#something you clearly know nothing about??????????????

[ms-demeanor]

I hate to say that, but in defense of homeopathy:

A lot of medicine is value projection and/or placebo. We give kids sparkly bandaids on minor abrasions not to help the symptoms or risks of infection, but so that the kid feels cared for.

We sometimes take daily medication not because it helps or we think we need it, but because our grandma raves all about this new cure-all that fixed all her issues.

We overindulge in paracetamol and ibuprofen even in the cases it clearly doesn't work because we need to feel like we took something that will help.

Homeopathy that tries to replace standard treatment is evil. But there is value in having a readily available, socially valued, thing you take when feeling bad, that does absolutely nothing.

In the 20s they just did heroin instead, it wasn't better.

So there's this thing called informed consent that is kind of super duper important and the use of placebo to treat illness is a major violation of informed consent.

Everybody likes the gifset from the Birdcage with the Aspirin with the A and the S scraped off because it's cute and funny, but it's cute and funny in a movie; if a "medical professional" is giving you sugar pills because they don't actually know how to treat you and want to offer you comfort instead, they're saying "you're too fucking stupid to handle the fact that you're ill so I'm going to hold your hand for a moment and hope that makes you feel better."

Your attitude is both fatalistic and tremendously paternalistic, and people with complex illnesses and chronic pain deserve to be treated better than kids getting a sparkly bandaid and a pat on the head.

People overuse painkillers because they're in pain; NSAIDs have effects, even if they aren't treating the root cause of pain, and people often take them because even though they won't stop a spasm, they'll make it less painful for a few hours and if that's what you've got, that's what you take.

The huge, regular doses of ibuprofen I used to take to help my migraines when I didn't have health insurance didn't stop the migraines, but they made it so I could work. What DID help was getting medically diagnosed with celiac disease and no longer triggering my autoimmune disorder on a daily basis.

You know what wouldn't have helped? A sympathetic listener and a sugar pill. Or worse, yet another sympathetic listener telling me about some fucking lead-contaminated turmeric supplement that cured their granny's headaches.

Shit on the heroin cures all you want, they at least included a legitimate cough suppressant and had a mechanism of action more effective than a patronizing lecture about how we've all got to get on somehow, so we might as well pretend we feel better.

Fuck your shitty, shitty attitude. Sick people deserve better than you.

[grimaldiapologist]

Writing on a blog dedicated, at least in spirit, to our dissociative identity disorder, this is something that fascinates me. For context - living with the poster child disorder of "that's not even real" and "you're just faking it to get out of jail" and "you're just histrionic with bpd I know this because I took a psych class once in uni", that some fucking airheads still make their paycheck "criticising" in the psychology field (and teaching), the fear of being declared a faker, an attention seeker, a liar, a self-centered and stage-obsessed criminal-until-proven-otherwise came as a free package with the diagnosis. Just the suspicion of the diagnosis was enough for all of those labels. From whom? Everyone.

The first time I dared to open my mouth to my psychiatric nurse, she was putting me against the wall for lying and omitting, because in her view, I was doing too well with no explanation. In reality, at that point, I'd spent some months after becoming aware of the system getting to know them and reading up on how to get the basics of communication together, and working through the first chapters of Coping With Trauma-Related Dissociation, which helped us understand what we needed to do with one another in order to stabilise and feel safer in our everyday life. Things were actually going wonderfully, I wasn't lying, but I was omitting, yes. I was omitting, because even though at that point I knew nothing about DID beyond what I was learning from resources and my friend/now partner, who'd been in the community for a long time and gave us crucial peer support in terms of figuring our situation out, I knew extremely well the stigma associated with "split personality", and our first and primary instinct has always been to hide and cover the existence of the system.

But she was forcing it, so I told her. I was asking for help, yes, but with the context of doing so well - we were winning, and we wanted to keep winning.

She promptly told us we weren't allowed to leave, and started to set us up for involuntary inpatient stay. Exactly what we'd been afraid of the most: that "the psychiatric system" would imprison us and kill us, kill the parts of us who were vulnerable, with cocktails of medication in padded rooms and straitjackets and whatnot that we'd seen in the movies. (And, to a degree, during our actual inpatient stay years before.)

The resident psychiatrist did a quick evaluation of us and released us after, clearly annoyed at the nurse for overreacting and putting us in the extremely triggered and traumatised state that we were in, but it did permanent damage.

Very soon after, we discovered the online "discourse" on the validity of DID, and the "fake claiming" communities. This is all we inherited, first thing, with our diagnosis - which we did get after the above clusterfuck, within a year, with the aid of a specialising therapist and years of notes from our history, or so I assume. I can't remember, it's been years, and I have DID. The point is, even the DID community itself demands that you will never show a bright side to your disorder.

You either suffer all of the time, always, you hate yourself, you hate your other selves, you want to die, and you're forever a mess and you're in eternal war against yourself, or you're faking.

We are not this way and have never been. Prior to discovering the system, we were poorly. To spare the details, at 29 when we were diagnosed, we hadn't worked a day in our lives, dropped out of school at 12, and spent about a decade locked indoors with suicidal spirals being the expected main event of every three days or so. But our main strength has been our us, the family that we have, and the care that we've shown each other all along. Even if we can't love ourselves, we can love each other, and after learning communication - learning to listen, learning to talk - we've been doing phenomenally. Our condition has changed from treatment-resistant and debilitating to actually, we no longer need SSRI medication at all, after being on it for our whole lives. And luckily, this is enough proof for us, but not the world.

No, we're now in that funny place where our partially treated trauma/dissociative disorder looks like too much fun to the world. We're fine and we love each other. We indulge in dressup, we have our own silly little blogs and journals each with their own specific equipment like fancy ink pens and wares of stickers and decor, we have galleries of fake Instagram pictures of ourselves, we use PluralKit on Discord and talk to ourselves like we own the chat - among friends, anyway, or just between ourselves in our private one. All of this means we're fake, fake, fake, fake. God forbid a man has fun. God forbid a woman takes an afternoon to herself to give herself a makeover and go on a date. God forbid a guy just wants to feel comfortable and laugh and express himself, or have a chat with his closest friends.

We're not in enough pain all of the time to be "true" DID anymore. If we were "true" DID then we'd still be in the untreated, pre-diagnosed state. This is a stagnant disorder of identities that may never experience growth or true humanity. All I am allowed to be is a filthy, incapable hikikomori afraid of the world, because anything else is fucking weird to people.

I'm sorry, but. None of your fucking business. I've spent 33 years of my life split squarely on a tightrope over the chasms of "I don't want to die" and "I want to kill myself now". I'm 33 fucking years old and I've earned my goddamn license to feel good, actually. I'm allowed to be fucking weird because I'm developmentally disabled. I will never not be the way that I am, and I also have no intentions to ever be anything but the way that I am, I'm just aiming to be better at it.

This now means that I'm not actually allowed to talk about my disorder... basically anywhere but here and in therapy. No matter where I go, people treat me like a criminal. People who don't have DID tell me I'm faking for clout and larping (LARPing is great by the way and you should absolutely try it out instead of using it as a weird slur online) and they're the champions of true sufferers who are there to nobly remind me that REAL people with DID are actually so in pain all of the time and dying unrecognised while freaks like me... post on Tumblr for attention or whatever I don't fucking know I'm still disabled and in chronic pain and I can't do shit with myself regardless of our overall improvement - and people with DID tell me what I have isn't real DID and I'm "anti-recovery" or whatever because I don't subscribe to their specific dogma of recovery (which, for the record, every single microcosm of the recovery community has their own version of, and they all hate each other for it). The latest edition of how this fucked us over was our choice to write frankly about the positive sides of how the often negatively portrayed coping mechanisms of DID can be turned to work for recovery, and how things like substitute beliefs (believing things that are factually untrue such as 'I am an actual dragon trapped in a human suit' when you're not) can be used not to distance one from reality to escape but help one adapt into it (because I am a dragon in a human suit, a dentist cannot scare me), and had the whole conversation just without warning or any sort of notice deleted from the community. Mods never replied to my request on clarity on what the fuck they were doing and why, and I haven't been back in the community since, either.

And it's hilarious. The whole fucking thing is hilarious. You're faking it if you've recovered too much, because a true sufferer of a severe mental health condition would never recover, but if you don't recover enough, you're anti-recovery, and therefore also faking. There's a slim venue of acceptable suffering in an eternal still-shot in the middle, but you're not actually allowed to exist beyond it or past it in any capacity.

The only true DID case is a non-person who is incapable of growth and change, for a disorder that is all about identity, which by definition is all about growth and change.

I'm so tired of it. Sorry, freaks, I'm gonna freak the way that I freak from now on. I'm too well-adjusted these days to be your perfectly martyred poster patient.

ive found that partially treated mental illness can sometimes look to uninvolved onlookers like faked mental illness.

[cressidagrey]

Such A Mystery - Part 7

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.  

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby. 

Warnings: 

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Happy New Year! Chapter count is continuing to go up, because I need to halve this chapter after hitting 6k. Should be 10 parts. Hopefully.

Arthur did eventually show up with enough McDonald’s in tow to feed an army. 

Fries, Nuggets and even including apology milkshakes.

“I am really sorry,” her little brother apologised to her, looking distraught.

Colette exhaled slowly, trying her hardest not to laugh at the sheepish look on Arthur's face.

"The next time, maybe you should think before you post. But then I clearly didn’t do that either,” she said drily.

“I mean, karma is the guy in the car coming straight home to me, did amuse me very much,” Vic said brightly.

Arthur blushed deeply, and ducked his head in embarrassment. He set down the bags of takeout on the counter, and then looked up to her to apologize again, his eyes wide like a puppy begging for forgiveness.

"Come here," Colette said with a sigh, holding out her arms for him. "I love you, ma petite puce."

"Colette!" Arthur complained with a grimace, but she just grinned.

"Oh you'll always be my little flea," she teased her younger brother.

"Oh god, don't call me that," Arthur complained, letting her pull him into a tight hug. He let out a long suffering sigh. "I said I was sorry!"

"I know you are," she said, patting the top of his brown hair, even when that meant that she needed to stand on her tiptoes to reach. "But the fact remains that you were an idiot before."

Arthur groaned in embarrassment and dropped his head to her shoulder in defeat.

"Eat your fries," his voice was muffled. "And please tell me you have some salad or something in the fridge so Max doesn't kill me for feeding you nothing but junk food."

"I do have some salad in the fridge," Colette said and ruffled his hair. "I'll eat lots of veggies, I promise. And I’ll even tell Maxie that I blackmailed you into getting me fries, if you want,” she suggested brightly.  

Vic just snorted. "Let's just get that back in the living room and we can put on Sky News and bitch about the commentators."

"You guys are awful," Arthur protested, but he was already gathering their food and following along obediently. "The comments on Sky Sports are not nearly as bad as you make them out to be..."

Colette rolled her eyes and instead collapsed onto the couch, wriggling to get comfortable, because her back was still killing her.

Arthur was also very wrong. Danica Patricks definitively was that bad. Colette could just stare at the train wreck in front of her.

"Vic. Why in the world has Sky Jos on there to talk about Maxie's anger issues. What anger issues?" she demanded. Max didn’t have anger issues. Who in the world had come up with that? This was utterly ridiculous!

Victoria stared at her. "You don't know?!" she asked, sounding shocked.

"Know what?" Colette demanded. "Enzo deleted every social media app in existence from my phone. Why do people think that Max of all people has anger issues?!"

"George Russell," Arthur mumbled. "He said some...things."

Things. George Russell had said some things. 

Colette sat up a little straight at that, her eyes widening in disbelief. "What things?" she demanded. "What did he say?"

Victoria and Arthur exchange a look.

"He may have said that he wouldn't want Max to date his sister because he is sure that his girlfriend is the one dealing with his anger issues?" Arthur offered.

"He. Said. What?" Colette bit out.

No wonder there had been this tone in Max's voice when they had talked this morning...No wonder he had sounded upset, when that George fucking Russell had pretty much accused him of hurting her. And of course, he hadn't wanted to worry her, so of course, he hadn't told her.

Victoria reached out and grasped her elbow, as if she worried Colette would jump up and attack the screen.

"You need to stay calm," Vic said firmly. "You can't get worked up, it's not good for you, and it's not good for the baby," she warned her.

"I will murder George Russell," Colette growled in response.

"No murder," Victoria said in a no-nonsense voice. "You can't kill him, he's not worth it. And you can't have this stress, for your health. And the baby."

Colette huffed but she was still seething.

Only to then have Danica Patrick pipe up from the TV Screen: "What are your thoughts on your son’s supposed anger issues?"

"He doesn't have anger issues!" Colette snapped. "I have anger issues right now! I am going to find George Russell and punch him in the face!"

Arthur stared at her with an ill-hidden combination of horror and fascination.

Victoria laughed again, but it was mostly out of surprise and disbelief. "Well, at least we know that your temper is firmly intact," she said dryly.

"I'm sure Max is going to loooove seeing you this worked up over this," Arthur grumbled.

Colette had a lot of problems with Max's father, but at least for once she actually agreed with him:

"On the circuit…as soon as Max lowers his visor, he turns into a lion. He is really motivated and the only thing that matters is winning. It was always in him. What I see in Max now, I saw in karting," Jos answered Danica's question. "But that’s not the same Max you see when he is at home. On the race track, he is a lion, but at home, he’s a teddy bear. He got that from Sophie. He’s very sweet, very gentle…Incredible protective of the people he cares about."

For the first time in recent history, Colette found herself agreeing wholeheartedly with Jos Verstappen.

"He is a teddy bear," she mumbled in agreement. "The sweetest thing on earth. And that bastard has no idea what he's talking about," she bit out.

"Of course Max is a lion on the track," Arthur said with a scoff. "We've witnessed that ourselves. Everyone in the paddock knows that Max is a machine when he's in his race car, but George has his head up his ass if he thinks that Max is aggressive off the circuit."

"We all know that Maxie is the gentlest, most generous person out there," Victoria agreed, shaking her head. "George Russell is clearly jealous and is making stuff up just to get attention."

Colette just huffed.

"So you don't think he has anger issues?" Danica Patrick pushed.

"What kind of a stupid question is that?" Colette grumbled in response, her shoulders taut with anger.

Arthur laughed and Victoria squeezed her arm.

"No," Jos answered flatly.

Danica Patrick, who was clearly fishing for a different reply, seemed a little thrown by the firm response. But she rallied quickly enough to pivot: "And what can you tell us about your son’s relationship with Colette Leclerc?"

"Oh, come on!" Colette snapped.

"They have been together for a very long time," Jos replied simply, his accent strong as ever. "…since back in Karting. I don’t think anybody believed that that relationship would last, but they did prove everybody wrong."

The answer was unexpectedly charming and sincere.

Colette found herself blinking at that, surprised at how fond he sounded when talking about her and Max. Even Arthur was gaping stupidly, and it looked like Victoria was struggling not to choke on her drink from surprise.

"I think the great thing about Colette is that she understands his life, his career. She has a brother who does the same job as Max, so she was always incredibly supportive of him," Jos continued. "She is there for him. She supports him completely, and she’s been there for him through the good times and the bad. I don’t think Max would be the man he is today without her."

Arthur and Victoria stared at the screen with dropped jaws, stunned into silence.

"Is that Jos actually giving a heartfelt compliment?" Arthur muttered in disbelief.

“I think he is?” Victoria responded questioningly. This was certainly a new experience for everyone.

On the screen, Jos continued: "I have been watching their relationship for over half of Max's life, and Max really did pick the right girl."

"Your son hasn’t talked a lot about his relationship," Danica said leadingly.

"Oh, you won’t get anything from him," Jos said with a snort. "He’s very protective over her, always has been. Especially with her in her current condition."

Colette’s eyes widened and she immediately put a hand over her stomach in a protective gesture. 

"Fuck," Victoria cursed.

“Did he seriously just do that?” Arthur croaked. “Did he just tell all of F1 - no, all of the world - that Colette is pregnant?”

All three of them just gaped at the TV.

Danica Patricks looked like a vampire that had just tasted blood. "Her current condition?" she asked, her voice honeyed sweet.

"Yes," Jos confirmed simply. "The baby is supposed to come any day now. We’re all incredibly excited for the new addition to the family. I mean, it took them long enough, they definitely practiced enough."

He said like it was a joke. Like it hadn't taken them the better part of 3 years and 2 miscarriages.

Colette’s whole body had tensed, her heart clenching painfully in her chest as the words echoed in her mind: It took them long enough, they definitely practiced enough. Those words felt like a punch to the gut - like a mockery of all the pain and disappointment and suffering.

All the stress and anxiety and anguish that they had gone through. All the tears and the desperation and prayers for a miracle.

And all of it reduced to a cheap, dirty joke.

"I am going to throttle him," Victoria said, her voice shaking.

"Get in line," Arthur grumbled, looking equally enraged.

Colette just sat there staring fixedly at the screen, feeling like her whole mind had gone numb.

It was one thing when Jos made his snide little comments to them, but it was quite another when he decided to talk about that on international TV. He made it sound like their troubles to conceive had only been a matter of not trying hard enough.

It felt like a gut punch. Colette had always known that Jos had no idea how hard the last couple of years had been for them, but now, in light of his comment, it sounded like he somehow assumed it had all been their own fault.

They had kept both miscarriages quiet...had only shared it with a handful of people. She knew that Max had told Vic about it, but he had never told his father.

Her hands were shaking with anger. The urge to throw something - anything - was almost overwhelming as the words echoed in her head over and over: It took them long enough, they definitely practiced enough.

How could he have been so cruel? How could he go and announce it on international television and make it sound like it hadn’t been the hardest thing that either of them had ever been through?

It felt like a betrayal. Colette had never expected much out of Max’s father, but this? This felt like twisting the knife in a still-healing wound and pouring salt into it.

It felt like a stab to the back. Jos had no idea. No idea how hard it had been to keep the hope up. No idea how much it had hurt with every failed test and every lost dream. And no idea how much they both had longed for the baby that was growing within her.

And now he was just treating it like it had been a matter of not working hard enough, as if it had been an easy task and they had simply taken their sweet time to do something that came naturally to most people.

Her mind would have continued to turn into circles...if there hadn't been a sudden stabbing pain low in her abdomen.

Colette winced as the pain flared. It was a shock, and her hands immediately flew down to press against the source of the pain.

"Are you alright?" Victoria asked immediately. Colette clenched her teeth as the cramping pain seemed to grow even worse, before easing.

"Just...just a cramp," Colette managed to breathe out. "It's fine. It's fine. I just- it just startled me, that's all."

She tried to assure herself that it was nothing. Just Braxton Hicks - just the body preparing for the labor, the pain sometimes got intense. But something about it felt...off.

"Is that the first one today?" Victoria asked her. "You winced a few times this morning."

Colette thought back to this morning, recalling how she had woken up with a stabbing pain in her lower back. She hadn’t thought much of it then, since her muscles hadn’t been happy with her in a long time at this point - and it had passed pretty quickly after a few minutes.

"I'm not sure, I-" she started, her breath catching.

There was pain again, another stabbing contraction.

"Are they getting stronger?" Victoria asked, her voice sharpening.

The pain receded after a few seconds, and Colette had to force down the urge to curl up on the couch with her hands on her stomach as she tried to take deep breaths."It's nothing. I still have 4 weeks," Colette said with a shake of her head.

The words sounded like a prayer. Because she wasn’t due for at least another month, after all. This was just the Braxton Hicks contractions that her doctor had warned her about. The practice contractions that were supposed to help get her body ready for labor, nothing to worry about.

It was just her body preparing for the birth, that was all.

But the pain came back again, and this time, Colette couldn't quite suppress the gasp as she closed her eyes and tried to breathe through it.

"Colette," Victoria said, her voice sharp. "I don’t think they’re just practice contractions. The way you’re tensing and wincing...this is the real deal. I think you’re going into actual labor."

“No,” Colette said, her heart lurching in her chest. “No, no, I’m not…I’m not supposed to go into labor until January, this is- this is not supposed to happen.”

She had just hit her 36th week, and she was due at the start of January. It was far too early for the labor to start.

"I don't think the baby cares about that," Victoria said with a laugh. "Come on, we'll need to get you to the hospital."

"No, I can't be in labour. Max isn't here," she disagreed.

Colette felt a fresh wave of panic wash over her. The very last thing she wanted to do was start labor without Max there, and Max was currently in the middle of a race on the opposite end of the world.

“Where’s your hospital bag?“ Victoria asked her, all business. “Where’s are the car keys? Arthur is driving.“

“What, no!“ Arthur squeaked. Arthur clearly looked terrified, his eyes growing like saucers as he stared at them. "No - no, I don’t think I can-"

But Victoria was already rounding on him. "Oh yes,  you can. Just get the keys and get the damn car ready. I‘ll help Colette get her things, and you'll drive us."

The authority in her voice was intimidating enough that Arthur didn’t dare to disagree with her, and he nodded mutely and hurried away to look for the car keys.

Colette was torn between laughing at her brother’s expression and panicking over the fact that her labor was actually starting.

Just like that, she felt frozen in place a few moments longer, before Victoria snapped her fingers in front of her face. "Hey, no freezing up. We need to get moving. We need to get to the hospital, and your kid doesn’t care that it still needs 4 more weeks. So come on, come on, get your things."

It snapped her out of her temporary daze, and she managed to focus back to the present again. "Right, yeah," Colette mumbled, and she quickly went to get her hospital bag.

She had already packed it, just in case - but she had definitely not expected to actually use it.

Her hands were shaking as she picked it up, the whole situation still not entirely sinking in yet. Max was not here. She was going to have her baby without him here - that wasn’t how it was supposed to be!

But the pain came back again, and her body seemed to agree that there was no time left to waste.

She winced through the contraction, and Vic’s face tensed as she saw it.

"How are you doing?" she asked, watching her worriedly. Colette had to take a deep breath, trying to keep breathing as the pain faded out again. "I’m-” she started, but that was the same second that Arthur appeared again with the keys.

"The car is ready," he said, sounding very much like he’d rather bolt.

"Right," Victoria said, and she looked at Colette. "We gotta go. You good to go?"

Colette felt a surge of panic as the truth of leaving to go to the hospital finally sank in - she felt very much like her entire body had seized up. But Arthur was already waiting at the door with an expectant look on his face that did not look at all reassuring, and Victoria had picked up her hospital bag and was ushering Colette’s towards the hallway.

The contractions didn’t seem to care about any of her feelings, anyway.

"Come on," Victoria told her quietly. "We're gonna go and have a beautiful birth, and when you're done, there’ll be a healthy baby in your arms, okay?"

Colette was sure that her face had gone pale, and her hands were shaking as she slowly made her way through the hallway. Victoria led her the entire time, supporting her as they moved.

She was more than grateful to slip into the backseat of the Audi and her hands could claw themselves into the buttery soft leather interior.

“Are you sure we can’t wait for an adult?“ Arthur asked weakly.

“You are an adult. You literally drive race cars for a living,“ Victoria snapped.

Colette would have laughed at Arthur’s terrified expression in any other situation, but at the moment, she really wasn’t up to find anything funny.

“Just drive the damn car, Arthur!“ Victoria snapped, and Arthur flinched, his eyes wide as saucers.

A whimper escaped Colette as another contraction gripped her, and she curled up in the back seat, both hands clawed in the seat as the wave of pain ebbed away again. Her breathing was ragged, and she felt like she was slowly coming apart at the seams.

"Keep breathing," Victoria’s sharp voice came from her left side, and she felt a cool, smooth hand on her forehead. "Just keep breathing. You're doing great."

The words managed to cut through the panic, and Colette managed to gasp out a shuddering breath. “I-” she choked out, “I can’t…I can’t do this without Max, I-”

"You are doing it," Victoria cut in, her voice steady and sharp like a blade. "You are doing it, and you are going to be fine. Max will be by your side the moment he can, but you will make it until then. Just keep breathing and keep talking, you’re doing great."

[amiaclone]

Player 230/Thanos falling in love with OC? And no, I don’t mean the flirting kinda way, the head over heels Thanos despite his usual play boy behavior, LOL!! Thank you!!

YES

Thanos x gn! Reader

Tw: cursing and bad rapping from my writing

Thanos couldn’t comprehend the world or whoever was speaking to him right now all he could think about was you…

He didn’t know what it was you were extremely attractive laughed at his jokes you were some perfect angel or something…..

Maybe it was the drugs? Yeah maybe he just can’t see your flaws or something but even thinking about your flaws man…..he’s still head over heels

“Thanos! Thanos!”

“Ugh fucking what!”

It was Nam-Gyu he seemed shook for a second then shrugged it off

“Nothing it’s just you seem more…..out of it then usual….are we voting O or X”

They just survived the second game

“Obviously we’re voting O!”

It cued to you walking down and pressing X not sparing a glance at some of the boos you’d get

“Nevermind we’re picking X”

Nam-Gyu seemed confused at Thanos change of mind “Huh what” “You fucking heard me!”

Even with the two changed votes 0s still won

Thanos didn’t really seem to care he was busy staring at you as you seemed to be pondering in thought “Thanos-“ “Wait a second” *He roughly shoved Nam-Gyu as he headed over to you* “Heyy babe! Glad you survived the second game you know….if you’re unsure about the next game I have a team….that you can join you know?”

You nodded a bit in thought “Eh I suppose so since you asked so kindly”

“That’s how I roll! Thanos and kind are like the same vibes!” You scoffed a bit jokingly smiling

Thanos couldn’t help but be somewhat relieved that you actually liked his rapping why is he so nervous around you is he high? Maybe he’ll take a few before the game…

Timeskip to Mingle

Thanos has been protecting you and dragging you into any room the whole game you’ll admit you needed it for a few rounds even if he was clearly high he still seemed to have a steady head around you

The room number was 3 Thanos grabbed you and Nam-Gyu followed suit until some random person shoved into Thanos and you causing you to fall and lose grip

“Hey!” Thanos kicked said person running up no matter how much complains and looks of shock Nam-Gyu gave grabbing you and Nam-Gyu locking you in the room with barely just the last second

He was heavily breathing you and Nam-Gyu were stunned for different reasons Nam-Gyu for Thanos actually doing something like that for a person he’s known for a few days and you…..how did he do it so fast?

“Thank you Thanos….” *Thanos gave you a wink*

“No problem doll.”

Soo didn’t have much ideas left but I loved this concept so muchhh! Request if you want more

[puckstories]

Stuck With Me | Quinn Hughes

Pairing; Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Cursing, established relationship, kissing, idk what else. Only edited once.

Summary; Based on this request: "could you do a fic of reader feeling jealous and quinn being reassuring 💕tyy"

Word Count; 4.0k

Author’s note; This is not my best work at all, I'd probably rate it a 4/10 just because I didn't really flesh out the jealousy + the pacing is kind of rushed, but I'm tired of looking at it frankly. Possibly in the future I will go back and edit it and make it better. Thank you to the anon who requested this though, I hope you liked it at least a little bit. Also, it's not really mentioned, but Quinn is not drunk and is okay to drive home + Josh is Josh Norris, and Kaylee is just a character I made up, no one IRL. -Honey.

“You’re staring,” Josh comments, nonchalant as he leans closer to nudge your arm.

Startled, you tear your gaze away and take a long sip of your drink, using the glass as a shield. “I was not,” you mumble, trying to sound casual as you glance sideways at him.

Josh chuckles, the sound resonating just slightly over the music playing. “Sure,” he says, dragging out the word with a smirk that makes it clear he’s not buying your denial for a second.

You roll your eyes, letting out a sigh as you lean back against the cushioned booth. No matter how hard you try, your gaze betrays you, drifting back toward the pool table across the room. Your fingers tighten slightly around your glass as you watch Quinn and Kaylee, their heads tilted close as they laugh about something you can’t hear.

You met Kaylee earlier, when you and Quinn first arrived at the bar. She’d come over almost immediately, her tall frame poised with an effortless grace that made you feel small and slightly disheveled in comparison. She was gorgeous—model-gorgeous—with sleek, fiery red hair that fell perfectly over her shoulders and striking green eyes that seemed to gleam in the dim lighting.

And Quinn had lit up when he saw her.

“She’s just an old friend,” he’d said casually, his hand brushing your lower back as he introduced you. They’d gone to college together, apparently, and while she’d been nothing but kind and polite to you, there was something about the way she made him laugh that stuck with you. It was freer, lighter somehow, as if she knew a version of him you didn’t.

She did, actually.

You knew it was irrational. You knew that Quinn loved you, that he hadn’t seen her in years and that they were just catching up. But the jealousy crept in anyway, an unwelcome guest settling in your chest. It festered beneath your skin, bubbling hotter and more insistent with every glance and every laugh they shared over the pool table.

“You’re doing it again,” Josh observes, snapping you out of your thoughts.

Your head swivels back toward him, a guilty heat rushing to your face. “Doing what?” you ask defensively, though the slight waver in your voice betrays you.

Josh arches a brow, leaning back in his seat as he folds his arms. “Staring. Sulking. Probably plotting Kaylee’s downfall, if I had to guess.” His tone is teasing, and there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he studies you.

You groan, setting your empty glass down on the table with a soft thud. “I’m not sulking.”

“Uh-huh,” he replies, clearly unconvinced.

“And I'm not plotting anyone's downfall!” you insist, but your gaze betrays you once again, flicking back toward Quinn and Kaylee. She’s leaning over the pool table now, lining up a shot, and Quinn is watching her with an amused grin, his arms crossed as he leans casually against the edge.

Your chest tightens. You know it’s nothing. You know Quinn is yours, that he’s coming home with you tonight, but the nagging voice in the back of your mind refuses to let it go.

“I’m gonna go get another drink.” You don’t wait for Josh’s response, sliding out of the booth with your glass in hand. The hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter surround you as you weave through the crowded bar, bodies shifting just enough to let you pass. Your pulse feels louder in your ears than the bass thumping faintly from the overhead speakers.

When you reach the bar, you set your empty glass down with a quiet clink and take a seat on one of the worn barstools. The polished wood is sticky beneath your palms, and the faint scent of spilled beer and citrus lingers in the air.

You glance up, taking in the bartender, a guy with a mullet that somehow works on him, tattoos winding up his arms like intricate stories inked into his skin. He’s busy, sliding a tray of colorful cocktails across the counter to a group of friends celebrating a bachelorette party. You lean on the counter, your gaze drifting to the mirrored shelves behind him, rows of liquor bottles glinting in the dim light like a kaleidoscope of temptation.

After a minute or two, he finally makes his way over to you, wiping his hands on a rag tucked into his waistband. “What can I get you?” he asks, his tone brisk but not unfriendly.

“I’ll just get a Jack and Coke, thanks,” you say, offering the bartender a polite smile. As he reaches for a glass, you lean slightly over the counter, your voice carrying just enough over the ambient noise of the bar. “And my boyfriend has a tab. Last name’s Hughes—put it on there, please.”

The bartender pauses for a moment, giving you a quick once-over before nodding. “Got it,” he says, turning toward the shelves with practiced ease.

You settle back onto the stool, your fingers tracing idle patterns on the sticky wood of the countertop as you glance around. Behind the bar, the bartender moves quickly, grabbing a tumbler and dropping in a few cubes of ice before reaching for the Jack Daniel’s. His movements are efficient, the kind that come from muscle memory, and within moments, the golden liquid pours into the glass, followed by a splash of Coke.

It’s a simple drink, nothing fancy or fussy, but that’s what you like about it—consistent, reliable, no surprises.

He sets the drink in front of you with a small napkin, the condensation already starting to bead on the sides of the glass. “There you go,” he says, glancing briefly in your direction before moving on to the next customer.

“Thanks,” you reply, wrapping your fingers around the cool glass.

Taking a sip, the familiar blend of sweet Coke and smoky whiskey slides down smoothly, the warmth spreading through your chest. It’s exactly what you need—not too strong, not too complicated. Just enough to ground you as you try to push away the nagging thoughts that have been buzzing at the back of your mind all evening.

Sliding off the barstool, you clutch your drink in one hand and begin making your way back to the booth you’d claimed earlier, until your body collides with something—someone—firm and unyielding. A sharp gasp escapes your lips as you stumble back, your drink sloshing out of the glass and soaking into your white top. The cold liquid clings to your skin, staining the fabric a disgusting, murky brown.

“Shit, sorry,” the guy mutters immediately, his voice filled with genuine regret. He moves quickly, grabbing a handful of napkins from the bar behind you. “Here, let me—”

He leans forward, attempting to dab at your shirt with the wad of napkins. His well-meaning gesture only amplifies your frustration, the awkwardness of the situation making your cheeks flush. You set your now-empty glass on the nearest surface with a loud clink and grab the napkins from him.

“It’s fine,” you say, your voice clipped as you step back. “Thanks, I got it.”

You don’t wait for a response, brushing past him and heading toward the bathrooms. Your pulse pounds in your ears, a mix of embarrassment and irritation settling in your chest.

Pushing the door open, you’re relieved to find the women’s bathroom empty. The faint hum of fluorescent lights fills the silence as you approach the sink. With a deep sigh, you wet the bottom of your shirt under the cold stream of water, scrubbing at the stain with a dollop of foamy soap from the dispenser.

The dark blotch stubbornly clings to the fabric, refusing to disappear entirely. You scrub harder, the rough texture of the paper towels adding to your frustration. After a few minutes, the stain fades slightly, the color no longer as glaring as before.

You toss the soggy paper towels into the trash with a sigh of defeat, inspecting the faint brown shadow that still mars your top. “Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, resigning yourself to your less-than-pristine appearance. Moving to the hand dryer, you press the button and hold your shirt away from your body, letting the warm blast of air dry the damp fabric.

You let the hand dryer hum for another minute, the hot air doing its best to dry the wet fabric of your shirt. It’s still slightly damp when you decide to give up and leave the bathroom. The faint shadow of the stain remains, but you’ve done all you can. With a sigh, you smooth the fabric down and push the door open, exiting into the social minefield.

As you make your way back to the booth, the familiar knot of unease tightens in your stomach. It’s not just Josh at the booth anymore. The entire group is back now, including Quinn—and Kaylee, of course. They’re sitting next to each other, laughing softly at something, their heads tilted just close enough to make your chest tighten uncomfortably. Because of course they’re next to each other. Of course.

The frustration you’ve been trying to tamp down flares up again, prickling hot under your skin. You glance away, your eyes threatening to roll before you can stop them. But it’s as if Quinn has some sixth sense for your mood, because the second you look back, his gaze locks onto yours.

He smiles at first, the kind of warm, easy smile that usually makes your heart flutter. But then his eyes drop to your shirt, the faint stain still visible against the white fabric, and his expression shifts to one of confusion.

“What happened to your shirt?” he asks, his voice cutting through the chatter as he abandons his conversation. He slides a little further into the booth, making room for you to take your usual seat on the end.

You approach the table, sitting down a little harder than you intended. The irritation bubbling beneath the surface sharpens your tone, and when you finally respond, it comes out rougher than you’d meant. “What do you think happened?”

Quinn blinks, visibly taken aback by the edge in your voice. His eyebrows shoot up briefly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. The silence that follows feels heavy, the casual buzz of the bar suddenly too loud in contrast.

Quinn leans slightly closer, his voice softer now, careful, his breath hitting against your ear. "Are you okay?"

You exhale a long sigh, the weight of the evening pressing down on you as you lean into his side. The familiar warmth of his presence wraps around you, grounding you in a way that words can’t. “I’m fine,” you murmur softly. “Sorry for snapping at you.”

Quinn doesn’t hesitate, his arm slipping casually over your shoulder as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He presses a kiss against your temple, his lips lingering against your skin for a brief moment.

“It’s okay,” he replies, his voice low, just for you to hear.

For the next little while, you sit in the booth, letting the conversation flow around you. Quinn dives back into catching up with his friends, his laughter easy and unguarded as he shares stories and memories you’re only half-listening to.

You chime in occasionally when someone calls your name, offering a small smile or a quick reply. But mostly, you let yourself fade into the background, content to simply exist beside Quinn. His arm remains draped over your shoulder, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against your arm.

“…double date, right?”

You only catch the tail end of the sentence, your mind still drifting when you feel Quinn give your shoulder a gentle squeeze. The touch pulls you back to the moment, your eyes blinking as you try to focus.

“Sorry, what?” you ask, glancing around the table.

The group erupts into light laughter, the kind that feels good-natured rather than mocking. Quinn leans in slightly, his smile soft but amused as he repeats himself. “A double date. You’d be down for that, right?”

“Oh, uh… sure,” you reply, nodding quickly before the words have fully sunk in. Your gaze shifts between the faces at the table, suddenly feeling as though you’ve missed an important detail. “With who?”

Quinn’s smile widens, and there’s a playful gleam in his eyes. “Kaylee,” he says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Your mouth falls open slightly, caught completely off guard by the response. You blink, turning your attention to Kaylee, who’s sipping her drink with an easy grace. “You… have a boyfriend?” you manage to ask, the words spilling out before you can stop them.

Kaylee lets out a light, melodic giggle, setting her glass down on the table. “Soon-to-be fiancé,” she corrects, her green eyes sparkling with amusement. “At least, once he grows a pair and actually proposes.” She laughs again, shaking her head. “He’s working late tonight, so he couldn’t make it.”

Her words hit you like a freight train. Fiancé? Working late? You feel your stomach drop as the realization sinks in. All of your jealousy is baseless. Kaylee wasn’t flirting with Quinn; she wasn’t even remotely interested in him that way.

She had a boyfriend. Soon to be fiancé.

Heat creeps up your neck and into your cheeks, the embarrassment washing over you like a tidal wave. You manage a small smile, but inwardly, you’re cringing so hard you wish the ground would swallow you whole. "Yeah, that'd be fun, for sure."

The next couple of hours fly by in a blur, and before you know it, everyone is saying their goodbyes, exchanging hugs and promises to meet up again soon. The warm glow of the bar’s lights spills out onto the sidewalk as you and Quinn step outside, the cool night air brushing against your skin.

It’s dark now, and a light drizzle begins to fall, the raindrops cool and soft as they dot your clothes. You glance at each other and break into a jog toward the car. By the time you reach it, the rain has picked up, turning from a drizzle into a steady downpour. You barely make it inside before the skies seem to open up, the sound of rain pelting against the roof filling the silence as Quinn starts the engine.

“Well, that was close,” he mutters with a small laugh, brushing the dampness from his sleeves before backing out of the parking spot.

The car is warm, the faint scent of Quinn’s cologne lingering in the air as he drives through the quiet streets. A few minutes pass in comfortable silence, the rhythmic drumming of the rain against the windshield almost hypnotic.

Then, his voice cuts through the quiet. “What was up tonight? You were quieter than usual.”

The question catches you off guard, but you quickly shake your head, hoping to dismiss it. “Nothing,” you say.

Quinn glances at you briefly, his expression skeptical even as he keeps his focus on the road. “I know you,” he says evenly. “And I know it’s not nothing, so just tell me.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest as you turn to look out the window. The rain blurs the city lights into streaks of gold and white, a beautiful distraction from the conversation you’d rather not have. “Quinn, I’m serious. It’s nothing,” you insist, your voice firmer this time.

He presses his lips together, his jaw tightening slightly. “Was it something I did?” he asks after a moment, his voice softer now, tinged with concern.

“No,” you reply quickly, shaking your head.

“Then what is it?” he presses again, his tone patient but persistent.

Your chest tightens, the question hanging in the air between you. It’s not that you don’t want to tell him—it’s just that you don’t even know how to put your feelings into words. The jealousy, the self-doubt, the small spiral you’d gone through earlier tonight—it all feels so petty now, so insignificant in hindsight. And yet, the weight of it still lingers, sitting heavy in the pit of your stomach.

You sigh, leaning your head against the cool glass of the window. "Just drop it."

At your words, Quinn pulls the car onto a quiet side street, the tires crunching over loose gravel before coming to a halt. He shifts the gear into park with a resolute click, his jaw tightening.

You turn to him, eyebrows furrowed. “What are you doing?” you demand, your voice edged with confusion.

He leans back in his seat, shrugging nonchalantly, though his eyes betray his concern. “We’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”

“Quinn, I told you—it’s nothing,” you snap, the irritation bubbling to the surface. Your arms cross tightly over your chest, a defensive shield against his relentless prodding.

He shakes his head, undeterred. “And I know you’re lying.”

A frustrated sigh escapes you, sharp and heavy. “You know what? Fine.” You unbuckle your seatbelt with a jerky motion, the click echoing in the small space. “I’ll walk home.”

Before Quinn can respond, you fling the door open and step into the storm. The frigid rain pelts down, soaking through your clothes almost instantly. The dirt road beneath your feet churns into sticky mud, clinging to your shoes as you march away, your defiance burning hotter than the cold seeping into your skin.

“Y/N!” Quinn shouts from the car, his voice cutting through the rain like a lifeline you refuse to grab. When you don’t stop, he curses under his breath. You hear the unmistakable sound of his seatbelt unclicking and the slam of his door.

The rain muffles his footsteps, but you know he’s chasing after you. “Y/N, wait!” he calls, urgency threading through his voice. You don’t slow, your pace quickening despite the mud threatening to pull you down.

“Y/N!” Quinn’s voice grows closer, and you finally halt, spinning around with enough force to startle him. He skids to a stop, but momentum carries him forward, and he stumbles into you. His hands instinctively reach out, gripping your arms to steady you both.

“You want to know what’s wrong, Quinn?” you snap, your voice trembling with more than just the chill. Rain streaks down your face, mingling with the tears you can no longer hide. “I’m embarrassed, okay?”

His hands drop, and for a moment, he just looks at you, water dripping from his lashes and the ends of his messy hair. “Embarrassed?” he repeats, his voice soft, almost incredulous.

You wipe at your eyes with a trembling hand, though the rain makes the gesture futile. “Yeah, embarrassed,” you admit, your voice barely audible over the steady drumming of rain. You look down, unable to meet his eyes. “I thought Kaylee had a thing for you.”

Quinn blinks, clearly taken aback. “I—you what?” he stammers, his brows knitting together in confusion.

You sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself against the cold rain. “I thought she liked you,” you repeat, more firmly this time, though the words still sting as they leave your mouth. “But she has a boyfriend, so obviously she doesn’t.”

“She’s just a friend from college,” Quinn says, his voice steady, as if the explanation should settle everything.

You nod, but it feels hollow. “I know.”

“And even if she was single,” he continues, stepping closer, “I’m not.”

His words make you glance up despite yourself. The weight in his gaze pins you in place, your breath catching in your throat.

“I have a girlfriend,” he says, his tone softening but no less resolute. “A girlfriend who makes me chase after her in a rainstorm in the middle of the night.”

The corners of his lips tug upward into a faint smile, though there’s no mistaking the seriousness in his eyes. Your heart twists at the realization—you’d been so caught up in your own doubts that you hadn’t stopped to consider how much he’d already chosen you.

The rain pours around you, but the world seems to shrink to just the two of you. For a moment, neither of you speaks. His words hang in the air, heavy with meaning.

“Quinn—” Your voice falters. You search for the right thing to say, something that can express the tangle of emotions inside you. Embarrassment. Relief. Gratitude. "I usually never get jealous like this. I'm sorry."

Quinn’s expression softens as he reaches up, his fingers gently brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The rain pelts in a steady, rhythmic drizzle around you, the droplets catching the light from the streetlamp above, creating a soft halo that bathes you both in a muted glow. He smiles, not in the least bit fazed, his eyes warm and reassuring.

"It's okay," he says simply, as if it's no big deal, his tone so calm, so easy, that it almost makes you feel like your jealousy was nothing at all.

"Quinn, I'm serious," you say, your brows knitting together as you try to convey just how sorry you truly were.

"Baby, it’s okay," he repeats, his voice low and full of understanding. "We all get jealous sometimes," he continues, his fingers now gently brushing your cheek, his thumb softly caressing your skin as if he’s trying to soothe away the tension. "I just ask that next time, you talk to me about it, okay? I want to know how you're feeling."

His words are earnest, leaving no room for doubt. He’s not upset, just asking for honesty—asking for you to trust him with those feelings. And that, more than anything, makes your heart soften.

You nod, the weight of your earlier emotions starting to ease. "I will," you promise, your voice barely above a whisper.

Quinn’s smile deepens, a mixture of relief and affection in his eyes as he gazes down at you. He reaches out, cupping your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing softly over your damp cheeks, wiping away the raindrops that have begun to cling to your skin. Then, without another word, he leans down and captures your lips in a searing kiss.

The world around you seems to fade as his mouth moves against yours, slow and passionate, his lips warm and soft despite the chill of the rain. The kiss is intense, full of emotion, as if he’s pouring everything he feels into it—the reassurance, the love, the unspoken promise that he’s here for you, and only you. Your arms find their way around his neck, pulling him closer, and in that moment, the jealousy, the embarrassment—it all melts away, washed clean by the feeling of his lips on yours.

The rain continues to fall, droplets dancing off the pavement, but all you can feel is him—the solid warmth of his body against yours, the softness of his hands cradling your face. The streetlight above flickers softly, casting the two of you in a golden glow, making the moment feel like something out of a dream, something ethereal and untouchable.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests gently against yours, and for a moment, you just stand there, catching your breath, your hearts beating in sync.

Quinn looks into your eyes, his gaze steady and full of love. "And for the record," he says, his voice low and serious but with a teasing lilt at the end, "I don’t want anyone else. You’re stuck with me, okay? Deal with it."

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes your lips, the tension fully gone now, replaced by warmth and affection. The way he says it—so matter-of-fact, so confident—makes your heart swell. You shake your head, smiling as you look up at him, the rain continuing to fall around you both, but in this moment, you’re completely lost in each other.

"I love you," you whisper, your fingers threading through the damp hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him down for another kiss, this one softer but just as full of meaning.

[stargazsblog]

how to lose a girl in 10 days | ch.3 second move

ryomen sukuna x fem!reader

ʚɞ ryomen sukuna is tall, devastatingly handsome, and the campus heartbreaker. everyone knows his name, and his reputation for leaving girls with broken hearts. but then there's you uninterested and completely unimpressed by him. you're the only girl who couldn't care less about him. when his friends tease him about it, everything changes. they challenge him with a bet to make you, the one person who isn't affected by his charm, fall in love with him in just 10 days, sukuna accepts the challenge, thinking it'll be an easy win. it's just a game, a way to prove he can get any girl he wants. but the more time he spends with you, he finds himself wanting something he never expected.

ʚɞ warning/tags: angst, fluff, romance, use of cigarettes and alcohol, jealousy, asshole sukuna, heartbreak, inspired by how to lose a guy in 10 days, college au, enemies to lovers.

ʚɞ now playing - no. 1 party anthem by arctic monkeys

masterlist

note: new chapter! this one took awhile to write but i hope u love!! happy new year <3

The ring of the doorbell jolted you awake, pulling an annoyed groan from your lips. You turned over in your bed, calling out, “Shoko, can you get the door?” Your voice was muffled against your pillow, and you waited, hoping for the sound of her footsteps.

Nothing. No response.

The doorbell rang again, this time louder. You let out a frustrated sigh, throwing off the blankets as you dragged yourself out of bed. “Seriously, Shoko?” you muttered under your breath, shuffling to your bedroom door. You made your way to the front door, each step heavy with sleep-induced annoyance.

When you opened the door, the sight before you gave you pause. No one was there.

Your gaze dropped to the ground.

A massive bouquet of roses sat on your doorstep. You blinked, momentarily stunned.

“What the…?” you murmured, crouching to pick up the bouquet. It was heavier than you expected, the delicate scent of roses filling the air.

Closing the door behind you, you carried the flowers into the living room, setting them down on the table. Shoko, now leaning against the kitchen doorway with a steaming mug of coffee in hand, raised an eyebrow at the sight.

“What’s with the flowers?” she asked, taking a sip.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, still staring at the extravagant bouquet. “Maybe they’re for you?”

Shoko shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t think so. Check for a note.”

Spotting a small envelope tucked among the flowers, you pulled it out and opened it. Your stomach flipped when you read the words.

“thought these were almost as stunning as you let me know if they compare – sukuna”

You felt your heart skip a beat as you stared at the note. Sukuna? Your brow furrowed in confusion. Why would Ryomen Sukuna, of all people, send you flowers?

“Sukuna?” you repeated aloud, more to yourself than Shoko.

“How does he even know where we live?” you asked, a mix of confusion and suspicion in your voice.

“Oh… I may or may not have taken Geto home the other night. And he might have told Sukuna where we live.”

Your head snapped toward her, eyes wide. “What?! You hooked up with Geto? And you didn’t tell me this?”

Shoko shrugged nonchalantly, setting her mug down. “It didn’t seem relevant at the time. It was just a fling. No big deal.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “No big deal? Shoko, this guy knows where we live! Do you know how creepy that is?”

“Relax,” Shoko said with a chuckle, clearly enjoying your distress. “It’s not like he’s lurking outside your window or something. He just… sent flowers.”

You groaned, sinking into the chair next to the table. “Great. Just what I needed. First he buys me snacks and now he’s sending me flowers? What’s his deal?”

“Maybe he likes you,” Shoko teased, her grin widening.

You shot her a glare. “That’s not funny.”

“No, but this whole situation is.” She chuckled, You had barely had time to response when your phone buzzed on the table, the screen lighting up with an incoming message from Ryomen Sukuna.

You hesitated for a moment, your fingers hovering over the screen. Was he really texting you already? What could he possibly want now?

You unlocked your phone, bracing yourself as you read his message.

12:20PM Sukuna Ryomen: so how’d you like the flowers?

You frowned. So he’s really going to go there? You glanced over at Shoko.

“Shoko… Sukuna just texted me.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by your discomfort. “Well, well, look at that. He’s not wasting time.”

You glanced back at the message, unsure whether to ignore it or respond. You couldn’t help it, this was unexpected. After a few seconds, you typed out a reply.

12:20PM You: why did you send them? what do you want?

You hit send and sat back, unsure whether you’d made the right call. It felt a bit too direct, but you didn’t care.

Your phone buzzed again, and you jumped slightly, then glanced down at his response.

12:20PM Sukuna Ryomen: no need to overthink it i just thought you deserved something nice

“What does that even mean?” you muttered aloud.

You typed out another reply, trying to keep your cool.

12:21PM You: just a random act of kindness then? what’s the catch

You waited, feeling the tension rise as you glanced at Shoko, who was still watching with amusement.

The text pinged almost immediately.

12:21PM Sukuna Ryomen: no catch just thought you might like them unless you don’t then I’ll send you something better

You stared at the message, your stomach doing a strange little flip.

“Okay, now he’s just being cocky,” you said, shaking your head, showing shoko the text.

Shoko stares at your phone, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “That’s the fun part. He’s definitely interested.”

You let out a sigh, running a hand through your hair. Great. What was happening here? You barely knew Sukuna. Sure, everyone on campus knew who he was, the tall, cocky heartbreaker, but you’d never even had a proper conversation with him.

Now, suddenly, he was everywhere. Sending flowers, finding excuses to cross your path, and even inviting you to parties. It wasn’t normal.

Your chest tightened at the thought. Something is definitely going on… and you don’t like it.

What did Sukuna even want? Was this just another conquest for him? Another name to add to his list?

“Earth to you,” Shoko’s voice broke through your thoughts, snapping you back to reality.

“You’re overthinking again.”

“I’m not overthinking,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “I just don’t get it. Why me? He could have anyone on campus, and he usually does. So why is he suddenly obsessed with showing up in my life?”

Shoko shrugged, but her smirk didn’t waver. “Maybe he finally met someone he can’t figure out. Guys like Sukuna hate not being in control. You’re probably driving him insane.”

“Good,” you shot back quickly, but the unease in your chest didn’t go away. Sukuna wasn’t just annoying—he was persistent, calculating, and way too good at getting what he wanted. And right now, you were in his sights.

And that was a problem.

"Shoko, please, I don't wanna go," you begged, standing at the doorway of your room as she rummaged through your closet. The hangers clinked together as she shifted through your clothes, her focus unwavering.

"I swear, if you don't go to this party, I'll never let you live it down." Shoko's voice was light, teasing, but there was a persistence behind it that you knew well.

She wasn't going to give up until you were dressed and ready to walk out that door.

You flopped down onto your bed, burying your face in your hands. "I already went to one party yesterday, and nothing happened. What's the point of going again?"

Shoko pulled out a short black dress and held it up, eyeing it with approval. "Except this time, you've got Sukuna inviting you."

You threw your arms up in frustration. "Yeah, so what? It's not like he actually cares. He's probably just doing this to mess with me. I'm not his type, and I'm definitely not falling for whatever act he's putting on."

Shoko leaned against the wall, unbothered by your complaints. "I'm not saying you have to fall for him, but you're not going to get anywhere by avoiding him. He's clearly paying attention to you, and you're not going to know what he's really about unless you go and talk to him."

You sat up on your bed, staring at her in disbelief.

"Why does it matter? I don't want to deal with him. I don't want to go to another party just to have him act like he's the center of the universe."

Shoko grinned like she knew exactly how to push your buttons. "Because, whether you like it or not, you've got his attention. You're not going to find out anything if you keep running from him. Plus, if you don't go, he's just going to think you're scared."

You slumped back onto your bed, exhaling deeply. "I just don't want to make a fool of myself."

Shoko walked over and sat next to you, nudging your shoulder. "Look, I know he's a pain. But you're strong enough to handle him. If you don't go, you'll just be left wondering what could have happened, and that'll drive you crazy. You don't want to keep playing the ‘what if' game forever."

You stared at her, your frustration building. "So, you think if I go, he's just going to magically be less of a jerk? What if he's just messing with me like he does with everyone else?"

Shoko chuckled softly, standing up and holding up a dress. "I'm not saying he'll be perfect, but you'll never know unless you show up. And if he really is that bad, then you'll have the satisfaction of knowing you weren't the one falling for it."

You sighed, the thought of facing Sukuna again making your stomach turn. But part of you couldn't help wondering what his deal really was. "I just don't want to deal with him."

Shoko raised an eyebrow. "Then don't deal with him.

“Go, enjoy yourself, and don't let him have the power to bother you. He invited you for a reason, and if you don't show up, he'll just just bother you even more."

You hesitated, chewing on your lip. You didn't want to go, but the idea of leaving things unresolved with Sukuna was nagging at you. "Fine," you muttered, finally giving in. "But don't say I didn't warn you when I end up miserable the whole time."

Shoko grinned, practically bouncing with excitement.

"I knew you'd come around! Now, get ready. We're going to show him how hot you are!"

You stared at the dress in your hands, running your fingers over the sparkly fabric. It was shorter than anything you'd ever worn before, the tightness of the material hugging your curves in a way you weren't used to.

With a deep sigh, you headed to your bathroom to change. The tight fabric clung to your skin as you slipped it on, the black dress glimmering with every movement. You didn't feel like yourself in it, but there was no turning back now. The dress barely reached mid-thigh, the hemline sitting just above your knees.

It showcased your hip dips, and the sparkle caught the light, making you feel exposed.

You stared at your reflection, arms crossing over your chest as you tried to will the discomfort away. The dress was beautiful, but it felt like it was wearing you instead of the other way around. You pulled at the fabric slightly, wishing it were a little looser, but it was perfectly fitted-almost like it was designed to demand attention.

You turned back to the door, hearing Shoko's voice coming from the other side. "You almost done?

“Come on, hurry up!"

You sighed and opened the door, stepping out into your bedroom. Shoko immediately turned to face you, a pleased grin crossing her face as she took in your appearance. "See? you look fucking hot.”

You glared at her. "I hate how tight this thing is," you muttered, tugging at the edges. You still couldn't get over how exposed you felt.

Shoko tilted her head, her eyes scanning you up and down. "You look sexy. And don't even try to pretend like you don't know it. The dress is doing all the work for you."

You shot her a side-eye, clearly not convinced. “It's too... much."

"It's not "too much,” she said with a playful smirk, grabbing the black heels she'd given you. "It's exactly what you need. Go, have fun, and let Sukuna see that how hot you are. You're owning this look, whether you want to or not."

You hesitated, staring at your reflection one last time.

The dress did make you look... different. More confident. Maybe it was the sparkle that made you feel like you could shine, even if you didn't want to.

You slipped on the heels, feeling your posture shift as you stood taller. You looked at Shoko.

"You better not make me regret this.”

Shoko grinned, “I won't promise. Now, let me put on some makeup.”

The music was already thumping when you and Shoko walked into the house, the bass rattling the floor beneath your heels. The place was packed, people swaying to the beat or crowded into clusters, shouting over the noise. You tugged at the hem of your dress, still feeling self-conscious as you followed closely behind Shoko.

Shoko grabbed your wrist and pulling you off to the side, away from the thick of the crowd. "Listen," she said, her tone softer now. "If you're not feeling it, just let me know, and we'll leave. I'm not going to make you stay if it gets to be too much, okay?"

You hesitated, her seriousness catching you off guard.

"Okay," you muttered, glancing around the room. “But don't disappear on me."

Shoko grinned, patting your arm. "I won't. You've got this."

Before you could say anything else, a familiar voice cut through the noise, making your stomach drop.

"Well, well, you actually showed up."

You turned to see Sukuna. He looked really good, dressed in a fitted black shirt that showed off his toned arms and just enough of his tattoos to make him look effortlessly cool.

You immediately stiffened, your guard going up.

"Unfortunately," you muttered under your breath, but he heard it, the smirk on his face only growing wider.

"Don't sound too excited, sweetheart," he teased, his eyes briefly flicking to Shoko before returning to you.

He let his gaze sweep over you, slowly, his tongue running over his lips as he did. "I was starting to think you were avoiding me."

"Maybe I was," you shot back, folding your arms over your chest.

Sukuna chuckled, the sound low and infuriatingly self-assured. He took a step closer, his gaze dipping ever so slightly to take in the curve of your dress before flicking back up to your face. The way he looked at you, slow and deliberate, made your skin heat—though whether it was from irritation or something else, you weren’t sure.

“Can’t blame you,” he said. “But you’re here now, and that’s what matters, right?”

You narrowed your eyes, refusing to let him get under your skin. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not here for you.”

“Sure,” he drawled, leaning against the wall like he had all the time in the world. “You just happened to show up to the party I invited you to, wearing that.”

Your jaw tightened, and you squared your shoulders. “What I wear has nothing to do with you.”

“Doesn’t it?” His voice dropped, the playful edge replaced with something darker, more intense. His eyes roamed over you again, lingering just long enough to make you want to punch him.

“Don’t test me, Sukuna,” you snapped, your voice sharp enough to make Shoko glance between the two of you with raised brows.

He grinned, utterly unbothered by your tone. If anything, he seemed more amused, like he enjoyed riling you up. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m just saying you look good.”

“Did I ask for your opinion?”

“No,” he said easily, his smirk widening. “But you’ve got it anyway.”

Shoko cleared her throat, her expression caught between amusement and concern. “Well, this is fun,” she said lightly. “But I’m going to grab a drink. You good?”

You gave her a tight nod, watching as she disappeared into the crowd. The second she was out of sight, Sukuna closed the gap between you, his presence immediately overwhelming

Sukuna glanced at Shoko walking away, then back to you, his gaze softening just a little, but the cocky smile never wavered. “She didn’t get you a drink?” he asked, an eyebrow raised.

“No,” you replied dryly.

Sukuna stepped closer, his closeness almost making you take a step back, though you tried to stand your ground. “I could get you something. Whatever you want.”

“I’m fine,” you repeated, your voice tight. “And I didn’t ask for anything from you.”

“Sure you didn’t.” He chuckled, and there was something almost teasing in the way his eyes lingered on you. “But that dress? You’re asking for something.”

You tensed, resisting the urge to snap back. “I came here to hang out with my friend, not to be ogled by you.”

He stepped back, feigning mock hurt. “I’m just admiring your taste in fashion. But I’m guessing you didn’t come here to be sober all night either.”

And he was right, you knew how annoyed you’d be with Sukuna, so you figured you’d need something to take the edge off.

You gave him an unamused look. “I’m not your project to fix.”

“Maybe not.” He shrugged. “But I’ll be around if you change your mind.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could, a girl approached from the crowd, her voice dripping with flirtation.

“Sukuna,” she said, her voice laced with sweetness as she placed a hand on his arm. “I missed you last night. You just left without saying goodbye.”

Her gaze shifted toward you, and her smile faltered for just a second, her eyes narrowing slightly as she sized you up. “Is this your girlfriend?”

Sukuna simply shrugged. “Nah,” he said dismissively, like it didn’t matter. “Not my girlfriend.

The girl didn’t seem to care, her smile staying in place as she leaned a little closer to him. “Well, maybe tonight, you’ll stick around longer,” she said, her voice sweet as she twirled a lock of her hair.

But Sukuna didn’t seem all that interested in her attention. With a casual flick of his wrist, he lightly pushed her off his arm, not even looking down at her. “You’re in my way,” he said, completely nonchalant.

The girl blinked in surprise but quickly recovered. She didn’t seem to know how to react, standing there for a moment before scoffing and walking away, muttering under her breath.

You couldn’t help but notice how effortless Sukuna had been in dismissing her. He didn’t even look bothered, and it almost seemed like the girl was just an annoyance to him.

Turning his attention back to you, his smirk was back, as if the whole encounter had been nothing more than a brief interruption. “Jealous?” he asked, his voice low and playful.

You arched an eyebrow, trying not to let your annoyance show. “Not even close,” you replied, crossing your arms.

He leaned in slightly, his eyes narrowing just enough to show that he wasn’t buying it. “That’s a lie, sweetheart. You’re not fooling anyone.”

You stepped back, uncomfortable under his gaze, but refused to let him win this little game. “I’m not interested in whatever game you’re playing,” you said firmly, your voice steady.

Sukuna tilted his head, studying you for a moment. “I’m not playing a game,” he said softly, the words almost too quiet for the music around you to drown out.

The tension between you two was noticeable, thick enough to cut through the noise of the party around you. And for a moment, neither of you spoke, just standing there, locked in this strange, unspoken understanding.

Before you could respond, Shoko suddenly appeared next to you, a drink in her hand. “You okay?” she asked, looking between you and Sukuna.

You let out a breath, forcing yourself to relax. “Yeah, just fine,” you said quickly, turning your attention to your friend.

Sukuna didn’t seem bothered by the interruption. In fact, he just nodded, as if he was used to things playing out this way. “Don’t let her scare you off,” he said casually to Shoko, though his eyes were still on you.

Shoko shot him a playful look before leaning in closer to you. “I’m just here to make sure you’re not falling for his charm,” she whispered, making sure Sukuna could hear. “But you seem to be handling it just fine.”

You smiled at her, grateful for the brief distraction. Sukuna didn’t say a word, but the look in his eyes said everything. He wasn’t done with you yet. With a scoff, he turned and walked away.

“Here,” Shoko said, handing you the drink. “You probably needed this.”

“Thanks,” you muttered, still feeling a little intimidated from Sukuna’s attention.

Shoko noticed this. “What happened? Was he being a little too much?”

You sighed and leaned against the counter. “You could say that.”

“Is it really that bad?” she asked, leaning in to talk more quietly. “I don’t know. I think you’ve got him curious.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m interested,” you shot back quickly.

Shoko shrugged, not at all fazed by your response. “I know, I know. But still… he’s kind of hard to resist, right?” She gave you a sly smile. “Anyway, I wanted to tell you about Geto. He’s been texting me all day. I’m honestly not sure what I’m doing with him anymore, though.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I thought you two were just having fun?”

“Well, we are, but… you know how it is.” Shoko waved her hand in the air dismissively. “Sometimes he acts all detached, and then he’ll show up out of nowhere like everything’s normal. He’s confusing, honestly.”

You didn’t know how to respond. Shoko had always played it cool, but it was clear she was a little unsure of where things stood with Geto. You didn’t press the issue, though, since you knew she’d tell you when she was ready.

Before you could respond, Gojo’s voice cut through the noise of the party, casual and upbeat as usual.

“Well, look who it is. The mysterious Shoko!”

You turned just in time to see Gojo walking over, his sunglasses perched on top of his head and that ever-present grin plastered on his face. He had the kind of confidence that was almost irritating, but you couldn’t help but smile at him.

“Hey, Gojo,” Shoko said, barely looking up from her drink. “You know I don’t like being called mysterious.”

Gojo chuckled, leaning in a little too close as he looked at you. “Oh, and who’s this?” His eyes twinkled mischievously. “Shoko, you’ve been holding out on me?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Not at all,” you said, keeping your tone light but firm. “I just don’t usually run in the same circles.”

Gojo let out a loud laugh. “Fair enough. But, if you ever decide to upgrade your circle, you know who to talk to.” He flashed a wink, then finally noticed your drink. “I’ll get you something better,” he said, turning toward the bar.

“Don’t bother,” you replied dryly. “I’m fine.”

Gojo just gave you a nod, understanding, and turned toward the crowd, disappearing into the throng of partygoers.

“Sorry about him,” Shoko muttered.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, shaking your head. “He’s harmless.”

Just then, Geto appeared, his presence a quiet different to Gojo’s loud antics. His gaze immediately found Shoko, and his expression softened, the tension you saw earlier melting away as he moved closer. Without saying a word, he slid an arm around her, pulling her in gently.

“Hi, babe,” Geto said quietly, his voice carrying just the right amount of affection.

“Hey,” Shoko responded, smiling up at him. “You surviving the chaos?”

“Barely,” Geto replied with a chuckle. “But it’s worth it now that you’re here.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the two of them. Even though you’d only just found out about their ‘relationship’, it was nice to see them together

“it’s good to see you,” Geto said, finally turning to face you fully. His smile was polite, but it didn’t reach his eyes the way it did when he looked at Shoko. “Shoko’s mentioned you a few times.”

You nodded, unsure how to respond. “She probably talks a lot about you, too,” you said, knowing it was a lie. Shoko had only mentioned him once.

Geto chuckled, though his expression was unreadable. “I’m sure she does. She’s not the type to hold back.”

Gojo cut in, grabbing a drink off a nearby table and offering it to you with a bright smile.

“Come on, take it,” he insisted. “I’m trying to make sure you’re having a good time.”

You glanced at Shoko, who gave you an almost unnoticeable nod, as if giving you permission to go along with it. After a brief moment of hesitation, you took the drink from Gojo.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice steady despite the slight tension in the air. Gojo grinned, completely unfazed by the moment.

“Anytime,” he said, his eyes glinting with playful mischief. “Just don’t let Shoko keep you all to herself, alright?”

You nodded at his words, glancing away as your eyes searched for Sukuna. It was strange that he wasn’t with his friends. As you scanned the room, you finally spotted him in the corner with a girl. Before you could make out what was happening, Geto let out a small cough, drawing your attention back. His voice was quiet but steady as he spoke again. “So, how have you been? I don’t think we’ve really had a chance to talk much.”

You blinked, surprised by his sudden shift in tone. “I’ve been fine. You know, the usual stuff. School and all that.”

Geto nodded thoughtfully. “Sounds like you’ve got things under control.” His gaze lingered on you for a moment, as if he was taking in more than just your words.

“Yeah,” you replied, unsure if there was more he wanted to say. It felt strange, like you were both trying to navigate the boundaries of something unspoken.

Gojo, sensing the shift, decided to add his usual touch of chaos to break the tension. “Alright, enough serious talk. We’re here to have fun, not talk about boring stuff. Right?”

Gojo leaned back casually against the wall, sipping his drink and letting his gaze wander around the party. “So,” he started, his grin mischievous as ever. “What’s it like living with Shoko? I imagine she has some… red flags.”

Shoko smacked his arm, rolling her eyes. “Don’t even start, Gojo. I’m a delight.”

You smirked. “She’s not lying. Living with Shoko’s pretty chill. Except for when she leaves coffee mugs everywhere.”

“Not everywhere,” Shoko interrupted. “Just… places.”

“You left one in the bathroom last week,” you deadpanned, and Gojo let out a loud laugh.

“Classic Shoko,” he said, shaking his head. “I bet Geto didn’t know you were a coffee hoarder.”

Shoko shot him a sharp look, her cheeks coloring slightly. “He’s not here to hear about my habits.”

Geto chuckled softly, watching the two of you with an amused expression. “It’s fine. I’ve seen worse.”

“Oh, so you’re saying you’ve already seen her coffee-stash phase?” Gojo teased, raising an eyebrow. “Interesting. Very interesting.”

Shoko groaned. “Ignore him. He gets worse the longer he’s at these things.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love it,” Gojo countered, his grin widening. His attention turned to you again, and he pointed at your drink. “You’re keeping up, right? No slacking.”

You raised the cup slightly in mock acknowledgment. “I’m pacing myself. Someone has to stay sober.”

“Smart,” Geto commented, his tone measured. He looked over at Shoko, then back to you, as if debating whether to say something. Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter now. “So, how’d Shoko convince you to come out tonight?”

“She gave me a pep talk,” you replied, casting a faint smile at Shoko. “I guess I just needed a break.”

“She’s good at that,” Geto said, his voice carrying a warmth that made Shoko glance at him, her lips curving into a small smile. “Pulling people out of their routines.”

You nodded, sipping your drink. “She’s definitely good at that.”

The moment felt oddly intimate, even with Gojo’s constant interruptions and the background noise of the party. You could feel Geto’s gaze linger just a little longer than expected, and Shoko seemed acutely aware of it, though she said nothing.

Gojo, never one to let things settle too long, broke the moment with a loud laugh. “Well, I’d say tonight’s shaping up to be interesting. Who knows? Maybe you’ll end up actually having fun.”

“Don’t jinx it,” you muttered, earning another laugh from him.

“Alright, alright,” Gojo said, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “I’ll behave, for now.”

Geto shook his head, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “That’s the best we can hope for.”

Shoko nudged your arm lightly. “Come on. Let’s find a spot to sit before Gojo gets us dragged into something.”

You nodded, grateful for the escape, but as the two of you started to move away, you couldn’t shake the feeling of Geto’s gaze following you.

You glanced back briefly, only to catch Geto and Gojo talking in hushed tones, their expressions unreadable. Whatever they were saying, it wasn’t meant for you to hear.

Shoko was nowhere to be found again, and you were left alone in the kitchen, trying to collect your thoughts as the weight of the party surrounded you. You hadn't planned to drink much, but somehow you found your cup refilled a few times, the alcohol making your thoughts blurrier and your resolve a little weaker.

That's when you felt it again, his presence. Sukuna.

He was never far, it seemed.

You could feel the pull of his eyes from across the room, and before you knew it, he was standing beside you, leaning casually against the counter.

"You're still here?" he asked, his voice low, almost teasing. He gave you a look that told you he knew exactly what was happening.

You rolled your eyes, trying to maintain your composure. "Would you leave me alone already?"

“So,” Sukuna ignored your words, his voice taking on a slightly softer tone. “What did you think of the flowers?”

You raised an eyebrow, a hint of confusion in your voice. “I thought I already told you.”

Sukana replied, his tone casual yet with an underlying intensity. “Yeah, but you didn’t seem genuine over text. Just wanted to make sure you actually liked them.” You didn’t respond, still confused about what he was asking.

“The flowers,” he repeated, crossing his arms. “The ones I sent you. Did you like them?”

For a moment, you couldn’t tell if he was being genuine or setting up another one of his smug remarks. “They were… nice,” you said cautiously.

“Nice?” he echoed. “I think that’s the most lame reaction I’ve ever gotten.”

“I didn’t ask for them,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “So forgive me if I don’t fall at your feet in gratitude.”

Sukuna tilted his head, watching you with a glint in his eye that made you feel both irritated and slightly uneasy. “You’re hard to impress, aren’t you?”

“That's because I’m not interested,” you replied firmly.

“Right,” he drawled, his tone skeptical but not unkind. “So that’s why you kept them.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his observation. “How do you know I kept them?”

He grinned, and he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make the moment feel more intimate. “Because if you didn’t, you would’ve told me by now. You’re not shy about speaking your mind, sweetheart.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, and you hated the way he always seemed to find a way under your skin. “Maybe I did throw them away,” you muttered, looking away.

Sukuna's lips twitched into a smile, clearly amused by you. "What a shame," he said, leaning closer, his body just inches from yours. "Because I could've sworn you were warming up to me."

You shook your head, trying to clear the fog from your mind, but it wasn't working. The alcohol had already taken its toll, and you could feel the way your body reacted to his nearness, even though you were determined to stay in control.

"I'm not warming up to anything," you muttered. The alcohol was making your thoughts slow, and the way Sukuna was looking at you made everything feel like it was happening in slow motion.

He smirked, leaning in a little further until his breath was warm against your ear. "You sure about that?" His voice was a husky whisper, sending a shiver down your spine. "Because I can't help but notice the way you keep glancing at me. You want to be close, don't you?"

Your eyes met his in a gaze that held all the unspoken tension between you. "You think you know everything, don't you?" Your voice came out quieter than you intended, and you weren't sure if you wanted him to pull away or pull you closer.

Sukuna didn't answer you. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your arm as he stepped in even closer. His lips barely brushed the skin of your neck, and the sensation made your head spin.

"Don't fight it," he murmured, his hand now resting at the small of your back, pulling you gently toward him. "I can tell you want this just as much as I do."

Your head was spinning a little, but you couldn't deny the truth in his words. The attraction was undeniable, and no matter how much you tried to ignore it, it was there, tugging you toward him.

With a slight sway, you felt your body move closer to his, the alcohol making you bold, making everything feel a little more... daring. Before you knew it, your arm slid around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, your face just inches from his. You could feel the heat of his skin, the tension in the air thickening with every breath.

He gave you a half-smirk, one eyebrow raised, the challenge in his eyes clear. "Kiss me," he murmured, his voice velvet against your ear, the words hanging between you like a promise. "I know you want to."

For a moment, you almost gave in. The alcohol, the tension, the undeniable pull between you, it all felt too strong. You could feel his lips just a breath away, your eyes fluttering closed. But then, you stopped yourself. You couldn't do this. Not with him.

You pulled back quickly, pushing against his chest to create some distance. Your breathing was heavy, and your thoughts were clouded.

But before either of you could say anything, the door to the kitchen swung open with a sharp creak.

"Really?" Shoko's voice cut through the moment. You both snapped back in an instant, startled, as she leaned casually in the doorway with her arms crossed. Her eyes scanned between you and Sukuna, amusement dancing in her expression. "I leave you alone for five minutes, and this is what happens?"

You froze, heart pounding in your chest, as Sukuna remained unfazed, a smirk curling at the edges of his lips.

Shoko raised an eyebrow, clearly unbothered. "Guess we're skipping the 'will-they-won't-they' phase tonight, huh?" She chuckled and shook her head. "Let's go. I'm getting you out of here before you do something you'll regret."

You wanted to protest, to stay, but the tension in the air was thick, and you could feel your head spinning from the alcohol. As you turned to follow Shoko, you heard Sukuna's voice, low and teasing. "See you later, sweetheart."

You wanted to punch yourself. You hated Sukuna, so why the hell had you almost kissed him? You knew it was the alcohol talking over you, but still… why did it feel so damn good?

He leaned against the counter, watching you disappear into the crowd, your figure disappearing behind a few people. Sukuna's smirk deepened. Day two and he already had you exactly where he wanted.

another note: it felt a little weird making them almost kiss in only the third chapter but i remembered sukuna would probably try to make a move on her like kissing or sleeping with her because he thinks that’s how she’ll fall for him it just makes sense for his character! also was listening to ‘that’s so true’ by gracie abrams and that song is so sukuna and reader

taglist: @clp-84 @ssetsuka @lymsfm @monic19 @bol0-de-morang0 @strxberryicecream @r0ckst4rjk @gojocumslut @elliebelliegi @kazuuhali @luna-v-roiya @sussiesushi @nakiich @mourart7 @neuvilletteswife4ever @rusted-dolly @blueyesuguru @lillycore @yourhornysister @bnbaochauuu @ferretsqueen @anonnieghost @boogiemansbitch @sukubusss @sterzin @miazzzma @silkija @blueemochii @number0netrash @aldebrana @emoedgylord @cherixheri @jxeon @paradisestarfishh @bananaminn @reisore @monkeycheeks-lvl26

[idliketobeatree]

So I originally wasn't planning on responding to that, but because I feel like several boundaries have been crossed here, and I don't want a repeat performance, I have to say something.

Please don't do that.

Tumblr is a social platform even if you treat your blog like a personal diary, people can and will see what you're posting, especially if it's done under an art post. I can see people's reblogs. I also read the tags because I love to talk in the tags myself. And this addition felt like a punch to the face, because it not only has nothing to do with "some payneland art" (that I put hours of my free time into creating out of love for the show), it's also harmful and inappropriate in a way that I wouldn't wish to be associated with.

Once again, Tumblr is not your private chat or a discord group. It's a public space. A local and small one, but with the potential to reach further than that. And if you have anything bad to say about the art, any kind of art from this fandom or otherwise, or any of the characters that the poster has clearly grown to love — do not treat them this way. At least, Christ, not so I can see it, keep it in your private messages. I personally don't find it cute or quirky to hear anyone, fictional or in real life, being called "a bisexual fuckface", being threatened with an iron cane and the f-slur. Would you say that to my face?

And by the way, that's not what reclaiming means, using a slur offensively towards others is not eradicated by putting up a disclaimer.

What I ask all for is to please remember the basics of internet etiquette. That when you put a post of someone else's on your blog, it's still their original post. They don't control what you do with it, but you have the means to be encouraging and kind if you see something you like. You can also treat it like a plaything, but then just know that there's a high chance the author will see it. If it's a stranger, don't say anything you wouldn't say to a regular stranger. Simple as that. Thank you.

merry crystal (jingle bells, if you will) to my fave kiss i drew this year in particular ‧₊°🎄✩₊°🦌⊹♡

+ a special shotout to brilliant @dear-monday who said "just thought about edwin hooking one finger into the ribbon and pulling him in for a kiss" and i went wait, i do have something just like that

[kiwriteswords]

Maybe some already together hotch and reader parenting Jack?

Heartstrings Attached [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: 3k|| AN: this was fun and really nothing like I have written before! I was re-watching The Nanny pilot where Maggie has her first kiss and Mr. Sheffield's reaction made me wonder how Hotch would react to Jack dating!

Tags/Warnings: established relationship, family vibes, mentions of Haley's death, Teenage Jack Hotchner, Jack's first kiss, Jack's first crush, Jack's first heartbreak, Sad Hotch Hours, Missing Haley Hotchner Hours, hurt/comfort, Jack preferring Reader over Hotch, angsty Jack, No mention of if Reader is BAU or not, future fic, fluffy fluff fluff

Summary: Navigating parenthood is hard enough, but add in teenage love and angst, and Hotch was in for it--grateful to have you at his side, he struggles when Jack prefers your comfort to his own.

In the Hotchner household, evenings typically unfolded with a quiet kind of routine, the kind that comes with the stability of an established relationship and shared space. But tonight, as Aaron Hotchner watched Jack, now a teenager taller than himself, pacing back and forth in your living room, he sensed a disruption to your usual peace.

Jack had always been an anxious kid--much of that hung on Aaron’s shoulders, from all that his job took from and brought into Jack’s life. 

"You seem... preoccupied," Aaron remarked, his voice calm as he set aside the case file he'd been reading. Jack stopped pacing and glanced at his father, then at you, who were curled up on the other end of the couch with a book in hand.

"It's nothing," Jack muttered, clearly wrestling with whether to share more. You looked over at Aaron, giving him a subtle nod, an unspoken signal between the two of you that said, 'Give him a minute.'

After a brief pause, Jack sighed and turned towards you, his expression torn between embarrassment and the trust he'd come to place in you over the years. "Actually, I... there's this girl at school."

You set your book down, your full attention on Jack. "Oh? What about her?" you asked gently.

Jack blushed, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he mumbled, "I kinda like her. A lot. And I think she might like me too, but I don’t know what to do about it."

Aaron observed the exchange, feeling a twinge of something unfamiliar. Jealousy? No, it was more akin to inadequacy. Here was his son, coming to you with matters he was too embarrassed to discuss with his own father. But watching the ease with which Jack confided in you softened any hard feelings; if anything, it filled him with gratitude.

"What do you like about her?" you inquired, your voice laced with interest and devoid of any judgment.

"She's funny, and she likes a lot of the stuff I do. And she’s really smart," Jack explained, his eyes lighting up as he spoke.

"That sounds wonderful, Jack," you responded, smiling encouragingly. "Have you guys talked much?"

"Yeah, at lunch and stuff. I just... don't know if I should tell her how I feel, or even how to do that," Jack confessed, looking towards his father now.

Aaron cleared his throat, feeling suddenly on the spot. "Well, Jack, the truth is, being honest about your feelings is usually the best approach. It’s not easy, but it’s straightforward. Just... be yourself," Aaron advised, trying to recall how he’d navigated his own youthful crushes, which felt like a lifetime ago.

"You think I should just tell her?" Jack asked, his tone a mix of hope and nerves.

"I do," Aaron said, nodding. "But maybe you could start by asking her to hang out, just the two of you. See how it goes from there."

Jack considered this for a moment, then turned to you. "What do you think?"

"I agree with your dad," you said, your gaze soft yet earnest. "And whatever happens, we're here for you. It's okay to be nervous, and it's okay if things don't go exactly how you plan. What's important is that you're honest and respectful."

Jack nodded, taking in the advice from both of you. "Thanks," he said, a genuine smile breaking through his earlier anxious demeanor. "I think I’ll ask her to the movies this weekend."

"That sounds like a great idea," you encouraged, and Aaron couldn’t help but smile at the warm, supportive dynamic that had blossomed between you and Jack. It wasn’t the traditional picture of a family, perhaps, but it was yours, and it was filled with love and understanding.

Later that evening, as Jack headed upstairs, Aaron lingered behind with you, his expression thoughtful. "Thank you," he murmured, reaching for your hand. "For being here, for being you. For making things like this easier for him... and for me."

You squeezed his hand, leaning into him slightly. "We’re a team, Aaron. And I love being a part of this family."

He nodded, the weight of his earlier feelings of inadequacy lifting in the comfort of your presence. In this household, amidst the quiet routines and the occasional teenage turmoil, Aaron found not just solace but a deep, enduring partnership. And as he looked at you, he knew with certainty that together, there was nothing you couldn't handle.

Aaron Hotchner watched his son, Jack, meticulously adjust his collar for the third time in the mirror. The teenager's movements were stiff, each motion betraying a level of tension that Aaron knew all too well—it was a mirror to his own.

"You look great, Jack. She's going to think so, too," Aaron commented, attempting a reassuring tone as he leaned against the doorway of Jack’s room.

Jack met his father's gaze in the mirror, his eyes flashing briefly with a familiar intensity. "What if I don’t even know what to say? What if—"

"Jack," Aaron interjected, a bit more sharply than intended, "you've prepared enough. Overthinking it won't help."

The words were meant to steady, but they landed like a challenge. Jack turned abruptly, his expression hardening. "You don’t understand. It’s easy for you to say—"

Aaron felt a prickle of irritation. "Jack, I’m trying to help you. There’s no reason to—"

"Yeah, by telling me I’m overthinking? Thanks a lot," Jack snapped, his tone biting, and stormed past Aaron towards the stairs.

You appeared at the bottom of the staircase, having caught the tail end of the exchange. Your expression was one of concern mixed with calm. "Everything okay?" you asked, looking from Jack’s retreating back to Aaron’s tight expression.

Aaron sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "He’s just nervous," he muttered, following you and Jack to the car.

The ride to the movie theater was tense, the air thick with unspoken apologies and frustrations. Aaron drove, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly, while you sat beside him, offering a gentle presence. In the backseat, Jack was silent, lost in his own whirlwind of teenage angst.

When you arrived at the theater, Jack unbuckled his seatbelt and paused, his hand on the door. He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment before turning slightly. "Sorry for snapping, Dad. I’m just... really nervous."

Aaron nodded, a mixture of relief and concern in his eyes. "It’s okay, Jack. Just be yourself, she’ll see how great you are."

Jack managed a small, grateful smile before stepping out of the car and into the evening crowd. As he walked away, Aaron watched him go, a pang of helplessness touching his heart. It wasn’t just about tonight; it was the creeping realization of how much he would have to learn to navigate as Jack grew up.

You reached over, touching Aaron’s arm. "He’s going to be fine," you murmured. "And so are you."

Aaron let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. "It never gets easier, does it? Letting them face things on their own."

You shook your head, your smile gentle. "No, but we do get better at trusting them to handle it. And Jack knows he has us to come back to, no matter how it goes."

Aaron glanced at you, the steady assurance in your voice grounding him. "I don’t know what I’d do without you," he admitted, the weight of his role as a single parent momentarily overwhelming.

"You’d do just fine," you assured him, squeezing his arm. "But you don’t have to. We’re in this together, remember?"

He smiled then, a genuine smile that reached his eyes. "Together," he echoed, feeling the truth of that word deep in his bones.

As you and Aaron drove back home, the earlier tension melted away, replaced by a comfortable silence that spoke of shared burdens and joint victories. In that moment, Aaron knew that whatever challenges lay ahead with Jack, or with anything else, they were surmountable—as long as you were there beside him.

When Aaron and you arrived at the theater to pick up Jack, the sight of him waiting by the curb instantly signaled a change. There was a lightness in his step, a barely contained energy that was unusual for the typically composed teenager.

Jack slid into the backseat, a faint, almost secretive smile playing at the corners of his lips. He said nothing as Aaron pulled away from the curb, glancing occasionally in the rearview mirror at his son. Jack’s eyes were bright, his usual tension nowhere to be seen, replaced by an excited glimmer that Aaron had rarely witnessed.

The car was quiet, the silence stretching as Aaron and you exchanged knowing looks. Both of you could sense the bubbling enthusiasm Jack was struggling to contain, yet neither of you wanted to press him, giving him the space to share in his own time.

Finally, unable to bear the suspense any longer and always more attuned to breaking the ice, you turned slightly in your seat to face Jack. “So? How was the movie?” you asked, your voice casual but tinged with an undercurrent of excitement for him.

Jack’s response was immediate, his words tumbling out in a rush. “It was awesome! We...” He paused, a flush spreading across his cheeks, and then he burst out with it. “We kissed! It was my first kiss.”

Aaron’s eyes met Jack’s in the rearview mirror, a smile breaking across his face at his son's joyous exclamation. The car filled with a warm, buoyant energy, the kind that comes from witnessing a milestone in someone you love dearly.

“That’s great, Jack!” you exclaimed, your delight evident. “How do you feel?”

Jack laughed, a sound of pure happiness. “I like her so much. She’s amazing. And the kiss was... it was perfect, I think. I mean, I don’t really have anything to compare it to, but...” His voice trailed off, and he shrugged, almost sheepishly.

Aaron listened, his heart swelling with a mix of pride and a poignant touch of sadness at the reminders of his own first experiences with love. “It sounds like you had a really good time,” he said, his tone supportive. “I’m happy for you, Jack.”

“Thanks, Dad. And thank you,” Jack added, looking at you. “For the advice and... just for being there.”

You nodded, your expression soft. “Anytime, Jack. We’re both so happy it went well.”

The rest of the drive home was filled with Jack sharing more details about the evening—the movie they’d barely watched, the nervous moments leading up to the kiss, and his plans to see her again. Aaron drove, listening and occasionally glancing back at Jack, who seemed to grow with each word he spoke.

When you all arrived home, Jack bounded out of the car with a quick, “Thanks for the ride!” before heading inside, no doubt eager to relive the evening in his mind.

Aaron turned to you, his eyes reflecting a complex mix of emotions. “He’s growing up fast,” he murmured, the reality hitting him anew.

You reached over, taking his hand. “He is. But he’s growing up well, Aaron. That’s all we can ask for.”

Aaron squeezed your hand in response, the solidity of your presence grounding him. “Yes, that’s all we can ask for,” he agreed, the pride evident in his voice. As you headed into the house together, Aaron felt a profound gratitude for the family you had become, imperfections and all, bound together by moments of simple, shared joy like tonight.

Over dinner, Jack's enthusiasm was infectious. As he detailed his plans to woo his new crush with flowers and romantic gestures straight out of the movies, Aaron couldn't help but share amused, knowing glances with you across the table. Every so often, Jack would catch them mid-glance and roll his eyes, a grin unable to hide his embarrassment.

"You think I'm being too cheesy, don't you?" Jack asked a playful accusation in his tone.

"Not at all," you replied, smiling warmly at him. "It's sweet. It's nice to see someone still believes in doing romantic things. Flowers are always a good idea."

Aaron nodded in agreement, watching as Jack considered your advice. "Just make sure you pick ones she likes," he added. "It shows you pay attention."

Jack nodded enthusiastically, absorbing every piece of advice like a sponge. "I’ll find out what her favorites are," he resolved.

The conversation lingered on lighter topics as you finished eating, but the warmth of family and shared understanding lingered in the air.

Later that night, as Aaron and you were getting ready for bed, the atmosphere shifted to a quieter, more reflective mood. You turned to Aaron as he was folding his clothes, a soft smile playing on your lips. "You know, Jack is a lot like you," you mused. "Even as a teenager, he’s got your sweetness. And he gets this giddy excitement about someone he cares about—just like you."

Aaron met your gaze in the mirror, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Was I that obvious?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Completely," you teased gently, stepping closer. "I still remember our early days. Despite your stoic exterior, you had this way of showing your excitement that was... really endearing."

He turned to face you fully, his expression softening. "I guess some things don’t change," he admitted, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "I still feel that way, you know. Every day with you."

Your eyes lit up at his words, and you leaned into his touch. "And I love that about you, Aaron. It’s the little things you do, the way you show you care. It’s never lost on me."

The conversation lingered in the air, settling warmly around them like a blanket. It reminded Aaron of how much he still wanted to make you feel special, how even the simplest gestures could speak volumes.

"Jack gave me a good reminder; I think I’ll buy you flowers tomorrow," Aaron declared softly, more to himself than to you.

You chuckled softly, your eyes twinkling with affection. "I’d like that," you said. 

As you finished getting ready for bed, the connection between them felt as fresh and exciting as it did in the early days of your relationship, a testament to the enduring nature of deep, genuine love.

It wasn’t long until the atmosphere of the Hotchner household shifted dramatically one afternoon when Jack burst through the front door, his usual calm demeanor replaced by a storm of teenage angst. He rushed past Aaron and you, not stopping to greet or even acknowledge either of you, his footsteps thundering up the stairs. Moments later, his bedroom door slammed shut with a force that echoed down the hallway.

You and Aaron exchanged a look of concern, both sensing the gravity of whatever had upset Jack so deeply. Aaron's jaw set in a familiar, determined line as he made his way to Jack's room, knocking softly despite the previous display of anger.

"Jack, can we talk?" Aaron called through the door, his voice calm but firm.

There was a tense pause, then a muffled, "Go away," from inside.

Aaron opened the door anyway, stepping into Jack’s room to find him sitting on the edge of his bed, his face buried in his hands. "Jack, whatever it is, I’m here to help," Aaron offered, trying to bridge the gap with understanding.

Jack looked up, his eyes red and his expression one of raw, unguarded pain. "You wouldn’t understand," he snapped, his words laced with frustration. "You met Mom in school and then found Y/N so easily after Mom passed. You’ve never had your heart broken like this."

The comment stung, bringing with it a flood of memories—of Haley, of loss, of the deepest kind of heartbreak Aaron had ever known. But he had to laugh internally at the irony; Jack had no idea what real heartbreak was, yet his feelings were valid in their own teenage context.

"Jack, I may not understand exactly what you're feeling right now, but I’ve experienced loss, more than just once. I can try to help," Aaron said, his voice even despite the emotional undercurrent.

Aaron looked around his son’s room--oh, how it had changed so much over the last few years. The legos and drawings now replaced with soccer trophies and posters.

"It’s not the same!" Jack retorted, his anger flaring again. "You don’t get it. She said she just wants to be friends, after everything... after the kiss. I thought... I don’t know what I thought."

Aaron sat down beside him, trying to close the distance. "It’s tough, feeling like you’ve been pushed aside," he offered. "But it doesn’t diminish what you felt, or what you meant to each other."

Jack shook his head, the rejection too fresh, too raw. "Just leave, Dad. Please," he murmured, not meeting Aaron's eyes.

Respecting his son’s request, Aaron stood and left the room, the door closing softly behind him this time. He returned downstairs, where you were waiting, having sensed that the conversation might not have gone smoothly.

Aaron relayed the interaction to you, his features tight with concern and helplessness. "He’s really hurting," Aaron confessed, the weight of his role as a father feeling particularly heavy.

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him. "You did what you could. He just needs some time," you reassured him, your voice soothing. "Heartbreak is a part of growing up, as hard as it is to watch. He'll learn from this, with us to support him."

Aaron nodded, leaning into your embrace, grateful for your presence and perspective. "It’s just hard, seeing him go through it," he admitted. "Makes me wish I could shield him from all the pain."

"But then he wouldn’t really grow, would he?" you pointed out gently. "All we can do is be here when he’s ready to talk, ready to heal."

"Right," Aaron agreed, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "Thank you," he added, the gratitude in his voice reflecting more than just thanks for this moment—it was for every moment you stood by him, helping him navigate the complexities of fatherhood and life itself. Together, you would be ready for when Jack decided to open up, ready to guide him through the pain toward healing.

Later that evening, as Aaron sat in the living room thumbing through an old case file, he couldn't shake the image of Jack’s hurt expression. He was roused from his thoughts by the sound of footsteps descending the stairs. Looking up, he saw Jack hesitating at the foot of the staircase, his eyes darting between Aaron and the hallway where you were.

"Dad, can I talk to Y/N?" Jack asked quietly, his voice revealing his vulnerability.

Aaron felt a pang in his chest, torn between relief that Jack was seeking comfort and a sting of jealousy that it wasn’t from him. He thought of Haley, of how things might have been different if she were here, but then he looked at you, emerging from the hallway behind Jack, and his heart filled with gratitude. You had become an integral part of their lives, filling spaces he hadn't known were empty.

"Of course, Jack," Aaron replied, managing a supportive smile as he watched you approach, your presence reassuring and steady.

You gave Aaron a gentle look that seemed to understand his mixed emotions before turning your attention to Jack. "Let’s talk, okay?" you said softly, guiding Jack back to his room for privacy.

Left alone with his thoughts, Aaron reflected on his journey—the loss of Haley, the challenges of single parenthood, and the unexpected blessing of finding love again with you. It was a complex tapestry of grief and new beginnings.

When you and Jack reappeared a while later, there was a noticeable shift in Jack’s demeanor. He seemed calmer, more composed, and he walked straight up to Aaron.

"I’m sorry for pushing you away earlier, Dad. I didn’t mean to," Jack apologized, his eyes earnest.

Aaron stood, setting aside the file, and pulled Jack into a hug. "It’s okay, Jack. I understand. It’s not easy, and I’m here whenever you need to talk, okay?"

Jack nodded, returning the embrace. "Thanks, Dad."

As they settled onto the couch, Aaron next to you and Jack opposite, the atmosphere was lighter. Aaron felt the need to address the earlier tension and offer some fatherly advice.

"Jack, life... it throws a lot at us. Heartbreak, loss—it’s all part of it. But so is happiness and love," Aaron began, his eyes flicking to you, then back to Jack. "You have plenty of time to find your happy ending. And sometimes, it happens when you least expect it."

He reached over, taking your hand in his, a silent testament to his words.

Jack smiled, a touch of red coloring his cheeks as he understood the implication. "I guess you’re right. I’ve got time."

"And remember, no matter what, you’re never alone," you added, squeezing Aaron’s hand. "We’re both here for you, always."

The rest of the evening passed with a new sense of understanding and closeness among you all. Aaron felt a deep sense of peace as he looked at you and Jack--his family. At this moment, he knew that despite the trials and the losses, you had found a way to build something enduring and real. And for Aaron, you were indeed his happy ending, the unexpected joy that had come from a time of great loss.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry

[ldrfanatic]

and now i'm covered in you

theodore nott x fem!hufflepuff!reader

"You know, you can stay if you want to." + "I think I'm in trouble." + "Damned if I do, damned if I don't."

synopsis - theo finds himself crushing on hogwarts' resident ball of sunshine hufflepuff but tries to force himself to stay away.

don't question the mechanics, go with it. do we want more down bad theo?

warnings - cursing, over-used amortentia love confession trope, theo is treacherously in love

slytherin boys works

"hnnnnggghhh."

mattheo looked up from doodling in the margins of the potions assignment he'd begrudgingly been blackmailed into working on by theo. said boy had his chin perked up onto his hand and was staring across the library at y/n, hogwarts' resident happy huffle.

in all honesty, theo didn't really give two shits if mattheo did his homework or not. he just needed someone to come with him to spy on you during your weekly wednesday study session. and while mattheo seemed like the last person who'd ever be in a library (all too true assumption), he was the only slytherin that theo had any blackmail material on.

so the pair of them sat at a table in the far corner, secluded in darkness that made it relatively difficult to pick them out from the leatherbound books of the ancient history section. theo had a clear view of you, but you'd have to strain your eyes to see him, which is what made this the perfect hiding spot.

theo let out another sigh, this one so dramatic that mattheo had begun to worry that his friend's testicles had simply fallen off.

"what the hell, man?"

"look at her."

mattheo's eyebrows immediately drew together in a look that was nothing short of incredulous.

"are you obsessing over that little puff in the corner?"

theo's hand shot up to grab the other boys' hand which was gestured lazily in the direction towards your figure. you were huddled up in a tutoring session with a pair of firsties in catty-corner to them. while theo was most certain you couldn't see him, he still didn't want to chance this buffoon giving him away.

the smile you gave them was so bright that theo found himself wishing that you were even slightly aware of his existence so that maybe, you might smile at him that way. his thoughts began to wander as he thought of all of the ways that he wanted you to smile at him. a large portion of them were decidedly not friend-like.

lost in his thoughts, theo hadn't caught your approach until you stood in front of them in your bright white sneakers. though they were a little beat up from your regular trips to the gardens, theo found them undeniably adorable. maybe because they had cute little yellow flowers embroidered on the sides of the heels. or maybe he just loved them because he loved you.

"hi matty!"

the moment the endearment was out of your mouth, theo's lovesick stare turned into a glare. he had no idea that you were even acquainted with mattheo, let alone that you had a nickname for him.

"hey there, y/n." mattheo, the cocky bastard, had a shit eating grin on his face that told theo that he knew exactly why your sudden arrival had irked him. "have you met theodore yet?"

your face twisted a little and a redness crept up your neck, settling on your cheeks. you muttered a quick no, clearly embarrassed about something.

"hi theodore. i'm y/n." you extended your hand towards him and theo was certain he'd explode if he didn't get the chance to touch your skin. so, with more eagerness than was probably necessary, theo took your small hand in his own.

now would've been the perfect time to do something flirty like compliment you or press a gentle kiss to your fingers. but when theo opened his mouth, something else entirely came out.

"don't call me that."

your face fell and you snatched your hand back to pull nervously along the ends of your hair. shit, shit, shit. that came out completely wrong.

don't call me that?? what kind of asshole said stuff like that to a girl he liked? honestly, you could call him whatever you want so long as you said it in that sweet voice of yours.

"oh. sorry."

"i just mean-- theo. i'm theo... to you..." theo's tongue felt too large for his mouth as he stumbled to get his thoughts to come out of his stupid mouth correctly. "you can call me theo. if you want."

mattheo was trying, and failing, to hide his snicker as he watched his best friend make a complete fool of himself. it wasn't very often that theodore the womanizer became so flustered for a piece of ass. of course, that was the catalyst here. you were clearly far more to theodore than just another piece of ass. that much was abundantly clear to mattheo based just off this interaction alone.

"well, good night, matty... and theo." you said his name hesitantly, almost as if you were worried the boy might spaz out again. with another breathtaking smile, you turned on your back heel and fluttered out of the library.

only after he watched the heavy oak doors close behind you did theo finally allow his head to thud against the desk.

mattheo had given up on hiding his laughter and was inches away from crying actual tears of amusement. he caught his breath momentarily, if only to mock theo's earlier fumble.

"don't call me that?" another fit of giggles stopped him mid-thought. "merlin, theodore, do you like this girl or not?"

theo waved his arms out in front of him in a gesture that was surely meant to be interpreted as "clearly i fucking do". mattheo was inclined to agree with the sentiment. he was most certainly down bad for this little hufflepuff.

"don't worry theo, daphne and i will help you out."

theo really should've known better than to accept help from his crazy best friend, and, if possible, his crazier girlfriend. but after what could only be described as a pathetic first meeting, he would try anything.

"fine."

"oh, c'mon y/n!"

you were uncharacteristically unamused by daphne's antics at the moment. you weren't really sure what she was playing at, but you did know for certain that her plan would land you an awful potions grade.

professor slughorn had been gracious enough to allow you to choose your own partners for today's assignment. the catch was that you weren't sure what you'd be brewing until after you were paired up. this shouldn't have been too much of a problem except, you were abysmal at potions.

daphne had insisted on being your partner, which you didn't understand the benefit of since your friend was equally as awful as you were. "daph, if we partner together, we'll fail."

daphne faced you with a pleading puppy-eyed look that you hadn't known any slytherin capable of producing.

"please. you're my only option to not get stuck with enzo."

as if on cue, the dark haired boy's robes caught on fire as he attempted to light the flame under his cauldron a few stations back. a rather girly yelp left him as he shoved his robe off and onto the floor before stomping on it a few good times to suffocate the fire.

you winced in sympathy towards daphne, still silently scanning the room to see who else might rescue you from a failing grade.

hermione would normally be your first choice, but draco had unfortunately decided not to skip today and snagged his girlfriend before anyone else could. you noticed theo sat next to a grinning mattheo two rows behind you.

you'd only just met the boy yesterday, but you could tell by the disbelieving frown on his face that he was unhappy with his partner. theo was amazing at potions and you were certain he normally paired with blaise, who was the most semi-competent slytherin of the lot when it came to potions. but for some reason, blaise was paired with pansy today. neither of them looked upset by the arrangement, so you tried to put it out of your head and focus on your own situation.

which brought you back to now. the amortentia that you were supposed to be brewing was notably lacking in both luster and pink-ness. it smelled like moldy old socks, which you knew by the mouthwatering aroma in the air that it was not supposed to smell like that.

after nearly 45 minutes of torture, slughorn finally called an end to the brewing and made his rounds about the room. surprisingly, only three potions were made correctly.

hermione's, which you knew would happen after you saw her smacking draco away from the ingredients and cauldron the whole time. pansy and blaise, who despite having succeeded, looked thoroughly worn out from the endeavor. and theo's. it was more shocking than anything that he'd managed to accomplish anything with mattheo as his partner.

"wonderful, class! now, i want everyone to gather around one of the three successful cauldrons around the room. go on." slughorn waited patiently until the class had split itself somewhat evenly into three groups all huddled around each workstation. theo was the closest to you, so you and daphne joined their group.

"now, with your classmates, take turns and tell each other what you smell."

unsurprised when daphne and mattheo smelled each other, you leaned forward hesitantly for your turn. you didn't really know what you'd smell. on your first whiff, two smells in particular hit you hard. "i smell books and wildflowers. and... something else. something... fainter."

slughorn leaned into your small group with a delighted smile. "amazing, miss y/l/n. it's common to smell faint hints of something in amortentia when either the brewer has not acknowlegded a love of something or when a love for that thins is still developing. go on. tell us what it is my dear girl."

"i think it's... fresh cut grass? i can't place where from, though."

"that's alright."

slughorn slinked away without any further explanation. two girls you didn't recognize went next, not at all caught off guard by their smells. then, it was theo's turn and you found yourself more interested in what he smelled than you cared to admit out loud.

"i smell my nonna's fettucine, the grass on the quidditch field, and... some kind of flower."

always quick on the upswing, your face reddened as you realized that the grass you caught wind of earlier was in fact, quidditch field grass. and based off the knowing smirk from mattheo paired with his not so subtle glances between you a theodore, you smelled each other.

the class dispersed shortly afterward, thankfully with no new revelations for your already flimsy love-life.

what you hadn't expected, was for theo to be waiting for you outside the classroom door.

"oh, hi theo. i thought you might've left already."

"i tried. but mattheo threatened to die my hair green, so."

you tried not to be disappointed that he hadn't wanted to stay and talk to you. a long huff from theo had you looking up from the stonework of the floor.

he said something to himself under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "merlin i'm awful at this". before you could ask him to clarify, he'd taken your hand in his and brought it up to his mouth for a soft kiss.

"let me start over. hi, i'm theodore and i've been unashamedly in love with you for the past forever. join me in hogsmeade this weekend?"

[buttercandy16]

Consequences to your Actions

PAIRING(s): Agatha Harkness x Reader, Rio Vidal x Reader

SUMMARY: A woman, betrayed by her wife, embarks on an affair with her boss, Agatha Harkness. Agatha's control leads to a divorce, but when the truth emerges, it’s too late—Agatha will do anything to keep her.

WARNING(s): Infidelity, Manipulation, Obsession, Implied Stalking, Betrayal, Deception, Abuse, Control, Gaslighting, Dub-Con, SMUT, and other Dark themes I forgot to mention.

A/N: The itching need to add Rio even if I'm only writing her as a minor character. Enjoy!

You should’ve known something was wrong the moment Rio started coming home late. At first, she had excuses—work meetings that ran over, urgent deadlines at her law firm, impromptu drinks with colleagues. You didn’t think much of it at first; your own work at Harkness Industries was demanding enough, and you weren’t about to begrudge her the same kind of schedule.

But as the weeks went by, the excuses started to feel hollow. She became distant, absent even when she was physically there. When she kissed you, it was fleeting. When she held you, it felt like her arms were a cage keeping something unspoken inside.

And then there was her phone.

It started buzzing at odd hours—late at night, early in the morning. She was quick to silence it, brushing off your questions with tight-lipped explanations. “It’s just work,” she’d say, or, “You know how chaotic things get this time of year.”

You wanted to believe her. God, you needed to believe her. But the unease festered.

Your life began unraveling on a quiet Tuesday evening. You hadn’t expected it—betrayal rarely came with a warning. As you walked into the apartment, exhausted from work, Rio stood in the kitchen, fiddling with her phone. At first, it seemed innocent, just another moment of routine. But when you greeted her, she flinched, quickly locking the device and shoving it into her pocket.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, your voice soft but tinged with curiosity.

“Nothing.” She gave you a nervous smile, brushing past to put the kettle on. “How was work?”

Her attempt to divert the conversation only made you more suspicious. It wasn’t like her to be evasive. Still, you brushed it off. Maybe you were overthinking things.

But the unease didn’t go away. In fact, it worsened as the days passed.

Late one night, unable to sleep, you saw Rio’s phone buzzing on the nightstand. The name flashing on the screen—"Unknown"—was strange enough. Stranger still was the message preview: “Can’t stop thinking about you. Last night…”

You froze, nausea twisting your stomach. Before you could react, Rio stirred, taking the phone in her hand and quickly silencing it.

“What are you doing?” she mumbled, clearly trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably.

“Who is this?” you demanded.

“It’s not what it looks like,” she stammered, her voice shaky. “That’s—she’s just a friend. It’s not like that.”

“A friend?” You couldn’t stop the bitter laugh that escaped you. “Who texts their friends last night was amazing?”

She tried to defend herself, but the damage was done. You didn’t believe her. How could you? A message like that wasn’t innocent. Not when it left a dull ache pounding in your chest every time her phone buzzed. That pain, the uncertainty, stuck with you. It hung in the back of your mind at work, bled into your daily routines, and stole your ability to focus on anything else. You stopped going to bed with her. Stopped sharing your dreams or your fears because you weren’t sure if she deserved them anymore.

The seeds of doubt had taken root, and no amount of reassurance could pull them out.

At work, you found no reprieve. If anything, your performance began to suffer. Tasks that once came easily felt impossible to focus on. Meetings dragged on, your mind wandering to the phone calls and late nights that awaited you at home.

And that’s when Agatha Harkness began to notice you.

You’d always admired her from a distance—the way she commanded attention in every room she entered, the sharp confidence in her stride, the cool authority in her voice. As the CEO of Harkness Industries, she was untouchable, her presence as formidable as the empire she’d built.

The sound of heels clicking against the tiled floor broke your spiral of thoughts.

“[Your Last Name],” Agatha said, her smooth, smoky voice cutting through the hum of the nearly empty office. You jumped slightly, not expecting her presence this late. Looking up, you saw her—impeccably dressed, her charcoal-gray suit tailored to fit her tall, sharp frame. Her silver jewelry gleamed in the pale fluorescent lighting. Her presence dominated the room, her piercing blue eyes narrowed on you.

“Is everything alright?” she asked, though the amusement in her tone betrayed her true intentions. Agatha didn’t ask questions unless she already knew the answers.

“Yes, Ms. Harkness,” you replied stiffly, quickly closing your laptop. “Just catching up on some work.”

She leaned against your desk, clearly not buying it. “You’ve been… off lately,” she said, her voice softening ever so slightly, though her usual smirk stayed in place. “If something’s wrong, you can always come to me, you know.”

You hesitated. There was something unnervingly genuine in her tone, but that wasn’t what threw you off. What unsettled you was the realization that her gaze wasn’t just observing you—it was studying you, drinking in every little tell, every weakness.

“Thanks, but it’s personal,” you muttered, reaching for your bag.

She raised an eyebrow, giving you an indulgent smile. “Personal, huh? Let me guess—relationship trouble?”

You froze, your hands stiffening on the strap of your bag. She tilted her head, and for a moment, her smirk softened into something like sympathy. But even then, her eyes glinted with a hunger you didn’t fully understand.

The question caught you off guard, your heart skipping a beat. “What makes you say that?”

She shrugged, leaning against your desk with an air of casual confidence. “Call it intuition. But if there’s something you want to talk about…” She let the sentence trail off, her piercing blue eyes holding yours for a moment too long.

You shook your head, brushing her off with a polite smile. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”

But Agatha wasn’t one to let things go so easily.

It started innocently enough. After that conversation, Agatha began to invite you out. Sometimes it was coffee before a morning meeting, other times drinks after hours in her office. At first, you felt awkward accepting her invitations. She was your boss, after all. But you were desperate for a distraction from the storm at home—and she always had a way of drawing you in, her words dripping with charisma.

She began offering casual advice or anecdotes from her life. Before you knew it, she wasn’t just a boss—she was a confidante.

You never meant to open up to her about Rio. It happened one particularly draining night when you were both finishing late meetings. Agatha poured you a drink, her glass already half-empty as she leaned back in her leather office chair.

“Darling, what’s eating at you?” she asked casually, swirling the whiskey in her glass. “You look… burdened.”

It was her words—so precise and unnervingly accurate—that broke something in you. “It’s my wife,” you admitted, staring into your glass. “I think she’s cheating on me.”

Agatha didn’t react immediately. She studied you, her expression unreadable. “Cheating?” she repeated, her tone deliberate. “Or do you know it for a fact?”

You hesitated, recounting the texts, the lies, the evasive behavior. Agatha nodded slowly, her lips curving into a faint smirk. “Sounds like you already know the truth,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “You’re just afraid to admit it.”

Her words hit you harder than you expected. And though you tried to shake it off, Agatha had a way of making the impossible seem logical. She fed into your doubts, her every comment precise and calculated. “She doesn’t deserve you. Not if she could betray you like that.”

Weeks passed, and Agatha grew bolder. She started showing up by your desk during breaks, brushing her hand across yours under the guise of sharing paperwork. She leaned a little too close when she whispered in your ear during meetings, and her compliments shifted from professional to deeply personal.

One night, she invited you to her penthouse.

The space was breathtaking: high ceilings, glittering chandeliers, and an unobstructed view of the city skyline. You felt out of place amidst the luxury, but Agatha made you feel welcome. She poured you wine, teasing you gently about your stiff posture.

“Relax, darling,” she said, her voice low. “This isn’t work. Consider it a treat for all your hard efforts.”

You tried to keep your guard up, but the wine and her proximity eroded your resolve. She was magnetic, her every gesture deliberate and sensual. When she leaned in to brush a strand of hair from your face, you didn’t pull back.

“You know,” Agatha whispered, her lips so close to yours that her breath brushed against your skin, while swirling a glass of Merlot in her other hand, “someone who cheats isn’t worth your time.”

The comment was blunt, almost cruel. You stiffened, staring into your own wineglass. “She says she didn’t cheat,” you said quietly, though even you didn’t sound convinced. “She’s been trying to prove herself, but…”

Agatha clicked her tongue, setting down her glass. Her eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach twist. “But she broke your trust,” she said firmly. “That’s not something you can just fix. Trust isn’t some toy you can glue back together once it’s shattered.”

Her words stung because they echoed the feelings you’d been trying to ignore. And yet, there was a strange comfort in her conviction—in the way she made everything sound so clear-cut when your own thoughts were muddied.

Weeks turned into months, and Agatha grew bolder. She started calling you “darling” in private. Her hand lingered on your lower back when she guided you into her office. She’d brush your hair out of your face under the pretense of being “helpful,” though the look in her eyes told a different story.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice. She was beautiful—undeniably so—with an effortless allure that seemed to cloak her every movement. And more than that, she understood you. Agatha didn’t sugarcoat things the way Rio did; she told you what you needed to hear, even if it wasn’t pretty.

The first time it happened, you blamed the wine.

You’d stayed late again in her penthouse. She’d convinced you to let her cook dinner—a surprisingly simple but delicious pasta dish that you ate together at her marble-topped kitchen island. The wine flowed freely, and by the time you were sitting beside her on the couch, your head was spinning.

“You deserve better, you know,” Agatha murmured, her voice low and intimate.

You turned to her, your heart pounding as you realized how close she’d leaned in. “Agatha—”

She cut you off with a kiss, her lips soft but insistent against yours. You froze, your mind racing with a thousand reasons why this was wrong. But when she cupped your face, her thumb brushing against your jaw, reason melted away.

The world seemed to pause in that moment, her lips soft but firm against yours, her hand cradling the back of your neck with possessive ease.

Her kiss deepened, her hand sliding into your hair as she guided you closer. It was overwhelming—the heat of her body against yours, the hunger in her touch, the way she seemed to pour all her intensity into that single act.

When you pulled back, breathless and dazed, she studied you with a small, satisfied smile. “Tell me to stop,” she whispered, her fingers still tangled in your hair.

You didn’t.

“You deserve to be worshipped,” she murmured, her voice husky. Guilt churned in your chest, but as she pulled you closer, kissing you again, it melted into a warmth you hadn’t felt in months.

The affair began in earnest after that night. Agatha was relentless, her touch searing and possessive every time you were alone together. She made you feel things you hadn’t felt in years—desire, adoration, worship.

You knew it was wrong. Every time you returned to Rio, guilt clawed at you, threatening to choke you. But you couldn’t stop. Agatha was a drug, and you were hopelessly addicted.

Her hands were everywhere, tracing the curves of your body as if memorizing every inch of you. Agatha consumed you in ways you hadn’t thought possible, her touch igniting a fire that left you breathless and desperate for more. Her hands were everywhere—pinning you against the cool walls of her penthouse with an intensity that bordered on possessive. Her lips left trails of fire on your skin, her teeth grazing your collarbone as she pulled moans from your throat. She made you feel wanted, consumed, and for the first time in months, alive.

She whispered things in your ear that made your heart race and your cheeks burn, things you’d never heard from Rio.

“You’re mine,” she murmured one night, her voice rough with need as she pinned you against the wall of her penthouse. “No one else gets to touch you like this. No one else deserves you.”

For weeks, you lived a double life.

But the guilt never went away.

“Agatha, I can’t keep doing this,” you said one night, pulling away from her lips with more effort than you thought you could muster. “I feel like I’m drowning in this lie.”

She tilted her head, her fingers brushing against your cheek. “Then come up for air,” she murmured, her voice dripping with reassurance. “You know what you need to do, darling.”

When you still hesitated, her tone sharpened ever so slightly. “She doesn’t love you—not really. If she did, she wouldn’t hurt you like this. She wouldn’t make you feel this… empty.”

Her words were surgical, cutting away your last shreds of resistance. Before you could stop yourself, you found solace in her arms again.

When you tried to end it a second time, Agatha didn’t take it lightly.

“You think you can just walk away?” she said, her voice eerily calm as she cornered you in her office after hours. “After everything?”

Her eyes burned into yours, her intensity both terrifying and magnetic. “I know you feel guilty, but what you have with me? It’s real. It’s worth the risk.”

She leaned in, her lips grazing your ear. “And you want it, don’t you?”

Your heart pounded as her words sank in. She was right. No matter how much you wanted to deny it, you couldn’t stay away.

Eventually, she began to push harder.

“You need to leave her,” Agatha said one night, lying beside you in bed. Her fingertips ghosted along your arm, her lips brushing against your shoulder as she spoke. “She doesn’t deserve you, and we both know it.”

“I don’t know if I can,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

She cupped your face, forcing you to meet her gaze. “Yes, you can. I’ll be here, darling. You don’t need her.”

Her words echoed in your head long after you left her apartment. The divorce papers sat on the kitchen table for weeks before you finally signed them. Rio cried when she found out.

“You’re making a mistake,” she pleaded, clutching your hands. “I didn’t cheat. I swear to you.”

But Agatha’s voice drowned hers out: “She’s lying. She’ll only hurt you again.”

After the divorce, your relationship with Agatha became official. The media marveled at her whirlwind romance with a “mystery employee,” and you found yourself thrust into the public eye —lavish dinners, expensive gifts, and a wedding straight out of a magazine spread. And yet, something felt… off.

Rio didn’t disappear. She called, sent emails, even showed up at your doorstep one day, begging you to listen.

“She’s manipulating you,” Rio said, her voice trembling with desperation. “She planned this. She’s dangerous, and you can’t see it because she’s in your head.”

You slammed the door in her face, brushing away the small seed of doubt her words planted. Agatha loved you—didn’t she? She couldn’t have orchestrated everything.

It was a rainy night when you found the folder. Agatha had left for a business meeting, and in a moment of idle curiosity, you opened the drawer of her desk. Photos of you—some from months ago, others dating back to years before you’d even started working for her. Copies of emails supposedly from Rio, doctored to look incriminating. 

Your stomach dropped as realization dawned.

She’d planned this. All of it. Agatha had orchestrated everything, from planting those damning messages to pulling you closer into her orbit.

“You’ve been busy,” Agatha’s voice startled you. She stood in the doorway of her home office, her eyes unreadable.

“How could you?” you demanded, clutching the folder. “You lied. You manipulated me. You destroyed my life—my marriage—all because you’re obsessed with me?”

Her expression didn’t falter. If anything, she looked amused. “I didn’t destroy your life,” she said calmly, stepping closer. “I saved you.”

“You ruined everything,” you spat, backing away.

She closed the distance between you in an instant, her hand grabbing your wrist in a vice grip. “I gave you everything,” she hissed, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Everything you have is because of me.”

Panic surged through you. “Agatha, you’re scaring me—”

She softened instantly, her hand loosening but not releasing you. “Oh, sweetheart,” she cooed, her voice dripping with mock tenderness. “You don’t need to be scared. I’d never hurt you.”

Her smile turned sharp. “But if you ever try to leave me, I can’t promise things won’t get… messy.”

Agatha’s grip on your wrist tightened, her nails digging into your skin just enough to make you wince. Her lips curled into a predatory smile, her eyes dark with a hunger that sent a shiver down your spine. “You think you can just walk away from me?” she purred, her voice low and dangerous. “After everything I’ve done for you? After everything I’ve given you?”

You tried to pull away, but she was stronger than she looked. Her other hand snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against her body. You could feel the heat of her through the thin fabric of her blouse, the hard press of her breasts against yours. “Agatha, let me go,” you pleaded, your voice trembling.

She laughed, a low, throaty sound that made your stomach twist. “Oh, darling, you don’t really want me to let you go, do you?” she whispered, her lips brushing against your ear. “You’ve always been mine. You just needed a little… persuasion.”

Her hand slid down your back, cupping your ass and squeezing hard. You gasped, your body betraying you as a jolt of heat shot through you. “Stop,” you whispered, but your voice lacked conviction.

Agatha’s lips found yours, her kiss fierce and demanding. She didn’t ask for permission; she took what she wanted, her tongue forcing its way into your mouth. You moaned despite yourself, your body responding to her touch even as your mind screamed at you to push her away.

She broke the kiss, her breath hot against your lips. “You’re mine,” she growled, her hands moving to the buttons of your blouse. “Every inch of you belongs to me.”

You tried to protest, but she silenced you with another kiss, her fingers deftly undoing the buttons and pushing the fabric off your shoulders. Her hands roamed over your bare skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. “You’re so beautiful,” she murmured, her lips trailing down your neck. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Her hands found your breasts, her thumbs brushing over your nipples, making them harden instantly. You gasped, your body arching into her touch. “Agatha,” you moaned, your resolve crumbling.

She smirked, her hands moving to the waistband of your skirt. “That’s it, darling,” she purred, pushing the fabric down your legs. “Let me take care of you.”

You stepped out of your skirt, your body trembling with anticipation. Agatha’s eyes raked over you, her gaze hungry and possessive. “Perfect,” she whispered, her hands sliding down your thighs. “You’re perfect.”

She dropped to her knees, her hands spreading your legs apart. You gasped as her tongue flicked against your clit, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through you. “Agatha,” you moaned, your hands tangling in her hair.

She didn’t respond, her tongue working its magic as she devoured you. You could feel the heat building inside you, your body responding to her every touch. “Oh god,” you whimpered, your hips bucking against her mouth.

Agatha’s hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as she continued to pleasure you. You could feel yourself getting closer, the tension coiling tighter and tighter. “Come for me, darling,” she murmured, her voice muffled against your skin.

You cried out as the orgasm hit you, your body convulsing with pleasure. Agatha didn’t stop, her tongue lapping at you until you were trembling and weak. She stood up, a satisfied smirk on her lips. “That’s my girl,” she purred, pulling you into a kiss.

You could taste yourself on her lips, the taste of your own arousal on Agatha's lips sent a thrill through you, even as a small part of you recoiled at the intensity of the situation. But Agatha didn't give you time to overthink it. Her hands were on your body again, caressing and claiming every inch of skin as she backed you towards the bed.

You fell onto the plush comforter, Agatha's weight pinning you down a moment later. She straddled your hips, her eyes dark with lust as she looked down at you. "You're mine," she repeated, her voice rough with desire. "Say it."

Your heart pounded in your chest, fear and excitement warring within you. But as Agatha ground her hips against yours, you felt yourself giving in. "I'm yours," you breathed, your voice barely audible.

Agatha smiled, a wicked glint in her eye.

"Louder," she demanded, her hand wrapping around your throat. Not enough to cut off your air, but enough to make you feel owned, possessed.

"I'm yours," you repeated, louder this time.

"I'm yours, Agatha."

Her grip tightened for a brief moment before she released you, her hand trailing down your body to your breasts. She cupped them roughly, her thumbs brushing over your nipples. "Good girl," she purred, leaning down to take one into her mouth.

You arched into her touch, moaning as her tongue swirled around the sensitive bud. Her other hand moved between your legs, fingers teasing your still-sensitive clit. "You're so wet for me," she murmured against your skin. "So responsive."

She continued her ministrations, alternating between your breasts and your core. Your body was on fire, every touch sending sparks of pleasure through you. You were panting, writhing beneath her, desperate for more.

"Please," you whimpered, not even sure what you were begging for. Agatha seemed to understand, though. She withdrew her hand, leaving you bereft for a moment before she shifted her hips.

You felt the head of her strap on press against your entrance, and you gasped.

Agatha was large, larger than anyone you'd been with before. She paused, giving you a moment to adjust. "Breathe," she instructed, her voice calm and soothing despite the hunger in her eyes.

You did as she said, taking a deep breath as she slowly pushed inside you. The stretch was intense, bordering on painful, but it wasn't long before your body relaxed, accommodating her size. She filled you completely, her hips pressed flush against yours.

"Fuck," Agatha groaned, her head falling forward. "You feel incredible."

She gave you a moment to adjust before she began to move. Slowly at first, her hips rolling against yours in a steady rhythm. But as your moans filled the room, she grew bolder, her thrusts becoming harder, faster.

Your hands clawed at her back, your nails digging into her skin as she pounded into you. The pleasure was overwhelming, every stroke of her cock sending shockwaves through your body. You could feel another orgasm building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core.

"Come for me," Agatha growled, her hips snapping against yours. "Come on my cock like the good little slut you are."

Her filthy words pushed you over the edge. You came with a scream, your body convulsing beneath hers. Agatha followed shortly after, watching you come undone was enough for her to find her own release.

She collapsed on top of you, both of you panting and sweat-slicked. For a moment, you lay there in silence, the only sound your ragged breaths filling the room.

But as the haze of pleasure began to dissipate, reality started to set in. Agatha had manipulated you, planned everything from the beginning. She had destroyed your marriage, ruined your life—all for her own twisted desires.

A lump formed in your throat, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Agatha must have sensed the change in you, because she pulled back, her gaze searching your face.

"Talk to me," she urged, her voice soft but insistent. "What's wrong?"

You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. You pushed at her chest, trying to make her release you. "Let me go," you whispered, your voice breaking.

Agatha's expression hardened. She didn't move, her body still pinning you to the bed. "No," she said simply, her tone leaving no room for argument. "You're mine now. I won't let you go."

Panic surged through you. You struggled against her, your heart pounding in your chest. "Please," you begged, your voice rising in pitch. "I can't do this. I can't be with you."

Agatha's grip tightened on your wrists, her face inches from yours. "You don't have a choice," she hissed, her eyes flashing with anger. "You're mine, and I always get what I want."

You felt the tears spill over, running down your cheeks and into your hair. You were trapped—trapped by Agatha's obsession, trapped by your own weakness. You had let yourself fall for her manipulations, for the thrill of being wanted so desperately.

Now, there was no escape.

Weeks turned into months, and you fell deeper into Agatha's grasp.

She isolated you from everyone—your friends, your family. If anyone tried to contact you, she intercepted their calls, their messages. She told them you were busy, that you needed space to focus on your new life with her.

And you let her.

Because what choice did you have? Agatha had all the power. She controlled every aspect of your life—where you went, what you did, who you saw. And if you tried to resist, she punished you.

At first, the punishments were subtle—a sharp look, a harsh word. But as time passed, they grew more severe. She would leave you locked in a room for hours, ignoring your pleas and sobs. She would confiscate your phone, your laptop—anything that could connect you to the outside world.

Once, when you tried to sneak out to meet Rio, Agatha found out. She dragged you back home by your hair, slamming you against the wall hard enough to leave bruises.

"You belong to me," she snarled, her face inches from yours. "I won't let you leave me."

That was the day you knew there was no escape. Not really. You were trapped in this gilded cage, a prisoner to Agatha's twisted desires.

And still, part of you craved her touch, her attention. Even as she hurt you, she made you feel alive. She made you believe that everything she did was out of love—that she needed you as much as you needed her.

It was a sick, twisted cycle—one that left you feeling lost, broken, and hopelessly addicted to the woman who had shattered your life.

You knew then that you were trapped. Rio had tried to warn you, but it was too late. Agatha had you in her web, and there was no escaping now.

The city lights glittered below as you stared out the window of her penthouse, feeling more like a prisoner than a partner. Somewhere deep down, you resolved to find a way out. But one look at Agatha’s cold, calculating smile told you that escape would come at a cost you weren’t sure you could pay.

_-_-_

Please don't forger to vote, reblog, and comment.

Happy New Year my Twisted Darlings!

[nixthisis]

—#I CAN'T FEEL MY LEGS ; VIKTOR ( ARCANE ) x NEUTRAL!READER

PAIRING: Viktor x Neutral!Reader (arcane) &. GENRE: Fluff &. WARNINGS: eepy sleey viktor and like one tiny passing comment about spiders, nothing insane in this one &. WORDCOUNT: 0.6k

prompt from this list!

nixnote; I just love him so much he makes me wanna eat concrete and be a devoted housewife ykwim, just something short and sweet to hopefully get me back to writing! (loosely proofread)

You find him facedown in his research that evening, like many others that have come before— pushing aside the hefty lab door to be greeted by a waft of stale air that's laced with a dusty undertone, it makes your nose scrunch in disgust before you can turn to coax the room back into a silence that's become synonymous with the four walls; tongue swiping across the suface of your lips to rid them of the unsavoursy taste lying there.

Viktors tucked into a desk over in a cramped corner, not his usual work space but a one he retreats to when books are calling his name and his research becomes more written than practical- evident in the way the aged books have disturbed and clouded the space he's residing in.

"Vik?" you call as soft as you can, praying not to disturb the scene before you too much. His face is smushed into the page below him in a way that makes you want to reach out and tug at the meat gathering on the apples of his cheeks.

"How long have you been lay there?" you question, beginning to cross the room when he sighs— opening his lungs to speak for the first time in god knows how many hours, purpled lids fluttering slightly with the movement.

"I can't feel my legs..." he speaks, words slurred by the way his position distorts his mouth, "...infact, I can't feel anything"

It's nothing out of the ordinary but it does force a click to ripple off the tip of your tongue in disagreement- worry settling in your mind as you start to drag the tips of your fingers down the center of his back, bumping along the rivets that line your path in a way that makes his shoulders shiver and a hum reverberate deep in the back of his throat.

"yeah, your starting to blend into the furniture" you jest, cringing as you pull a cobweb from his shirt— hoping it’s from the shelves above him and he hasn't genuinely lay there for long enough to become home to a family of insects.

"You need a hand to stretch out?"

It's an open invitation, completely within his power to turn you away and do it himself but he shakes his head anyway- which you take as a signal to remove yourself from his personal space so he can slowly straighten his limbs back out.

"No..." he huffs, "...come back". It's definitive—almost a command rather than a plee but you can’t help but oblige when his unruly hair bounces around his scalp with another slight toss off his head.

Moving to his side you crouch down to be slightly below his eyeline, knee cracking loudly as you settle and awkwardly stretch an arm out to thread your fingers into the ducktails at the base of his skull- tugging ever so slightly to persuade him to open his eyes.

"You need to move Viktor" you point out the obvious.

His eyes are warm but lazy, slow blinking like a cat in pure exhaustion. The pair of you stay there for a while, knowing that you’re only delaying the inevitable ache caused the blood rushing back to Viktors legs- you own now numb from squatting by his chair but the silence is too familar, his person to homely for you to move just yet.

He breaks the trance first when he lifts his cheek from the words he was clearly so focused on previously, only for his face to twist in confusion when you burst out laughing- hand transitioning from a pat to a grab, twisting at his neck to give you the full view of his face.

"You studied so hard it sank into your skin?" you giggle, your other thumb caught between your lip—dampening the skin so you can reach out and rub at the pencil markings decorating the hollows if his cheek.

[orangeblossomsintheair]

ILLICIT AFFAIRS (1/2) | CS55

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

wc : 9k

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

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

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

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

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

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

Carlos is reckless, he said.

Carlos is trouble.

Carlos is not for you.

But damned it all, he looks good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead, you follow their collective gaze to a man.

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

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

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

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

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

Charles gives you a look. “Don’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You glance up, and there it is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Understood.”

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

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And?”

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

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

“Charles-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bossy, isn’t he?”

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

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

RUN.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He grins wider. “So I have heard.”

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

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

“Complimenting his suit?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Debatable.”

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

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

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

“Strategic?”

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

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

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

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

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

“That you’re trouble.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Carlos notices too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who?” you ask, feigning innocence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trouble, indeed.

—

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

Carlos Sainz Jr.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A little bit.”

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

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

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

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

“Is it working?” he teases.

“Not even a little.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Carlos chuckles, confidence palpable even over the phone. “Deal. I’ll pick you up at ten. Wear something you can run in just in case.”

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

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

“Make it ten,” you counter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Carlos grins. “And completely irresistible.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He trails off, wiggling his eyebrows.

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

“Going on 30.”

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

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

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

Carlos doesn’t even flinch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For a split second, he doesn’t answer.

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

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

But not tonight.

Not in this room.

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

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

For a moment, everything goes still.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s going to wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He grins when you nearly weep in relief. "Yes, god yes..”

"Just tell me if anything feels uncomfortable.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“One more?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Carlos groans, before pulling back and sliding off you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He exhales sharply, trying to stifle a groan.

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

“Shhh, relax for me, amor,” he murmurs, his voice soft and reassuring. One hand strokes soothing circles on your lower back while the other cups your cheek, his thumb brushing against your flushed skin. He’s trying to be patient, gentle, because he doesn’t want to rush you, doesn’t want to miss a single moment of this.

He pauses whenever your expression tightens, his eyes fixed on you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever seen. The way you wriggle your hips a little, trying to get used to him, only makes his heart clench. You’re trying so hard, and it’s impossibly endearing.

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

Carlos doesn’t need to be told twice. He starts slow, his movements careful and deliberate, as if he’s afraid of breaking something fragile. Each sound you make, the tiny gasps, the way you breathe his name, sends a shiver through him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re perfect. So fucking cute.

The slick heat between you makes every movement smooth, though Carlos slips out a couple of times, only to guide himself back in easily. Your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving faint marks that spur him on, and your cloudy, pleasure-drunk eyes roll back in the most adorable way, making his chest ache with something more than just lust.

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

“Y-yeah,” you stammer, your voice trembling as you nod eagerly. There’s a flicker of shyness in your movements, a hesitation that only makes you more endearing to him.

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

His hand wraps around his length, teasing your folds with the head, and he’s utterly mesmerized by the way your lips part, the way you bite down on them as you begin to lower yourself. Inch by inch, you take him, and he can’t help but think you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

His hands find your hips instinctively, gripping you gently but firmly. Despite his intention to let you set the pace, his need wins out, and he begins guiding you up and down before you even have a chance to adjust.

A loud, sweet moan escapes your lips as you lean forward, kissing him with an urgency that’s almost too cute for words. Your teeth tug at his lower lip, making him groan softly, his hands tightening on your waist.

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

“Yeah, just like that,” Carlos breathes, his voice thick and low. The lewd, wet sounds of your bodies moving together threaten to push him over the edge, but he focuses on the adorable way you’re trying so hard to be good for him.

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

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

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

Your movements grow frantic, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your body trembles. Carlos watches in utter fascination as your lips part in a choked whimper, and then you cry out, your release hitting you in waves. Warmth floods over him, soaking his skin and the sheets beneath, but all he can think about is how beautiful, how absolutely adorable, you are in this moment.

The sight, the sound, the feel of you. It’s too much. Carlos’ grip tightens on your waist as he thrusts upward one last time, his own climax crashing into him. His body shudders beneath you, his head tipping back as he empties himself completely, groaning your name softly.

When it’s over, you collapse onto his chest, your breaths mingling as both of you struggle to steady yourselves. Carlos’ hands wander to your lower back, tracing gentle circles near the dimples that make you squirm slightly, a halfhearted giggle escaping your lips.

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

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

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

The thought makes him sick.

[4linos]

twice the love

lee minho x fem!reader

synopsis/request: when you receive unexpected news, minho’s unwavering support becomes your anchor.

wc: 1237

You'd been feeling sick for weeks, nothing too serious, but enough to cause concern. It began with slight nausea in the mornings, which you downplayed as a stomach bug that will pass. But the exhaustion did not go away. You felt weak all the time, unable to finish a full day of work without wanting to nap or take a break. Some days, you couldn't force yourself to get out of bed, and Minho noticed, no matter how hard you tried. He has always done this. Minho had always been the more observant person in your relationship, noticing even the smallest changes in your attitude or behavior. And when it came to your health, he was unrelenting in his concern.

"Y/N, I don't like this," he murmured one morning, putting his fingers on your forehead to check for fever. "You have been like this for too long. You aren't just tired. Maybe it's time to go see a doctor." You quickly dismissed his worry. "It's fine, Minho. Really. It's probably a stomach bug. You know how it is." You tried to smile, but inside you were already terrified. You were afraid of going to the doctor, especially because you had no idea what was wrong. You hadn't really understood what was going on with your health, and you didn't want to hear any bad news.

Minho narrowed his eyes at you, but he knew not to push too hard. Instead, he replied softly, "Please. I hate seeing you like this. Just a checkup, okay? I just want to know that you're okay." You nodded, making a half-hearted promise, but deep down, you told yourself it wasn't necessary. You would be alright. Eventually.

It wasn't until a few days later that the discomfort became too severe to ignore. Your nausea had worsened, and you could no longer ignore the constant dizziness or strange aching in your lower belly. Something was clearly wrong, but you couldn't bring yourself to confront the thought of what it might be. Finally, after much internal struggle, you reluctantly scheduled an appointment. You could scarcely muster the bravery to enter into the antiseptic office, the frigid air within making you feel even more alone. The doctor took some blood tests and an ultrasound, and while you sat there waiting for the results, you could barely breathe. You tried to divert yourself by going through your phone, but your mind kept spiraling, imagining worst-case scenarios.

When the doctor walked in, he seemed calm, maybe too calm. He greeted you with a professional smile, which played a part in your anxiety. "Well, Y/N, I have the results," he said, and turned to the ultrasound screen. "You're pregnant." You froze. Pregnant? It did not even register at first. You stared at him blankly, your thoughts racing. "Pregnant?" you repeated, hoping that hearing the word again would help you understand it. "Are you sure?" The doctor nodded and motioned to the screen. "Yes. You're about a month along, and the ultrasound shows you're carrying twins."

It felt as if the world around you had stopped moving. You couldn't even digest the words completely. Twins? Pregnant? You were overwhelmed, surprised and part of you wanted to cry, but you weren't sure if it was out of fear or happiness. You never expected this. And certainly not under these conditions. It wasn't like you or Minho had planned for this. It had been so unexpected and quick that you felt a flood of panic wash over your body. The doctor offered you more information and scheduled another appointment to ensure everything was okay, but you couldn't hear him.

All you could think about was how to tell Minho.

You were mentally exhausted when you got home. Your body felt heavy, and the thoughts racing through your thoughts were too messy to process. You had assured Minho that you would be alright, and you did not want to break that promise. You didn't know how to tell him you were pregnant, much less that you were having twins. You had texted him earlier in the day to reassure him that everything was okay but you knew deep inside it wasn't true. You'd kept the news to yourself, reluctant to blurt it out. You assured yourself that it was for the best. He had a big day ahead of him, and you didn't want to overwhelm him with something that was so big. You needed to get your head around it first.

But now Minho was home. He walked in the door, his normal comfortable smile fading when he noticed your expression. He knew something wasn't right. He could know when anything was wrong without you saying anything. "How did it go?" he questioned softly, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of a response. You tried smiling, but it came out strained. You dug inside your purse and handed him the ultrasound image. You stayed silent, thinking he would understand.

He took it from you, and for a few while, neither of you spoke. His gaze shifted from the image to your face and back again. His expression shifted from confusion to disbelief. Then his gaze softened, and his fingers trembled as he examined the ultrasound. "Twins?" he asked quietly, his voice barely audible. You nodded, your heart racing in your chest. "I—I didn't know how to tell you," you stumbled. "I was really nervous, Minho. I wasn't sure how you'd react. Minho was silent for a long time, his attention fixed on the ultrasound. And then, just when you thought silence would take you whole, a tear rolled down his cheek.

Without saying anything, he reached for your waist and pulled you into his arms, as if he needed to hug you to make sense of his emotions. He buried his face against your neck, and his voice cracked as he said. "I can't believe this. Twins. "You're pregnant with our babies.”You felt a warmth spread through you that you had not anticipated. He wasn't upset. He was not angry. He was happy. The strain in your chest began to dissipate, replaced by a sense of release and awe. "I'm scared," you said softly, your voice quivering. "What if I'm not ready?"

Minho drew back slightly, holding your face in his hands, his thumbs softly brushing away the tears you hadn't realized had dropped. "You don't have to be ready right now," he said softly. "I will be here. We will be here together. We will sort it out, okay? I am so happy, Y/N. I—"I can't believe this is happening." He kissed you lightly at first, pressing his lips against yours as if to persuade you both that everything was well. However, it did not stay soft for long. The kiss intensified, and you felt all of your fear, worry, and joy flood through you in that one moment. When he finally pulled away, his face was flushed and his eyes were wide with amazement. "We're going to be parents, Y/N. And I’m going to be the best dad to our twins. I promise."

You smiled through your tears as your hands rested on his chest. "I know you will," you said quietly, the warmth of his hug erasing all your doubts.

The world outside was unknown, but when Minho wrapped his arms around you, you knew you weren't alone. You had each other. And that was enough.

//

masterlist, request list

[slafastri28]

The Favorite Child - OP81

Summary: The first year of reader and Oscar's relationship, families give the other special treatment when they are around!

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: Idk nothing really

Note: Is this loosely based on my life, maybe... yes it is... ENJOY!!

Winter 2023/24

“Mom, Dad, I have someone I want you to meet,” those words were so nerve-racking to you. They knew who Oscar was, you met him during your internship and had become best friends, but things escalated quickly after your boyfriend mistreated you, not trusting you in your work environment as you were surrounded by men your age. You tried to introduce him over the phone to the people you would be spending the most time with, but he refused. Long distance was clearly not meant for the two of you as it resulted in constant fighting and a lack of trust. You two broke up during your Thanksgiving break and you immediately called Oscar. He comforted you, but little did you know he was waiting for you, since the early moments of you two spending time with you he fell hard for you. Now here you were bringing him home from the airport to stay with you for a week before you both left to work again. He naturally walked in through your front door behind you, your parents both smiling.

“You must be the famous Oscar we hear so much about,” your Mom smiled greeting him with a hug, causing your cheeks to flush feeling embarrassed.

“Mr. Piastri,” your Dad greeted him with a handshake, a friendly welcoming one, not very protective over his daughter. The four of you sat down for dinner as your parents began asking about Oscar’s life which was a lot different from yours. It was full of adventures in different cities, countries, and continents, where your last vacation was when you were seventeen. 

“It really is beautiful, once you start putting your shoes up high,” he laughed. He looked so in place at the table across from you talking to your parents. Something in your stomach told you this would be a recurring event. Dinner ended and you showed him where he would be staying for the next week before the two of you traveled to your new shared apartment to start your job. It seemed natural for you to live together, two separate bedrooms which you would both keep clean and orderly, you had similar lifestyles, similar habits, similar everything and you wouldn’t mind living with your best friend. He made himself comfortable in your older brother’s former room, he moved out a long time ago and now it was vacant, and was conveniently right next to yours if he needed anything. The week went on and you showed him all around your hometown, your favorite places to eat, the park where you would play in the snow with your friends, your school, all core parts of who you were. You went shopping gathering last-minute essentials before leaving, it started to feel surreal. You knew deep down you had feelings for Oscar but seeing him in your hometown fitting in perfectly made them even stronger. It was the second to last night you would be staying with your parents. It was late, the two of you were alone in your living room watching a movie when you suddenly felt his head on your shoulder. You couldn’t hide a smile but didn’t say anything you didn’t know what to do. The TV was apparently too loud and startled your Mom out of sleep, because in a few seconds, she was at the top of the stairs asking you to lower it, scaring both you and Oscar out of the position you were in. Once she left his head went immediately back to your shoulder, and you rested your head on top of his. These were normal instances throughout the week, as you would be walking his hand would occasionally brush up against yours, he would look at you longer than he needed to, and he was so attentive in everything you spoke about your town.

“Y/N,” he said softly, you picked your head up as he did the same to look at you. 

“Yes, Oscar?”

“What are we?” That question, that wonderful, stressful question that put the ball in your court, you tried to come up with a response that you hoped wouldn’t scare him off.

“What do you want to be?” You asked, feeling a huge weight lift off your shoulders.

“I- I don’t know,” he replied, your faces moving closer to each other. Your heart was practically beating out of your chest.

“I hope this isn’t too straightforward,” you said before placing a kiss on his lips. When you broke apart he had a big smile on his face.

“I want to be with you Y/N, your boyfriend,” he smiled, kissing you once more.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” you sighed with a grin. As your movie came to a close the two of you went upstairs hand in hand before parting to go to your separate rooms. 

You woke up the next morning trying to be as discrete as possible with Oscar around your parents, you two would sit under a blanket and hold hands underneath, or when your parents weren’t looking he would rest his hand on your lower back, it was one more day you figured it would be easy, nope. Your parents quickly caught on, it was a moment when you were alone with your Mom that it got loose.

“You know I know about you and Oscar,” SHE WHAT?! 

“What? How”

“The way he looked at you it was obvious. Relax, your father and I like him very much, I just want to make sure you’re okay it’s barely been a month since…” her voice trailed off.

“I’m fine Mom, I was done with him in October, but I didn’t want to be a jerk and do it over the phone especially while the guys were with me, they all knew, and all encouraged it but I couldn’t do it over the phone,” you explained. 

“So you’re okay,” you nodded. The two of you left the next morning driving the hour to your new apartment. You two began unpacking the boxes that were waiting for you, you caught him looking at you as a distraction.

“So my parents know,” you blurted out.

“Uh-huh, and I thought we were going to wait a little to tell them as per your request,” he said with a hand on his hip.

“My mom figured it out, you made it REALLY obvious,” you teased.

“I can’t help looking at you, you’re finally mine let me enjoy it,” he said before pecking you on the cheek. You two continued unpacking, building furniture that was delivered, and making your apartment feel like home.

The winter season ended and you would be going into the 2024 Formula 1 season as Oscar’s girlfriend. 

Spring 2024

You took supporting Oscar very seriously. In the time you had while he had winter testing, you purchased any merchandise you could find with his name on it, and things you thought were cute that matched the Mclaren colors. Although you couldn’t travel with him to every race due to your job, you still went to as many as you could sporting his last name. He was always happy to see you after no matter what the outcome was. When you were there he would rush over to you, when you weren’t he would call you from his driver’s room immediately after. It was when you leaked to him your parents would be coming to a race he got an idea. You two were lying in your shared room, leaving the other bedroom to quickly become an office/guest room thinking out loud. 

“You said your parents don’t travel much,” he said.

“Well, no one we know travels as much as you, but no not really, why?” you asked.

“I feel like I should get them something, I don’t know, I travel so often, I feel like it would be nice, and you know make them like me more,” he smiled.

“Please, every time we go to their house Mom acts so much different, Dad texted the one time asking if you were coming for dinner because he smelled ‘the good food’, you're their favorite child,” you laughed. 

“No she doesn’t,” he knew secretly it was true.

“Denial is not something I would pin on you but here you are,” you teased. 

“Well maybe I’m the favorite child because I start bringing back souvenirs,” he said with confidence.

“Mhm okay,” you rolled your eyes playfully, “so what are you going to get them?”

“Your Mom loves tea, right? And your Dad coffee?” You nodded, see he knew these things after not even six months of dating. 

“So I’ll bring back mugs or coasters,” he said, “something useful so they will think of me every time they use it,” he said proudly. 

“Favorite child,” you teased again. He shrugged and kept brainstorming.

“So they are coming to Monaco this weekend, but after that, I’ll be in Canada, perfect, a Canada mug,” he smiled.

“Maybe some maple syrup,” you giggled.

“See you’re in on it, you think they will like it,” he grinned.

“They will love anything coming from you, believe me,” you kissed his cheek, “Good night idea man,” you said rolling to your side and drifting to sleep with a smile. 

The weekend approached, and you met your parents for dinner the night before the race, you were surprised by Oscar meeting you there too, he made no clarification he would be there. He was holding a small bag.

“There’s our boy,” your Dad said patting him on the back as he came and sat next to you.

“Hi Darling,” he kissed your cheek, “hope I’m not encroaching on your family time, I knew you would be here, and I can only be alone for so long the night before,” he smiled.

“Oh please, you could never intrude,” your Mom laughed.

“Favorite child,” you whispered in his ear, it became a running joke every time you saw your parents, your Dad was in on it too.

“Y/N don’t whisper it’s rude,” Your mom looked at you sternly, and your Dad winked. 

“What’s in your bag Osc,” you said changing the topic. 

“Something for you two actually,” he said gesturing at your parents, reaching and placing the bag in front of them. 

“What a nice mug,” your Dad said pulling it out of the bag, it was a Formula One-themed mug with the word Monaco across the top, it had different cars, a map of the track, helmets, and the flag of course. You sat there stunned, thinking this wasn’t starting until next week, but Oscar had mischief.

Your parents continued to thank and praise him for the mug as the weekend continued, and each week that followed with a different mug being sent to your parent's house or hand delivered they became more and more loving towards him as if they weren’t already. Your parents became Oscar’s second parents, they loved having him around. You were invited to stay with them the summer break but declined, you two had your own vacation in mind, where you were sure Oscar would bring a mug back from there. 

Summer Break 2024

Here it was, the moment you would meet Oscar’s family. You two were in the middle of the flight and woke up out of your sound sleep with the fear of meeting his family. That and you always got flight-sick. You rushed to the airplane bathroom, completely disregarding the empty seat next to you. There meeting you in the isle was Oscar,

“Aww again,” he sighed knowing where you were going.

“It will pass, we are almost there anyway,” you sighed trudging to the bathroom. Moments later you were back in your seat, you could see the sun rising out of the window, he took your hand rubbing his thumb gently across the top. 

“You have no reason to be nervous,” he smiled knowing that was also making you sick. Your flight continued into an eventual bumpy landing sending your stomach into orbit. Oscar rested his hand over it as its shield, he knew where you would be going in the airport first. You went to the bathroom and after you finished your boyfriend was no longer standing alone. You recognized the figures, quickly rushing your hands into your pockets waiting for them to notice. Oscar’s eyes moved from his youngest sister’s to yours. You made your way over comfortably, but could still feel your heart pounding in your chest. 

“Everyone,” he announced, “this is Y/N L/N, my best friend, and beautiful girlfriend. " He smiled, resting his hand on your back, urging you to come closer. You hid your nervousness with a smile,

“It’s so nice to meet all of you finally, he’s told me so much,” you could feel the heat of your face flushing away. His mom was first to greet you pulling you into a hug,

“Are you kidding, we’ve heard so much about you,” she laughed. His sisters all greeted you next, looking forward to having a new girl in the house for a couple of weeks, finally, you reached his Dad,

“He looks good, he hasn’t given you any trouble has he,” he smiled.

“No sir,” you laughed, feeling the tension and nerves ease away. The day began with lunch right after the airport pickup, although you could barely get a bite to stay down. 

“Darling where are they,” he said gesturing for you to hand him your bag. His whole family felt horrible. You weren’t feeling well, and they were ready to accommodate plans to suit your needs. The day continued and everyone was catering to your every need, crackers you had it, ginger ale right along with you. 

“You don’t have to-” you were cut off.

“We insist,” his mother said rubbing your shoulder as you made your way into their house. Oscar was getting you unpacked when he found the small bottle of heaven, it always saved you from motion sickness and jet lag when traveling, you must have put it in your suitcase by mistake. There you lay on his bed, looking around at his childhood bedroom, as he did the same when he first arrived at your house. You noticed all the little details, pictures of him growing up, little trophies he had from karting, all the important moments of little Oscar’s life. He joined you handing you the bottle. You took the tablets and rested your head in his lap already feeling a lot better. 

“See, no worries, they love you, favorite child,” he laughed.

“No no you cannot call me that, we haven’t even been here a day,” you shot at him. 

“My mom would tell me to suck it up, and they certainly wouldn’t make me a special meal like they are for you,” he crossed his arms, “so yes I can, I already know.”

“Maybe if I wasn’t sick-”

“Please they love you, and as they get to know you better they will love you even more,” he smiled. 

“So, you told them about me,” you said sitting up and adjusting to look clearly at him. 

“Y/N, my sisters wanted to know every single detail, well everyone in the family always needs to know every single detail,” he groaned.

“And?”

“And the questions would never end, you just wait for dinner tonight, they are going to tell you everything they know about you and more,” you laughed, but he seemed so serious. Dinner approached and he was right, you had a lot to talk about, it was the opposite of your house, where everything was always Oscar, tonight everything was you. 

“So Y/N, Oscar tells us you studied business,” his father began. The next thing you knew many many details of your life had been shared with his family, your hobbies, your interests, …your intentions, a lot of information. You two went to bed early that night feeling tired from the flight, you lay silent in the dark of his room, the only light of the little plug-in near his door. You were both awake staring at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry, were they too much,” he said turning to face you.

“You met my parents, nothing is too much,” you grinned. 

“So they didn’t scare you off,”

“Of course not,” you placed a kiss on his lips. 

“I love you,” he sighed before pressing his lips to yours once more. You two slept peacefully awaiting the weeks ahead of you. 

The trip consisted of Oscar taking you to all his favorite and important places in his life. You two were so in sync, you listened to all his facts and as you experienced all these places he took pictures with you at each one, wanting to remember forever. You two had been stopped in a few places by fans and he was so good about it. You even had some recognition as you were now dating a famous racing driver and were plastered on social media more than you knew. Girls would come up to the two of you squealing with delight asking you personal yet intrusive questions about dating Oscar, he could see your discomfort and would act in ways that would make them even more crazy. He would stare at you lovingly, he would wrap his arms around your waist or over your shoulders, would press little kisses to your cheeks giving you compliments.

“She truly is the best,” he said during one of your fan interactions “I wouldn’t ask for anyone else,” your heart melted. You fell deeper and deeper in love with him this trip, seeing him in his home, now you know how he felt seeing you in your hometown and why he was so infatuated with you. 

As your trip came to a close you didn’t want to leave, it was so amazing. His family became your second family, his home was your home, and you were invited to stay with them at the Australian Grand Prix next year, it was wonderful. You said your goodbyes at the airport before boarding the plane. As you were waiting for take-off, he looked at you smugly, as you had a mixture of joy and sadness on your face.

“Believe me now favorite child?” he teased.

“I think your sisters wished it was me instead of you, I would have killed to play dress up with them when you were all young, you look great in pink by the way,” you laughed, you would miss his family. 

“Okay, it’s only natural for little girls to dress up their older brother, you can’t tell me you didn’t do the same,” 

“I tried, but he’s five years older, he was a teenager when I was at the dress-up age, however in high school he did let me put a pink strip in his and his best friend's hair, so I call that a win,” you smiled talking about your brother. You two grew distant once he moved away, you missed that bond you had when you were little, now he acted as your third parent, you couldn’t talk to him without constant disapproval. You were lost in your thoughts when the plane taking off interrupted them.

Fall 2024

The season carried on, you found yourself longing for Oscar those weekends he was away, and you began to go crazy. Your parents constantly wanted you to visit, or come and surprise you at your apartments on weekends. You knew they meant well but it was starting to become too much. It was different when Oscar wasn’t there, they felt that they could finally give you their real opinions on your lifestyle, and make things the way they wanted in your life. You found yourself crying most nights when he was gone after long days with your parents as sometimes they would make you question your relationship. 

“Does Oscar love you for being like this?” Your mom said to you one weekend, you kicked both your parents out that day and didn’t even bother calling Oscar you were in such a fit of anger and sadness that you were thinking of all the ways you wanted to change yourself in that very moment. Times like this continued and you felt the courage to tell these things to Oscar once again. At first, he didn’t believe you but the more time he spent with them he began to see it. He was always reassuring, but you began to overthink feeling so bad that every weekend he was gone you were upset when he was out scoring points and having a great time.

“Y/N, come with me this weekend,” he finally said one night. That sounded like the best idea to you ever, and work was becoming more of a hybrid position than on-site, it seemed perfect. 

“I would love that,” you sighed. 

“I know there’s only a few races left, but please come with me, I would love to have you there and give you a break from all this stress,” he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. 

“You have a deal,” you smiled.

“So you’re going to tell them right now, you can’t do anything for the next month,” he pointed a stern finger at you. You picked up your phone sending a message to both of them, they seemed fine in their responses but still in those weeks you were traveling they found ways to pick at your travel plans based on your media posts, commenting on what you chose to wear, the meals you two were eating, the late hours you were up, they saw your life start to merge with Oscar’s life, and were concerned. 

Winter 2024-25

You two were spending a week with your parents for the holiday, and eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore and exploded. You scolded your parents in front of Oscar, your boyfriend of almost a year, you thought he would leave you then and there as he had never seen you this upset but he stood in support of you.

“I’m proud of you, you are an adult and they need to see that, I know you don’t think they will change, but they are your parents they mean well, but when you are with me you do not need to doubt yourself at all, I love you for being yourself,” he said as you two sat on the floor in your room. You felt the tears welling up in your eyes once more. You cried all the pain you had been realizing that was influencing your whole life flowed out. He held you to his chest and continued explaining all the thoughts you didn’t realize were influenced by your parents, you felt free. 

“This new year I will help you with all those things darling, I promise you, I am not going anywhere,” he pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

“I love you Oscar Piastri, thank you for making me, me again,” you kissed him once more.

“I love you Y/N L/N, no matter what.”

[niniwritesxo]

‘you thirsty?’

kang dae-ho x fem reader

summary:

daeho does something unintentionally attractive and the reader is trying their hardest to keep it together lol

——————————————————————————

You were sitting on your bunk, trying to pass the time by tying and untying knots in a scrap of rope you’d found. The waiting between games was unbearable, and the only thing worse than the boredom was the anxiety gnawing at your stomach.

Across the room, Dae-ho was leaning against the wall, talking to one of the other players. You tried not to watch him, but your eyes kept drifting his way. It wasn’t your fault he had this annoyingly magnetic presence, standing there with his broad shoulders and that infuriating smirk he always seemed to wear.

Then it happened.

The other player handed him something, a bottle of water with the cap screwed on too tight. Without a word, Dae-ho took it, wrapped his hand around the bottle, and twisted the cap off with a casual flick of his wrist.

It shouldn’t have been a big deal. It was just a bottle of water. But the way his forearm flexed, the way his jaw tensed for half a second before relaxing, it was enough to make your brain short-circuit.

You immediately looked away, your cheeks burning. What the hell is wrong with me?

“Hey,” Dae-ho’s voice snapped you out of your spiraling thoughts.

You glanced up to find him standing in front of you, holding out the water bottle. “Thirsty?” he asked, his tone casual.

You stared at him, your mind still stuck on the moment from earlier. “What?”

“The water,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve been staring at me for, like, five minutes. Thought maybe you wanted some.”

‘’I wasn’t staring!’’ you blurted, far too loudly.

His lips quirked into a half-smile, and he crouched down so he was eye-level with you. “You sure? Because it definitely felt like staring.”

Your face grew impossibly hotter, and you snatched the bottle from his hand just to give yourself something to do. “I was just… zoning out.”

“Zoning out, huh?” he said, his tone dripping with amusement. “Interesting coincidence that you happened to zone out right when I opened the bottle.”

You took a sip of water to avoid answering, but his knowing smirk made it clear he wasn’t going to let it go.

“Didn’t realize opening a bottle was so fascinating,” he teased, leaning his forearm on the edge of your bunk.

“It’s not,” you muttered, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Then why are you blushing?”

“I’m not blushing,” you lied, but the warmth on your face said otherwise.

His smirk widened, and he tilted his head, studying you like you were the most interesting puzzle he’d ever encountered. “Huh. You really are blushing. What’s got you so flustered?”

“Nothing!” you snapped, setting the bottle down with a little too much force.

Dae-ho leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “You sure about that? Because I think I know.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you froze, wondering if he’d figured it out. But instead of saying anything, he leaned back with a smug grin, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

“Whatever it is,” he said, standing and stretching lazily, “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

You glared at him, though the effect was ruined by the way your face was still burning. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late,” he called over his shoulder as he walked away, leaving you to stew in your embarrassment.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. You’d never live this down.

[courtkossai]

there is comment on this post which understand mean well , but also sort of … miss point .

Of course it’s okay! Just make sure that if your symptoms get too severe that you go to a doctor or psychiatrist so you don’t get hurt!

of course , not that this is evil thought - there is nothing bad about wish for others to not be hurt , which is what this is at core . but :

not all of these labels actually correspond to delusion or disorder . kossai say before and can say many times again - there is as much variance in reasons and expressions for physical nonhumanity , as there is for non-physical nonhumanity . faeriehood for kossai stem from religion , and this faeriehood is physical as well .

and even where delusion is major factor , each individual is already very likely to know where personal boundaries lie , how to engage without worsen mental state , and how to step back if things get really bad . someone can talk neutrally or positively about life with delusion or disorder , and also already have management strategies in effect .

so , unfortunately , these reminders can at times just push away these folks - there is delineation between these ideas of normal kinfolk with identity , and strange delusional folks who need protection .

unless someone is clearly in active crisis or actually ask for some kind of advice , concern is generally not necessary . and even then , many folks struggle with how to show concern and give help in ways that do not further distress and belittle . must learn to counteract distress , rather than to say whether or not something is " real " .

just give same decency and respect as give for anyone else . no need to add conditions and clarifications .

your daily reminder that it’s 100% completely OK to be a physical nonhuman, delusional nonhuman, clinical zoanthrope, clinical lycanthrope, holothere, transspecies, etc. and anyone who says otherwise needs to sit tf down LOL. try not to let other’s negativity get to you! i love you and you’re safe here :^) keep being you please