't an accident. They’d been taken from you on purpose. And now, the truth of that hit you harder than anything else.

[yagirlwrites]

Angels & Demons | (Sub!Rafe)

Pairing: sub!Rafe Cameron x domme!Reader

Synopsis: Rafe asks reader to a Halloween bash, proposing they wear matching costumes. They have a conversation on where they stand. Lots of fun at the biggest party of the year.

Warnings: fluff, clingy!rafe, pouty!rafe, alcohol consumption

Word Count: 8.4k (I'm so so sorry I need psychiatric help)

A/N: Hi y'all! It's finally here, ignore the fact that its 10 days late - Happy Halloween🤣 This is really long and fluffy, some steamy scenes as well because it wouldn't be me without them 😘 The smut for the day after the party will be posted soon! Had to separate it because it would have been too damn long to read and y'all deserved to have this as soon as possible. Hope it's not too long anyway 😭 I am sorry for the delay but I hope you enjoy it! As always lmk what you think!

Series Masterlist

My work is my own; it's not to be copied, transferred or translated. Reblogs, comments, feedback are always welcome and appreciated❤️

Happy reading 🥰

Angels & Demons

"I need you to sit still, baby." His heart soared, as it always did, when she called him that. He was currently sitting at her vanity while she patiently applied glitter to his face.

He felt restless, she was so close and she smelled so nice and she was touching him so gently. Looking at her, so beautiful, right in front of him was driving him insane. It was his own fault for being in this situation, getting ready for a party he suggested they attend. So he really had no right to be acting bratty. He just really wanted to kiss her and she was keeping him hostage in the small chair. The generous view of her cleavage bent over like this, courtesy of her costume, might also have something to do with his fading sanity.

It was a week ago when he suggested they go to the Halloween bash together. It was the biggest party of the year so far, spanning the entire greek street. It was always wild and intense, but he wasn't interested in that this year. He just wanted to spend time with her and his friends, and have a good time. This would technically be their coming out party and he was ecstatic when she said yes to coming. Even more so when he suggested they match their costumes, trying to play it off as no big deal, but in actuality extremely aware of the implications.

"Like, a couple's costume?" It came out of the blue. They had been cuddled up on her couch when he brought up the topic the party and asked if she wanted to come with him. Then he started acting all shy and flustered broaching the topic of outfits.

"Yeah. I don't know if you maybe wanted to match. Might be cool, I don't know." He was blushing in that way that made her heart melt like a popsicle on a hot summer day. He didn't even give her a chance to respond as he continued.

"Unless you don't want to or think it would be weird, it's totally fine we don't have to. It was just a thought..." he trailed off, not meeting her eyes, flustered and insecure. Her heart ached.

"Hey..." her soft palm met his cheek and forced him to look back at her.

"Why would it be weird?" Her gaze was warm and he was blushing even harder now. His thoughts felt scrambled, all the practicing he had done in his head vanishing into thin air when he was so close to her.

"I don't know. Maybe you don't see us..." he trailed off, shrugging his shoulders, not able to finish his thought.

"As a couple?" She offered, trying to help but driving him further up the wall instead. He just shrugged, keeping his eyes trained on the coffee table, feeling weak. She pushed him further onto the couch, straddling his lap in order to force him to look at her. His heart felt like it might burst out of his chest.

She said nothing, simply waited for him to speak up. Needing him to talk to her, instead of shutting down. They'd talked about this habit of his, she promised she'd never judge him and he promised he'd try his best to be as open with her as he could. So he had no choice then, not when she was looking at him like that. Not after he made her a promise.

"We never talked about it. So you might not." His eyes were running wildly all over her face, trying to be respectful and not look away but not brave enough to see the possible rejection in her gaze.

"Do you want us to?" He sighed, the feeling of her playing with his hair making him lose the last bit of dignity he had. He was so desperate for her he couldn't cope.

"Maybe..." she shook her head then. She hated that word, wished he would stop using it and just say what he really wants. But she knew it was hard for him so she didn't push it.

"Do you want us to be a couple, Rafe?" His eyes finally met hers, hearing the vulnerability in her voice. When they did, he saw no judgement, no rejection, just kindness. And he didn't have it in him to pretend anymore.

"I do." The beat it took for her to react felt like an eternity, his breath stuck in his throat.

"Good." She smiled, caressing his face so gently he thought he'd cry. She kissed his red cheek and whispered a soft "me too."

His heart skipped at her words, a bright smile finally making it's way onto his face as he hugged her so close, leading them both to almost fall off the couch. The only thing that could be heard in her small appartment was the sound of their giggles as they processed their emotional conversation.

"Fuck, I'm so relieved." He kissed her neck where his head was burried while he held her as close as possible. Her hands running though his hair in that soothing manner she knew he loved. She laughed as he peppered kisses on her skin.

"What? Did you really think I'd say no?" She pulled him back enough to look at his beautiful face. He had a sheepish smile on and his eyes sparkled with joy.

"I don't know." He shrugged in a careless manner, even though they both knew it was a front.

"Oh so you think I just let any guy sleep over and cuddle with me on the couch?" She was giving him a faux offended look and he couldn't help but laugh.

"I don't know, you might..." he grinned and she rolled her eyes.

"Bro, be serious." She pushed off of him to pick up the blanket that had fallen to the floor during their tumble.

"Bro? You can't friendzone me now!" He whined as she stood up, folding the blanket and then throwing it right in his cheeky little face. He let out a surprised yelp and she giggled as he rushed after her on her way to the kitchen. He looked like a lost puppy, incapable of not being near her, it seemed.

"So what's this costume?" He was looking at her throat as she gulped down a glass of water, completely zoned out when she asked the question.

"Huh?" He snapped his eyes back to her face but it was too late, she'd already noticed him ogling her. His ears turned a shade pinker as he tried to play it off.

"The costume you want to wear, what is it?" He looked confused.

"I don't know." He shrugged causing her to raise her eyebrow.

"You don't have a costume in mind?" He shook his head, grinning as he stepped closer to her.

"Whatever you want." She had to refrain from laughing at how cute he was, with his floppy hair and his rumpled clothes and his childlike grin.

"So now I have to come up with a couple's costume even thought it was your idea?" She played annoyed but he could see the smirk twitching at the corner of her mouth. He wrapped his arms around her and connected their foreheads, the intimate banter reducing them both to mush on the inside.

"Yep. Just want everyone to know." He nuzzled his nose into her hair as her fingers ran gently over his back.

"Know what?" He pulled back to look at her then. A rare moment of bravery.

"That I'm yours." Her breath caught in her throat at the way he said it. So sure, so honest, so utterly unashamed. It made butterflies appear in her stomach and she wanted to curse at how much she loved hearing those words come out of his mouth.

"That you're mine?" She kissed his face gently and his smile could not be bigger.

"Mhm. All yours." she blushed from the raw honesty in his words and he noticed. But before he could call her out on it she kissed him, making him forget whatever thought he might have had of teasing her.

It was heaven, whenever their lips met. They felt like they became one and it was so insane to think about that they refused to, simply letting themselves get lost in the pleasure of being with each other.

And now here they were, in her bedroom, putting the finishing touches on the costumes. He admired how stunning she looked, so focused and unguarded. He swore he had never seen a person more beautiful in his life. He couldn't stop a smirk from making its way onto his face as he took in her outfit. The tight leather bustier made her boobs look insane, the short black skirt leaving just enough to the imagination, and the skull shaped lace of her thights hugged her thighs so well he wanted to bite into them.

"One last thing" she positioned the accessory on his head and smiled at the result.

"Perfect." He blushed at the compliment, turning around to face the mirror and finally see her hadiwork.

He looked flushed and soft, the sparkles on his face matching the ones on the halo atop of his head. He was dressed in all white, a button down over a white t-shirt, white pants she made him buy the other day, and white converse on his feet. The silver against the white made him look almost ethereal. He was a literal angel before her eyes and she could not be happier with how it all turned out.

She grabbed her own headpiece, a pair of black horns and completed their couples costume. An angel and a demon. Not the most unique of ideas, however the roles were usually reversed. He told her that when she came up with the concept and all she said was "You're my good boy now, right? You're gonna be my angel." After that he shut up and the flush didn't leave his cheeks for a long time.

He didn't know if she fully understood just how much she affected him when she said stuff like that. Messed with his mind, his heart, twisting him up inside until he feels like falling at her feet. Or maybe she knew exactly how bad he had it for her, and she enjoyed it.

She was taking her sweet time taking him in, critical eye paying attention to every detail waiting to find something she might have missed. Even though it wasn't her idea and she'd never done matching costumes with anyone before, she was feeling super excited at the prospect of the entire campus knowing he was hers. She wasn't a jealous person, but she knew there were girls vying for his attention and now he was making it clear he had no interest in anyone but her. It made her heart feel so full that she had to force herself to stay cool. He did that. He'd come and sweep the rug out from under her in the best ways. One minute she's chill and the next he hits her with this genuine unabashed affection and she's left confused as to how to cope. She wouldn't complain though, it was the best kind of surprise every time it happened.

To think not long ago she had thought he could never be with someone like her, that they weren't compatible. It was laughable now. Every move they made felt perfectly synced, like it was always meant to be the two of them together. And whenever her insecurities would try and weasel into her mind he'd smile at her in that way he did and she'd feel peace again. She knew he still had his demons but since they agreed to be open with each other he seemed more calm, less on edge, like that peace she felt was mirrored in him too. She couldn't quite believe how happy she was.

He was looking at her with those bedroom eyes again and she had to refrain from letting her mind run wild, as his no doubt was. They spent hours getting ready and they had a party to go to.

This would be the first time they arrived together at a party, and while she wasn't particularly bothered about what other people thought, she knew he cared and wanted to show the world they were together now. For real. She understood, they had spent so much time making up for all the months wasted, in their little bubble and while it was amazing and they wouldn't trade it for anything - they did need to step back into the real world. Meet each other's people, be part of each others lives in public too.

He was really excited at the prospect and it warmed her heart to see him so positively nervous about something. Something other than sex, that is. She needed to stop thinking about sex and focus. Party. They're going to a party. She grabbed her purse and took his hand leading them out the door and into the night.

................

Walking into his frat, hand in hand, it felt like the entire house was staring at them. In reality most people didn't pay them a second glance, but it felt like a momentous occasion to him. He had a big, proud smile on his face as he led her through the massive crowd to the kitchen where he knew his friends would most likely be congregated. As they walked in they were met with loud whoops sounding over the music.

"Mistery Girl! You made it!" It was Mac, Rafe's best friend. They'd met several times, and even though he now knew her name, he still clung to the nickname - to Rafe's great annoyance. As expected, Rafe rolled his eyes at his friend. She smiled and greeted his group, some of whom she'd briefly met before, some faces definitely unfamiliar leading Rafe to introduce her.

Rafe went to make her a drink, knowing she prefers a cocktail to a beer. He managed to locate some fruity syrup and decided to mix her a drink himself. He didn't trust any of the already made punches floating around. She deserved the best. Since best wasn't an option, at least better than the terribly tasting jungle juice Mac always made.

Aaron, one of his frat brothers, whom he didn't really care for, decided to stand too close to her for his liking. Rafe was looking at him while making sure not to spill any of the alcohol he was pouring. He didn't like him crowding her and he wanted to get back there to prevent any unfortunate scene that might unfold.

"So you're the devil, huh?" She gave the random man next to her an unimpressed look, taking a step to the side to create space between them. She didn't want to deal with annoying creeps, but she needed to keep her promise and not do anything to offend his friends.

"Just a lowly demon, I'm afraid." She replied to his question, trying to stay polite.

"Ah, I don't see nothing lowly about you, sweetheart." His gaze flashed to her cleavage and her blood started boiling when he leaned into her space again. He was clearly already drunk but her patience was wearing thin.

"Here you go, babe." His voice snapped her out of her reverie, bringing with him a calm she had missed in the past few minutes they were apart. She took the cup from him, relaxing into his chest as he made himself at home at her back, wrapping one arm around her. His eyes were shooting daggers at Aaron, and she had to refrain from smirking, finding his protectiveness endearing.

"This is pretty good, sweet boy." She looked up at him after tasting his conconction and he broke eye contact with Aaron to look back at her, a smile shining on his face at the compliment. A slight blush appeared on his cheeks at the pet name. He had yet to get used to how he felt every time she called him something so sweet and loving. This was the first time she had called him a nickname in public, not thinking anything of it until the pest next to them decided to speak up.

"N'aww ain't that just adorable?" The smile wiped off Rafe's face in record time as he shot daggers at Aaron for the interruption. Jade was getting more and more annoyed by this random guy and she knew Rafe was as well, so she wished to remove them both from his presence. Before she could though, he had to speak again.

"When did you become such a pussy, Cameron?" Rafe rolled his eyes, tired of his bullshit and ready to leave the kitchen but he felt her stiffen in his arms.

"You watch your mouth." Her voice was low and cold, but everyone in the kitchen could hear it nontheless.

"It's okay-" before he got a chance to reassure her that this dickhead's words meant nothing to him, he was interrupted.

"Woah there little lady. You're feisty. She speaks for you now, too? What happened to you, bro?" He was giggling to himself, but none of his other friends seemed amused. She was starting to realize no one liked him, but for the life of her couldn't understand why they tolerated such a piece of shit.

"Listen here, you little cockroach-" she took a step towards him but Rafe snapped into action, wrapping his arm tighter against her and pulling her backwards.

"Rafe..." her tone held a warning, but he didn't care. He wasn't about to let Aaron of all people, ruin their night before it even started.

"Baby, he's not worth it. Everyone knows he's just desperate for attention, since no one's giving him any." His first words whispered to her, but the latter said loud enough for everyone to hear. Aaron flushed red in anger and Mac saw it as his queue to jump in.

"Alright, we get it. You're jealous Rafe has a girl now. My condolences man but we gotta move on, yeah?" The crowd laughed at Mac's jokes making Aaron even more furious, but the friendly arm Mac slung around his shoulder and the beer he handed him managed to distract the drunken douche enough for Rafe to drag her out of the kitchen.

"You should've let me knock him out." Her teeth were clenched and he tried to prevent a smile from breaking out but she looked so adorable, all mad and protective, ready to fight for his honor. He chuckled at the thought and her eyes snapped to him, taking in his face, thinking he's laughing at her.

"Hey. I could take him!" She was offended.

"Oh trust me, I know. I remember just how lethal that right hook can be." His eyes were sparkling with mischief, and she realized he was only teasing her.

"He deserved it." She spoke, no longer upset, feeling her anger leave her body as he swayed them both on the dance floor.

"I know." He was smirking, giving her that annoying yet adorable look, driving her crazy.

"Why do you let him talk to you like that?" He sighed, pulling her into his chest, laying his head on top of hers as they danced.

"I don't care enough about his opinion to let him ruin my night." She looked up at him then, realizing he wasn't being a pushover because of his friends, which she worried might have been the reason why he didn't fight back. He was just mature enough not to let some irrelevant twat get under his skin. She smiled at that, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer.

"That's very grown up of you." She teased and he laughed, glad she was back to normal.

"And you ready to fight him for a stupid comment, is definitely not." She rolled her eyes, a slight blush tinging her cheeks.

He was right, she had promised herself to stay cool but one mean comment aimed at him destroyed her composure. She felt such an intense need to protect him, it was quite confusing and scary. She would have laid that fucker out right there in the kitchen. How embarrassing.

"Hey, I'm not complaining. It was very hot, how protective you got." He was smirking again, the cocky little shit. She rolled her eyes again and pulled him into a kiss, just to shut him up and distract him from her somewhat childish behavior. He moaned into the kiss when her tongue entered his mouth and she smiled when she felt him shiver under her fingertips. He was so easy.

When she broke the kiss he was dazed, chasing her lips to prolong the moment but she simply gave him a sweet peck and pulled away. The pout on his face was adorable, resembling a little kid told he can't have his favorite candy for dinner. She admired the flush of redness on his skin from the brief shared moment and a longing stirred in her belly, resembling the one very clearly written on his face. They both wanted more but this was not the time or the place, so she went back to slowly swaying with him in a soft embrace. He melted into her, as he always did.

The kiss made him crave more but she was making it clear it wasn't going to happen. Not yet, at least. He enjoyed the way she held him though, so warm and soft and protected. It always messed with his emotions but he wasn't ashamed of how much he enjoyed it. Not even a little.

It wasn't long before their peaceful moment got interrupted. Mac nearly knocked them both down in excitement as he announced body shots taking place on the formerly used beer pong table. This was exactly the kind of chaos she'd come to expect from a frat party. Rafe's eyes glistened with mischief and she knew what he was going to say before he even spoke.

"What do you say? Wanna do body shots?" He had a playful smirk on his face, fully expecting her to roll her eyes and reject him.

"Sure." She nearly laughed at how quickly the smirk disappeared, replaced with a confusion which then gave way to cautious excitement. She smiled and took his hand, following where Mac had gone, presumably in the direction of the shots.

Rafe was buzzing with excitement as they made their way to the basement where the den was. That's where they usually used the old ping pong table for beer pong. A crowd was gathered around the table, whooping as a guy finished licking salt off a girl's neck. He couldn't believe she agreed to this. Holy shit.

They made their way to the table, waiting for another couple to finish, being next in line. Rafe could feel the adrenaline coursing through his body in anticipation. Then she turned to him and smirked and he thought he'd pass out right then and there. She was the sexiest woman alive, he'd swear it. He couldn't believe he got to call her his girlfriend.

"Shirt off." The command in her voice shook him to his core, too reminiscent of how she talked to him in the privacy of her bedroom. His pulse quickened in excitement. And then he processed her words and realized what she was saying.

"Lay down." Her eyes held a spark in them that always knocked his breath out of his lungs. Of course. Of course she would do this. He didn't know why he was expecting anything else. He followed her orders, like he always did. He had never been the one on the receiving end of body shots and he'd be lying if he said it wasn't turning him on.

The crowd went wild as he undressed and positioned himself on the table. She drank him in, all flushed, a sheen of sweat marking his body from the dancing. He looked delicious and she could feel arousal pool in her belly. It was messy, being like this in front of all these people. She knew, but in that moment she didn't have it in her to care. He was laying there, waiting for her and she wasn't going to deny either of them the high about to happen.

She moved into action, pouring salt on his collar bone and continuing a line down his chest, making Mac whoop out a "hell yeah!". She was solely focused on Rafe, though. He was getting more and more red as the seconds passed and he could feel the lust running through him. She was driving him insane. She put a lime wedge in his mouth and gave him a cheeky wink to which he silently groaned. A fucking tease.

With one last look into his wild eyes, she downed a shot of tequila and finally bent down to make contact with his skin. She licked a long strip from his belly button, over his chest, to his collar bones where she cleaned all the salt off his sticky skin. He shivered as her mouth moved to his neck, giving a cheeky bite to his sweet spot. His eyes rolled to the back of his head in response. She was evil for that.

Finally her eyes met his again as she leaned in to take the lime wedge from him, biting into it, letting the sour juice soak her tongue and complete her shot. The crowd cheered loudly and she quickly discarded the lime wedge to the side as she pulled him in and kissed him, deep and hot and messy.

Both of them were completely lost in the moment, the tension coming to a head as their tongues met and he tasted the liquior and lime on her. He moaned into the kiss, not caring about if anyone heard, solely focused on her. The kiss didn't last long but it awakened something in both of them. She managed to force herself back, to not give these strangers any more of a show than she already had, and pulled him up by his hand.

He struggled to find his feet, feeling completely fucking dazed from that kiss and that body shot and her touch and fuck she was ruining him.

As soon as they moved away from the table, the crowd's attention was taken by the next couple and they had a chance to take a breath. He was red all over, his shirt crumpled in his hand, his other hand in hers. She looked flushed as well, probably for the same reason he was. That was insane.

She kissed him again, finally out of the spotlight. This kiss was slower, but still as deep. He could feel his pants constricting him as he realized he was fully hard for her. She didn't miss it either, as she felt his length pressing against her abdomen. He groaned at the pressure and she pulled back to look at him.

He was embarassed so he lead her away from the basement, making sure to stay hidden behind her, not wanting anyone to witness his predicament. When they made it back to the ground floor he wasted no time in grabbing her hand and rushing up the stairs, her bemused laughter accompanying the movement.

"Where are you going?" She asked, trying to keep up with the speed at which he was practically running.

"My room." He spoke as if it was obvious as he pulled her in the direction of the room they'd both spent several nights tangled up together.

"Rafe, we're not having sex right now." She didn't want to be that couple, the one hooking up in the middle of a party after doing body shots. It felt like a cliche.

"No, I just need..." he trailed off as he unlocked his room, pulling her in as he turned the light on.

"Just need a moment." He looked down at his crotch with a blush and she smiled in understanding. He needs some privacy to calm down.

"Okay, baby." She kissed his cheek in reassurance and made her way to his desk chair, making herself comfortable.

He awkwardly stood there, not sure what to do now. Just having her in his room again was not helping with his problem. The thought of having to go take care of himself in the bathroom depressed him though. So he begrudgingly sat down on his bed and looked at her, confused.

She wanted to laugh at his expression, like he had no clue what to do with himself. His very obvious erection was not helping her calm down from what happened earlier. In fact, the fire in her was getting worse as she looked at him so vulnerable in front of her. Still shirtless, his chest moving with heavy breaths. It was driving her insane.

"Can I..." he didn't finish his thought, almost cursing at even saying anything. His voice had been so quiet she almost didn't hear him.

"What?" She drew the chair closer, to hear him better, making him take in a deep breath to try and get a hold of himself.

"Nothing. Forget it." He shook his head and refused to meer her eyes. That was unacceptable.

"Rafe." Her voice left no room for argument, she wanted him to tell her the truth.

"I was just... I wanted to..." he trailed off again feeling agitated that he couldn't just be confident in expressing himself the way he wished he could. He knew it frustrated her too and it made him feel worse.

"Wanted what, baby?" She moved to sit down next to him, her proximity only causing more frustration to bubble inside him.

"I want to taste you." He finally managed to verbalize his thoughts, meeting her eyes with apprehension.

"Oh..." she wasn't expecting that.

"I'm sorry." She shook her head at his apology.

"No, don't be. It's okay." She held his face in her hands then, observing him.

"Why are you so afraid, hm?" He gulped at her question, uncomfortable at her ability to see right through him all the time.

"I don't know, I just.. I don't wanna dissappoint you." She sighed and pulled him closer, placing a soft kiss on his lips. He exhaled in relief, she wasn't judging him.

"You would never dissappoint me by telling me what you want or how you feel, Rafe. I told you this." Her eyes were so kind it threw him.

"I know, I know. I just... I don't wanna screw this up." He looked embarrassed again and she hated it.

"You could never screw anything up by being honest. The opposite, actually." He nodded, feeling calmer as her fingers played with his hair.

"I'm sorry I'm so messed up." He let out a slight chuckle and she responded with a kind smile.

"You don't ever have to apologize for being human. Not to me. Not to anyone." She was looking at him with such conviction he couldn't help but nod. He wanted to believe her so badly.

"Is this something you've been wanting for a while?" He flushed again, remembeing his words form earlier, shyly nodding.

"Why didn't you say anything? Hm?" She placed her forehead against his, offering comfort and a grounding touch which was exactly what he needed.

"Dunno. Didn't want to overstep." He was finally being honest with her.

"By expressing your desires? To your girlfriend?" She was looking at him with slight amusement, and he blushed even more. She was right, it was silly

"When you say it like that it sounds dumb." He chuckled and she smiled at the sound. She kissed him again, a sweet kiss that helped ease his embarassment.

"I know I'm supposed to talk to you. I just didn't know how to bring this up without... I don't know... offending you." She nearly laughed at that.

"Offending me?" He shrugged.

"I don't know if it's allowed to ask for that." He blushed again, the teasing note in his voice not missed by her.

"You can ask for whatever you want, baby. I might not agree with everything, but you can always ask." She was serious now, wanting him to understand she meant it.

"Alright... So can I? Taste you?" He was holding his breath now, anticipating her answer. Truth be told he had been craving it for months - to please her like that. He enjoyed giving head before but he felt like he would explode with need over doing it for her.

"Not right now." She smiled.

"But I can... some other time?" He was desperate for her to say yes, to know he has a chance to fulfill this need, to please her like she deserves.

"Maybe." She was driving him crazy now.

"Maybe?" His tone was exasperated causing her to smile.

"Yes. Maybe." She pulled back so she could maintain eye contact.

"Eating my pussy is a privilege to be earned, Rafe. Not just something you can expect." He gulped as she spoke, driving him more and more insane with each word passing her lips. He wanted to scream with how hot she was, how sexy he found her confidence and how much he hated and loved her dominant personality all at once. He felt ready to beg. It was pathetic, really.

"How do I earn it?" His question made her stifle a chuckle, the eagerness in his tone endearing.

"By being a really, really good boy." She whispered the last part, his eyes glazing over, caught in a trance. She was so evil for playing with him when he's so messed up over her already.

"I'll do anything. I'll be so good." He would have been embarassed at how pathetic he sounded but he didn't have it in him to care, his arousal overwhelming him.

"You will, huh?" He nodded so fast she had to hold back from laughing. She couldn't believe he was begging to eat her out right now. This was not what she expected out of tonight.

"Yes. I'll be soo good for you. Please..." He was so far gone now, the whine in his voice causing her panties to dampen. Damn him. Damn him for how hot he looked, begging for her.

"You're gonna be good for me?" He was nodding along, clearly too far gone at this point to form words.

"Okay. I need you to calm down so we can go back downstairs." His brows furrowed as her words registered.

"What?" He asked, trying to clear the lustful haze from his brain.

"We came to a party, remember?" He was nodding along.

"So we're going back downstairs and you're going to enjoy yourself at the party you wanted us to come to. Yeah?" He finally started realizing she wasn't going to give him what he so desperately wants. She was mean for teasing him like that. He pouted again, giving her that kicked puppy look, but she stood her ground. He sighed loudly, feeling grumpy now.

"You're cruel." He mumbled as he got up and made his way to the door.

"What was that?" She heard him the first time but wanted to see if he'd have the balls to repeat it.

"Nothing. I'm going to the bathroom." He shuffled out of the room with his head down.

She felt a little guilty for rejecting him like that but she meant what she said. She didn't get all dressed up and come to this party just to end their night so soon. She knew this had been important to him and she didn't want his lust to distract him from what he really wanted to do tonight. Which is spend time with his friends and her, not to go back to their bubble the second they got horny. No. Tonight was a test for both of them, to practice some freaking self control. She had to be the strong one, cause he clearly couldn't be. Not when it came to this. But he made it really, really difficult to keep her head straight. Trouble personified.

Once he returned from the bathroom he seemed more calm, more in control of himself. He had splashed his face with water and spent an annoying amount of time sitting on the closed toilet seat, forcing himself to stop thinking dirty things and relax. It wasn't easy, with everything that happened in the basement and then his room. The teasing, the tension, it was all too much. But he understood why she rejected his advances, no matter how embarrassed he might be about it. He was the one who dragged them out to this party, making a big deal out of the night - so he had no right to be mad at her for trying to do what he had asked - experience the party with him.

So he shook his naughty thoughts off and managed to calm himself down enough to where his arousal was no longer noticable. It was the best he could do without jerking off and he really didn't want to do that.

She got up as he enterd the room, approaching him and pulling him into a hug immediately. He realized she felt bad for what happened but he wasn't upset anymore.

"It's okay. You're right. We should go back downstairs." She pulled back to look at him, to see if he was being honest with her. He smiled at her worry.

"I promise." He gave her a cheeky smirk and she accepted his answer, pressing a quick peck to his cheek and pulling him out of the room, back to the party.

He felt so lucky, holding her hand, seeing her interact with his friends, the smile on her face encouraging him to snap out of his thoughts and back to reality. He decided downing a few more shots would help him relax further, making it easier to forget how worked up he had been not 10 minutes ago.

As the night went on they hung out with his friends, drank, laughed and danced together. It was perfect. Exactly what he wished it would be like. He wanted her to like his friends and be comfortable around them and she seemed to be doing great.

They were in the kitchen again, her sitting on one of the bar chairs, chatting with one of the girls in the group. Completely smitten and unable to tear his eyes away, he just looked at her, his girlfriend - the realization making his heart feel so damn full he couldn't believe it. She was his girlfriend. How on earth did he get so fucking lucky?

She could feel his eyes boring into her for a while now, so she looked back at him finding him with a lovesick smile on his face, drunk and adorable, unashamed in his staring.

She decided to keep her drinking to a minimum, being the responsible one as always. It was in her nature. He was clearly already quite drunk but she didn't mind. She hadn't seen him drink that much during the time they've been together so she didn't feel a need to worry about it being a regular occurence. He just seemed really happy tonight and she didn't mind taking care of him once the time came. Which is something she never expected from herself at all- wanting to take care of a guy, not in terms of aftercare post sex, but in general. It made her question her sanity.

Once he realized she was looking at him the smile on his face only got bigger and he felt the intense urge to go to her, so he did. She smiled as he slightly stumbled into her, wrapping her arms protectively around him to steady him.

"Having fun?" She cheekily asked and he gave her the biggest boyish smile in return.

"Mhm, so much fun." He cuddled into her, taking her slightly by surprise. He was acting like they were the only people in the room, even though the kitchen was full of his friends. She could feel eyes on them as she played with his hair, the touch grounding, coaxing him back into reality.

"You okay, baby?" He simply nodded and nuzzled his face into her neck.

"Just happy." Her heart skipped a beat. She felt such intense affection for him in that moment it was unreal.

He wrapped his arms around her, making himself at home in between her legs, cocooning himself in her embrace. He was behaving the same way he did when they were alone, always desperate for her touch, to feel connected to her. It seemed even more intense now when they had a crowd of people looking at them.

"Feeling clingy?" She jokingly asked as the eyes of those around them burned into her skin. She didn't mind it but she was worried he might be embarrassed when he realized how he was acting in front of everyone.

"Just want you to hold me." He kissed her cheek and she could feel a slight blush forming where his lips met her skin.

She held him close, letting him soak in her touch, just as she did when they were in her apartment. She played with his hair and gave his back scratches in the same well practiced dance her fingers performed every day. She decided to break the moment by starting up a conversation with the same girl again as he cuddled into her in silence.

They stayed like that for a while and slowly but surely everyone got used to the odd sight of Rafe Cameron being clingy and soft as fuck, realizing this was normal behavior to the pair as she took it in stride.

After a while Rafe started getting antsy, she could feel him wiggling around and cocked a brow.

"What's up, angel?" Their eyes met and he pouted.

"Need to pee." He almost whined out causing her to chuckle.

"Then go pee?" She didn't understand his dilemma.

"Don't wanna." She realized what he meant, he didn't want to let go of her and leave her embrace even for a short bathroom trip. It made her almost laugh but she held back from it, seeing the serious expression on his face. He was drunker than she thought. She sighed, not believing what she was about to say.

"You want me to come with you?" She could see by the way he immediately brightened, she was right.

She couldn't believe she was so down bad that she'd baby a guy like this. But alas there she was, holding his hand and guiding him to the bathroom. She needed to maintain some dignity so she told him she'd wait outside for him to which he pouted but decided not to complain after seeing the resolution on her face. So she watched him stumble into the bathroom making a mental note to get him to drink water once they got back.

When he came out of the bathroom, he almost lost his footing nearly tripping until she caught him, steadying him. He was embarrassed at how drunk he'd gotten.

"We need to get you some water, baby." He noded his head, wrapping his arms around her again, quietly apologizing into her skin over and over and over while she shushed him and guided them back to the kitchen. As soon as they got there she was thrusting a water bottle at him.

"Drink the whole thing." Her tone left no room for argument so he drank the water obediently and she kept a watchful eye on him the whole time. As she did, she finally noticed something different in his costume. He had gotten redressed when he was in the bathroom upstairs, but something was missing.

"Where's your halo?" He stared at her confused, processing her words for a long moment until they finally set in. He hurried to check his head for the headband he was wearing at the beginning of the night only to find it gone. He set the now empty water bottle on the counter, turning around in search of the missing piece but it was nowhere to be seen.

"I lost it." He pouted, trying to think back to where he had it last but the task was impossible for his drunken mind. She softened at his sad expression, he looked like he might cry.

"It's okay, baby. It was only like 3 dollars." He shook his head, not feeling any better about it.

"But you got it for me." He looked so cute and pitiful, pouting like a kid over a piece of plastic.

"I can get you another one." She smiled as he brightened.

"Really?" She nodded, pulling him closer to fix the mess his hair.

"Really. It's not a big deal." But it was to him. It might have been a silly constume prop but he fully intended to keep it forever as a reminder of their night.

"Our costumes are ruined." He whined and she held back a laugh at his theatrics.

"I don't think anyone cares about our costumes anymore, Rafe." She was right, everyone was too drunk to care about any of that at this point.

"I do.... Now we don't look like a couple anymore." She sighed in exasperation.

"But we are a couple, baby." He smiled at that, hiding his face in her shoulder making her chuckle. He was adorable when he got all shy from her petnames. She knew he loved it when she called him baby the most.

"Wanted everyone to know..." he whined into her skin, apparently not done with the topic yet. She rolled her eyes at what she was about to do to appease him. She really is down bad for this guy.

She pulled out her red lipstick and her phone, reaplying the colour to her lips while he watched her like it was the most fascinating sight in the world.

"Here." She planted a big kiss on his cheek, leaving a print of her lips on his skin. He blushed as she showed him his face on the phone screen, feeling all giddy again.

"Happy now?" She was starting to annoy herself with her need to make him happy tonight.

"Yes. Thank you." He hugged her again, taking in the smell of her hair, feeling sated at last.

As soon as things were starting to feel somewhat peaceful again, Aaron had to make a comeback. She had no patience left in her body for anyone's bullshit and she figured it was around time to get going anyways. She looked down at Rafe, sleepily leaning on her, eyes drooping, realizing he was ready for bed.

"Time for bed, baby?" He groaned in disaproval, not wanting to end the night yet.

"Hungry." She barely managed to make out his mumbling. She hadn't seen any food around except for some chips which was not really good enough to sate a stomach as drunk as his. He needed actual food.

"How about we get you to your room and I order something? Hm?" He looked cute, thinking it over, she could practically see the wheels in his head turning with concentration.

"But we're supposed to go back to yours." The little pout was back on his lips and she realized he pouted a lot when he was drunk.

"I don't think I can carry you back to my place, baby. We can ask Mac for help up the stairs yeah?" He shook his head, the movement clearly making him temporarily dizzy and she worried he might end up falling over.

"M'not that drunk." The slur in his words contradicting his conviction. She simply rolled her eyes and located Mac who was also quite drunk but seemed still capable of helping her out.

"Mac!" The brunet immediately made his way to where the two were standing. "Help me get him upstairs?" He wasted no time nodding and grabbing his best friend under his arms to drag him to his room. Rafe protested again but after stumbling decided to keep his mouth shut and accept the help. He could still walk to an extent so Mac didn't need her help, managing to get him to his room fairly quick helping him down on his bed.

"I'm sorry." He kept apologizing, feeling bad for ruining the night. She disagreed. She'd had plenty of fun with him tonight and him being drunk was but a minor inconveniece to an overall good time. She explained this to him, kissing his cheek in reassurance.

Mac had made himself scarce quickly and she was thankful for the privacy and the quiet of the room. She ordered them both a burger and fries and played with his hair while they waited. It didn't take long for him to doze off.

Once her phone pinged, she snuck out not to wake him and made her way outside to get the food, pushing past the rest of the drunken party downstairs. When she came back his eyes were barely open, it seemed he had woken up by her absence. She smiled showing him the food and he returned it, stomach grumbling with hunger.

They finished their food quite quickly, given how hungry they were, throwing the trash in the bag to be dealt with tomorrow. She changed into his t-shirt and despite the sleepiness overcoming him, his eyes still stared at her body, unable to control himself when she was so damn beautiful. She caught him staring and chuckled at his awestruck expression. He had the same look on every time he saw her undress.

"Come on baby, lets get you changed, hm?" She helped him pull his shirt off and struggled to take off his pants but eventually managed. He had an adorable grin on his face as she made herself comfortable beside him. She reached for him and he immediately made himself at home in her arms. Sleeping with her had become one of his absolute favorite things in the world. He never sleeps better than when he's wrapped up in her arms.

"Good night." He whispered into her hair and she laid a light kiss on his temple as the exhaustion finally caught up to her.

"Good night, my angel."

.........................................

Taglist: if anyone wants to be tagged in future work let me know; @torturedtypewritersdept @kinkyrafe @mentallynot-here @wishing-i-was-rafes-princess @clinelyn @magnificantmermaid @mannstarkey @harringtonstudios @totallynotkaibiased @popcrone818 @fangirlwithlou @rafesxgold @malfoytargaryen @theyluvmesblog @withbeautyandrage @sierrahhh @harrys-humble-housewife @piceous21 @ditzyballerina @xoxo3m1ly @jessmaybank @whore-4-drewstarkey @palmwinemami @dustbunniess @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @starkowswife @ietss @beansprout713 @starkeysbebe @miahxelizabeth @lalalalala33

[passengerprincessblog]

“Lewis, Next Door”~ pt 1 Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Warning: age gap, alcohol?

Summary: Coming home from university, Y/N expects a quiet reunion with family—until she finds herself face-to-face with the enigmatic Lewis Hamilton, her dad’s famous neighbor and friend. What starts as a dull evening soon turns unexpectedly electric when Lewis offers more than just small talk.

I hadn’t been home all semester. Between studying, late-night group projects, and the occasional breakdown, the past few months at uni had been… a lot. I’d pushed through, and even though I’d missed my parents, there was something about finishing this term that made me feel a little invincible. I was finally here, though, bags slung over my shoulder as I hugged my mom in the doorway and let my dad ruffle my hair in that way he always did.

Home sweet home.

After the greetings and settling in, I noticed someone else was around. Our neighbor, Lewis Hamilton, was back too. Usually, he was off racing, so it was a rare sight. I wasn’t someone who followed F1 religiously, but I knew Lewis was a big deal—and the whole “dad’s friend” thing only made it more surreal. The few times we’d run into each other, I’d been struck by how effortlessly confident he was. Attractive? Absolutely. Intimidating? Without a doubt. But, honestly, I’d never thought much beyond that. He was just Lewis, the neighbor.

That night, my dad was throwing a big party to celebrate his latest product launch. Fancy guests, fancy decorations, fancy everything—the whole nine yards. I’d barely unpacked, and here I was, getting ready to play dress-up and smile politely for a parade of strangers. My friends were out clubbing tonight, living it up, and I couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy. But I loved my dad, so here I was, hair styled, makeup on point, feeling like I’d stepped into someone else’s life for the night.

As the party got into full swing, I did my best to stay interested, though I kept glancing at my phone, imagining my friends dancing somewhere with loud music and neon lights. Instead, I was here, weaving through clusters of my dad’s colleagues. He was chatting with a group of important-looking men, so I took my chance and approached him, feeling like a little kid again as I asked, “Can I please just have one drink?”

He shot me a disapproving look. “No. You know the answer.”

“Fine,” I muttered, trying not to let my frustration show. I wandered around a bit, catching snippets of adult conversation that were all about business deals and tax write-offs. Glamorous.

Finally, I spotted a lonely champagne glass on a table. I glanced around, and with a little thrill of rebellion, I picked it up, taking a sip. It was cold and crisp, and even though I’d never been a huge fan of champagne, it felt like a tiny slice of freedom. A few more sips, and I was actually starting to relax.

That’s when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned, and there he was—Lewis, giving me a knowing smile.

“I see you like my drink?” he teased, eyes glinting with amusement.

My stomach dropped. Oh god, I’d taken his champagne? “Oh my god. I’m so sorry… I didn’t know… I can get you a new one if you want, I just—”

He chuckled, shaking his head. His laugh was low and warm, and something about it made me relax, just a bit. “Nah, I’m messing with you. It’s fine. I don’t even really drink anyways.” He grinned, flashing a glimpse of a gold grill that made him look both mischievous and effortless, a vibe that seemed distinctly Lewis.

I managed a shy nod, suddenly unsure of what to do with my hands. “Oh… good. Thanks.” I couldn’t believe I was so nervous. But he just kept looking at me, his gaze both curious and relaxed.

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “You bored? I’m so bored. No offense to your dad, of course.”

I let out a laugh, surprised at how blunt he was. “It’s boring,” I admitted, feeling a little guilty, but somehow knowing he understood. He had this whole wild, glamorous life, and a party like this was probably as dull as watching paint dry for him.

“So, what? You’re back from uni, huh? That’s crazy. I remember when you were like, ten,” he says, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

I feel my cheeks heat up with a pang of embarrassment. Here I was, feeling all cool and grown up, and he still saw me as a kid. Great.

“Yep,” I reply, trying to keep my tone light but failing to hide the faint annoyance.

“Well, you’re better than me,” he shrugs. “I never finished school.” I glance at him, surprised he’s trying to keep this conversation going. Usually, we barely exchanged two words, and now, here we were, alone, talking like… friends? Something more? I didn’t know.

“Well… yeah, but you’re a millionaire,” I say, trying to sound casual, though there’s a little hint of playfulness in my voice. I’m not exactly flirting, but maybe a little. Just testing the waters.

He raises an eyebrow, smiling at me but seeming almost uncomfortable at the mention of his money. He shrugs again. “You’re not exactly struggling either,” he teases back.

Was… that a flirt? Or was I just imagining it? It’s just the way he said it, the way his gaze lingers a moment longer than it should. My pulse quickens, but I try to play it cool.

“No… not exactly,” I say, catching his hint and matching his tone. I glance around, making a point about how dull this party is. “Just right now.”

He chuckles, and there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Maybe next time, you come to one of my parties,” he says. It sounds more like a command than an invitation, like he’s decided I’ll be there.

I nod softly, trying to hide the thrill in my expression. He’s really inviting me? He seems amused, almost as if my reaction is endearing.

“Yeah, maybe,” I say with a slight shrug, finishing off the champagne. I feel his eyes on me, and when I look up, he’s studying me, like he’s considering something.

Then he breaks into a grin. “I could give you my number,” he says, casual but direct.

I raise an eyebrow, trying to mask the excitement bubbling up. “Oh?”

“So you can tell me next time you’re bored,” he adds, giving me a cheeky wink.

I feel my cheeks flush as I pull out my phone. He takes it from me, putting his number in. My hands are shaking just a bit when he hands it back.

“There,” he says with that familiar grin. “Now you’ll be set.”

“Cool. Thanks,” I say, somehow managing to keep my voice steady. Inside, though, I feel my heart racing.

He glances back at the party, then back at me, giving me one last wink. “I should probably go talk to your dad. See you around, Y/N.”

And then he’s gone, leaving me standing there, still holding the empty champagne glass, my mind spinning. His number. His number. A part of me feels like I’m floating.

———————————

Oo La La 🙈

Lmk of you like?!!??

Like and follow 💜

[firequeenofficial]

Grabbing this with both hands and running with it. (Wild Life spoilers to follow)

Scar never left Secret Life. All the other winners died at the end of their series: Grian jumped, Scott got Watchered, Pearl got exploded, Martyn ran out of time, Cleo got creepered. All died and were taken out. But not Scar.

No, Scar was left behind. Why might that be? What possible reasons might the Watchers havre of punishing Scar like this? What would cause them to keep the man Grian would choose over all others trapped like this? Are they really punishing Scar? Or is it perhaps someone else that they're mad at? Someone who's felt less and less Watcher-y as the seasons went on. Someone who's been more human each season. Someone who had far less involvement in Secret Life's mechanics than in the other seasons.

Maybe Grian tried to leave the Watchers. Maybe he tried to defy them. Maybe he was slowly, subtly, shedding the Watcher part of himself like an old skin, hoping they wouldn't notice. But they did.

They noticed, all right. But they couldn't punish Grian directly. No, that wasn't nearly cruel enough. They had to target the ones he loves, instead.

So on top of putting the Secret Keeper in Secret Life to keep an eye on Grian and the others, they also turned the whole server against Scar. They gave him tasks that make him the villain, that ruin his relationships and leave him alone and scared. And they make sure he wins and that he stays alone and scared. No way out, no way for anyone else to get in. No visitors but the occasional Watcher who comes to snack on his despair and make sure he's still there.

And they make sure Grian knows. They make sure he knows what's happening, and that it's his fault. If he'd just complied, if he'd just stuck to the plan, if he'd just embraced this intrinsic part of him, this never would have happened. Scar would be free. And then they tell him the next part: they would keep trapping the people Grian loves until he has no one left, or until he rejoins them fully.

It's no choice at all, really. Because Grian is far too human, and far too attached to his friends. He can't risk anything more happening to them. He can't lose any more of them.

After a brief negotiation, Grian concedes.

He spends a year designing the next game, determined to get it right, to prove to the Watchers that he's one of them, that he's not holding back. It's intricate, and fragile, and detailed, and awful, but he can't stop. He can't let the Watchers think he's trying to protect his friends from them, or from himself.

When they get antsy, he releases a small game, one that doesn't take any effort, one that doesn't last long. He's the first to die.

Finally, the game is ready. The Watchers are eager and curious: He's been working on it for a full year, and dropping hints for months now. The game starts, and Grian's friends can tell he's different. Mumbo hears something *other* in his giggles. Jimmy notices a gleam of purple in his eyes. Scar can't help but feel he's being especially distant and hostile towards him. None of them comment on it.

The first wildcard hits, and Etho is taken aback by how blatantly Grian mentions that he knows what it is, by how desperate Grian seems to be for Etho to figure out what it is and how it works. He's different, Etho thinks, and spots the barely visible eyes surrounding Grian. He says nothing.

People start dying, and it's all Grian can do to contain his gleeful giggles, the fear and confusion fueling him. By the time session 3 rolls around, his friends have given him so much power simply by panicking that the snails are almost no effort at all.

And this is when the deal he struck with the Watchers after Secret Life comes into action. He'd had only one condition - or at least, only one he could get them to agree to: the people he loves most couldn't win. They couldn't even come close. Pearl had been dropping steadily, but session 3 was what made all the difference. Jimmy, Scar and Mumbo started losing lives so fast that Grian worried the Watchers were taking them out right then and there (Jimmy was never a worry in terms of winning: the Watchers were furious at him for breaking free from the Canary Curse in Secret Life, and would never let it happen again). Pearl died plenty more too, ensuring her protection. When Mumbo asked for a life, he refused. That would only raise the danger.

The one people Grian was worried about were Gem and Joel. He'd known, from the moment they teamed, that it would be an issue. Alone, both were formidable opponents and more-than-competent survivors. Together, they'd be unstoppable. He had a sneaking suspicion Joel would start taking himself out soon, but Gem... she simply wouldn't die. When the snails didn't get either of them, Grian set the reds and yellows on them. Using underhanded methods Grian refused to admit he was proud of, Jimmy managed to take Joel out, but not one of them managed to get Gem.

He needed her to die. He needed her to stay away from the Watchers' grip, to stay safe. He needed her gone. He didn't care what he had to do, what he had to sacrifice. Fully under the Watchers' influence, he didn't care what happened to him; they were his games, these were his pawns. Nothing could touch him, and when they did, he saw it coming. All he could think about was getting Gem and Joel out of his series. But no matter what he or anyone else tried, Gem was still alive.

He had to be sneaky about this. He had to put her at the ultimate disadvantage.

So he gathered Mumbo and Skizz together in the open and, under the guise of trying to get them an extra life, he explained a plan to him. He didn't know if it would work, and he didn't particularly care. That wasn't his real plan, anyway. His real plan involved the others all around him. The reds and yellows that weren't his teammates, that were just as hungry for death as he was. Without saying a word to them, he got almost the entire server interested.

They all went to Gem and Joel's base. Surely, with so many, she couldn't possibly get away.

And yet, again and again, the attempts on Gem's life failed. Mumbo died. Skizz lost a valuable weapon. And still, Gem wouldn't die.

Until she did.

It was Martyn, Martyn of all people, who managed it. Technically, the kill went to Ren, but it was Martyn who masterminded it, who set it up.

And yet, it was Gem who decided she would die now. Gem died, not because the others were good enough, but because they weren't, and she felt bad for them. She was on the track to winning, Grian's deal notwithstanding, and she felt bad about it.

And Grian hated it. Because it wasn't supposed to go like this. She was supposed to be safe! She was supposed to be left alone! And yet, the Watchers were protecting her, carrying her to victory in the complete opposite way they carried Scar.

And there was nothing he could do. He couldn't risk defying the Watchers again, and he couldn't risk warning her or Joel or anyone else. The only person who had an inkling of what was happening was Martyn, who knew almost as much about the Watchers as Grian himself did. But the Watchers hated Martyn: Grian couldn't be seen being friendly with him!

Grian returned to his base with Mumbo and Skizz, hating the way the day had gone, even though every single person had died at least once by now. The only purely good thing that had happened was Jimmy and Scar giving him an excuse to take them out of the game as soon as possible, and he was itching to take that excuse. If he couldn't protect Gem and Joel, he would do what it took and sacrifice what he needed to protect Jimmy and Scar. Pearl would sort herself out, he was sure of that.

His friends would be safe. He didn't know what he'd do otherwise.

Did grian feel more watcher-like this season to anyone else? Sure he controls what the wildcards are and all that... but did you notice him being more overconfident.

Both his deaths this session was due to him being careless... like he wouldn't be killed. Like he feels invulnerable. (Who else is popularly portrayed as arrogant? The watchers!)

And the canary's curse. He told jimmy he would make sure it comes true. ( Who made the canary's curse? The watchers!)

I feel like the watchers have regained some influence on him. Something gave the watchers more influence on him this season... maybe something in the last life series. Who won the last life series? Scar...

[idcbabyialreadylostmymind]

Motion!!

Sukuna x f!reader

Synopsis- Sukuna has his way with women, feigning them on before ultimately flipping on them with another woman. He thought he would do the same to you. Nah.

cw: Sukuna is a warning in himself, No sorcerer au, toxic y/n (we love) minimal dialogue, boxer!Sukuna mentioned, cheating (multiple), alcohol, quick paced, hookups, multiple positions, tit slapping, licking, oral sex, nudes, spanking, hair pulling, toxic relationship, ooc Sukuna

“I-I got my hands on my toes lookin’ for the hoes….if I get in this tequila anything goes”

Sukuna had just gotten out the boxing ring securing another undefeated win before his latest fling came up and bitch slapped him, throwing all the expensive gifts he gave her at him scratching up his pretty face. Can’t say he didn’t deserve it. He did sleep with her sister…..and best friend. But that or some other ending was inevitable. He was like this with all his women, they were a means to an end to him, something to fuck and play with. So it didn’t matter if that one left him he would just get a new one.

So he found himself at a party, a quite packed party. He should have known Gojo and Geto were in the most popular band on this side of the world; and god did they know how to throw a party. He nursed a glass of bourbon watching over the crowd to find the one. Then the girl who sucked his dick before walking inside passed him smiling at him, he grimaced he wished that people wouldn’t be so obvious about sexual encounters he didn’t even remember her name. Then he found it, found her.

A little minx in a tight black dress that did little to hide anything, your dark skin illuminated under the strobing party lights as bottle girls poured shot after shot of tequila down your throat, everyone was watching you, devouring you with their eyes.

You commanded attention in any room you walked in he could tell, you were just like him.

And his predatory gaze locked onto you, getting closer throughout the night, stealing glances from you here and there.

You were louder than the rest of your friend group giggling about leaving your ex or something he didn’t really care about, all he cared about was catching his prey.

You attracted people, men and women alike, surrounded you, giving you every bit of their attention and energy. It wasn’t a while till the spectators dissipated to their own carnal desires, that the hunt was one but who was hunting who?

The pink haired man with tattoos that covered his body, from what you could see of his body, and his body was amazing. He was well toned, muscles threatening the hem of the black shirt he adored and he filled out his black pants nicely. He had been watching you all night, he had a familiar look in his eyes, he was on the hunt; for you? He was perfect.

It was as if everything went in slow motion, you locked eyes on him beckoning him closer as you began to walk through the crowd. He followed pushing through. The flashing strobe lights made it hard to keep track but he never lost you. He followed you to a small room expecting to find you but he just found a small bed in a dark red room. The door slammed behind him and he turned to see you. Before he could say anything you grabbed him by the collar of his shirt locking your lips with him.

•• ━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━ ••

Sukuna had no idea how he ended up on his back you and him didn’t even exchange names before you were exchanging spit. Ripping each others clothes off, he had you on your back tearing a condom open with his teeth. Sinking into you he let out a guttural groan, you felt so good. His strokes were mild to begin with but you became bored. You raised your hips bucking faster and harder, digging your nails into the males tattooed chest needing more.

Sukuna got impossibly hard looking at you fucking yourself on his cock. You were intoxicating, his strokes turned wild and hard. The room filled with sinful music of your skin slapping and the mixture moans and groans. Your arms wrapped around his neck yanking him closer to you licking his face tattoo, making his thrust falter wrapping your legs around him; you flip the muscular male onto his back.

In the dark lighting of the small room you couldn’t see the small flush of pink that was brought to the man’s cheeks at your sudden show of dominance. You rode the man like there was no tomorrow, Sukuna could swear he could see stars the way your hips wined up and down at a reckless pace.

You had worked up a sweat for the both of you. A sheer coat of it covers both of your body’s. You were so close, grabbing his hand you guided it to your clit helping his circle the little bud before he took over rushing over it with his rough calloused fingers bringing you to the edge, his other hand held your breast playing with the hardened nipple before slapping it; you let out a dangerous moan as pleasure surges through you. Sharp nails dig into his shoulders to be sure you would leave marks in the morning.

Your hips bucked wildly as you came, your pussy spasming around his girth and he couldn’t hold it as you became impossibly tight around him he burst inside of you. Long spurts of milky white cum flowing into the condom. Settling down you catch your breath before slipping off of him, a hiss coming from both you and him. Licking his lips Sukuna watched as you got up your beautiful naked body on full display for him as you slipped your dress back on, no panties. Before leaving you turned back and handed him a small note, “In case you ever wanna do that again.” You wink before closing the door leaving him on the bed naked, discombobulated, and hard as fuck.

•• ━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━ ••

Sukuna had never experienced a woman like you. You were so alive, wild, and god the sex. Your mouth was sent from heaven sucking him nice and filthy. Spit dripping down your chin as you suck his heavy balls till he cums all over your face. When he wasn’t stuffing your mouth full though you had a mouth on you.

Handing you a 14k gold bracelet embedded with natural diamonds after you just finished him off he closed his eyes waiting for the giggling praise, but was met with a mere scoff before he felt a thump to his tatted chest. You threw the bracelet back at him, “If you think that’s worth this,” you tighten your bathrobe around your body, “you got another thing coming.” You say genuinely offended before storming off to the bathroom leaving him alone, irritated and a little horny. You both knew that you could afford all the things he gets you but like you would say, it’s the principle. What was he gonna do with you.

Not even two months in he had you moved in, fucking you any and every where, you were never not seen together. At his boxing matches, at clubs, v.i..p parties. And when he would take you to the club he didn’t expect you to be so raunchy, it did something to him to see a woman so open, so sexy. God he wanted to fuck you stupid. He didn’t even notice since he met you he never looked at another woman. It was as if you had him hypnotized.

•• ━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━ ••

“What the fuck is this?” Sukuna was angry, pissed even. Pictures of you being lewd with others and so many messages. You stood in front of a mirror wearing the very dress you met the man in, putting your lip gloss on before even looking and smiling. “Well what’s it look like?” You say walking over to the couch grabbing your purse, Sukuna was practically speechless, any other woman he messed with he wouldn’t have cared, he didn’t know what made his gut flip seeing these photos. “You just gonna act like there ain’t pictures of you fucking on other people expect me not to react.” You sigh, turning back to the male. “If you didn’t want your feelings hurt, you shouldn’t have went through it.” You say simply before giving him a kiss and walking out the door.

You knew men like Sukuna he would use you up and toss you aside if you let him. You just got to get on the same low, down dirty level he’s on and show him who’s boss. He’ll stay with you because he sees himself in you, he’s so obsessed with himself. It’s kinda hot.

•• ━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━ ••

Sukuna tried to go to other women, flip on you like he did every other women; but none of them could compete with you, your looks, your taste, your smell. He couldn’t get enough of you, but the same could be said for everyone else. He felt sick watching you post yourself on your story but he remembered who you came home to. But his blood boiled at the thought of someone else touching you, tasting you having you. He hated it.

Muffled moans are barely audible above focused thrust, his balls smacking your arousal soaked thighs creating vulgar noises. Your face smushed into $1000 sheets; sheets soaked in liquids that would be impossible to explain to the cleaning lady. But he would think about that later right now all he could think about was your sweet pussy sucking him in ever so tight.

With every harsh concentrated thrust your warm velvet walls tightened around him. He tried to hold his incoming climax, his hips going at an untamed speed. Every vein on his thick cock pulsating inside you wanting, needing to fill you up to the brim. His hands grabbed the globes of your ass massaging the fat before slapping it watching the recoile. He grabbed the roots of your hair pulling as he fucked you mercilessly.It was what you deserved, what you needed.

But the world went quiet when he felt you cum your whole body shaking as if a volcano ruptured. Your tight cunt held him with such disdain knowing that your pussy was the closest thing to heaven on earth and to lose you would send him into a psychotic break and knowing he can’t be the only one to satisfy you. Rutting into you before emptying his load inside your used cunny. Cum ran down your thighs as he pulled out of you. He thumped down onto the bed finally lifting your head, mascara ran down your face and lipstick was smeared all over your used puffy lips.

Sukuna had grabbed something from his side of the bed handing it to you, it was a blue sapphire butterfly necklace. Smiling up at the man you sit up still naked, “How much?” You gleam.

He smiles at your quip, he takes it from you unclasping it, you instinctively turn around. “$15,000…” He puts it on kissing your neck, casting goosebumps down your back. Your eyes had an unusual spark in them when he told you the price. He had your phone, his hand groping your marked up tits kissing your neck showing your new necklace off. “What are you doing?” You ask, making him smile against your skin. “What’s it look like?” He mumbles into your ear. “Say cheese.” He quickly snapped a picture before getting up, dropping the phone in your lap. You smile biting your lip seeing he deleted all your other photos leaving it to be only him.

But it was just a matter of time before you went out again, didn’t answer his calls,leaving him for days on end. But at the end of the day you always came back to him.

Never in his life did Sukuna think he would be sitting at home going crazy over a woman but here he was.

He finally got a taste of his own medicine.

•• ━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━ ••

A/N- this could have been wayyyy better but I haven’t written anything in a hooot minute so that probs the reason and this is my first time writing for jjk so yay!!!! I’ve been cooking this up for a while now and a few others and as always I hope you enjoyed

[scoopsahoy]

alr i have kind of a wild request so ignore me if you dont wanna write it. you and eddie go to a house party thrown by steve (before they really knew each other) and you're dressed really provacatively. yall argue, he calls you a whore/slut, and you slap him and that awakens a new kink he didn't know he had, and yall fuck

ぺ  word count ⋰ 2.4k

✰  tw ⋰ none :)

❍  cw ⋰ possessive eddie, swearing, sex + fingering, handjob, face sitting, masturbation, oral (female receiving), top!reader, dirty talk

៚  a/n ⋰ i am ✨ovulating✨ at the moment so i'm a bit feral and horny rn, maybe this will quench that thirst

✐  masterlist

⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★⋆★

The second Eddie laid his eyes on you tonight, he felt rage bubble up in his chest. He wasn't a jealous guy by any means, but this... He couldn't help it. Seeing you in that short, tight dress with heels that accentuated your calves — your tits on full display, smushed together and jiggling with every step. It was too much for him to handle.

You wore the dress for him, knowing it would drive him up the wall with desire. But when you looked over at him, all you saw was angry jealousy. You were talking to Steve Harrington, who had a reputation of sleeping around at his parties.

You had zero intention of being the next notch on his belt, but you decided to play into Eddie's jealousy and make it worth your while.

He was protective of you. After all, you were the only girl in Hawkins who loved the Freak. And after finding you, he never intended on letting you go.

Just then, another guy with a reputation of being a bit of a man whore walked up and started a conversation with both of you. When you went to take another sip of the god-awful keg beer in your solo cup, you must've tipped it back too far and a few drops of it landed on your chest. You wiped them up, licking the beer off of your hand.

And you could've sworn you saw smoke blow out of both of Eddie's ears at this. This was the final straw, and he charged over to you, grabbing your bicep.

"Hey, babe," you said innocently.

"Can I talk to you? Alone?"

"Sure." You handed your cup to Steve. "Want the rest?"

Before he could respond, you were being dragged away by Eddie, who pulled you all the way upstairs to Steve's room (unintentionally) and shut the door behind you.

"What's up?" You kept the innocent tone.

"What's up? What's up? Seriously?"

"What? What's wrong, babe?"

"You know what's wrong."

"Enlighten me." You did know what was wrong. You knew completely. He let his jealousy get the better of him and couldn't handle the thought of other men lusting over you. He walked over to you, getting in your face.

In a low, deep voice, he said, "You show up to this party in that... dress. Showing every possible square inch of yourself."

"For you."

"No, no, no. Not for me. Not just for me."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Your tone was coy, fighting back a grin. "I think I'm actually dressed pretty modestly."

"Drop the act, Y/N." You rolled your eyes.

"What, I thought you liked public teasing."

"Yeah, when you're not surrounded by guys who would fuck the living daylights out of you."

"I think you're overestimating their abilities."

"You know both Steve and that other guy would fuck anything that moves, and you sit there, dripping beer on your tits and fake flirting with them."

"God, Eddie, I'm sorry. You normally go for this shit. How was I supposed to know it was any different?"

You turned to walk away from him.

"Because you're not usually dressed like a whore."

Without even a second to let that simmer, you were turning back around to face him, and your hand smacked him across the face so hard he froze, his head turned to the side.

You didn't even realize you were doing that before you could stop yourself. It was like instinct took over and you couldn't control yourself.

Neither of you moved for a few seconds. You were breathing heavily, both with rage and surprise.

He raised a hand to his cheek, flexing his jaw. His skin was red and hot, and the look in his eyes changed.

"Well, I guess... I probably deserved that."

"You think?"

Something out of the bottom corner of your vision caught your eye. You looked down to see a quickly growing tent in his pants.

"Eddie-"

"That was, uh... kinda hot."

"What?"

"I think... I liked that."

"What, getting slapped?"

He nodded. "It felt kind of good."

"You're joking."

A few seconds of silence passed before he grabbed your face and slammed your lips together. You immediately kissed back and he began backing you up towards the bed, dropping you down onto it.

"What's the word?" he asked, beckoning your safe word out of you.

"Zeppelin."

He smiled. "Good girl. Want me to fuck you on Harrington's bed, hm?"

"Yes," you moaned, his fingers wrapping lightly around your throat.

Without another word, he dropped to his knees on the floor, grabbing you by the thighs and yanking you towards him. Your ass was practically hanging off the bed, the only thing separating his mouth and your pussy being your underwear.

That didn't last long though, as they slid off your legs easily. He shoved them into his pocket, not intending to give them back for the night. The thought of you going commando at a party right after sex only made him harder, if that was even possible.

"What do you want?" he asked, his breath on your wet skin making you squirm.

"Eddie, please," you muttered, looking down at him.

"Uh-uh, you have to say it. 'Please' won't get you what you want."

"God, Eddie. I want your face buried in me."

"In where?"

"In my pussy. Please."

He didn't comply. He loved to tease you. Make you crumble under him. Instead of doing what you were asking for, he decided to finger you as slowly as humanly possible.

The initial touch was a bit of a relief, but his lack of speed could've made you cry.

"I don't think so."

"Ugh, please."

"I already told you, please isn't gonna get you anything. We're gonna try something new."

Admittedly, this is not where you'd prefer to branch out and try new things. But he moved you off the bed, instead taking your place laying down. He was on his back, his head on the pillow. He motioned for you to come over to him and mount him.

You complied, but he moved you up even further. You were straddling his face, looking down at him.

"What are you doing?" you asked.

Without answering you, he wrapped his arms around your hips from behind and pulled your body down, finally latching onto your clit with his mouth.

You gripped the headboard and gasped, immediate relief from the teasing making you feel warm.

"Fuck," you whispered, one hand reaching down to place itself on top of his. As you ground into his face, you couldn't help but feel like you were suffocating him. You tried to move backwards a little bit and give his nose more room, but his grip on you was strong, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

You reached behind you and cupped his crotch with your hand and he groaned into you. Your head was thrown back, your back arched and your hips desperately swaying into his tongue.

"Fuck, Eddie, I'm not gonna last much longer."

He tried his damndest to hold you still, but for some reason this position was much more intense than normal oral. So when you finally came — hard — you were glad there was music blasting outside.

You tried to cover your mouth with your hand, but he reached up and pulled it away, wanting to hear your whines and moans. Watching you from this angle was driving him insane. He'd never seen how much you really move when you cum, as you were normally on your back. But right now you could move freely, and you couldn't control yourself.

When he finally stopped his tongue, he scooched you down to sit in his lap. He sat up and wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you close.

He kissed you roughly, smearing your lipgloss all over your faces.

"Baby," he whispered, looking up at you.

"Hm?"

"I want you to be on top tonight."

"But I'm never on top."

"I know. But I want you to be dominant this time."

"Eddie, I'm not dominant. You know that."

"When you slapped me... I liked it. I want you to do it again."

You furrowed your brows. "You... want me to hurt you?" He nodded. "That was in the heat of the moment. I don't think I could do it again if I tried."

"Then I want you to choke me, like I do to you." You gently placed your fingers around his neck, your fingertips pressing lightly. "Just like that. But harder." You squeezed the sides of his throat. His eyes lit up and he smiled. "There you go."

You also smiled a bit and pushed him down so he was laying on his back again. You crawled down between his legs, unbuckling his belt. Seeing you on top of him, undoing his clothes for him almost made him want to flip you over and fuck you as hard as he could. But the idea of you on top of him, fucking him, almost made him feel like he was going to combust.

Your hand around his girth broke him out of his imagination, a soft moan slipping out of his mouth.

"Y'know, the tables have turned a bit, here," you said seductively.

"Mhm."

"I'm used to you teasing me. But I don't usually get to do the teasing." You swiped your thumb over his swollen tip, which made him jump. "You like to go slow when you tease me. Painfully slow." You calmly and casually stroked him, keeping your speed at a minimum. "Now you get to see how it feels."

He was a puddle under you. Normally when you gave him handjobs, you would use both hands, as that's what it took to completely engulf him. But right now, you were only using one. And it was driving him insane. You could see his stomach muscles tensing, rippling at the lack of motion.

"Y/N, please."

"Ah-ah-ah. What was it you said to me earlier? 'Please' won't get you what you want." He chuckled at this, silently cursing himself for saying that. "You want me to fuck you?"

You weren't sure where you mustered up this confidence. Maybe it was seeing him writhing under you, you finally understood what it was like from his perspective.

Having someone whimpering and begging at your actions, pleading for more. Needing more from you.

"Yes."

"How bad?"

"So fucking bad."

You slowly licked a single stripe up from the base to the tip of his cock, making him thrust his hips gently.

You giggled to yourself, adjusting your position again so your hips were on top of his. His dick was pinned between his stomach and your wet pussy. You ground against it, sliding him through your folds.

His hands were on your thighs, his nails slightly digging into your skin.

"Tell me how much you want it," you whispered, reaching down and pushing his hair off his face.

"I need it so bad, baby."

"How bad?"

"So bad that if you don't fuck me right now I'm gonna flip you over and do it myself."

Without another word, you sunk down onto him, both of you sighing of relief. You threw your head back and got used to him inside of you, not used to having to make the next move.

You braced yourself on his abdomen, your hands pressing into his skin.

You got your rhythm down pretty quickly, figuring out how to maneuver your hips and not your whole body. And not long after, your hand found his throat, pressing against the sides.

His eyes rolled back into his head, the slight lack of oxygen at your control feeling ridiculously good. He couldn't believe he hadn't asked you to do this before.

He was beginning to give into the urge of thrusting, and when you noticed, you stopped your movements and stopped choking you.

"What happened?" he whined. That tone was an insane turn-on, how desperately, frantically he needed you.

"No moving," you commanded, which was something he would say to you when he would eat you out. "Keep your hips completely still or I stop."

"God, you're good at this."

You began moving again, and it didn't take long for him to get close. Normally he lasted for a while, but being dominated made him feel like he was going to bust after only about three minutes.

"Y/N, I'm getting close."

"Not yet."

"What?"

"No cumming yet. You have to wait."

The roles were reversed. He loved edging you, forcing you to hold off your orgasm until he said you could cum. And you understood why. Holding someone's orgasm in your hands, forbidding them to reach it until you allowed it was doing something to you.

"I can't- I can't wait," he choked, really squeezing your skin.

"Too bad, you have to." You reached down and began masturbating, getting yourself there so he could too. You squeezed his neck as you felt the familiar sensation building in your belly. "I'm getting close too, I'll tell you when."

He screwed his eyes shut tightly, throwing his head back. He looked heavenly in this position, putty in your hands. He was mumbling 'fuck, fuck, fuck' to himself, taking everything in him to hold his cum in.

"Eddie," you squealed. "Cum."

You'd never heard him scream when he came, but this ripped through him. He was incapable of being quiet like he normally was. His grunts and groans were animalistic and caveman-like. You'd never heard sounds like this come from him. Maybe it was the oxygen being cut off, or the position.

He couldn't resist thrusting his hips up as you came, which worked out perfectly because you could barely move as you trembled.

Tears fell down your cheeks and you moaned so loudly it hurt your throat.

When he stopped moving, you laid your chest against him, his cock still inside of you. You breathed in sync, neither of you opening your eyes. Eventually, he wrapped his hands around your back and held you close.

He planted a kiss to the top of your head and smirked.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Y/N. We should've done this forever ago."

"Yeah," was all you could muster.

It took you guys a moment to move, but when you finally did, you pulled your dress back down to cover your thighs.

"Can I have my underwear back?" you asked.

"I think I'll keep 'em. Make it a reminder not to flirt with other guys."

"But if I never teased you, this would've never happened."

He laughed. "Very true. Maybe I'll allow it sometimes."

[venussaidso]

This is the Ketu effect I've been talking about.

Especially with the nakshatra Magha.

He is Mula Sun, Magha ASC!

Magha Sun Michael Jackson had fans fainting at just the sight of him. Ketu will literally cause mass psychosis. Once again, connecting the natives back to cult leaders.

It literally reminds me of the movie "The Menu". Mula Sun Ralph Fiennes plays a chef who wields absolute command over his staff. The power he has over them is so extreme that they're ready to commit acts of violence on themselves at his command. They’re all bound by a shared obsession with him and his vision.

And again, Ketu is not good for fame as it is literally too intense and wild, it commands too much energy which is automatically exhausting for its natives in the grand scheme of things. I briefly explored the Ketu archetype of them being powerful forces who crave more power and it all just fits here too, as they can be aware of the power they wield over the irrational mind and the unconscious. It makes sense that Ketu at its best is in Jyestha, the fame nakshatra (Jyestha also having themes of obsession). That's where Ketu can function its extremities through a well suited placement, as Jyestha is constantly pouring out heat that Ketu absorbs. Ketu in Jyestha is a fame placement, after all.

Anok Yai is Mula Sun, Magha Moon. I've noticed the way she's been growing amongst the people lately and her effortless magnetism has been getting her viral moments every year unplanned. Literally how she got scouted.

A more negative manifestation of this is Selena Gomez and Hailey Baldwin, and people's obsession over them, causing cycles of mass hate and hysteria. Claire Nakti did say Ketu people tend to rattle people's subconscious causing them uncontrollable reactions, it's honestly interesting. Unfortunately, for this example, it comes in the extreme form of people's deep-seated misogyny coming out in the most beast-like, unhinged ways. The same way there was a mass psychosis surrounding Ashwini Sun Amber Heard. The amount of energy expenditure on her specifically was out of control and animalistic. Literally the same thing with Magha Moon Megan Thee Stallion, being the object of obsession and irrational hate by the large sum of celebrities and people. All too senseless, all very irrational and animalistic. Misogyny is what keeps the world spinning, yes, but because of the effect Ketu has over some collectives, it exposes people's deep insecurities and hideousness, and ticks them off, making one go totally apeshit exposing them as whatever kind of evil or beast they already were. All goes back to Claire's brilliant Mula series which one can study to understand Ketu overall. But Ketu really exposes people's core weaknesses and I think Ketu-natives can have that effect on people, which is why they're so energetically sensitive, possibly leading them to introversion.

[enderspawn]

TRANSCRIPT:

Tommy: —Vowed never to be horrible to Dream again.

Phil: (snorts)

Tommy: I have it in my diary somewhere.

Jack: Really?

Tommy: Says “never be horrible to Dream, it’s not worth it—“

Phil: [crosstalk] Dude.

Tommy: “—it hurts my— Makes me too sad.”

Phil: [crosstalk] It’s not worth—

Jack: [crosstalk] It’s not worth it how upset he gets.

Phil: (laughs)

Tommy: I did, I wrote that! As a sixteen year old! It’s in my diary, I could find it.

Phil: [crosstalk] That’s wild. That’s wild.

Jack: [crosstalk] That’s so fucked, man.

Tommy: What?

Phil: Dude, that had such an effect on you.

Jack: ‘Cause you took it as being your fault, like him being a fucking crybaby—

Tommy: [crosstalk] Yeah, it— it’s—

Jack: and like throwing it around your way and saying it’s your fault and you should never aggravate [crosstalk] him again? That’s fucked!

Tommy: It’s weird being a twenty year old man, the age of lots of these people, and going “Oh, I would never speak to a sixteen year old—“

Jack: [interrupting] Yeah, imagine like a child came up to you, like made a little joke and you were like, “I made you. Look at all these numbers! Here is where I got involved!” Like what a prick, man!

Tommy: It is, like— Yeah. It is weird.

Jack: I hate him. No, I seriously hate him.

Tommy: (laughs)

Jack: I’ll just say it, I fucking hate the guy.

AH.

@spacecharlotte-man here @zgmoony

[lunarnightt]

Answer this ― Hayden Christensen

summary: Being a smaller actress and being chronically online is all fun and games until you're very much famous and older boyfriend comes into the background of your Instagram live so you make him do a Q and A.

cw: fem!reader, age gap mentioned, nothing smutty just pure fluff

req: this was requested by @jameskellysgirl! I hope you enjoy mama

Word count: 2159 words

You watched as the chat moved quickly on the screen, trying to read out someones comment while you quickly blended in the foundation on your face.

It was five p.m. and your boyfriend of a year and five months was taking you to your favorite Italian restaurant for the evening for your usual date night even though you insisted on staying in for the night and ordering a few pizzas but your lovely boyfriend wanted to spoil you.

You called yourself lucky because you were dating the infamous Hayden Christensen who was a much bigger and well known actress then you.

The two of you met at an after-party for an event that you were invited to as a plus-one with one of your friends. The two of you instantly clicked and immediately started flirting which led to quite romantic dates and then eventually; he asked you out and you said yes.

You knew that this was a different kind of relationship since he never really dated someone much younger than him and you never dated someone older then you before either so it was new for the both of you but the two of you made it work and you both had a happy healthy relationship.

You are chronically online, as your friend would say, but you respect your boyfriends wishes and rarely posted him unless you had permission too.

Hayden was a private person and didn't have social media nor did he talk about his private life outside of acting. He just preferred to stay on his farm in Canada and build ponds to eventually watch the wildlife formed around it.

He loved to stay at home and cook you a home meal but sometimes he would just rather take you out and spoil you like you deserved because in his eyes; you and his daughter were his whole world.

So, as you sat in front of your phone doing a Instagram live stream while putting on your makeup, you were surprised when you noticed your boyfriend come into view.

Hayden was wearing his signature Carhartt hat, a black shirt, a black button-down shirt over it, black jeans, and his Adidas Oswego. He looked good, per-usual and you couldn't help but smile as you saw him appear behind you on your phone screen.

"Hey bab- Oh I didn't know you were streaming" He spoke sheepishly as he gave the phone a little wave which sent your comments going wild. You smiled at him, motioning him to come closer as he stood in the doorway. "Babe, come here" You said confidently and his cheeks turned a soft shade of red.

Hayden didn't understand much about Instagram lives but he understood that it was live and there was at least over hundred people watching him in the comfort of his own home. He didn't mind it of course because he loved to hear you read out the comments about him but that was only because he was off camera.

He walked over to you nervously, placing his hands on your shoulders and gently massaging them. You smiled, feeling the warmth of his touch. Tilting your head back to look up at him, you murmured, "Say hi to the camera."

"Hi everyone" He flashed the camera a nervous smile before turning his attention back on you. "You look beautiful by the way" He whispered in your ear which made you blush vigorously.

When you looked back at the screen, you saw the truckload of comments begging and pleading for a Q and A between you and Hayden but mostly for him. It wasn't a bad idea since he had been coming more and more out of his comfort zone recently and you knew wouldn't be opposed to a few questions.

"Do you wanna do a little Q&A for all your depraved fans?" you teased, watching as he gave you a thoughtful look. After a moment, he shrugged, a playful smile tugging at his lips. Grabbing a chair, he pulled it up beside you and settled in, resting his hand on your thigh.

"Sure, what's the harm in that?" he replied with a grin.

You giggled, looking at the screen to find a first question to ask him. One of them caught your attention so you turned your head to look at him. "Who's you're favorite character in Star Wars?" You asked him which made him let out a chuckle before smacking his lips together/

"Well, I always liked the characters in masks when I was younger, so it’s probably Boba Fett," he responded, his eyes softening as he looked at you with a loving smile, clearly appreciative that you were continuing the conversation.

"Who's yours?" he asked, and you couldn’t help but blush, the question catching you slightly off guard.

"I always liked Anakin," you replied, your voice a little more confident than you felt, though the warmth of your blush didn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend. His laughter filled the air, light, and teasing, as he grinned at your response.

"Really?" He asked, slightly in disbelief that you, his girlfriend, favored the character he played. You sheepishly nodded your head, before burying your face into your hands as a way to hide the blush forming on your face.

Hayden quickly noticed this and grabbed your hands, pulling them away from your face and lacing his fingers with one of them as he moved the other one to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "Why are you so embarrassed? It's cute" He reassured you and you just rolled your eyes, desperately wanting to move on to the next question.

You glanced at the screen, scanning through the fan questions until one caught your eye. Smiling to yourself, you finally settled on it. "How would you feel about owning a cat?" you asked, unable to stifle a soft laugh.

Hayden, of course, knew you were a cat person. He knew you’d been wanting one for ages, so it wasn’t a surprise when that particular question popped up. He chuckled softly, shaking his head at you with a knowing smile, then ran a hand over his face.

"Y'know, I’ve thought about it because you keep asking me," he admitted, glancing to the side for a moment before meeting your eyes again. "I’ve considered it. They’re great pets, and honestly, I think Briar would love having one around, too."

"Plus, we can always get a barn cat" You spoke with a confident smile and he nodded his head at you, agreeing with you in that moment. "We could but were are not getting those hairless cats," He said and you made an offended expression at him before crossing your arms over your chest.

"Why not?! They are so cute-" you playfully jabbed at him, knowing that this would start a playful banter between the two of you.

"They are ugly!" He argued back which made you laugh and double over in your chair, placing a hand on his shoulder before straightening yourself back up and shaking your head at him.

"They are an ugly cute." you remarked and he couldn't help but shake his head at you while you searched for another question for him to answer.

"Okay... Have you thought about getting social media?" You asked, bitting down on you're bottom lip as you watched him think of a response.

Hayden chuckled, leaning back a bit as he considered the question. "Ah, social media... you know, I get asked that a lot," he said with a smile. "Honestly, I’ve thought about it. I get that it’s a great way to connect with fans and share a bit more of, well... real life."

He paused, scratching the back of his neck, looking thoughtful. "But I kinda like being a bit of a mystery. Besides, you know how bad I am with technology—I’d probably end up posting the same thing five times or something," he laughed. "Maybe one day... but for now, I’ll just live vicariously through your account!"

You shook your head, looking down at the groan as you played with the necklace around your neck. "So no social media?" you responded, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow.

He shrugged with a playful grin, "Yeah, I think for now, no social media. I like keeping things a bit more low-key." He paused, giving you a knowing look. "But who knows? Maybe I'll surprise everyone one day and join. I'll just need you to give me a crash course on how to post the right thing without embarrassing myself."

He laughed softly, his usual laid-back charm shining through. "Until then, I'll stick to enjoying all the posts you share instead."

"I feel like when you do join, you'll break the internet" You joked before looking back at the screen to see the time. it was almost time for you to leave since you had a reservation but you had time for one more question so you looked at the comments again while Hayden caressed your thigh.

"When are you gonna propose?" you asked him and he just gave you a look. Sometimes you're boyfriend was difficult to read and maybe that was because he liked to keep things private but you also wanted to know how he would respond to your question.

Hayden gave you a small smirk, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and something deeper. He leaned back slightly, as if considering how to respond. He was always a bit of a mystery, especially when it came to things that mattered most.

After a brief pause, he looked at you with a knowing smile, though his gaze was soft, almost tender. "You know me too well," he said, his voice low and teasing. "I like to keep a little suspense, don’t I?"

He reached out, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering near your face. “But… when I do, you’ll know. It’ll be everything you deserve.”

His tone was serious, but there was still that playful edge. "Until then, I think you’ll just have to keep wondering."

You rolled your eyes, gently pushing his shoulder as you pouted at him slightly. "You're no fun" A laugh escaped past your boyfriend's lips when you said that, making him just shrug your shoulders before you turned your attention onto the camera.

"Alright, I'm ending the live since Mr. Supense over is taking me out. Night" You quickly spoke into the camera before finally ending your live. Once the live ended, you turned your attention to your boyfriend who was just staring at you with a loving expression on his face.

You really did wonder if he thought about it; being married to you. You knew you wanted that life with Hayden and you also knew that Hayden wanted to have another kid, to give Briar that opportunity to be a big sister so you really did want to know if that was in the cards of your relationship.

"Are you gonna propose one day?" You asked seriously, tilting your head to the side as you wanted for him to respond.

Hayden met your gaze, his expression softening as he sensed the seriousness in your question. He didn’t rush to answer, instead taking a moment to look at you with that familiar, thoughtful expression he often wore when he was being sincere.

“Of course I am,” he said quietly, his voice steady but full of warmth. He reached for your hand, gently squeezing it. “You’re everything to me. When the time is right, I’ll ask you. You’ll know it, I promise.”

His gaze lingered on you, his smile tender but knowing. "I want it to be something special—something that feels right for both of us."

You couldn't help but smile back at him. Hayden was always like that, you remembered your first date with him and how he wanted the moment to be special for both of you which ultimately led to you spraining your ankle because you decided to wear heels and him having to carry you up to your apartment.

It was definitely memorable despite the sprained ankle. It was special and something you often talked and joked about.

"You are always keeping me on my toes" You replied jokingly as the two of you were seemingly leaning closer to each other for a kiss.

Hayden chuckled softly, the playful spark in his eyes growing as he leaned in closer, his lips just a breath away from yours. “I can’t help it,” he teased, his voice low and warm. “It’s fun keeping you guessing.”

The space between you seemed to shrink as you both leaned in, the anticipation hanging in the air. His hand gently cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin as he smiled, just before closing the distance for a kiss. The moment felt like a quiet promise, an unspoken understanding that whatever was ahead, you’d face it together.

A/N: Hello my babies! I hope you all enjoy this and espically the person who requested this! I actually had a lot of fun writing this and I am really proud of my work! This is also my first ever Hayden Christensen content on this app so feel free to like or reblog! I love you all!

[lets-try-some-writing]

I read the story about the tiny feral Orion Pax and I want a second part where Alpha Trion randomly showed up at the Autobot base and told stories about how feral Optimus was when he was just a sparkling to the Autobots and humans alike. I think Ratchet might remember the incidents as he might have had to repair the little monster a few times

Hmm well I doubt he'd actually turn up at base proper, but I CAN see Smokescreen being the one to speak of things Alpha Trion told him. Bonus funnies if he has no clue that "Orion Pax" Is Optimus Prime.

The other piece with Trion can be found here. Plus the series of Smokey things this is attached to can be found here.

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For once, the base was filled with laughter and cheer. After a particularly stressful battle, Wheeljack had seen fit to bring out high-grade for everyone's enjoyment. To 'let off steam' he said. Ratchet attempted to shut down the idea before it could fully root itself in the minds of those present, but surprisingly, Optimus permitted it. Perhaps the rumors weren't entirely true. Maybe Primes did party.

It hadn't taken long for the Wreckers to pull out cubes and start handing out Wheeljack's special brand of high-grade.Smokescreen had never been given the chance to indulge in the drink, but now that he was a warrior and Alpha Trion wasn't breathing down his neck, the overcharged liquid flowed freely. He felt a bit like a sparkling with his servo caught in the goodie jar, but he relaxed upon seeing Bumblebee whip out a straw and start going to town on his cube.

Admittedly, watching Bumblebee fuel was a bit unsettling since he lacked a good portion of his jaw, but Smokescreen simply refocused on his own treat.

The high-grade was sweet, almost like candy that had been melted down. And yet it was also bubbly, bordering on the texture and taste of a ration a few cycles from going bad. Despite both those things, Smokescreen found he enjoyed the drink, especially as a pleasant buzz started to run along his systems. The world seemed all the brighter as the high-grade quietly sent his auxiliary sensory protocols into hazy inactivity. Was this what the humans felt like all the time? Limited just to sight and hearing?

It was kind of novel.

As the high-grade flowed, Smokescreen noticed that the team seemed to share his feelings on the matter of overcharge. Before too long, bots laughed and sang; a few even began to open up. Smokescreen watched it all from the sidelines for the most part, listening as the Wreckers began exchanging stories and Arcee went into detail about a few of her more exciting missions. Even Bee chimed in with a retelling of some fun events that went on during training. But the story swapping didn't really get wild until Ratchet of all bots spoke up.

"There was this one time I had to patch up Orion. He apparently decided it would be a fantastic idea to attempt parkour like Jazz. Without any training, no less." The team laughed. Smokescreen snickered into his drink. The name Orion sounded familiar, but it was not something that immediately registered in his memory banks.

"Jazz dragged him into my clinic with a broken leg, one dislocated shoulder, half his plating shredded, and his right audial half torn off." Ratchet laughed, nudging Optimus with a shoulder. The Prime didn't comment and instead smiled softly as he sipped his drink. The team joined the medic in his mirth, commenting quietly and giggling like younglings.

"According to someone, 'it seemed like a great idea at the time'." The medic chuckled into his high-grade, more than a little buzzed due to it. As he did so, Smokescreen recognized the name at last.

"Oh, I think I know who you are talking about! Orion Pax! The head archivist! Alpha Trion told me all about him!" Smokescreen's words, thank Primus, didn't end up coming out too slurred as he spoke up. The team paused in their activities, their optics falling on him in interest. Even Optimus's optics widened in what he could only assume was interest. Smokescreen suffered momentary stage fright, but he continued on with his thought.

"Trion said that Orion was brought into the archives when he was still a sparkling, and that he was a little menace." Ratchet laughed outright at the statement, slapping Optimus's shoulder in amusement before going back to his drink all giggly. Wheeljack poured himself and the rest of the team another cube in response.

"Well, don't keep us waiting, kid. What'd the old cogger say?" Wheeljack grinned like a terrorcon, earning a baleful glare from Optimus. Smokescreen, however, in his high-grade fueled stupor, didn't recognize any potential danger and continued on with his story. Everyone seemed to be enjoying it after all.

"I never would have guessed the head archivist would be the way he was, but according to Trion, he liked to lick datapads." There was a momentary silence, one only emphasized by Optimus staring at Smokescreen in horror. He almost regretted opening his mouth, but that fear went flying out the window as Ratchet cackled and promptly slapped the nearest surface as he wheezed out his laughter. He was almost incoherent as he pointed at Optimus, his optics flashing with emotion only brought out by overcharged drinks. "I fragging knew my medical texts had fluid on them!" Smokescreen stared at Ratchet in momentary concern, but his focus was drawn back to the story he was telling as Arcee gave him a wolfish grin along with a question.

"He licked datapads?" The two-wheeler looked to be trying desperately to keep her composure. Smokescreen couldn't exactly blame her. There weren't many bots who had habits like the old head archivist. Licking datapads of all things, he could hardly picture the sanitary concerns. But then again, Smokescreen wasn't much better with a few of his well-hidden preferences.

"Yeah! Guess the head archivist thought they tasted good or something. Trion said Orion Pax never really got over the habit and occasionally gnawed on them when stressed." That was enough to have Bulkhead leaning against the nearest wall for support. Ratchet for his part dropped to his knees, clutching his abdomen as his vents flared in response to his howling laughter. He seemed to find it far more funny than anyone else, but the Doctor's reaction urged Smokescreen on, especially as Bumblebee snorted into his drink and splattered it on his face.

"That wasn't all he did, though! Alpha Trion told me all about how the head archivist used to climb the pillars in the archives! There were still claw marks in the metal when I was there." Another round of spark clenching laughter met his declaration. Arcee outright wheezed, trying desperately not to look in Optimus's direction. Bumblebee wasn't much better, or Wheeljack for that matter. Both looked a moment away from combusting as they tried to hold back laughter. Bulkhead just leaned harder against the wall, a servo brought up to his mouth as Ratchet cackled on the ground.

Smokescreen paused in his story, watching the team and their frantic attempts to not look at their Prime. He tilted his helm in confusion, watching as Optimus held his cube with a neutral expression. However, looking closer through his auxiliary heat sensing systems, Smokescreen could catch the faintest hints of what looked to be a blush of all things. Was this what the rumors meant when they said Primes didn't party?

"I was given the head archivist's old room while I was there, for that matter. It was just me with Trion most of the time, so I got the closest room to his, which just happened to be Pax's." Smokescreen rubbed his neck a little sheepishly, sensing that there was something he might have missed.

"He had some weird habits, sure. But I got to see a few of his old records, and he seemed really nice! Just a bit off is all." Somehow, his attempt at easing the strange tension coming from Optimus did the exactly opposite. He could almost see the way Optimus's shoulders slumped as Ratchet continued to lose his mind on the ground, drink forgotten.

"What sort of habits?" Bumblebee chimed in, his binary tones still a bit difficult to decipher, but not impossible. Smokescreen paused for a moment, unsure if he should continue seeing how stressed Optimus appeared. He wasn't sure why the Prime seemed so uncomfortable, but it was probably a good idea to not tempt fate.

"I uh… I don't want to damage the poor mech's reputation since he's probably not around anymore." Smokescreen fiddled with his drink, his enthusiasm dimmed. But before he could fully close himself off, Ratchet hobbled his way over, grinning and tapping Smokescreen's chassis.

"Go on, tell us about it. I can assure you, as one of Orion's oldest friends, he won't be upset." Smokescreen reset his optics. But seeing the entirety of the team, save for Optimus, looking enthused… well he couldn't exactly say no, now could he?

"Well, Orion Pax had a hero wall in his room. It was well hidden. I found it behind a wall panel that I kicked by accident." Every passing moment made Optimus look more and more willing to perish. All the while, the team leaned in closer, eager to hear to an almost rabid degree. Smokescreen was more than a little nervous, but he continued on.

"The whole thing was covered in posters and snippets of gladiators, various political figures, and a LOT of Soundwave pics. Guess Pax was into freaky mechs." Uproarious laughter met Smokescreen's words as Ratchet moved over to Optimus and slapped his arm, his optics bright and hazy from the high-grade and amusement. Finally, Optimus frowned in discontentment and Smokescreen took that as his cue to wrap up.

It seemed like the Prime was done with the whole partying business.

"To be fair, it was very beautifully put together!" More laughter met him, this time from Bumblebee and Wheeljack who had to lean on the nearest surface for support. Arcee just shook like a bomb about to go off, her grip on her cube shaky and uncertain as she fought back a smile. Bulkhead just wheezed in the corner.

Smokescreen fidgeted with his digits nervously.

"I… I saved something from his room, actually." The laughter eased for a moment as the team looked over at him curiously. Even Optimus's frown relaxed a degree as Smokescreen hastily dug through his sub-space. He didn't have to know why Optimus seemed so uncomfortable with the discussion. For all he knew, Orion might have been a good friend. It seemed like a good idea to pull out something less humorous.

It took him a moment, but soon enough, Smokescreen pulled out a small vial. It glowed blue, showing the innermost energon within it. Smokescreen almost felt bad holding the thing. Innermost energon was only meant for mecha important to an individual, and here he was, some random guardsmech who rooted around in the head archivist's room. The only reason he'd picked it up and shoved it in his subspace to begin with was because he originally intended to give it to Alpha Trion for safekeeping. Of course, that had to have been the very same night the attack on Iacon occurred.

"Is that-?" Bulkhead spoke up, but cut himself short as Optimus stepped forward, his optics wide.

"Innermost energon… a gift intended for an amica." Any laughter died in it's cradle as Optimus tenderly reached out. Smokescreen didn't hesitate to pass over the vial, watching as the mood shifted into something more solemn.

The Prime ran his digits over the small vial, his optics cycled wide as if he were a newbuild. His field pulsed in waves of old sorrow for a long moment, earning him a gentle touch from Ratchet once the Doctor composed himself enough to come closer. The rest of the team stayed silent, each of them seeming to know something important regarding Optimus and Orion Pax that Smokescreen was not privy to.

"Did you know archivist Pax? If that's the case… I'm sorry for throwing his secrets around. I just assumed that with the war and all, considering he was a civilian, he probably didn't…" Smokescreen trailed off, not wanting to meet the gazes of anyone present as the high-grade in his system eased enough to let him think clearly. What sort of aft mocked the dead? Slag, he'd messed up.

"I intended to gift this to Soundwave in the hopes that by being amica, we might be able to grow close enough to help Megatronus more efficiently." The words registered, but they did not fully compute as the Prime lifted the vial, watching it sadly.

"It was to be a bond to bind us for a lifetime, as Megatronus's right and left servos. His guides and aids in the battle for Cybertron's freedom." Ratchet held Optimus's arm, his field pulsing in age old grief that Smokescreen could hardly comprehend. The rest of the team simply observed.

"I planned to gift this token after our meeting with the High Council… but that event destroyed any brotherhood that might have lingered between us." A deep sigh escaped the Prime then, the air growing heavier with ancient regret.

"I lost more than just Megatronus that cycle. I lost so much more than him." With a weary flare of his field, Optimus held the vial a little longer before passing it back to Smokescreen. Only as he held it did everything click.

"You are Archivist Pax?" Optimus smiled ever so slightly at that.

"I was, long ago. But Orion no longer lingers here. He is but an echo of a happier time." With that, the Prime turned to leave, seemingly done with it all.

"Please, enjoy your evening. Do not allow my lamentations to ruin your celebrations." Without another word, Optimus hurried off toward his hab. The team watched in worry for a while, and Smokescreen fiddled with the vial while contemplating the implications of everything. But eventually, the team returned to their activities. Wheeljack put on a movie and poured more drinks. Bulkhead set up makeshift seating, Bumblebee sat down to watch the film with Arcee. Ratchet, for his part, passed out without meaning to five kliks into the movie.

Smokescreen took the opportunity to step away and follow after Optimus, soon finding himself knocking on the Prime's door.

When it opened, Smokescreen held out the vial, his door wings dipped in anxiety.

"I'm sorry for saying all that stuff about you! I didn't mean anything by it! And… I'm sorry I brought up bad memories." He didn't look up, he couldn't bring himself to. Without intending it, he'd hurt Optimus's reputation and brought up old losses. He'd messed up.

"Smokescreen."

Optimus's voice was gentle, almost sad as he reached out and pressed the vial back into Smokescreen's servos. His optics widened in shock, quickly forcing him to start up at the Prime in confusion.

"Do not feel guilty for what you have done. It was in good faith, and I know your spark." The Prime smiled tenderly as he clasped Smokescreen's shoulder, a fond gesture that seemed both so very right and wrong all at once.

"This is yours. It's your innermost energon. Don't you want it back?" His question rang out, unanswered for a long while. But after a klik, Optimus shook his helm.

"It is a remnant of a time long gone by. I would rather it come to new servos and represent something other than what it was originally intended to signify." With that, the Prime's servo moved down. The next thing Smokescreen knew, Optimus was holding his servos, a kind expression on his face.

Why? Why would Optimus trust him with such a thing?

"I don't understand." He murmured faintly as he heard the distant sounds of the movie playing in the background.

"You were also a student of Alpha Trion. You served him as I did, so long ago." Optimus, to Smokescreen's shock dropped to a knee to put them on equal level. He had no words. How could he? Optimus was on his knees just so they could speak at the same level.

"We are all that remains of our master, and in a sense, that ties us together." Smokescreen's field flared in disbelief, but also… relief. He'd been alone in his thoughts since his arrival. The team didn't know him, so they didn't really talk to him. The humans were nice enough, but they could never understand.

To know he had someone who cared? Who knew the loss?

"We're kind of like brothers then." Smokescreen laughed softly, nervously even. But Optimus didn't refute him. The Prime simply hummed and squeezed his servos. Somehow, that simple act conveyed more than words ever could.

"Keep this token of my youth, Smokescreen. Erase the sorrow it brings with a new promise, or perhaps remembrance for our departed teacher." Quietly, Optimus released his grip and stood back up, his expression strangely peaceful. He stood in his doorway for a while, seemingly thinking. Then, he nodded.

"If all else should fail, remember me, little brother." Then, just like that, the door slid closed.

Smokescreen stared for a while, unable to move. When he did, he meandered back to his room in silence, staring down at the small vial.

"Brothers…"

He murmured into the night, and as he did so, his view of the Prime shifted. Optimus was his leader, his idol, his Prime.

But beneath all that, hidden behind layers of rank and order, was someone he could trust. Someone who understood.

A mech he might one day dare to openly call a friend.