#these boys are ridiculously easy to write at times

[m4rs-ex3]

the season 7 quotes ever: personal favorites (aka wildcard) edition

“oh? i suppose you’ve seen that written in the stars?” “no, no. i’ve seen it written in his eyes.”

“part of me wishes i hadn’t seen you. but my eyesight is perfect.” “then just look away, Soren.”

"you're stuck with me now."

“you speak the name of a Ghost.” “i speak the name of my daughter.”

“it’s not enough for me to watch the world. i want to make a difference.”

“we’ve been sitting here eating dessert, Rayla. DESSERT.”

“each of us pledged a part of ourselves for that mission. your son pledged his blood for justice. and the thing is, no one should have to spill their blood for justice.”

“now what?” “now, we wait for Callum to catch his breath. and then, he will decide whether you live or die.”

“Runaan, be kind to the boy. it’s not easy getting to know his girlfriend’s parents. he’s nervous.”

“i have to stop you.” “i know you have to try.”

“i never asked for this. i wasn’t ready to be a king, i’m just a kid."

“besides, my home now? it’s wherever you are.”

“what do you think, Callum?” “i think, uh… i think i agree with Barius. pretty sure he had a… a good point. everyone nodded.”

“history has a way of burying the ugly truths of those who write it.”

“you’re ridiculous.” “thanks. i mean, i think thanks. y-you meant that in a nice way, right? ridiculous can be a-a compliment, in certain contexts.”

“the Pearl you brought to the Starscraper… it was made of candy. we ate it.”

“Ghost. i thought you’d run away again.” “i’m here. but not to give you what you want. i’m not going to beg you to forgive me.”

“well, i don’t want you here.” “you mean, you don’t want you here?” “i said that! but not me you. you you!” “me?” “yes.” “me.” “no. oh, what am i doing? i’m talking to myself.” “yes, you am.”

“well, that was salty.” “the tears.” “yeah.”

“feel his hair! it’s… so greasy.” “why does everyone keep saying that? i-i wash it regularly.”

"Rayla loves me. she believes in me. this version of myself.” “it’s not about you, is it? if you love her, you’ll be the you who can save her."

“like the moon itself, all of us may be reborn from darkness.”

"i was trained to accept that i was already dead, so that i might carry out my dark work without fear. but… i am not dead. i am alive! i have a family i love. i have so much to lose, the very things i took from you.”

“i mean, at the end of the day, you’re at the top of the org chart.” “we have an org chart?”

“yes. yes i do. i love her. i love her very much.”

“confirmed. regular sap.”

"i still need you, Ezran. i know it’s been a hard time, but i really hope—” “i need you too.”

“so, how’s your book?”

“the three of us have been through a lot together. we’ll get through this, too. right?”

“the stars have never smiled upon their creations.”

[feline-ranger]

In light of the sad news about Bernard Hill, I feel like we should take a moment to really appreciate the acting performances in the LOTR trilogy. The fact that none of the cast got Academy Awards is well-known and I think even now the sheer visual spectacle of the trilogy can overshadow everything else, but the performances were SO crucial to what made the films great.

It’s easy to take the success of the movies for granted now, but that was never a guarantee. Aside from the practical aspects of portraying such an epic fantasy onscreen, the series is peppered with dialogue that is fine on the page but unbelievably difficult to deliver. As Harrison Ford famously remarked to George Lucas re Star Wars “You can write this stuff, but you can’t say it.”

From Gandalf’s “To the Bridge of Khazad-Dum!” to Elrond’s “It must be cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came!” it would be so easy for the whole thing to collapse into farce. The only reason it doesn’t, is because of the talent and conviction of the actors.

Bernard Hill was tasked with one of the most objectively ridiculous lines in the entire trilogy. “The horn of Helm Hammerhand shall sound in the deep one last time!” And he delivered. BOY, did he deliver. He gave it all the gravitas and emotional weight of Shakespeare, he made it truly rousing instead of ridiculous, he took the audience with him to that moment, that place, right into Middle Earth with its people and its history, and made it REAL.

And for that, I thank and salute him. RIP, sir. Go now to the halls of your fathers. You earned it.

[tealvenetianmask]

Stolas's Subtle Growth in Sinsmas (Social Class Edition)

I sat down to write a post about Stolas's bitchy, out of touch reactions to "normal" hellborn society. I was going to praise the show for allowing him to struggle to adjust, to be imperfect and disoriented and repeatedly put his foot in his mouth without realizing it. And yeah, I stand by that. These moments are funny and in character and just fantastic (have a run-down below). But that's not the point of this post.

Something else about Stolas's behavior struck me as I grabbed screenshots. And it's that despite coming off at times as super insensitive about "poor" life, Stolas is really trying to make things easy for Blitz, so much that he's willing to be very uncomfortable. The meds are . . . arguably an example, but that's complicated (mental illness stigma might play a role too?), so instead let's look at Stolas's initial reaction to being uncomfortable with the food that Blitz prepared.

His reaction is disgust, BUT he really tries to eat the food and make the best of it.

He doesn't start listing off the fancy foods he's used to until Blitz outright asks. And yes, his list is kind of ridiculous, but it's his reality, and when he asks for rats, he's uncomfortable about making a direct request.

Then, when Blitz offers to go hunt rats in the alley for him, he's appropriately grateful. Even more, this is entirely Blitz's suggestion. Stolas doesn't ask him to go get him different food. He's willing to eat something "off-putting" even if it makes him very uncomfortable.

Stolas goes along with Blitz for every errand, and then goes to work with him because Blitz asks him to, even though he's exhausted, out of his element, off his meds, and missing his daughter.

He also answers the phone at I.M.P while crying because Blitz wants him to.

We even see him empathizing with Blitz's perspective AND DEFENDING HIM when the horrible Karen client insults I.M.P.

It gives, "ugh, they have to deal with people like you," and it had me cheering.

This is all to say that Stolas WAS marinating on some valuable lessons about social class while our boys were apart, whether consciously or not.

He's used to having his needs met and routines followed by a staff, but he's making an active effort not to treat Blitz like one of his butler imps, and is trying to keep from being a burden. Arguably to a fault, if his choice to not bring up the meds to Blitz has to do with this.

Owl boi is trying so hard! And that makes Blitz's easy compassion more understandable too. He's not just indebted because Stolas saved his life. He's not just trying to win over the guy he loves who he pushed away. He also doesn't see Stolas's behavior regarding the social class stuff as very insulting. He sees Stolas trying to adjust but struggling hard. Of course he's going to do everything he can to help and keep his snark to a minimum.

[gold-onthe-inside]

wrong person...

who? spencer reid x blake!reader content warnings: reference to an open wound (as a metaphor), kissing, implied sex based on: req. @imagining-in-the-margins wrong recipient prompt (nsfw) - Character sends their friend a detailed review of their recent sexual encounter… and accidentally sends it to the person they’re reviewing - can be xOC word count: 1.5k a/n: it broke my heart having to make penelope the bad gal in this fic, but tbf, my girl can cross boundaries, even with the best intentions. reader is a psychologist and alex's goddaughter, set in s8 (maeve does not exist), after the fifth date. also, slightly tweaked the prompt so it's not necessarily a play-by-play review, but enough to sting. spencer's not the kind that kisses and tells in my book, and i don't feel comfortable writing reader!characters that do.

So, maybe it wasn't an entirely awful idea to let your godmother set you up with her colleague. He's definitely smarter than all your own colleagues combined, and easy to wind up too. In the beginning, it had all been to get Alex off your back, and then you hadn't been able to stop thinking about him all week. You had rules to navigate this stuff, you had refused to get attached until he texted or called you first, and there was a 5th date minimum to invite him in like this. Most days, your heart still felt like an open wound, too many men using you like a plaything, a stepping stone to someone else, but Spencer was different.

You leant on your elbow, always an early riser, the sun barely peeking through your curtains, as you took in his features - the slope of his nose, his perfect peach coloured lips that had been reverent to you all night, cleverly placed love bites behind his ear and chest. At 30, you were too old to be careless. He had freckles too, if you looked close enough, lightly dotting his nose. He's gorgeous and it felt ridiculous that he didn't know it with the way his jawline was sculpted by Michelangelo himself. You'd learnt a long time ago not to trust boys as pretty as he was, but Spencer was all heart, no matter what Alex said about his brain capacity. He was earnest in a way that modern men weren't, you could see why Alex was begging you to see him.

Slowly but surely, he started to stir, hazel eyes blinking up at you. "Hi, beautiful," he murmured, all hoarse from sleep and you couldn't help a smile.

"Morning, sunshine," you replied, and he's already leaning up to kiss you, his hand sliding into your hair, and you sink into his warmth, letting it dissolve you all over again, until his phone started to ring, and he had the decency to give you a sense of closure before pulling away entirely.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, slowly opening his golden green eyes.

"It's your job, don't apologise," you said, your voice mellow like honey, and he kissed your nose before shifting to take the call. You'd rather he kiss you like that and leave for work, than the guys who left before you could wake up - or worse, while you were in the shower. You sat up in bed, watching as he pinned his phone between his ear and shoulder, scrabbling to put on clothes and hopping into a pair of trousers, trying not to laugh - he was easily embarrassed, not that you minded. You liked reassuring him afterwards that you really did like him.

He doesn't blame you for speaking up before he hangs up, you were only trying to help, calling out his name to toss him his watch, which he caught in both hands (he's getting better at that), but it means Penelope hears her voice. And from there on, all hell breaks loose.

Penelope's relentless with this stuff, really the only thing that bothers him about her. He loved her with all his heart, but sometimes, she just didn't know where to draw the line. It's not the first time in history that an FBI agent had done something like this. Alex was kind enough not to say anything, which everyone took as a woman of her age being demure and respectful. But the rest of them…

It was his fault entirely, he should have had better control of his temper. But texting had always been a pet peeve of his, and every time his phone went off that day, it had been Penelope probing about the girl she'd heard over the phone. He'd done everything he could think of, even begged Morgan to call Penelope off the hunt, told him he'd do everyone's paperwork for the rest of the month, but even Morgan knew when a cause was lost. Penelope had tracked his card, found the restaurant the two of you had gone to (some niche Korean place he knew you'd like), and had gone to the extent of tracking you down and ID'ing you, and doing a full background check, and was updating him so often that he'd lost track of the case he was actually supposed to be working. Not being able to narrow the profile any further and the next phone vibration being the last straw, he'd texted back in a blind rage, not even reading the message that had actually been sent.

Spencer: stop texting me at work! i'm probably never gonna see her again anyway, so just STOP!

In his defence, not that he actually thought he had one after his mistake, Penelope had actually stopped texting him after the message had sent. He'd thought it was his text, but it had actually been because she'd tracked down their unsub. It wasn't until he called you with the intention of telling you that he was flying back that night (and was craving Thai food and her company) that he realised something was wrong, because you wouldn't answer. You always answered your cell. Not because of him personally, or so he was flattered to think until Alex corrected that, but because the virtue of your profession. Any call could be an emergency call so you always always picked up. You'd interrupted dates to answer calls - not that he minded, not with how his job sent him all over the country at a moment's notice. So, why wouldn't you answer his?

And then he realised. He had fucked up. Massively, massively fucked up. You had texted him around noon, wishing him luck with the case, that you had taken a lunch break in case he wanted to talk, and asking whether he'd eaten. To which he'd replied with a complete overreaction and now he was sorely tempted to jump out of the jet without a parachute.

He closed down any kind of small talk, sidelining Penelope's attempt to probe deeper, but even then, it was, what, an hour between Quantico and DC?

You were watching Roman Holiday on your couch, practically swallowed in blankets as you watched your comfort movie when the bell rang. Repeatedly. You didn't pause the movie - you had it memorised - as you left your cocoon to answer the door, looking through the peephole first. Spencer was panting, out of breath, almost bent over as you opened the door, mostly to make sure he didn't pass out. "What, were you chased by a hyena or something?"

"I'm… so… sorry," he panted, looking up at her. "I… I can explain all of it, I didn't mean it."

"I'm surprised you even came here, I thought you were never gonna see me again," you said dryly, knowing it was a low blow - he deserved a chance to explain - but you had been miserable for hours. He could live with a little of your sarcasm.

"I didn't mean to send it to you," he said and you tilted your head.

"I know that, you're too smart to mix up pronouns," you said.

"Penelope… heard your voice this morning… she was like a dog…. With a bone all day, just… constantly texting me and asking about you and I couldn't focus at work, I just texted it to her to shut her up for a bit, I didn't… actually mean in… Can I sit down?" he asked, pleading at you, and you really can't resist those eyes, so you stepped aside, letting him into your apartment.

He's too good at his job not to see how that one text had ruined your day - with your favourite movie and everything but the mattress from your bedroom hauled out to the couch, and he crashed into an armchair, his gaze on you as you poured him a glass of water and walked over, kneeling beside him to make him drink it. He let the cool liquid wash down his throat, then set the glass aside, leaning over and closer to you. "I really really didn't mean any of that. I mean, I did mean the stop texting part, and I meant it for Penelope, but not for you, I always want to hear from you, I mean, if I could, I'd shrink you down to Tinkerbell size and take you with me everywhere, but miniaturisation technology is too far away, we're barely getting 3D printing to work reliably--"

"I believe you," you said softly, pressing your hand to his wrist, feeling his thumping pulse.

"You do?" he asked, looking at you with those beautiful eyes.

"I do," you said. "To be fair, it did feel very uncharacteristic of you to say that to me, let alone get angry at me."

"It's just been a really long day," he said, tiredly, and you nod.

"I have the perfect cure for that," you said, smiling up at him.

"Yeah?"

"Roman Holiday and takeout," you replied and he smiled back down at you.

"Sounds perfect to me."

[charliemwrites]

In this 1fur1 au….may I raise you wolf!price? The dog/man basically struts right into your home out of the woods and immediately takes his place as pack leader. It doesn’t matter that you’re supposed to be the one giving orders, price is in charge now.

You want to get off the couch and away from the mass of cuddles? Absolutely not. Price will be giving you a look so domineering you are sitting right back down no questions asked. He has you well trained ;)

The others don’t seem to mind the new addition either, making way for a new top dog. Price is quiet and doesn’t cause trouble, but if you’re late home be prepared to face his doggy wrath

Okay, so I love this concept, but I’m gonna raise you one - and write a new part for it.

(Don’t worry, Gaz is coming soon. This ask just really spoke to me lol).

This is also a part 1 — part 2 coming soon.

Three fuck-off sized wolf dogs is a lot. Like, a lot. There’s the fur, the food, the playtime. And then just the sheer clinginess. You’ve always thought of yourself as a dog person, that they just naturally are drawn to you because you tend to be quiet and respectful of boundaries.

Your boys though. They’re something else. Johnny was the easiest of the three to acclimate to your household. When it was just the two of you, bonding and learning him was easy. Whoever had him first had already done a lot of the work training him. And he naturally seems to like girls better so.

Ghost was more difficult. Clearly some trauma there, and a more wolfy-attitude towards humans. Primarily that he doesn’t seem to understand (or agree with) dumb pet things like harnesses, collars, and about 50% of the commands you give him unless you use your Serious Voice. He’s gotten less stingy with affection as time has gone on and his trust in you has grown.

Helped in part, you think, by learning his personality and behaviors. He’s a creature of strict habit. Likes his routines. Likes his space even more; you’ve always been respectful when he wanders off to another room, or when he climbs off the couch to lay nearby but not with you. You never mind, just call that you love him and leave him be.

Konig has been your biggest challenge so far. A lot of trauma there. And possibly a naturally shy personality; though it’s so hard to tell after everything he’s clearly been through. He’s been improving steadily each day, little by little. He’s sweet as can be, affectionate and snuggly when you manage to get him to join you and the others. The least aggressive with men when you take them for walks.

You’re lucky, the boys are so well-behaved — dislike of men notwithstanding. Scary dog privilege is a true blessing when you live alone, with no close neighbors, and right next to the woods. And they are so ridiculously sweet with you at least.

Still, they can be a lot. Any one of them is nearly the size of you, when all three of them decide to act up, it’s overwhelming.

Johnny will starting howling, pissed that Ghost has pinned him again. Ghost will start barking and grumbling - presumably trying to shut him up. And then Konig will insert himself, whining and tapping his feet, trying to break them up, you think.

Sometimes they’ll knock it off on their own, and Ghost will sneeze, shake off, and everyone will come to sit with you. But sometimes…

“Boys!”

You wade in between them, get a hold of Ghost’s scruff and push him off with your thigh against his muscular shoulder. Nearly trip over Johnny as he tries to scramble up and get at Ghost, crying and growling at the same time somehow. You curse as Konig bumps into you, nearly makes you fall over Ghost, who backs up with his nose scrunched up like he’s gonna bite.

Which is about the time you’ve had enough.

“Boys!” There’s a blessed beat of silence. “Outside, now!”

Johnny charges for the door, barking over his shoulder at ghost, who is quick to follow. Konig is slightly slower, head ducked like he knows he’s being part of the problem.

You groan with relief as they pile outside, all three immediately getting into another tussle. They’ve been keyed up the last three days no matter what you do and today seems to be the day it’s finally boiling over. You just wish it was on a day that the yard isn’t wet with mud.

Well then. You drop onto the porch steps and run your hands down your face, sighing. Best to let them stay out as long as possible — try to make bath time a little easier, at least.

You hear nails on the wood next to you, a little squeak, a snort. Figuring it’s one of the boys, you reach a hand without looking and tangle your fingers in their scruff. Pause because… that does not feel like any of your boys.

No way.

You pick your head up, turn slowly. And yup, there’s a dog you’ve never seen before. Another weird wolf one. Not as big as Konig at least. Closer to Ghost’s size — and actually similar in coloration. Cream and tan, with sharp blue eyes, a funny pattern along his cheeks and jaw that looks a bit like a beard.

“What in the…” you breathe, “is there some kind of doggy magnet on this house or something?”

You creep your fingers up his neck and around to his chin, give him a little scritch before he tilts his head to sniff at your wrist.

“Hi, handsome,” you coo, “oof.”

You hurry to prop yourself up as he shoves his muzzle into your stomach, nuzzling up under your shirt. You squeak at the cold, wet nose on your skin — and then again he licks at your ribs.

“Alright, alright,” you huff, shoving at his chest.

He backs up, though not far, ears perked forward and eyes bright. You stare back at him for a second, then sigh and do your due diligence, searching for a collar or microchip. He waits patiently until you’re done, then stands and shakes himself off.

You arch an eyebrow as he barks twice. All three of your boys stop, heads jerking up and turning to the two of you on the porch. Another bark and your little pack comes trotting back. When Johnny tries to nip at Ghost’s haunch, the new dog rumbles low in his chest. And to your shock, Johnny falls in line and slinks inside.

“Huh,” you say.

The mystery pup sneaks a kiss to your cheek before following the others inside. When you just sit there for a second, staring, he twists to look at your over his shoulder and gives you a little “boof.”

You laugh. “Bossy bastard.” And follow them in.

Main Story | Happy Birthday! | Price pt.2

Masterlist

[xoxochb]

— here comes the sun ꣑ৎ‧₊˚.

warnings: just headcannons pairing: riordanverse boys x daughter of apollo

percy jackson loves how good you are with your bow and arrow. he sucks majorly at archery so when you found this out you did everything in your power to teach him to be just as good as you were. this took four months. but! the good thing was that he learned eventually. it took this long solely because every time you were explaining something his eyes would trail down to your lips and he’d zone out and one thing leads to another now he’s kissing you and now you’re kissing back and now you’re not even in the archery field anymore— it’s a whole thing. during the fourth month you got sick of his nonsense and forced him to finally listen to your words and he ended up finally learning basic archery (he later earned a reward for his obedience). besides your great archer skills you’re also skilled at painting. like usual, percy loves to fool around. you’ll have your canvas out and paint sprawled along your pallet but this dumbass takes a finger of paint a spreads it over your face. you both end up covered in paint and your work long forgotten. you made a mental note never to let him paint with you again, but knowing percy and his gorgeous sea green eyes you had no choice but to let him join you again. though you do warn him not to play around with your paint or he’d wake up blue (he probably wouldn’t mind this though)

jason grace is utterly obsessed with your singing voice— most to all nights this is the only thing that can soothe him to sleep. but not even just during the evening, it’s basically mostly throughout the day when you’re singing to him. sometimes you even play a variety of musical instruments to add onto the factor (he ended up learning how to play piano thanks to you). and!! another thing he loves about you is your poetry, especially when the poems are about him, those make his knees go all weak and his cheeks flush pink and he’s such a school girl, it’s ridiculous. but he loves your poems regardless if they’re about him or not, he likes listening to your sweet-like-honey voice and your extremely high vocabulary (gods, he loves your high vocab). along with your love for poems you also share a love for reading, often you’ll find old books to read together, whether it’s together, or separately then you talk about them later, he adores talking about nerdy books together. and since writing is something dear to you and your siblings you wrote your own novel some day with the help of your boyfriend (he’s your number one supporter), including a sweet dedication to him as a thank you and an I love you

leo valdez takes advantage of your healing abilities. every hour he shows up in the infirmary with a new injury whether it’s a small cut or something serious. after a while you started to realize he was purposely hurting himself so he could see you during your work. you scolded him for this and told him you’d much more appreciate his visits if he wasn’t hurt all the time. so after you told him this he started spending less time with his trinkets and getting hurt and more time bothering you in the infirmary (additionally bothering your patients). you’ve found, though, it’s not so easy to care for your patients when your boyfriend has permanently attached himself to you, you eventually had to restrict him from seeing you during your working hours. but do you think this would stop him? no it did not. every day he would wait for you outside as you work, your siblings scold him and tell you to take care of him so that resulted in you getting kicked out of the infirmary too. though with this new free time and all your siblings busy you were able to get the cabin all to yourselves!!

luke castellan is pretty sure every room you walk into instantly brightens up with beams of sunshine (not even figuratively, he really does believe this). your aura is enough the blind the regular man— but lucky for luke he is no regular man, he’s your boyfriend. unfortunately, this does have its downsides, which includes you waking up at the literal ass crack of dawn watching as the sun rises. slowly and carefully you slip yourself from his arms to sit on the porch of cabin eleven as you watch the sky switch from a dark purple/black hue to various colors including orange, pink, or yellow (sometimes all three if your dad is feeling generous enough). over time, though, luke realizes you aren’t in his arms anymore— the first time this happened he was confused and searched frantically for you, but eventually he gets used to you waking up early. on some mornings he will sit outside with you (he loves the way your irises get all bright and yellow at this time of day), he likes how everything is quiet and tranquil and this is one of the only times he’s able to spend alone time with you. he savors these moments over anything else in his life

[ponderingmoonlight]

Heya, could you write one for Tanjirou where the reader gets hurt on a mission and he feels bad about letting it happen as they were protecting Nezuko and he has feelings for her?

Thanks. I love your writing and take your time x

Okay I LOVE THIS

Tanjiro realizing his feelings for reader after she risks her life to protect Nezuko

Pairing: Tanjiro x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,8k

Synopsis: Despite being well-composed and never deciding without thinking twice, you find yourself recklessly risking your life in order to protect Nezuko from getting hurt by Daki. Little do you know what an impact your second impulsive choice will have...

Warnings: severe injury, near death experience, fluff over fluff with Tanjiro with probably the cutest ending I've ever written, not proofread, I'll use one collage and one stand-alone AI pic so if this triggers you, I suggest not to read or look at them 🤍

You never considered yourself impulsive. No, you never acted out of a feeling, never operated without thinking twice. Always kept your composure, a cool head. Maybe this is the reason for you still being alive, the reason why you are able to call yourself a quite skilled demon slayer on the side of your friends.

“You’ll come with me. I need you to look out for my wives.”

It was clear right from the start that this wouldn’t be an easy mission. All of Tengen’s wives enjoyed education when it comes to fighting skills. As a former shinobi, he made sure they were able to defend themselves. If he lost contact to them, it was clear something bigger is behind it. Something way bigger than anything you witnessed until that day.

“I can’t allow you to take (y/n) with you like that. I will join!”, Tanjiro suddenly shouted from behind with his oh so confident voice.

You will never forget the way he smiled at you back then, how much he cared for your well-being each and everyday since you arrived in the red-light district.

“I would never allow a demon to hurt one of my friends!”

Friends. Not quite the word you’d like to use for him. Since you first met each other when he saved you during the final selection, you always kept an eye open for the boy with the special kimono.

And his sister.

Apart from many people who dislike her, you loved Nezuko since the first day you laid eyes on her. Slowly but surely, it became your mission as well to save her, to free her from the curse of being a demon.

“I guess I’ll never be able to thank you enough for your support.”

You didn’t allow yourself to look at him, fully aware of that you’d get lost in his tender orbs again if you do. No, instead your eyes roamed about the glittering city to your feet, drifting over the facial expressions of the people underneath you.

“We’re friends, right? This is what friends do”, you murmured into the night.

Oh, you didn’t believe yourself a single word. What a filthy little lie to call Tanjiro a friend when all you are able to think about is his smell, when his voice is everything that lingers through your mind. Are friends supposed to think about one another constantly, to ponder about how their lips might feel pressed against each other? You promised yourself to never find out. After all, revealing your true feelings might scare him away forever. And losing Tanjiro all at once is definitely far worse than calling yourself his friend. After all, this would be impulsive with a not foreseeable outcome.

But even after you swore you’d never act out of a feeling, you find yourself sprinting into certain death.

It all happened faster than you expected. Inosuke managed to find Tengen’s wives and therefore the demon.

The upper moon six, to be exact.

The devilish who injured not only your friends, but Tanjiro as well. And now, she’s about to injure Nezuko as well.

Apart from your usual composed self, you find yourself dashing forward while grabbing the handle of your katana tightly. This is ridiculous, you don’t stand a chance against a demon like hair. Nezuko is a demon herself, she’d probably recover from her injuries.

You furrow your eyebrows, eyes fixated on both of them. It doesn’t matter right now. All you are able to think about is helping your friend.

“Get your filthy hands away from her”, you hiss through gritted teeth.

A well-placed hit. Your knee hits the ground roughly. Then everything around you is discoloured red.

Like in slow motion, you watch your own body sink onto the ground lifelessly. Your lungs feel like collapsing any given minute while you gasp for air like a fish on land. Blood takes your sight, drips down onto the already soaked floor while all you can do is watch in sheer horror as that hell of a demon grins at you.

“You did well until now. Dumb girl, why would you even think about defending a demon? Look how weak you are.”

The urge to cough becomes unbearable. Over and over, you spit out your own blood until your ribs feel like breaking. Did she hit you? Are you severely injured? Apart from your aching lungs, your body feels completely numb, almost lifeless. Like in slow motion, you watch as she walks towards you, the upper moon six emblem sparkling dreadfully in her eyes.

Is this your end?

What a senseless way to die when Nezuko is a demon. After all, even an upper moon wouldn’t be able to kill another demon without the right blade to do so. You never considered yourself so impulsive, so reckless.

Your eyes dart towards Tanjiro’s beloved sister who puts up a desperate fight against all the debris that buried her. Not everything needs to make sense.

It doesn’t make sense you decided to spare her life in the first place. It doesn’t make sense that you fell for her brother, that you allowed yourself feelings deeper than sympathy in a world full of cruelness and death. It doesn’t make sense that you decided to follow the sound hashira only to rescue his wives, that you actually considered going with him on your own.

All of that because you are so madly in love with Tanjiro. All of that because you view Nezuko as your own sister and could never allow another person to hurt her.

“What an ugly girl you are with your face twisted like that. What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

You can hear your flesh bursting underneath another merciless hit of her belt, feel the throbbing pain that starts radiating through your bones. You will die right here and now, without any doubt. And you will die without seeing his face again, without telling him a single word about your true feelings.

“Don’t worry (y/n), I’m sure we’ll be fine! And as soon as we’re back, I’ll invite you to a bowl of ramen!”

A bowl of ramen?

Like in trance, you press your hand onto your leg, feel your busted flesh all too clearly, your very own blood slipping through your fingers.

Just like the love of your life.

“You need to get up.”

A distant voice in the back of your brain, muted by the constant ringing that takes over your ears.

“(y/n), can you hear me? You need to get up.”

Is Tanjiro still with Tengen-sama? They will manage to defeat those demons, you just know it. With the help of Inosuke, Zenitsu and Tengen-sama, Tanjiro will be alright. Who knows, maybe he’ll be a hashira in a week from now, maybe he’ll defeat Muzan Kibutsuji. Oh, what you’d give to hear that boy’s voice one last time, to witness his beaming smile again.

“She’s basically dead, idiot. Get lost so I can finish her.”

Are those hands lifting you off the ground or is your soul evaporating from your body?

“Please stay with me, (y/n). You need to keep on fighting.”

You allow your eyes for the briefest second. When you open them again, you barely miss how Nezuko catapults the upper moon six into a nearby building with full force. No, why would she risk to get hurt, what if that woman hurts her? It seems like you’re moving away from the scene and you’re unable to do anything apart from stretching out your shaky hand.

“No…I can’t…leave….”, you breathe out.

“Why did you risk your life like that? (y/n) you…you could be dead right now.”

That voice, it isn’t inside your head. No, someone is talking to you with an oh too familiar voice in a tone you know so well.

“Tanjiro.”

“I’m here, (y/n). And I promise everything will be alright? I just...don’t do something like that ever again, not even for Nezuko.”

Even though the sheer movement feels like breaking your own neck, you lift up your head enough to make sure this isn’t just a dream.

But his eyes are already set on you, filled with nothing but worry and threat while he carries you over the battlefield.

For a moment, time stands still. Just you and Tanjiro. No battlefield, no injuries, no demons. Just peace, love and Tanjiro.

Love.

“I love you”, you mutter so muted that he almost fails to understand.

You can feel his heartbeat picking up next to your throbbing head, watch how his eyes widen. Oh, how lovely they look in that red light, how easy it is to get lost in their gleam. What a waste of time it was to keep your feelings to yourself when all you were able to do was thinking about him. How lucky you are to feel your body pressed against his one last time.

One last time…

“I…so…tired…”

Desperately, you fight against the urge to close your eyes. You need to take this sight in for a little longer, need to stay awake at least for another minute. But your vision slowly but surely starts to get darker and darker until you can’t see him anymore.

“(y/n), don’t give up on me, not when I didn’t told you that-“

Nothingness.

-a week later-

“You should really start focus on getting back on your feet yourself, you know? It won’t help her if you don’t get better too”, the Kakushi next to him speaks out.

Since the moment he opened his eyes and realized that you aren’t awake, Tanjiro didn’t allow himself to leave your side. The last time he did that was at the entertainment district. The last time he did that you almost lost your precious life over defending his sister.

“I will stay just a little longer”, he mumbles lost in thoughts.

You always loved Nezuko dearly despite being a demon. Even though your logical thinking and composed acting, you accepted her as the human she was before and supported him in finding a cure for his sister. Still…

He runs his fingers through his hair roughly, frustration almost taking over him. Tanjiro never expected you to almost sacrifice your precious life for his sister. Not when she’s fighting against a demon, not when two upper moons are your opponents. No one would have doubted you, would have judged you for staying in safety. Nezuko would have never allowed you to interfere if she could, just like him.

“I should have arrived sooner. I should have been right by her side all the time. Maybe none of this would have happened if I kept an eye on her like I promised…”

“Don’t be a fool, she would have never allowed you to stay by her side knowing that it might cost the success of the mission. Still, I didn’t expect someone like her to act so reckless. Who’s your sister doing?”, the man opposite of Tanjiro replies.

“She’s been crying the whole time.”

“Did she finally wake up?”, Inosuke suddenly blurts out while entering the room on his own.

“She’s still unconscious”, Tanjiro explains briefly.

“Did you put that horrible bandage around her head? Before you came here, it looked alright”, the Kakushi interferes dryly.

“With the power of master Inosuke, (y/n) will be back on her feet in no time!”

“H…Hello?”

When your eyes flutter open, you get greeted by 3 pairs of excited eyes in an instant, your clouded mind still unable to process that you’re awake.

“Where am I?”, you croak with your throat feeling like sandpaper.

“I will call Shinobu-sama right away”, the Kakushi announces and gets up with a swift motion.

“You’re at the butterfly estate, dumbass”, Inosuke barks at you.

“(y/n)….I was so worried about you!”

Before you’re able to react any further, you find yourself emerged by green and black fabric, surrounded by a scent you know so well by now.

“Tanjiro”, you breathe out.

Over and over, you whimper his name like a prayer in order to convince yourself that this is real. You didn’t die. You are still alive. And right now, none other than Tanjiro Kamado holds you in his arms as tenderly as you always imagined. Is it a dream, maybe? A sweet hallucination to get you through the immense pain?

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there. All of this, only to stand up for my sister. Words can’t express how worried I was. How is it possible that this made me realize how much I-“

“You’re finally awake, how relieving. Would you mind moving to the side so that I’m able to examine (y/n), Tanjiro-san?”

That voice as sweet as honey belongs to Shinobu Kocho, without any doubt.

“S-Sure.”

“You really fought well, (y/n). Surviving that long with such severe injuries took its toll on your body, though. All of this because you wanted to protect Tanjiro’s sister?”

Her skilled hands begin roaming around your skin while you feel her gaze fixated on you. But you cannot look at Shinobu-san right now. No, your eyes are locked with those of Tanjiro next to you.

“They both mean the world to me”, you murmur.

He lets out his breath visibly while taking a step towards you. What is that glimmer in his eyes? Sorrow, dread?

Or maybe affection?

“How unusual for you to act this reckless. But maybe this is what love makes us do, right? I will leave you two alone for now. How about you’re taking a look outside? The sunset looks lovely today. But please use a wheelchair since your leg is still shattered.”

With a last bright smile, the insect pillar is gone in the wind again, leaving you alone with Tanjiro in a suddenly so tensed room.

“What do you think?  Do you want to watch the sunset with me?”, Tanjiro questions with low voice.

“I would love to.”

As careful as ever, he lifts you off the bed and places you into the wheelchair before gently guiding you outside.

Your eyes get greeted by the prettiest red you’ve ever seen covering the whole sky. Like a painting, the beautiful scenery lays itself in front of your eyes. Shinobu-san’s flowers painted in the colors of the sky, the fluffy clouds that look so comfortable from afar.

But what mesmerizes you way more than that is the striking sight next to you, the boy you loved in silence since you first saw him. With his face lit by the downgoing sun and the ever so slight blush that creeps up his face while looking at you, you can’t help but get lost.

“Maybe I needed this”, he speaks out.

You blink a few times, still tired mind trying to process the meaning of his words.

“What?”

There is it. His usual beaming smile, the optimistic glimmer inside his gorgeous orbs. Careful not to hurt you he grabs your hand and gently strokes it while kneeling down next to you. Is this really happening? Your heart threatens to beat out of your chest, reminds you urgently that you are definitely still alive. Why would Tanjiro Kamado get onto his knees for you?

“You.”

An answer so simple and yet so intimate that you can’t help but blush as well. Like in slow motion, you watch as he draws closer and closer until his face is only inches away from yours.

“I love you, (y/n). I guess I was too dumb to realize it until I saw you injured like that because you protected my sister. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The words leave your mouth just in time before he places his soft lips onto yours, making all your dreams come true with one innocent kiss.

You always acted well-thought and composed. But oh, what a plot twist it was to follow your heart twice in a row.

-bonus-

“Did…Shinobu-san put this around my head?”, you question while staring blankly at your messy hair and the wild bandadge around your head.

“The insect girl? Of course it was me! You wouldn’t even be awake if it wasn’t for me! But don’t worry, you can worship me later”, Inosuke replies while stretching out his chest in full proud.

“You look…”

“Well…”

“I mean…”

None of the three girls dare to raise their voices at him whereas you stare yourself up and down. Of course, it was Inosuke. Shinobu-san would never stitch you up like that.

“Do you want…Kanao to fix this?”, one of them finally suggests quietly.

“Yeah….I guess that would be pretty nice.”

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls (your fic will be next) @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu

[cardentist]

I'm not blaming the op of the original post, or trying to imply anything about them as a person. and I don't want to single out this post in particular, because the issue is an broadly reaching trend rather than any one individual happening to write a post in five minutes one time.

but I really Really wish we'd stop and think if it's a good idea to say "girls turning into boys makes them inherently less interesting" on the transgender website

picking a privileged group to be the butt of a joke because it's lighthearted when nobody's actually getting hurt by doing so Only Works when everyone within that group is actually privileged. making jokes about how men are lesser than doesn't Actually affect the people who are actually within power, but Does chip away at the confidence and comfort of marginalized men who are In these communities to be exposed to it.

and the issue isn't about any one joke or poorly worded discussion in particular, but it's difficult to articulate why it can feel so alienating and unsafe to have things like this be so common within my communities without sounding ridiculous or risk being made fun of for not being able to take a joke. because the framing of implied privilege makes it easy to twist those feelings alienation into the entitlement that's assumed with men taking issue with being the butt Of a joke.

I simply think "this type of person is inherently lesser than" should be reexamined and thrown out as a talking point, even in a lighthearted context. because there will always be vulnerable people within those groups who already Hear that they are lesser than for existing

[gyummigon]

☆ my days with you (they are always happy)

beomgyu x gn!reader

୨୧ genre: fluff/comfort ୨୧ word count: 4.4k ୨୧ summary: after having a crush on your best friend for months, you have a silly, very silly, confession of feelings. ୨୧ a/n: truth be told, this is a little silly, and cheesy, but I wanted needed to write something that felt easy and refreshing. it's a little longer than i originally thought it would be, but it was fun. hope you like it, have a nice day:))

You liked Beomgyu. You liked him because of the way his eyes sparkled when he hummed his favorite song while doing the dishes, when he collapsed on the bed after an endless list of complaints about how tired he was, or when he spoke with overflowing emotion about the things he liked. You liked him because you found in him a kind of gentleness that you didn't find in the rest of the world, that you didn't think you could get from a man. And the amazing thing is that he was a man, but when you were with him, it was as if you saw the world through the eyes of a child. Eyes that saw happiness and didn't twist it, but made it bigger, spread it out and expanded it until those eyes - brown and deep and enchantingly beautiful - were the last thing left.

Perhaps you were in love with one of your closest friends. Or maybe you were just in the right place.

This thought was even harder to resolve when you arrived at your parents' house that Sunday afternoon, having checked off every single item on your mother's shopping list. You had only been out shopping for an hour, but it was as if you were returning home for the first time after the days out of town you had left behind. You didn't even know when you'd left the bags of groceries at the front door, or when you'd turned back to the garden to see that beaming smile with the wrinkles in the cheeks, let alone when your voice, shaky and too anxious for your taste, uttered an embarrassed "hey".

Beomgyu, who until then had been laughing at a ridiculous joke he had shared with your father, turned to look at you with an enchanting calm that could only be found on a beach at sunset, when the moon was doing its thing and the tide was ebbing in deep, sentimental sighs. The boy seemed to see something you couldn't define on your face, for his smile shrank to a soft, almost shy line.

You didn't take your attention off your face as he approached, hands hidden behind his back, and stopped in front of you. Despite your father's loud voice, the mischievous laughter of your younger siblings, and your mother's scolding of the dog to keep it away from the meat ready for roasting, the only thing you found yourself paying attention to was the disturbingly fast beating of your heart.

"Hey," you repeated, no less awkwardly. "What is this, I travel for a few weeks and suddenly my family has already adopted you?"

Beomgyu kept his shy smile and leaned against one of the wooden boards of the porch for a moment. His checkered shirt billowed slightly in the soft summer breeze.

"I think it's your father who decided to adopt me. He says I'm the exact representation of his youth: charming, talented, and outrageously beautiful."

"I think he says that to every young person he meets."

"Are you saying I shouldn't believe him?"

You didn't know when you started smiling, but your cheeks were sure to hurt if you didn't relax the muscles in your face soon.

"No, I'm just saying my father talks too much."

"A sincere and open man, I like him."

"As sincere as a politician in an election debate."

Beomgyu laughed and looked out into the garden, where your father was still sitting in a folding chair with a scowl on his face, trying to light the wood-burning barbecue. In a measured, polite voice that you didn't know he could have and that almost made you want to mock him, Beomgyu offered to help; but when your father looked up and - in the most millennial, bland way possible - gave him a thumbs-up before shouting a friendly "I've got it under control, son," for some stupid, irrational, and probably childish reason, you blushed. You blushed badly.

What the hell, since when did your father call Beomgyu "son"? And since when did your family normally invite one of your friends to join them on Burger Sunday? Was that your mother putting another plate on the table? Was that what Beomgyu did while you were away? Eat your burger in your place?

Beomgyu seemed to read the thoughts embodied in your expression very well, because he laughed softly and lifted a shoulder with an unseemly shyness. Surely, that's how you had captivated them all.

You little harpy.

And yet, to see him as vibrant and jovial as when you left was like a Band-Aid that lightened the burden of stress you'd endured these past few days. When you arrived in town last Thursday night, the first thing you thought of was to look for him, but the idiot had gotten sick from drinking bad milk and had begged you not to visit him until his diarrhea was over. He hadn't texted you since the night before, and you were beginning to think he'd dropped his phone in the toilet during one of his diarrhea attacks, but what you didn't expect was to find him at your house on your way home from the supermarket, nor did you expect to feel the way you felt: nervous, with words thought but never spoken, with desires intensified but more terrifying than ever.

"So... how was the convention that starved you for almost a month?"

You looked up as your younger brother ran past you, the dog not far behind. Before reaching the short stairs that led into the house, Beomgyu scooped your brother up in his arms and spun him around in the air before setting him down and encouraging him back to where your parents were. Your brother ran off with the dog behind him.

You blinked.

"It was a month of physical pain. I didn't know what an international accounting convention would be like until I went to one. I thought it would be like the boring lectures we had in high school and college, but apparently businessmen have fun with taxes and returns."

Beomgyu snorted in amusement and shoved his hands into his pants pockets as he turned to lean against the railing, looking you in the eye with that sweet smile of his.

"I missed you."

"Oh, did you?" you asked, keeping a neutral expression on your face as you raised an eyebrow. Despite your coolness, it wasn't hard to notice a slight blush spreading across your cheeks. It wasn't that you had been away from him for a long time, you had been apart for months at other times, but there was something different about his words this time that made you wonder if he really missed you or if he missed you the way you felt.

"Is that why you snuck into my house as an undercover usurper?"

"See, I've been taking over your family members one by one," he said with mock seriousness as he gave you an exaggerated look. But then the mischievous smile returned to his face, and he took a step closer. "What's the matter with you, aren't you going to confess that you missed me, that you were writhing in agony without my presence?"

"You've been texting me almost every day for the past three weeks, Beomgyu. I don't know how I could have missed you."

Her lips curled into a pout of indignation as she frowned. You noticed that one of his hands was on the railing, inches from yours. "That's really cruel. He was really unhappy."

"Right, how's your diarrhea?"

"Uhmm," he hummed, and from a distance you could tell he was trying to maintain a disinterested expression as he looked away. "I'm a feisty guy, you know? A diet based on soda crackers and oral electrolytes and puf, good as new. Why, are you going to make fun of me? Because let me tell you, you won't make me suffer as much as Yeonjun and Soobin already have."

"Diarrhea teasing is not my strong point."

Beomgyu let out a gasping, feigned sigh and placed his right hand over his heart, his eyes dramatically wide. "Is this empathy real, is it possible you'll come back a little softer?"

You snorted and shook your head. You couldn't remember when last summer had been like this: quiet conversations, laughter, and a silence that seemed somehow comfortable even when tension was building between you. You had forgotten the ease that had always existed between the two of you. You used to hate these months of excessive heat and aimless days, but ever since you met Beomgyu, you begged for every chance to laugh together, no matter the season.

"I'm not going to laugh," you said, lowering your eyes to your hands. You were about to say something else, but the words died in your mouth as he moved even closer, sliding his hand over yours on the railing.

You nearly choked on your own saliva. God, why did you get so nervous, didn't you just talk about diarrhea a few seconds ago?

You said nothing, and neither did he, but you watched his cautious, anxious expression before looking down again at your joined hands with his hand: yours flattened against the light wood, covered by his slender fingers and the soft, delicate pads of his thumbs, almost always rough and calloused from constant use of his guitar. His hand was warm, and you felt your heart flutter as he ran his thumb over the knuckles of your hand. It was a gentle, casual, maybe even innocent gesture, but it felt like a million fireworks on the skin of your hand.

"I... I thought about you while I was away."

He didn't answer, he just turned to look at you, and you couldn't help but feel your heart beat faster when you saw the look on his face. His smile was still there, but it had changed, it had become softer, and you felt like it was the only thing you could hold onto to keep from blurting out the pile of words that had begun to form on the tip of your tongue.

"It's stupid, isn't it?" you added, trying not to notice the butterflies fluttering in your stomach as his fingers brushed harder against yours, as if encouraging you to speak, to spit out the words before they bloated your stomach and turned you into a useless ball of desire and... God, weren't those lips so beautiful? "I've missed you. I've missed you all week."

"All month?" He corrected quietly, and you just rolled your eyes as you tilted your head toward the floor and kicked an invisible rock.

"I guess I miss you every day since I met you."

Even though you saw his smile widen out of the corner of your eye, he didn't respond right away, and that made the knot of apprehension in your chest grow. However, the wave of fear dissipated as soon as it came. His thumb was right on your pulse, probably sensing the way it had quickened for him. His touch was tender, nothing more than the gentle pressure of his thumb against your skin, but you were so mesmerized by the soft gesture that you barely noticed when he took a step closer, his body so close to yours that it was as if you were enveloped in the soft scent of his cologne. It felt like a secret moment, the way that even with your whole family gathered around the grill preparing dinner and the two of you, separated by the noise, just a few feet away, you didn't seem to notice anything but each other's presence.

"Tell me more about it." His voice was lower, softer, sending shivers down your spine.

"You want me to talk about how I missed you?"

He bit his lip as he gave you a mischievous, perhaps very silly smile and... No, it definitely wasn't the smile of someone who wanted to grab your heart and run away, was it? Because, hell, it felt like that.

You forced yourself to look away from his lips. Nothing could make you stupider. Nothing could make you freak out more. You had to avoid them, avoid the madness. But it was in vain, a deluded attempt to escape the traps of your heart, because just as you looked into his eyes, he dropped his gaze to your mouth for a moment, and you were convinced he could feel your pulse fluttering under his thumb. He took another step. Now he was close enough to push your back against the railing, his hand fully clenched over yours, and his eyes lost on your lips, begging you to speak up and do something stupid.

And so you did.

"I... I can tell you how I think of you when I see something funny. Or something frighteningly beautiful. Like those pink sunrises we barely see if we're not lazy and stay in bed till noon. Or two cats curled up on the sidewalk. Not that I want to cuddle with you, mind you... Well, it's not that I don't want to. The point is, cats are cute. Like you."

With a grimace, you paused to take it in and then forced yourself to pretend you hadn't said that. But you were strong, and you didn't let yourself stop, because you had already screwed up, and you knew that if you didn't say those words right then, you could never say them again.

"Today I was surprised to see you with my father, laughing and joking, when my father doesn't laugh with any boy who is related to me. Then I was even more surprised that it felt so intimate, so familiar, so close. I don't know if it was like one of those equations that I know at first glance will make me lose my mind and want to give up life at the slightest attempt to solve it, or one of those formulas that, even unsolved, look like one of the most beautiful in the mathematical world. Yes, I... I just made a metaphor using the words "beautiful" and "mathematical" in the same sentence. Okay, okay, stop laughing. It's just... You laughing with my father, what a disaster. What a disaster to realize that every aspect of my life likes you and what a disaster that every aspect of my life clings to you so much. I think that's why I miss you even when we're close. I don't want there to be any distance between us.

There it was, you said it. Done. Now you could breathe. Now your heart could relax a little, take a blanket and wait for the rainbow or the misfortune. It could go get a bunch of duct tape and Band-Aids or get naked and pole dance around an artery. It could get a funeral box or start believing that it's immortal. And it all depended on the guy in front of you.

Beomgyu's gaze was soft, as soft and gentle as the scenarios that automatically began to form in your head when you saw the mixture of surprise and tenderness that ran through his expression when you finished speaking. He looked down at his hands clasped against yours and exhaled a laugh that came out a little shaky. Then he returned to your gaze and stood there, silently studying you.

"I want to answer you," he whispered, "but I want to make sure I find the right words.

Idiot.

You tried very hard to keep a serene expression on your face, as if your world wasn't hanging by a thread. Then he did something you'd never seen before: he swallowed spit, his gaze sliding down to linger on your lips for a moment before returning to your eyes and swallowing again. "Wait a minute," he said hoarsely.

Without warning, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing against the railing as you struggled to catch your breath.What the hell had that been? You watched as he walked over to the garden table, grabbed a soda, then walked back over to you and leaned against the railing next to you.

He cleared his throat, took a sip, then looked back at you.

"Are you kidding me?" there was a mix of emotions in your voice, amusement, confusion, embarrassment, insecurity, indignation..., the urge to grab the soda can from him and bash his head with it.

Beomgyu blinked, seemingly surprised by your statement, then laughed, his mouth twisting into a smile that felt like a prize.

"What?" he asked, his eyes flashing. You tightened your mouth and he laughed even harder. "I can't believe you just said that!"

"What an asshole," you muttered, nudging his side.

He laughed, but his arms shot out to hold you, just as your nudge knocked him off balance for a moment. His hands wrapped around your arms and he straightened up, but he didn't let go of you or wipe that goofy grin off his face. You struggled to keep up the gesture of annoyance, though it didn't work very well when he pulled you to him.

"I... I'm actually pretty nervous."

His gaze had dropped to your mouth again, and when it came back up to meet your eyes, he bit his lip. His gaze was intense, as if he was struggling to find the right words to say whatever it was he was thinking. He let go of your arms to lean against the railing next to you, keeping his distance so close that your shoulder was trapped between his right arm and his side.

"I want to kiss you, but your dad is right behind me and I'm afraid he'll leave me without a burger," he joked, but his laugh came out too quickly and you realized he was really nervous. His gaze landed on your mouth again and he held it there for what seemed like an eternity before he let out a loud breath and closed his eyes. You were still processing the fact that the words "I want to kiss you" had just come out of his mouth.

"I'm sure you can live without a hamburger, Beomgyu."

His gaze returned to your mouth and your heart skipped a beat as he came even closer. Now he was so close you could feel his breath caressing your lips as he brought his hand to your waist to pull you even closer, and his lips - so soft, so tantalizing, and so agonizingly close to yours - parted and they were about to say something when suddenly your father's voice boomed across the yard.

"Hey, guys," he said in a hoarse voice. "Dinner's almost ready."

The sound of his voice made you jump, and you were surprised at how quickly Beomgyu turned away, taking several steps back and moving as far away from you as possible. His face was red and he held his arms carefully at his sides as your father looked up at the two of you.

"Is everything okay here? You two looked very... lovey-dovey," your father joked, his eyes narrowing as he watched both of your reddened faces and Beomgyu desperately trying to act normal.

"Eh-" Beomgyu opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. He opened and closed his mouth as if he was struggling to come up with an excuse. Your father, who was now smiling broadly, looked from Beomgyu to you and back to Beomgyu, who was still struggling. "Sir, I am in love with your daughter."

His unplanned statement came out in a rush, and your face quickly turned to him, mouth agape. He was also surprised by his own words, his eyes widened even more and he now looked at you in disbelief, his lips parted slightly as he processed what he had said. My goodness...

Your father had dropped the lid of the grill, your mother had stopped making the salad, and your brothers had stopped torturing the dog to look at you and Beomgyu. There was silence; no one moved or said anything. For a moment there was only the humming of the grill and the whisper of an occasional breeze. You were sure that Beomgyu could hear your heart beating in your chest and you were sure that you could hear it when he swallowed spit. He was so red, so shocked, that you thought he would faint right there, or run out first and then pass out in front of your house.

"Gee, well." After a long silence, your father nodded and added, "I'm sure dinner will be a long one."

You wondered if the seriousness in his tone was real.

Beomgyu shivered like a tired old oak leaf. Your mother shook her head, struggling to keep a smile from peeking out of her lips. Your siblings, like you, just stared at him, eyes wide.

Your father broke the second silence by clearing his throat and tapping the lid of the grill.

"I think the burgers are ready."

Before you could find the stability to move towards your family, Beomgyu's hand wrapped around your arm and his eyes, now wide and ridiculously expressive, shouted the words you had been waiting for.

"Listen."

"Yes?"

"I... I... It slipped out of my mouth."

"I know." Oh, God. No. You didn't know. You didn't know anything. You weren't thinking clearly. Your heart had eloped to a party and your brain had followed.

"Your dad likes me, look, it doesn't look like he's going to let me go without a burger."

"Beomgyu, I..."

"Listen," he repeated, and you would have told him to lower his voice if you hadn't seen his determination. "If your father banishes me from your house and I don't survive the heartbreak to tell you, I want you to know that I've been thinking about you all this time, every day, at all hours; especially in the morning, which is why every day starts out well now and is all happy and pretty and cheesy and all that. You're so... so fucking cute and distracting, which is why you saw me with my shirt on backwards the other day, which also explains the toothpaste stain on my sweater; oh! And the different colored socks. I didn't know that... This, that... you know, yeah... Love made people so clumsy and clueless, but now I know that if I get hit by a tricycle going three miles an hour, it will be because I was thinking of you”.

He was still talking, the words coming out of him as fast as the stream of water coming out of the hose one of your brothers was using to wash a sausage he had dropped on the floor. You just stood there, mouth agape, struggling to take in and process all those words.

"And just a moment ago I was so excited, so high, such an idiot for what you said to me, I can't believe I almost left without telling you, because I've been wanting to tell you forever. I don't know if it was those beautiful cheeks that I want to cradle and pull and pinch and bite all the time, or if it was the way your lashes whispered romantic tales and happy endings to me. I... I don't know how you did it, or what seductive trick you used to trap me, but you can take as much from me as you want; I don't know how much I have, only that I was empty until you came”.

Beomgyu finished, paused for a moment, and then smiled and shrugged, such an adorable and nervous and yet ridiculous and funny gesture. "Well, that... that's it."

There was no air in your lungs. Your heart, which had come back drunk, racing and out of breath, was beating so fast that you couldn't think of anything but the deafening sound it was making in your chest. One, two, three minutes passed and you still hadn't regained your mobility. Beomgyu inhaled sharply, shrugged again, and gestured to the table where the rest of your family was already sitting, looking at you, trying to pretend they weren't listening.

"I think they're all waiting for us to eat."

Fortunately, he made the decision for you and took your hand to lead you to the table. You still had your eyes fixed on him and your mouth hanging open as he led you to your seat. You sat down and your trembling legs were grateful, but your hand felt empty, sweaty and scared when it came away from his.

Beomgyu cleared his throat, blushed at the sight of you and murmured, "I'll be back in a minute, okay?" Then he left, mumbling something about going to the bathroom.

Your father looked at you as if he expected you to say something, but he must have seen the embarrassment and confusion on your face, because he then turned to your mother. "Did you understand him? I didn't understand him."

Your mother laughed. "I love that boy, but God, he talks fast."

"He wants to bite her cheeks," said one of your siblings.

"And pinch them." Said the other.

Your father nearly choked on his soda, and you nearly fell out of your chair.

"What? What is he talking about?"

"He wants to bite her!" your younger brother nearly howled with laughter. "He's always talking about biting her cheeks."

"And pinching them."

You covered your face with your hands and grinned like a fool. You didn't mind the dozens of questions your father asked and the teasing of your siblings; you looked at your mother's smile, full of peace, hope, promised laughter and dreams to be fulfilled, and you admitted to yourself that the days with Beomgyu would always carry a load of happiness that was capable of subtracting the importance of everything else.

At the same time, Beomgyu was leaning against the wall and facing the closed bathroom door, trying to sort out his thoughts. As he stood in front of you, the words came out of him so fast that he didn't even have time to realize how hasty and awkward his statement was. He felt exposed, vulnerable, he needed a moment or two or many to recover, but he was undeniably happy.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, thinking of you and laughing for no reason.

"Oh my God..." he murmured. "I'm so fucked up."

୨୧ txt - masterlist ୨୧ © gyummigon | all rights reserved. copying or adaptation prohibited.

[theonottsbxtch]

POWER OVER YOU | FC43

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

wc: 8.8k

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

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

It was bold. Reckless. Utterly ridiculous.

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

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

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

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

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

And that made him dangerous.

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

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

And the worst part? He knew.

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

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

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

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

She didn’t look up from her notepad. “I don’t do afterparties.”

“You should. It would be fun.” Franco’s voice dropped a notch, just low enough for her to catch the suggestion laced beneath the words. “I think you deserve a little fun.”

Her pen paused mid-sentence, and that was enough for him. He smirked and walked away, leaving her to question why her pulse had quickened, why her skin felt warmer beneath the Mediterranean sun.

She hated him for it. Hated the way he wormed his way into her thoughts, the way her mind replayed his voice at night when the house was quiet, her children asleep, her husband on a late call in the other room. It wasn’t real, she told herself. Just a trick of the adrenaline that came with this world, the intoxicating rush of speed and spectacle.

But as the summer races rolled on, so did his games. Each one bolder than the last.

In Baku, he brushed past her in the media pen, close enough that his hand grazed the small of her back.

In Singapore, he made a comment about her red dress, murmuring something in Spanish she didn’t quite catch but didn’t need to. The look in his eyes said it all.

And in Austin, after once again finishing in the points, he sought her out before the press conference. His champagne-dampened hair clung to his forehead, his grin still wide with the thrill of victory.

“Maybe this deserves an interview,” he teased, stepping just close enough that she could smell the sharp tang of champagne and sweat on his skin. “You know, something exclusive. Just you and me.”

She forced a laugh, masking the way her breath hitched. “You’ve already had your time in the spotlight. Go celebrate with your team.”

“Oh, I plan to.” His gaze dipped for the briefest moment before snapping back to hers, filled with a heat that made her heart pound. “But I wouldn’t mind celebrating with you too.”

This time, she couldn’t hide the blush that crept up her neck. Franco saw it—of course he did. And as he turned to walk away, he glanced over his shoulder and winked.

For the first time in her career, she felt like prey.

That night the hotel room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning. She perched on the edge of the bed, phone pressed to her ear, smiling at the sound of her daughter’s sleepy voice.

“Goodnight, Mum,” the little girl murmured, her words heavy with the weight of sleep. “I love you.”

“I love you too, darling,” she replied, her tone soft and warm. “Be good for Daddy tomorrow, all right?”

Her husband’s voice came through next, deep and steady. “Everything okay over there?”

“Yes, all fine,” she said, though her mind flickered to the chaos of the paddock, to Franco and his maddening smirk. “Just the usual madness.”

“Well, don’t let them work you too hard,” he said, his voice laced with familiar concern. “You need rest too.”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him, glancing at the clock. It was late, and exhaustion tugged at her limbs. “Give the kids a kiss for me. I’ll call again tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, love.”

“Goodnight.”

She ended the call and set the phone down on the bedside table, exhaling a long, steady breath. The day had been relentless, as they all were, and all she wanted was a moment of peace. Clad in a simple pair of pyjama shorts and a loose tank top, she crossed the room to pour herself a glass of water.

The knock at the door startled her.

It was firm but unhurried, the kind that demanded attention without urgency. She hesitated, her heart giving an involuntary flutter. It was late. Too late for anything routine.

Curiosity got the better of her, and she padded barefoot across the carpet, unlocking the door.

Franco was there.

Still in his team polo and slim-fitting jeans, his dark hair slightly tousled, Franco leaned casually against the doorframe, his eyes gleaming under the dim hallway lights.

“Evening,” he said, his voice low and smooth.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice sharper than she intended, though the crackling tension between them softened the edge.

“Wanted to see you.” He tilted his head slightly, his gaze sweeping over her. “You look beautiful.”

She stiffened, glancing down at herself. Pyjama shorts, a plain top, no make-up. Hardly glamorous.

“Don’t flatter me,” she said, though her tone lacked conviction.

“Not flattering,” he countered, stepping forward before she could stop him, the door clicking shut behind him. “Just telling the truth.”

She swallowed hard, acutely aware of how close he was now. The air between them seemed thinner, charged. He moved with an ease that was unnerving, like he belonged here, like her space was already his.

“You can’t just show up at someone’s hotel room uninvited,” she said, but even to her own ears, the protest sounded weak.

“Then kick me out.” His voice was a challenge, soft and steady.

She didn’t move.

Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against a stray lock of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. The touch was light, almost imperceptible, but it sent a shiver down her spine.

“You’ve been running through my mind all night,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Her breath hitched, her resolve cracking under the intensity of his gaze. “You’re out of line.”

“Maybe,” Franco admitted, stepping closer still, his presence now overwhelming. “But I think you like it.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat as his hand trailed along her arm, his touch igniting every nerve in its wake. The space between them dissolved, and she realised she wasn’t stepping away.

Didn’t want to step away.

His hand moved slowly, almost reverently, as though savouring the moment. Fingers rough from hours gripping a steering wheel trailed up her bare thigh, his touch sending a molten heat through her veins. She sucked in a sharp breath, her eyelids fluttering involuntarily.

It was maddening—humiliating, almost—to feel so undone by a simple touch. She was stronger than this. She had built a career on composure, on unshakeable self-control, and yet here she was, trembling beneath his fingers, her resolve slipping through her grasp like sand.

“Stop,” she managed, though her voice was barely a whisper.

He didn’t stop.

Instead, he took another step closer, his other hand brushing her waist, his palm warm against the thin fabric of her tank top. His breath was a soft caress against her cheek, his lips so close she could almost feel their heat.

“Do you want me to?” he murmured, his voice low and intoxicating, the kind of voice that made promises it had every intention of keeping.

Her mind screamed yes, but her body betrayed her. She stayed rooted to the spot, her pulse pounding in her ears, her lips parting ever so slightly.

That was all the invitation he needed.

Franco kissed her.

It wasn’t gentle or hesitant. It was fiery, unrestrained, and filled with a hunger that left her breathless. His mouth claimed hers with an intensity that shattered every barrier she had spent years building. Her hands, which had been poised to push him away, tangled in his shirt instead, pulling him closer.

The taste of him—sharp and heady—only made her want more.

She barely recognised the sound that escaped her, a soft, desperate whimper against his lips. The kiss deepened, and for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. No hotel room, no career, no family. Just him.

But then reality snapped back, sharp and cold. She broke the kiss, her lips hovering against his, her breaths coming in shallow, uneven gasps.

“We shouldn’t do this,” she whispered, the words trembling between them.

Franco didn’t pull away. His lips quirked into a small, maddening smirk that she felt against her own.

“We?” he echoed, his voice filled with quiet amusement. “You kissed me.”

Her cheeks flamed, her embarrassment flaring like a physical heat. “I didn’t—”

But he silenced her with another kiss, softer this time but no less consuming. His hands stayed where they were, one on her waist, the other resting just above her knee, holding her firmly in place as though daring her to argue.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against hers, his voice was a whisper in the charged air.

“Tell me to go, and I’ll leave,” he said, his thumb brushing a slow, agonising circle against her thigh. “But if you want me to stay...”

She didn’t finish the thought, but he could see the war raging in her eyes.

“Say the word.”

Her chest rose and fell against his, her breaths shaky as the weight of his words hung in the air. She knew what she should say, what the right answer was. But the way his thumb stroked her thigh, the heat radiating from his body, and the fire still simmering in her veins after that kiss… logic had no place here.

She didn’t say a word.

Instead, her hands tightened in his shirt, pulling him back to her, and their lips collided again, this time with a desperation that bordered on frantic. His hands roamed with purpose now, sliding up her thighs, over the curve of her hips, and under her tank top. His touch ignited every inch of skin it found, and she arched into him, a soft gasp escaping her as his fingers traced the bare skin of her waist.

Franco backed her towards the bed, their kisses never breaking, never slowing. His lips left hers only to trail down her jaw, to the sensitive spot just beneath her ear. She tilted her head instinctively, granting him access, and when he bit down gently, her knees nearly buckled.

“God,” she whispered, the sound barely audible, her hands clutching at his shoulders for support.

His low chuckle sent a shiver through her. “I’ve been thinking about this all season,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Her heart pounded at his words, the sheer intensity of his focus on her making her feel dizzy. She should’ve stopped this—could’ve stopped this. But as his hands slipped beneath the hem of her shorts, as his lips found hers again, her resolve crumbled completely.

She fell back onto the bed, his body following hers with a fluid grace that made her breath hitch. Franco’s weight was warm and solid above her, his hands exploring with a careful yet insistent hunger. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word made her forget everything else—her name, her career, the rules she had so carefully crafted for herself.

The rest of the night was a blur of heat and passion, their bodies tangling in a way that felt both forbidden and inevitable. He was everything she shouldn’t want, yet in that moment, he was the only thing she needed.

The following morning The shrill ring of her phone jolted her awake. Disoriented, she fumbled for it on the nightstand, her heart pounding as reality flooded back in sharp, unforgiving waves. The warmth of the body beside her—the body that shouldn’t have been there—brought everything crashing down.

She glanced over her shoulder and saw him lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, watching her with a lazy, satisfied smirk. Her stomach churned, and she quickly turned away, her eyes locking on the screen of her phone instead.

Her husband’s name flashed across it.

A knot formed in her throat as she pressed accept, forcing her voice to sound steady. “Good morning.”

“Mummy!” her daughter’s excited voice chirped through the speaker. “Good luck today! Daddy said you have another race.”

Her chest tightened. “Thank you, sweetheart. Are you ready for school?”

“Uh-huh!”

“Both of them are,” her husband’s voice cut in, calm and steady, utterly unaware of the chaos that had unravelled in the past twelve hours. “They wanted to call and wish you luck before we headed out.”

She swallowed hard, her eyes darting to the man in her bed, who was now stretching languidly, clearly amused by her discomfort. She turned her back on him, clutching the phone tighter. “That’s sweet of them. I’ll call again tonight, okay?”

“Of course,” her husband replied. “Have a good day, love.”

“You too,” she whispered, her voice barely audible as guilt clawed at her chest. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

The call ended, and she set the phone down with trembling hands, her mind spinning. She felt sick—sick with shame, with regret, with the weight of the choice she had made.

“We’ve made a mistake,” she said softly, her back still to him.

“Oh, no.” Franco’s voice was smooth, far too composed. “We haven’t made a mistake.”

She turned to face him, her brow furrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line. “We can’t do this.”

He sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist, his smirk growing wider. “Can’t? That’s not what you said last night.”

Her cheeks burned, but she didn’t waver. “This was wrong. It can’t happen again.”

His expression darkened, a flicker of something dangerous passing through his eyes. Then, to her horror, he reached for his phone on the bedside table, unlocking it with a swipe of his thumb.

“Oh, but we were just getting started,” he said, his tone casual but laced with malice.

She stared at him, confusion giving way to dread as he held up the screen for her to see. It was a photo—a candid shot of the two of them tangled in bed, unmistakable and damning. Her blood ran cold.

“One phone call,” he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur, his smirk curling into something more sinister. “And your career is gone.”

He snapped his fingers, the sound sharp and mocking.

Her breath hitched, her hands clenching into fists. “You wouldn’t—”

“Wouldn’t I?” he interrupted, tilting his head slightly, his confidence oozing with every word. “You’re smart enough to know how much I have to gain. I’m untouchable now. No team would dare sideline me, not with you on my side.”

Her chest tightened, panic swirling in her stomach as his words sank in. He wasn’t just a cocky rookie with a reckless streak. He was calculating, dangerous, and he knew exactly how to wield the power he’d taken from her.

“You don’t scare me,” she said, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

He leaned in, his face inches from hers, his smirk never faltering. “No?” he murmured. “Then why are you shaking?”

She hated him in that moment. Hated the way he had stripped her of control, the way he had turned her own mistake into a weapon. But most of all, she hated the flicker of doubt in her chest—the part of her that feared he was right.

The weeks that followed blurred into a surreal nightmare. Every time she stepped into the paddock, she felt his eyes on her. Watching. Waiting. The weight of his presence had shifted from seductive to oppressive, the once thrilling tension between them now a suffocating reminder of the line she had crossed.

And the worst part? Franco knew it.

At first, his demands were subtle. A flattering mention in an article here, an offhand comment about his impressive maturity during interviews. She told herself it was harmless—easy favours to buy silence. But it didn’t stop there.

“You’ll want to lead with this,” he told her one morning, sliding into the seat opposite her in the press lounge. He pushed a folded piece of paper across the table. “It’s a great angle.”

She didn’t even need to read it to know it was about him.

“Stop showing up uninvited,” she snapped, her voice low enough that the other journalists around them wouldn’t hear.

He only smirked, leaning back in his chair. “You should be thanking me. That’s the kind of insight people pay for.”

She stared at him, her jaw clenched, but he didn’t flinch. He never did.

“Clock’s ticking,” he said, his voice calm and maddeningly confident. “You wouldn’t want your editor hearing about… us, would you?”

Her stomach twisted. She snatched the paper and left without another word.

The next day, his name was front and centre in her column.

The exploitation only grew bolder.

After a chaotic race weekend in Brazil, he approached her in the paddock as the crews packed up for the night. The lights of the arena glinted off his sweat-dampened skin, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of another top-ten finish.

“I’ve got an idea for our next exclusive,” he said, his tone casual but his words barbed.

She barely looked at him, her hands tightening around her tablet. “We don’t do exclusives. I’m impartial.”

He chuckled softly, stepping closer. “Impartial?” Franco repeated, his voice dripping with mockery. “Come on, don’t ruin the fun now. Write it.”

When she didn’t respond, his tone sharpened, dropping to a low whisper. “Or do you want me to remind you what’s at stake?”

Her breath hitched. She hated the weakness he brought out in her, the way her body betrayed her with fear and frustration in equal measure. But she nodded. She always did.

The article went live the next day, an in-depth feature on the rookie sensation, full of praise and insights that made the racing world buzz. His face was plastered across every headline, his name chanted louder by fans at every circuit.

And he made sure she knew it.

She couldn’t escape him, not on the track, not off it. Every time she thought she could reclaim some semblance of control, he reminded her just how easily he could destroy her.

“You’re good at this, you know,” he told her after a post-race interview, his hand brushing hers as he handed back the microphone. His lips curved into that infuriating smirk. “I couldn’t have planned it better myself.”

Her professionalism was cracking, her mask slipping more with every encounter. The guilt of lying to her family, the shame of letting him dictate her career—it was consuming her. Yet she couldn’t stop.

Not when his smirk carried the weight of an unspoken threat.

The nights were the worst.

Under the harsh glare of the paddock lights or in the sterile silence of press rooms, she could maintain some semblance of control. But when the sun went down and the doors to her hotel room locked behind her, he always found her.

And she always let him in.

A week after the Brazil race, she paced her hotel room, her nerves frayed and her head spinning. The TV in the corner was on mute, but the images were unavoidable: him, stepping onto the track, his face lit with triumph, her words from that morning’s feature being quoted on screen. Her name tied to his glory yet again.

She turned away, running a hand through her hair, but a knock at the door stopped her in her tracks.

She didn’t need to look to know who it was.

When she opened it, Franco stood there with that same cocky smirk, still wearing the outfit she saw him earlier, the team shirt clinging to his chest. His hair was damp from a shower, and he carried the faint scent of cologne and adrenaline.

“You’re insatiable,” he teased, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, closing the door behind him. Her voice was firm, but her resolve wasn’t.

“I couldn’t stay away,” he said smoothly, turning to face her. His gaze dropped to her bare legs, the hem of her silk robe brushing her thighs. “And clearly, neither can you.”

She hated how easily he could disarm her, how her pulse quickened when he stepped closer. “This is a mistake,” she murmured, even as her body betrayed her, leaning into him when his hands slid around her waist.

“Say that again,” Franco whispered, his lips brushing her ear, “and I’ll stop.”

Her breath hitched. She said nothing.

His mouth found hers, and the rest of her objections burned away. It was always like this—intense, fiery, and utterly consuming. He kissed her like he was claiming her, his hands roaming her body as if he already owned it. And in those moments, she let him.

For all the guilt, the shame, the fear of what he held over her, she couldn’t deny the thrill of it—the way her pulse raced when he touched her, the way he made her forget everything but him.

The next morning, she stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, the faint marks he’d left on her skin hidden beneath her blouse. She felt like a stranger, someone unrecognisable from the poised, confident journalist she had been just months ago.

Her phone buzzed on the counter. She picked it up, already knowing it was him.

Great feature. We’re trending again. Be ready for the next triple header.

Her fingers tightened around the device. She wanted to throw it across the room, to smash it into a million pieces. But instead, she typed a reply: Fine.

Her reflection sneered back at her, and for the first time, she hated the person she saw.

Las Vegas was a circus, as it always was. The glitz, the glamour, the impossible tension. He thrived in it, playing the cameras like a virtuoso. Every wink, every sly smile, every clever soundbite only amplified the buzz around him.

And she was part of it, just as Franco had planned.

That night, as fireworks lit up the sky over the strip, he found her on the balcony of her hotel room. She didn’t even flinch when he slid his arms around her from behind, pulling her against his chest.

“You’ve been quiet,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder.

“I’ve been thinking,” she replied, her voice cool but distant.

He turned her to face him, his hands trailing down to rest on her hips. “About us?” he asked, his lips quirking into a playful smirk.

“About what happens if this gets out,” she said bluntly, her gaze locking with his. “About what you’d do with that photo.”

Franco’s smile didn’t falter. “I told you before, I wouldn’t do anything… unless you made me.”

She swallowed hard, her heart pounding as his thumb brushed the curve of her jaw.

“And you haven’t made me,” he added, his tone softening, almost tender. “Yet.”

It was a lie, of course. Everything about him was a lie, crafted with the precision of someone who knew how to manipulate people to their breaking point. But when his lips met hers again, when his hands explored her body with that same maddening confidence, she didn’t stop him.

It wasn’t always passion. Sometimes it was spite—her way of reclaiming control, of saying if you’re going to ruin me, I’ll ruin myself first. But even in those moments, when she swore she hated him, the thrill was undeniable.

The danger, the secrecy, the power struggle—it was intoxicating.

And that terrified her more than anything.

There were two races left of the season and she knew something was wrong the moment she walked into the paddock that morning. The usual buzz of race-day excitement was different—charged, oppressive. People stared as she passed, whispers trailing in her wake like a shadow.

Her heart raced. Her hands tightened around the strap of her bag, her chest heavy with dread.

When her phone vibrated in her pocket, she pulled it out with shaking fingers. There were dozens of notifications—texts, emails, missed calls. All from colleagues, her editor, even friends she hadn’t spoken to in years.

Then she saw the headlines.

SCANDAL IN THE PADDOCK: F1’s Most Powerful Journalist and the Rookie Star’s Illicit Affair!

Her breath caught in her throat. She clicked on one of the links, her vision blurring as the images loaded.

Her. In bed. Bare skin illuminated by dim light, her face unmistakable, her body tangled with Franco’s. Another photo of her standing by the window of a hotel room, wearing nothing but a robe that hung loosely off her shoulder. The intimacy, the vulnerability—it was all there for the world to see.

“Jesus Christ,” she whispered, her voice cracking as she stumbled into an empty corridor. Her stomach churned, the bile rising in her throat as she scrolled through image after image.

Her phone buzzed again, his name flashing on the screen.

She answered it with a shaking hand. “What the hell have you done?”

“Me?” Franco’s voice was sharp, defensive. “I didn’t do shit!”

“Oh, really?” she snapped, her voice rising. “Then explain why there are pictures of me all over the internet, pictures you took without my permission!”

“I didn’t leak them!” he growled, his frustration matching her fury. “My iCloud got hacked—this isn’t on me!”

“Not on you?” she spat, her hand tightening around the phone. “You took them, you kept them, and now my life is falling apart because of you!”

Her chest heaved as she paced the corridor, her free hand trembling as it raked through her hair. She felt like she was coming apart at the seams, every word from him only fuelling her rage.

“Look,” Franco said, his tone softening, “we’ll handle this. I’ll make a statement, say they’re fake or something—”

“Fake?” she interrupted, her laugh sharp and bitter. “Everyone knows they’re real. Do you have any idea what this is going to do to me? To my career? To my family?”

As if on cue, her phone buzzed again. This time, it was her husband.

Her stomach dropped. “I need to go,” she muttered, cutting him off before he could respond.

She answered the call, her voice weak. “Hi.”

There was silence on the other end, heavy and damning. Then came his voice, low and cold. “I saw the photos.”

She closed her eyes, her throat tightening. “I—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, his tone sharp. “Don’t insult me by trying to explain. I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

“It wasn’t supposed to—”

“To what?” he snapped. “Get out? Be exposed? Do you think that makes it any better?”

Her hand gripped the edge of a table, her knuckles white. “Please,” she whispered. “Please don’t—”

“Don’t what? Let this affect the kids?” His voice cracked, fury giving way to something far more painful. “They saw the news, you know. They don’t understand it, but they saw. And I had to lie to them, to protect you. But I can’t keep doing this. I can’t let you see them right now.”

Her heart shattered. “You don’t mean that,” she whispered, tears blurring her vision.

“I do,” he said, his voice firm. “Until you sort this mess out, I don’t want them anywhere near you.”

The line went dead.

For a moment, she stood frozen, the phone still pressed to her ear. Then the weight of it all crashed down on her, and she let out a scream of pure rage, throwing the phone against the wall. It shattered, the pieces scattering across the floor like the fragments of her life.

Behind her, he stepped into the room. She hadn’t even noticed his arrival, but now he stood there, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed.

“Well,” Franco said, his tone light, almost mocking, “sounds like you had an eventful call.”

She turned on him, her eyes blazing. “Get out.”

“Let’s not be hasty,” he said, stepping closer. “I can help—”

“Help?” she snapped, her voice breaking. “You’ve done nothing but destroy me. My career, my family—everything’s ruined because of you!”

He stopped a few feet away, his expression shifting from smug to something colder. “You’re acting like I planned this,” he said evenly. “I told you, I didn’t leak those photos. Someone else did. But if you’d rather blame me, fine.”

Her fists clenched at her sides, her whole body trembling. “You don’t get it, do you? You’ve taken everything from me!”

“No,” he said softly, his eyes locking with hers. “You gave it to me.”

Her breath caught, the truth of his words hitting her like a punch to the gut.

Franco stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “But don’t worry. You still have me. And maybe, just maybe, I’m all you’ll need now.”

Her stomach twisted, and for the first time, she realised just how deep she had sunk.

She didn’t even hear the door open as the next person walked in.

“Just the person I was looking for.”

The sound of her manager’s voice snapped her out of the suffocating silence. She turned to see him standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable but his posture rigid. Behind him, Franco straightened, the smug veneer slipping into something closer to indifference as he slid his hands into his pockets.

“Give us a moment,” her manager said curtly, glancing at Franco.

Franco tilted his head, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk. “Of course.” He brushed past her, the scent of his cologne lingering in the air. But not before he shot her a knowing look, one that made her blood boil.

When the door clicked shut behind him, her manager turned back to her. His face was pale, the lines around his mouth deeper than she remembered.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice trembling.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “We’ve done everything we can to mitigate the fallout, but the board has made their decision.”

She swallowed hard, her chest tightening. “What decision?”

He looked at her with something like pity. “You’re dismissed. Effective immediately.”

Her heart dropped. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m afraid I am.” His tone was calm, rehearsed, like he’d been preparing for this conversation for hours. “Your credentials are revoked. Your paddock pass has been deactivated. You’re no longer affiliated with the network.”

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“I made sure the hotel is covered until Monday,” he added, almost apologetically. “But after that…” He trailed off, his meaning clear.

She shook her head, her voice finally finding her. “You can’t do this. I’ve given everything to this job, to this sport—”

“And I know that,” he interrupted, his tone soft but firm. “But this scandal is bigger than you or me. The board doesn’t want to risk the network’s reputation, and frankly, neither do our sponsors.”

Her legs felt weak, her vision blurring with unshed tears. “So that’s it?” she whispered. “I’m just… done?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “I’m sorry.”

The words hung in the air like a death knell.

When he left, closing the door behind him with a quiet finality, her knees buckled. She sank to the floor, her hands trembling as the tears finally spilled over. Sobs wracked her body, raw and uncontrollable, the weight of everything crashing down on her at once.

Her career. Her family. Her dignity.

Gone.

She didn’t hear him come back in.

Franco’s voice broke through her sobs, low and measured. “Amore.”

She lifted her head, her vision blurred with tears. “Get out.”

Instead of leaving, he crouched in front of her, his eyes scanning her face. “You’re crying over them?” he asked, his voice laced with mockery. “Over people who turned their backs on you the second things got messy?”

Her jaw clenched, fury flaring through her grief. “This is your fault,” she hissed, her voice shaking. “You ruined me.”

Franco’s expression didn’t change. If anything, he looked almost… amused.

“Stop it,” she snapped, her hands curling into fists. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” he murmured, his tone infuriatingly calm.

“Like you own me.”

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he reached out, his thumb brushing over her trembling lip. She flinched, but he didn’t pull back.

“Shhh,” he whispered, his touch lingering. “You’re spiralling, querida. And that’s not a good look for someone who needs to rebuild.”

Her breath hitched at the intimacy of his gesture, but her fury burned brighter. “I don’t need anything from you,” she spat.

“Don’t you?” he asked, tilting his head. His thumb traced the corner of her mouth, his smirk returning. “Because from where I’m standing, you don’t have anyone else.”

Her hands shot up, shoving his chest. “Get away from me.”

But he didn’t budge. His hands caught hers, holding them firmly but gently, his gaze locking with hers.

“I’ve got you now,” he said, his voice low and steady, the words cutting through her resistance like a blade. “And you’ll see soon enough—that’s not a bad thing.”

His confidence, his control—it was maddening, suffocating. Yet a tiny, treacherous part of her couldn’t deny the truth in his words.

She pulled her hands free, her voice breaking. “I hate you.”

He smiled, soft and infuriating. “No, you don’t.”

The tears fell harder, but this time she didn’t stop him when he pulled her into his arms.

And maybe that was the worst part of all.

By the time her flight landed in London on Monday, the storm of the past week felt like a distant roar, dulled but ever-present. The drive to her house was quiet, the cab driver offering polite silence, though she caught his occasional glance in the rear-view mirror. Her name had been plastered across headlines for days; even here, half a world away from the paddock, she couldn’t escape it.

The house came into view, the familiar brick façade standing as stoic as ever. But as the cab pulled to a stop, her heart sank.

Her husband was waiting at the gate.

He didn’t move as she stepped out of the car, her suitcase dragging behind her. The set of his jaw, the stiffness in his shoulders—it was all wrong. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat as she approached.

“I’m here to see the kids,” she said quietly, her voice tentative.

“You can’t,” he replied, his tone clipped.

She blinked, confusion laced with growing panic. “What do you mean, I can’t?”

He held up a manila envelope, the weight of it hanging heavily between them. “You’re being served.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. She stared at the envelope, her breath catching.

“Divorce papers,” he clarified, his voice flat. “I don’t want you in this house. I don’t want you near the kids until this is sorted. Do you understand me?”

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “Please,” she whispered. “They’re my children—”

“They’re our children,” he interrupted harshly. “And I’m not going to let you drag them into this mess. You made your choice.”

Her hands trembled as she took the envelope. She wanted to scream, to beg, to fight, but the look in his eyes—cold, unyielding—stole the words from her.

“Don’t come back here,” he said, stepping back. “Not until this is over.”

And with that, he turned and walked inside, the door slamming shut behind him.

She stood there for what felt like an eternity, the envelope clutched in her hands, the weight of everything crashing down on her shoulders.

The hotel room she found last minute was sterile and impersonal, the kind of place meant for fleeting stays and forgettable nights. She dropped her suitcase by the door and collapsed onto the bed, her body heavy with exhaustion.

But sleep wouldn’t come.

Her phone buzzed incessantly, the onslaught of notifications a cruel reminder of her reality. Against her better judgement, she opened her browser.

The headlines were relentless: “Scandal Rocks F1: Rookie’s Affair with Veteran Journalist Exposed!”“Power Dynamics Questioned in F1 Affair—Who’s Really to Blame?”“F1 Reporter’s Career in Tatters After Shocking Scandal with Rising Star.”

Each article seemed worse than the last, painting her as a manipulative predator who had taken advantage of Franco’s naivety. The comments were even crueler, people calling her names she couldn’t bear to read twice.

She scrolled through social media, the vitriol stinging like acid. Every tweet, every post, every meme was a dagger to her already shattered sense of self.

But then she stumbled upon something different.

A Reddit thread, buried beneath the chaos, caught her attention: “Anyone else think this isn’t what it seems?”

She clicked on it, her heart pounding as she read the comments.

“I don’t buy it. Have you seen how cocky that rookie is? He’s been flirting with her on camera all season. She never encouraged it.”

“Right? She’s one of the best journalists in the sport. Why would she risk it all for him?”

“Exactly. Feels like he took advantage of her, especially with the way he’s spinning this in interviews. Classic power play.”

“And the leaked photos? Who even keeps that kind of stuff on their iCloud? Feels like he knew what he was doing.”

Her hands shook as she scrolled through the thread, her tears blurring the screen. For the first time, someone—strangers, no less—saw what she hadn’t dared to admit to herself.

Maybe this wasn’t entirely her fault.

But the small flicker of validation did little to ease the storm inside her. She closed the browser, tossing the phone onto the bed.

The room felt unbearably quiet, the weight of her isolation pressing down on her. She curled up on the bed, tears streaming down her face as exhaustion finally overtook her.

When she finally woke up the following morning, her face felt raw from all the tears and her bones stiff from the awkward position she slept in.

She wasn’t a day drinker really but somethings changed.

She sat on the edge of the hotel bed, her fingers hovering over the rim of a half-empty glass of wine. The muted glow of the TV cast long shadows across the room, the low hum of some mindless programme barely masking the oppressive silence when she heard the knock at the door, sharp and insistent.

Her heart leapt into her throat, dread gripping her. Franco? No. Not here. Surely he wouldn’t…

But the knock came again, firmer this time.

She stood slowly, tiptoeing to the door, her breath shallow. Peeking through the peephole, she exhaled in relief. It wasn’t him. It was— Ellie?

She hesitated, unsure of how to feel. Ellie, the young, bright journalist she’d taken under her wing years ago. She cracked the door open, her voice wary. “What are you doing here?”

Ellie offered a tentative smile, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her oversized coat. “Can I come in?”

She hesitated for a moment longer before stepping aside, allowing Ellie to enter.

“How did you know I was here?” she asked, shutting the door behind her.

Ellie turned, her expression cautious. “I went to your house. Your husband answered. He… mentioned you were here.”

She let out a hollow laugh, shaking her head. “Of course, he did. Probably thought you’d come to gloat.”

“I’m not here to gloat,” Ellie said firmly, her voice tinged with something close to defiance. “I’m here because I wanted to talk to you.”

She crossed her arms, leaning against the wall. “Talk about what? How associating with me is going to get you fired?”

Ellie’s gaze softened. “I’m not going to get fired.”

“That’s naive.” she sighed, brushing a hand through her hair. “The network doesn’t want anything to do with me. You shouldn’t either.”

Ellie shook her head. “That’s not why I’m here. I came because… I don’t believe it. I don’t believe you seduced Franco. It doesn’t add up. I’ve worked with you. I know you.”

She blinked, her throat tightening as the weight of Ellie’s words sank in. It had been so long since anyone had spoken to her like that—with trust, with belief.

“I know you didn’t do this,” Ellie continued. “I think he’s the one who manipulated you.”

The tears came before she could stop them. She turned away, covering her mouth as a sob escaped.

Ellie stepped closer, her voice gentle. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you—”

“No,” she said, her voice trembling. “It’s not that. I just… no one’s said that to me. Everyone’s so quick to assume the worst.”

Ellie hesitated before placing a hand on her shoulder. “I know what kind of person you are. And it’s not too late to set the record straight.”

She let out a bitter laugh, wiping her eyes. “It is too late. My career’s in ruins. My family’s gone.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s over,” Ellie insisted. “We can fight back. Tell your side of the story.”

She turned to face her, scepticism etched across her face. “And how do you propose I do that? I’m a pariah.”

Ellie’s expression hardened, a flicker of determination in her eyes. “We go public. But not through the networks—they’re too invested in tearing you down. We do it ourselves. An exposé, a documentary, something raw and unfiltered. You’ve got a following. People will listen.”

She stared at the girl before her, the weight of the idea settling in. “You’d risk your career for this?”

Ellie shrugged. “You risked your reputation for me when no one else would give me a chance. I’m just returning the favour.”

The room fell silent, the air thick with unspoken possibilities. Hermind raced. She wanted to believe it was possible, that she could claw her way back from this abyss.

But doubt lingered.

“Ellie,” she whispered. “If we do this… he won’t just sit back and let it happen.”

Ellie’s jaw tightened. “Let him try. He’s already losing control of the narrative. People are starting to see through him. All we have to do is show the world the truth.”

For the first time in weeks, she felt a spark of something she thought she’d lost—hope.

“Okay,” she said finally, her voice steadying. “Let’s do it.”

Ellie returned to the hotel the next evening, her arms full—a compact camera, a tripod, a microphone, and a laptop. She looked almost nervous as she set everything up, her hands fumbling slightly with the equipment.

“This isn’t exactly the BBC studio,” Ellie joked weakly, glancing at her, who sat on the edge of the bed, clutching a glass of water for a change.

Her lips curved in a faint smile, but the tension in her posture was unmistakable. “It’s fine. Better this way. No filters, no edits. Just the truth.”

Ellie nodded, adjusting the tripod until the camera was level. She attached the microphone and tested the sound, her voice echoing softly in the quiet room.

“Right,” Ellie said, straightening. “Are you ready?”

She stared at the camera, her reflection distorted in the lens. She wasn’t sure if she was ready. But she had no choice.

“Let’s get this over with,” she murmured.

Ellie pressed record, the small red light blinking to life. She settled into the chair opposite her, the notebook resting on her lap.

“Right,” Ellie began, her tone measured and calm. “I know this is difficult, but I want you to tell me what happened. In your own words.”

She exhaled shakily, her gaze flickering to the camera before settling on Ellie. “At first, it was… flattering,” she said quietly. “Franco’s attention, I mean. He’s young, charming, confident. He made me feel… noticed.”

Ellie nodded, her expression encouraging.

“But it wasn’t just that,” she continued, her voice growing steadier. “He knew how to play the game. On camera, off camera—it was all calculated. I didn’t see it at first. I thought it was harmless, just a bit of flirtation. But then…” She hesitated, her hands tightening around the glass.

“Then what?” Ellie prompted gently.

She swallowed hard. “Then it became something I couldn’t control. He was in my hotel room every night. At first, I let him in because I didn’t want to cause a scene and I liked the attention. I thought if I played along, he’d lose interest. But he didn’t. He kept pushing, and I felt like… like I couldn’t say no.”

Her voice cracked, and she looked away, blinking rapidly.

Ellie leaned forward, her tone soft but insistent. “Why did you feel like you couldn’t say no?”

Her laugh was bitter. “Because he had power. Not the kind of power people think—the rookie versus the journalist. It wasn’t about status. It was… personal. Intimate. He knew things about me—about my family, my career, my weaknesses. He knew exactly how to use them against me.”

Ellie’s pen moved swiftly across her notebook, but her focus never wavered. “Did you ever feel like you could talk to someone about this? A colleague, your husband?”

“No.” her response was immediate, her voice sharp. “I didn’t think anyone would believe me. It’s Franco Colapinto. He’s—what do they call him? The golden rookie of F1? And me? I’m the woman twice his age who should’ve known better. Who would’ve believed me?”

Ellie nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. “But you’re speaking now. What changed?”

Her gaze met the camera, her eyes blazing with a mix of anger and determination. “Because I’m tired of being silent. Tired of being painted as the villain in a story I never wanted to be a part of.”

Ellie paused, letting the weight of her words settle before she spoke again. “What do you want people to take away from this?”

Her voice softened, but her resolve remained firm. “I want them to see the truth. I want them to understand that power doesn’t always look the way you think it does. And I want them to know that I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want this.”

Ellie nodded, closing her notebook and turning off the camera. “That was incredible. Thank you.”

She let out a shaky breath, her shoulders slumping. “I just hope it’s enough.”

Ellie reached over, placing a hand on her knee. “It will be. We’ll edit this tonight and get it out tomorrow. You’re taking back the narrative. This is your story now.”

True to her word, the next morning, she was sitting curled up on the hotel bed, her nerves frayed and her stomach in knots. The weight of last night’s confession still hung heavy in the room, and she hadn’t slept much. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the blinking red light of the camera, the words she’d spoken playing back in her head.

A knock at the door startled her, but when she peered through the peephole, relief washed over her. It was Ellie, holding two takeaway coffees and a determined expression.

She opened the door, and Ellie breezed in, setting the coffees down on the small table by the window. “Morning,” she said, glancing at her. “How are you holding up?”

She shrugged, wrapping her arms around herself. “I feel like I’m waiting to step on a landmine.”

Ellie gave her a reassuring smile, unpacking her laptop from her bag. “That’s normal. But trust me, you did the right thing.”

She nodded, though she didn’t entirely believe it.

Ellie set up the laptop, quickly uploading the edited video to her dormant personal YouTube channel where she once posted vlogs about being a journalist in Formula One. She added a brief caption: My Truth.

“Okay,” Ellie said, her voice steady. “Are you ready?”

She hesitated, her fingers hovering over the trackpad. “What if it makes things worse?”

Ellie reached over, placing a firm hand on her arm. “It won’t. You’re not alone in this. People will listen. People already are.”

With a deep breath, she clicked Post. The video went live.

For a moment, they just stared at the screen, the thumbnail of her weary but defiant face staring back at them. Ellie closed the laptop with a decisive snap.

“Now,” Ellie said, turning to her, “we wait.”

She nodded, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Her eyes filled with tears as the reality of what they’d done settled over her. She turned to Ellie, her voice breaking. “Thank you. For believing in me. For… for doing this when no one else would.”

Ellie smiled softly, pulling her into a warm hug. “You don’t have to thank me. You would’ve done the same for me.”

She held on tightly to the girl she’d once taken under her wing, her tears spilling freely now. “I just… I didn’t think anyone would ever believe me again.”

Ellie pulled back slightly, gripping her shoulders. “You’re stronger than you think. And this? This is just the beginning.”

The moment was interrupted by the shrill ring of her phone on the bedside table. Both women froze, their eyes darting to the device.

Her heart sank when she saw the name on the screen. Franco.

Her hand trembled as she reached for the phone, her thumb hovering over the decline button.

“Answer it,” Ellie said quietly. “You need to know what he’s going to do.”

She nodded, her throat tightening. She swiped to accept the call and brought the phone to her ear.

“Amore,” Franco’s voice drawled, smooth and infuriatingly calm. “I see you’ve been busy.”

Her stomach churned. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to congratulate you,” he said, his tone laced with mockery. “That little video of yours? Brave move. Stupid, but brave.”

She gritted her teeth, her grip tightening on the phone. “It’s the truth, Franco. Something you wouldn’t recognise if it slapped you in the face.”

He laughed, low and cold. “Oh, querida. You think you’ve won something here? All you’ve done is draw more attention to yourself. To us. Do you think people won’t pick apart every word you said? That they won’t find the cracks in your story?”

Her hand shook, but she forced herself to stand firm. “They’ll see through you, Franco. You can’t control this anymore.”

His voice dropped, dangerously soft. “We’ll see about that. But let me give you a little advice, free of charge—enjoy the calm while it lasts. Because this storm? It’s far from over.”

The line went dead.

She lowered the phone slowly, her chest heaving.

“What did he say?” Ellie asked, her voice cautious.

SHe turned to her, her jaw tight. “He’s scared. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

Ellie gave a grim nod. “Good. Let him be scared. We’ve got more than the truth on our side now. We’ve got momentum.”

She sank onto the bed, her pulse racing. The fear was still there, coiling in her gut like a snake, but alongside it was something new. A flicker of hope.

For the first time in weeks, she felt like she wasn’t fighting this battle alone.

taglist: @waytooobsessedwithlife @maxivstappen @heli991113

[yourstrqly]

✰ LATE NIGHT'S DESIRE , O. PIASTRI

[ preview ] working as a mclaren strategist for years, the newest driver is the perfect candidate to satisfy your hunger — he does make it easy for you, coming to your door in the middle of the night.

[ tw ] smut, unprotected sex, dom!fem!reader, teeny tiny little bit of corruption kink, spit kink, inappropriate work relationship | gif by @princemick

[ a/n ] idk what this is but yeah slay or whatever bruh. Might write more smut about oscar, I'm really fixed on him rn + ITS MELBOURNE GP and in honor of that i had to write a little something

. minors do not read | masterlist .

The sight of the quiet, charmingly awkward Oscar makes your blood pump fastly though your veins as the desire within you grows. You know its wrong, having inappropriate thoughts about a co-worker, one that isn't as secure as you are on the team but you can't help yourself with it; the need to fuck whoever is handsome and new is strong enough to make you black out rules.

First you had Lando — he was eager to fuck you as you pleased, then you had to have Daniel, who mind you, wasn't as easy to get in your bed and he also wasn't to corrupt as he was the one to mirror your actions and pull some stuff. Sadly it ended rather fast with him getting a girlfriend. But you still have Lando every other month as the boy can't keep a girl around, making him fall regularly in your bed or wherever you are to fuck. It's not that fun anymore, quiet bland. The routine is always the same — first he'll finger you to get you wet enough and then you push him to whatever surface and take his cock. Afterwards you clean yourself, Lando already out of the door.

So, that brings you to Oscar.

He's fresh blood, newly single, and dear lord in heaven over the winter break he put on a lot more muscles, looking ridiculous strong, causing your pussy to flutter whenever you see him. You flirt with him quite often and you do see his brown eyes cloud with lust, but you want to take your time. There's no need to rush.

But the day comes.

Its Sunday night, hours after the race and celebrations of Oscar taking P3, when you hear knocks on the door of your hotel room. Reaching for your phone, the homescreen only shows a few messages from people you're currently not interested in responding. No Lando. Normally, he'd shot a text beforehand, so you're not sure of who is standing opposite the wooden door.

Breathing in, you swing your bare legs off the bed and walk across the room, opening the door. The sight greeting you leaves your mouth agape — Oscar's wearing an maroon satin shirt, tucked into a pair of black slacks. On his thick fingers are two rings which you've never seen him wear but it suits him. He looks hot, even more so with his hair all toulouse and a curl glued to his forehead. It's an indicator that he is influenced by Lewis and Guanyu, both very fashionable drivers on the grid, and you could kiss them right now because Oscar has never looked this hot. He is but this is otherworldly.

"Everything alright, Oscar?", you ask, crossing your arms under your breasts and unintentionally pushing them up, presenting the man with your more than welcoming cleavage.

He can't help himself; his focus rests on the soft curves of your tits, the skin glistening under a sweat film the heat of middle east brings.

Clearing his throat, the Mclaren driver, sends you a dashing smile. "Yes, actually I've missed you at the celebration and was wondering if you—", he stops himself, cheeks flaming hotly.

"If I want?"

You can see the thoughts running around faster than the car on the track earlier. Must be hard to grasp whatever plagues his mind.

"I was wondering if you'd celebrate with me", he whispers, somewhat bashful which is endearing.

"Sure, let me throw on something else to wear, can't go out in this", you say, hands moving across your body to clarify your point; due to the heat you're only wearing some boxers and a flimsy babydoll top. Oscar gazes at you, shaking his head. "No, no, I mean celebrate in, you know . .", he stumbles over the words, blush now burning his ears too.

Oh. Oh.

To end his misery, you catch his wrists to pull him inside before hitting the door close with your foot and shove him against it.

For the first time you kiss him, all teeth and tongue, and its different from what you have imagined — his hands are rougher, caressing your lower back, creeping under the top to feel the warm skin of yours. Grabbing you by the hips, he sloths his dick against your stomach and grinds. He doesn't feel small, maybe even bigger than his teammate. In your imagination, he was softer yet he let you guide him to bed exactly like dream-oscar did and falls backwards on top of the cream coloured sheets, breath hitching in anticipation.

"Remove your clothes, baby."

You reach for the hem of your top as you command him, letting him stare at your tits while he steps out of his bottoms and throws the shirt in a corner. His milky smooth skin's glowing in the dim lighting a street lamp spends, and you see a map of freckles on his chest as well as a happy tail lending down to his beautiful cock.

Spitting in your hands, slander finger gently touch his length, causing Oscar's head to fall back, lips wide agape and you take the opportunity to spit in his mouth. "Shallow, Osc, be a good boy f'me, yeah?", you coe, hot breath fawning the auricle. He does, groaning lowly but its getting louder when you bring your legs on either side of his lap, left hand grabbing his cock and coating it in your wetness before probing the fat mushroom tip at your pussy, gliding down till every inch is inside you.

The feeling of his cock might aswell change everything; he's the biggest you've ever taken, scraping and burning you inner spongy walls deliciously as he kisses your cervix.

Fuck Lando, he doesn't have anything on Oscar.

"M so full, you're filling me up so good, baby", the praise let the man smile in a haze, far lost in how good you ride him. Your wet hole holds his grith snuggly as you fuck yourself on his cream coated length — his eyes roll back in pleasure at the sight of a white ring forming on the base of his dick, something he has never seen before, and it spurrs him on to grind his hips into yours, getting a worish wail out of you.

You fuck him till his abdomen thighten and he pumps you full of cum, that is oozing out of your desperately moving body, chasing your own orgasm. Oscar leans in, bitting on your pulse point. Then you fall over the edge, legs shaking as you still on top of him.

After catching your breath, you charmingly smirk at him before he grinds up in your fluttering hole — he's already getting hard again.

[shixcherie]

Switch Me Up Like Nintendo | Jeong Yunho ☆

~ ~ call me chérie ☆

Navigation | Kinktober List

☆ Day 09 : Riling Up, Public Sex

↬ [ Synopsis ] : Riling Yunho up has its dangerous consequences, but you can't resist the thrill, especially when you know his rewards will leave you craving more. Angry Yunho = GodMode unclocked!

Word Count : 2.1k Genre : Smut, Gamer Au. Pairing : GammerBF! Yunho x GamerGF! Reader

WARNINGS : Established relationship, riling up, angst, dom/sub undertones, soft dom! Yunho, unprotected sex (don’t do it kids, wrap it up), internet cafe public sex, praise, pet names, size kink (its Yunho, so ofc).

Tag list OPEN! - let me know if you want to be tagged for this Kinktober list

☆☆☆ NOTE : Day 09 is here with our fav puppy boy, Yunho. ma chéries, I enjoyed writing this so much, hope you love it darlings.☆

Yunho isn't usually a sore loser when playing video games,well, maybe just a little. But repeatedly losing can test anyone's patience, and if you had a hand in his defeat, it's bound to become a problem. A problem you're more than happy to endure, especially when it comes to facing the consequences.

An intense match of Valorant is unfolded between San and Yunho, but with a twist—it's a blindfolded battle. One player is blindfolded while their teammate guides them to take down the opponent and secure a kill. The first team to reach 10 kills wins the match.

It’s you and San versus Yunho and Yuna, and let’s just say your guiding skills are a little too effective, enabling San to successfully kill Yunho every single time. After all, you didn’t reach Immortal rank for nothing.

The first two kills were a breeze, Yunho and Yuna weren’t quite prepared, as Yuna was still warming up to her role as Yunho's guide. Meanwhile, you and San, having played countless matches together, secured easy kills. Yunho wasn’t too bothered at this point, after all, it wasn’t the end of the match yet.

But then came the next five kills. In a flash, you directed San through a series of crazy, sneaky attacks from ridiculously clean headshots, one-tap kills, and to even a jaw-dropping knife kill that sent the crowd into a chorus of cheers. The score was now 7-0, and let’s just say Yunho's patience was wearing thin.The whole internet cafe erupted with cheers as you looked around for familiar faces of your freinds as Wooyoung, Hongjoong and Jongho’s face came into sight.

The match was intense, the tension in the room thick. Yunho was laser-focused, determined to turn things around, while Yuna, now fully in sync with him, guided his every move. But even with San blindfolded, you were in control, leading him with precision, knowing exactly how to push Yunho’s buttons.

“San, let’s take our time… no need to rush. We want to savor every moment before we finish them off.” you whispered, just loud enough for Yunho to hear. The tease in your voice was unmistakable. You heard him let out a low groan, oh…music to your ears. Riling him up slowly and steadily was exactly how you enjoyed it.

With the score at 9-0, you couldn’t help but smirk. You knew exactly what you were doing. Each time San landed a perfect headshot or a sneaky kill, you could see Yunho’s frustration building.

“Sannie, let’s get in close, really close… I want them to feel our every move.” you said, your smirk evident in your voice, a smirk Yunho could almost picture behind his blindfold, one he was eager to wipe away.

It wasn’t just about winning anymore, it was about making him squirm and enjoying the way you were getting under his skin, after all that is when you gonna get your sweet reward, as an angry and frustrated Yunho is a sight to behold. And when he fucks you crazy with your eyes rolled back as he devours you with wet kisses, choking you with the perfect amount of force, a point where pain turns into ecstatic pleasure while overstimulating the heck out you yet not letting you cum.

But as much as you enjoyed riling Yunho up, you didn’t want him to leave completely defeated. There’s a fine line between being playful and harsh. So, as the next round started, you decided to give him a chance.

“San, hold on a moment” you said, your voice carrying a hint of concern. You paused deliberately, giving Yunho and Yuna a chance to catch up. With Yuna’s guidance, Yunho managed to slip through and land a shot on San, finally getting a kill.

The score changed to 9-1, and Yunho’s face lit up with a mix of triumph and something else, he knew what you were doing. Despite being blindfolded, he shot you a playful glare and said, “I’ll be keeping this in mind for later.” His frustration turned into a competitive grin. You’d given him a small win, but it was clear he was plotting his own revenge, a sweet revenge at that.

In the final round, you decided it was time to end the match. With San blindfolded, you guided him with intense focus, directing his every move with precision.

“I love how you follow my every command, San. Now, let’s show them how perfectly we work together.” you said, earning a confident “Fuck yeah! lets finish them off” from San.

“I see you’ve got quite the skill. Maybe I’ll need to have a closer look at your talents later.” Yunho teased, his voice laced with playful intrigue. While his mind was fully focused on the game, his body ached to get up and take you right then and there. The crowd’s noise faded into the background as his thoughts were consumed by you and your sweet voice guiding San, effortlessly overshadowing Yuna’s commands.

“We’re not done yet. Let’s see if you can really finish this.” Yuna shouted, bringing Yunho back to his senses. He tried to focus on the match as much as he could, but despite his efforts, he struggled to keep up.

The tension built as you carefully led San into position, like a predator waiting for the prey you were up with a perfect shot lined up for Yunho - Yuna.

In a dramatic climax, San took a deep breath and landed a flawless single headshot, securing the final kill. The match ended with a thrilling 10-1 victory.

The room erupted in cheers as Yunho and San removed their blindfolds.

San enveloped you in a warm, bone-crushing hug, which barely went unnoticed by Yunho as he thanked Yuna for her guidance. As Yunho made his way toward you and San, his eyes were fixed on yours, a mix of challenge and affection in his gaze. San and Yunho exchanged their usual fist bump and hug, as they always did after game nights.

You’d won the game, but you knew the real victory was yet to come later, when it was just the two of you, and Yunho had the chance to get his sweet revenge for all the teasing you’d put him through.

But for now, you basked in the victory, knowing you’d managed to rile him up just the way you wanted.

—

The party was in full swing as the internet cafe you competed with Yunho celebrated its seven-year anniversary, unaware of the real celebration occurring behind the closed doors of Minho’s office, the owner of the cafe. Music blared at full volume while you and Yunho’s friends danced the night away, sipping on their bottles of soju, completely oblivious to the rhythm in which Yunho was moving his long, hard length against your aching core.

Yunho’s lips moved in perfect sync with yours as his length rubbed in a precise back-and-forth motion against your throbbing core, sweet juices leaking in his wake. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your back pressed firmly against the wall, clothes discarded in some dark corner of the room.

“Yuyu… I-I can’t… I nee-need you,” you stammered, barely able to form a coherent sentence as his slow, delicious movements against your aching core clouded your mind. “Too much,” you whimpered, a soft cry escaping your lips. Yunho’s mouth nibbled on your earlobe, making you squirm, your cries muffled by the loud music outside.

“Too much? That’s cute, baby. Didn’t you say something about savoring the moment to San earlier?” he teased, biting your earlobe and earning a sharp yelp from you. “That’s exactly what I’m doing—savoring you bit by bit,” he chuckled, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Yunho, I—” you tried to protest, but his pace increased, the friction intensifying as he moved back and forth faster, making your toes curl. Soft, desperate moans escaped your lips like prayers, as if calling for angels.

“Speechless already, baby?” he mocked, pulling his head back to touch foreheads with you, savoring every expression on your face. Your eyes were tightly shut, cheeks flushed a deep shade of red, and your lips, still swollen from the earlier kiss, were now caught between your teeth as you bit down to control the sounds of pleasure his movements brought you. The sight of you—lost in the moment—was almost enough to finish him, but he decided to drag this out just a little longer.

“Tell me what you want, and maybe I’ll give it to you, pretty,” he asked, offering a flicker of hope that he’d finally give in. But then he added with a teasing grin, “Just like you gave me one chance.”

“I want you, Yunho… buried deep inside me, so deep I’m seeing angels,” you panted, your voice trembling with desperation. “F-fuck me harder than ever before. Make my legs give out, make me go completely dumb. I don’t care; just please, make me cum already. I need you more than I need to breathe.”

Your words tumbled out in a messy, breathless rush, a plea so raw it felt like you were confessing your deepest desires. Yunho’s low chuckle sent shivers down your spine as he gripped your waist tighter, teasingly brushing his lips against your ear.

“You’re something else, you know that?” he whispered, voice full of amusement, but his gaze was anything but playful. "I'll give you everything you're begging for... and more." With that, his teasing finally came to an end.

Lining himself up perfectly at your dripping entrance, Yunho slowly pushed in, his thick tip stretching you inch by inch. The sharp sting quickly melted into pure pleasure as you struggled to adjust to his monstrous size. No matter how many times Yunho had fucked you, it was always a challenge for your small body to take him, especially when he was angry. But that never stopped you from teasing him, pushing his buttons whenever you could.

Your nails dug into his back as waves of pleasure shot through your body, your walls gripping him tightly as he bottomed out inside you. Yunho’s mind short-circuited at how tight you were, like it was the first time all over again, no matter how often he took you.

“You’re so big, Yuyu,” you whined, your voice trembling. “I might break apart.” His slow, deliberate movements inside you were torturous, teasing you to the brink, but you could feel the anticipation building for what was coming next.

“Keep up, babygirl,” he groaned, his breath hot against your neck as you clenched even tighter around him. “You’re taking me so well... I might just lose it and empty myself deep inside you.” His voice was thick with lust, wanting to completely mess you up.

As Yunho’s pace quickened, each thrust grew harder and deeper, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. His fast rhythm made your mind hazy, every movement driving you closer to the edge, while his lips left soft kisses along your shoulder.

“You take me so well, baby,” he groaned, his breath hot against your skin. “I can feel you trembling.” He pressed another kiss to your shoulder.

You could barely form words, your body already teetering on the edge, each thrust pulling you closer to the breaking point. “Y-Yunho, I’m gonna—”

“Not yet,” he growled, pulling back slightly before driving in even deeper. His hips snapped against yours, sending tremors through your entire body. “I want to feel you cum around me, baby. Give me a taste, won’t you?”

The intensity of his words overwhelmed you, pushing you right to the edge. His deep, rhythmic thrusts filled you perfectly, and with each stroke, your moans grew louder, your body unable to resist any longer.

“Now, baby,” Yunho whispered, his voice laced with satisfaction. That was all it took for you to fall apart, the tension inside you unraveling in waves as you cried out his name, your release crashing down hard.

Feeling you clench tightly around him, Yunho groaned deeply, his movements growing more erratic until he thrust one final time, releasing inside you. Good thing you were on birth control, because with how intense it was, this day you would’ve definitely ended up pregnant with his baby. You both stayed still for a moment, breathing heavily as the aftershocks of pleasure slowly faded away.

After a while, you both made your way out of Minho’s office, fully dressed and somewhat recovered from the intense make-out session.

You rejoined your friends, continuing the party as if nothing had happened in that room, like you two had never played your own intimate game of switching moods like a Nintendo console, moving up, down, left, and right, enjoying each other's pleasures.

~ ~ Chérie ☆ signin’ off

DISCLAIMER: This is totally fictional and not a real depiction of the ATEEZ members. It's all just for fun only so please don’t take anything seriously and keep the mood light around here.

© ShixCherie.

[sevsbestfriend]

I usually write fics here but I just wanna rant rn.

Sometimes I got to old posts and stuff, either to get new ideas or just see what the fuck is going on with the other side of the fandom.

The people coming to James defense or crazy, like on one hand they are like 'oh he was only human, he grew as a person otherwise how would lily love him?'

We literally have cannon confirmation that the fucking prat didn't stop hexing people, he just learned to hide it better. Sirius and Remus confirmed this when they called Severus a 'special case'. I don't give a shit about them saying he attacked first, you better believe I am attacking first if I come across a guy who has stripped me naked in public when I didn't do shit to him. (Or the other guy who tried to get me killed by bloody werewolf) Like wtf are you even talking about at that point???

Also, Harry comes across a detention report of them hexing another student in their 7th year. So uhm...yeah.

Then they are like 'oh Severus hates him so his memories are biased'

Did you morons even read the books?? Pensive memories are unbiased, any manipulation is extremely apparent as we saw in Slughorns case. So NO they aren't biased that extremely uncomfortable read of SWM? it's fucking canon in its truest sense.

Also, how in the ever living hippogryph does a guy who strips people naked for fun change so much that he becomes head boy??

It's pretty simple, he doesn't. He learns to hide it better and given the fact that this person has always been given the benefit of the doubt, it is very easy for them to their nature.

Dude had a map that showed him everyone's real time location and an invisibility cloak, he could damn well harass anyone in isolated corners of the castle if he wished. Which is exactly what he did.

Also, these people love to claim how 'lily only approved of him cause he changed.'

To that I say, Who the fuck is Lily?? Mother Teresa??

How is she the ultimate decider of what is good and bad and at the same time, completely right in dating someone who stripped another student makes after a year (or 2) of the event??

Don't get me wrong, she doesn't owe Severus anything, really, but seriously this is just ridiculous. Like if I was a woman, I would be genuinely terrified of someone like that, especially when they got away with no real consequences what so ever.

James was a prick with a very good PR team for friends and teachers. That's really it, it is often said that good looking people can get away with a lot of things and James is just a prime example of that.

---_---_---_---_---_---_---_---_

Also...BRAVE?? Dude had 2 cheat items and the advantage of a Pureblood upbringing and was still too PUSSY to face Severus alone. Yeah..what a real Gryphindor that one. Scrams bravery to you doesn't it? He did this all the way till 17, so yeah he definitely was super important in the order right??

---_---_---_---_---_---_---_---_---_

Dumbledore invested quite a bit in the Marauders with his blatant favoritism and letting a werewolf in the school risking his own position as a headmaster.

And...they all turned to be bloody useless. With only James being useful because of his participation in the birth of Harry Potter.

Sirius in his madness derailed a murder investigation for a fucking decade.

Remus, I genuinely can't remember anything substantial Remus did, except for letting someone he believed was a murderer into Hogwarts and never telling Dumbledore that they were Animagus to begin with.

---_---_--_---_

Seriously, the most useful person in the war had to literally beg on his knees for the man to use him. Even fate was like, for fucks sake, just give this guy a chance already.

[jjkamochoso]

Hii! Could I request a Feitan x Female Reader who's part of the Phantom Troupe, and a something on a mission goes wrong and the Reader ends up getting injured. She's fine and used to it, being part of the Phantom Troupe, but Feitan just isn't having it and scolds her to be more careful in the future. That is, after he does the unthinkable to the source of your inconvenience!

Thank you so much for your request!!! I love writing Feitan and I hope you love what I came up with in this story :) <3

Phantom Pain

Fluff

Feitan Portor x f!reader

Warnings: graphic violence: blood, torture, death

The mission started off so ridiculously easy that you were almost yawning, the heist going exactly as planned. Feitan and Shalnark were busy shoving money and jewels into big duffel bags while you and Phinks were on watch outside the vault. The estate you were raiding was quiet, not uncommonly so since you waited to break in when the owner was out of town with most of the bodyguards, but just enough to where you wondered if the security team was really that dumb to leave a vault full of valuables so readily accessible. With arms crossed and annoyance written all over your features, you hoped the treasure the boys were bagging was worth it.

"Ugh, I'm beyond bored," you groaned, trying to ignore the persistent feeling of wanting to yank your hair out in frustration. "Are they almost done in there?"

"No clue. By the sounds of it, I'd say they're close to finishing." Phinks leaned his head back against the wall, looking like he could fall asleep at any moment.

"Good. I'm all for simple jobs and quick money but this one is almost too simple. I can't believe no one's shown up yet. Some security system they have."

Phinks opened one eye. "Look, I'm always in the mood for a fight but can't you just enjoy this? Besides, I'd rather fight no one at all than a bunch of weaklings."

"Mmm, I'm 50/50 on that one. Maybe if I had a weakling or two to fight right now I'd have more of an opinion."

All of a sudden, there was a loud pounding noise coming from the doors in front of you.

"Open up! This is security, we've come to detain you!"

You saw the doors rattle as the people on the other side began to break them down. Sure, they were locked, but you hadn't bothered to barricade them with anything since you figured it wasn't necessary. The estate's leftover guards came rushing in, brandishing guns.

If looks could kill, you'd be dead ten times over.

"Now you've done it, y/n," Phinks said, rolling his eyes, "the place is swarmed. This enough action for ya?"

"Hmm... no. But it'll do." You had a mischievous twinkle in your eye. "Wanna have a contest to see who gets the higher kill count?"

When Feitan heard your voice from outside the vault, he couldn't help the grin that appeared under his cowl. You were reckless, dangerous, bloodthirsty--all qualities he liked in a person.

"We finish this quick. I don't want to miss the show outside."

"You just want to watch y/n in action, don't you?" teased Shalnark.

"Shut up," Feitan growled, grateful for the face covering that was hiding his blush. When the last of the bags were filled, the two men exited the vault, eager to join the fight waged between the estate security team and their fellow Phantom Troupe members. However, Feitan's attention was caught by a short yelp from across the room. It was completely imperceptible to everyone else over the constant sound of gunfire, but he heard it loud and clear. His narrow eyes darted your direction where he spied you gritting your teeth as you continued throwing punches. Were you in pain? No, there was no way you could've gotten hurt here. These guys were anything but formidable foe, almost all already dead from the seasoned Nen users.

You were bleeding.

As he took men down left and right, his razor sharp fingernails cutting into flesh with ease, he saw your injured arm dripping blood onto the floor. How did you let that happen? How did he let that happen? It didn't matter at this point; he just knew he was pissed and someone was going to pay for leaving a mark on his most prized possession.

The gunfire had seized and all was quiet except for the pleading whimpers of the security team members that were unlucky enough to still be alive. You were about to make a snarky remark when you saw Feitan practically fly to your side, his cold gaze looking between your injury and the three men cowering in front of you.

"Which one hurt you?"

You were used to seeing Feitan angry but never in your life had you seen such rage and hatred present in his eyes. He always had a menacing air about him but that description would be an understatement as to what you were witnessing right now. Even Phinks looked concerned about the state his close friend was in and he had seen him do countless unthinkable things to others over the years.

"P-please, i-it wasn't me! I didn't-"

In a flash Feitan had the sputtering man's tongue in his iron grip, ready to rip it out. "Trash like you no speak around her."

You almost felt bad for these guys. You knew Feitan was protective of his friends, you and him being particularly close, and anyone who hurt those people he cared for found themselves at the mercy of the most merciless man.

You pointed your finger at a guy to his right. "It was that dude."

Blood soaked the floor as two of the men's lifeless bodies fell. The third one, the cause of your pain, was on the verge of passing out from fear. For his own sake, you wished he had because what Feitan was about to put him through before death was NOT going to be pleasant. For him, at least. Feitan was going to have a wonderful time torturing the man.

"You?" Feitan leaned down, grabbing the man's chin as his fingers became soaked with the stranger's tears. His voice became eerily cheery as he addressed his next victim. "Don't cry, we have fun together. I show you what it's really like to inflict pain."

Feitan pulled down his cowl to reveal a sadistic smile and you felt chills throughout your entire body. You always thought Feitan to be handsome but seeing him in this state of bloodlust, for you no less, made your heart go into overdrive.

"Wow, this guy's in for a world of hurt! Feitan, you don't mind if we watch, right?" Shalnark called out, a big smile plastered on his face.

"Don't care," Feitan replied. "Y/n, pick a side. Left or right?"

"Hmm, left."

There was a sickening crunch followed by a loud screech of distress. Feitan had broken the man's left leg, rendering him immobile. The expert torturer then went to work: first came the extraction of fingernails; starting with the left hand, of course. Unlike most of his other torture sessions, he wasn't wasting any time causing this man pain. He was in a frenzied state, eager to make what was left of the man's life as horrible as possible. You watched as Feitan continued his precise work, screams filling your ears as a strong metallic smell seeped into your nostrils. By the time the man's heart stopped, his body was a mangled mess. You had a pretty strong stomach but the sight of various bodily fluids leaking across the floor made you queasy.

"You die so quick. Shame."

In a final fit of rage, Feitan unsheathed his sword and turned to you.

"Stupid girl. If you not pay attention, this happen to you."

There was a squelching noise as Feitan rolled the man's now decapitated head toward you like a bowling ball. Phinks and Shalnark ran into the vault to grab the stolen goods to load in the getaway car, ready to head back to base (and not wanting to deal with anymore unresolved romantic tension between the two of you).

"Everyone else had guns! I wasn't expecting the guy to have a knife," you pouted, pressing a hand to the cut to stop the bleeding.

"Tch, don't press dirty hand in open wound. You get infection."

Feitan gave his cowl a swift yank over his head and your eyes widened in surprise as he went to tie it around your arm.

"Are you sure I can use this? I know you wear it most of the time and I don't want to get it dirty," you said.

He just scoffed. "I wouldn't give if I didn't want to."

You jumped involuntary when you felt Feitan's nimble fingers work the cloth around your bleeding limb.

"Did that hurt?" he inquired, grey irises studying you intently.

"No, I'm fine," you squeaked, clearly embarrassed at your reaction but if he noticed your strange behavior, he didn't mention it. The pressure of the makeshift bandage reduced your physical discomfort a decent amount, which you were grateful for, but it did nothing to ease the mental discomfort you were feeling from Feitan's unyielding gaze.

You folded your arms. "What?"

"You need be careful in the future. You do stupid things, you die. You not take fight seriously, you get hurt or die. Even if opponent weak, you need pay attention some!"

Feitan's voice was louder than you had ever heard it before and his words were choppier than normal as he was effectively chewing you out for your foolishness. Getting hurt was mostly inevitable in any sort of mission, but your cockiness was your downfall today, not your lack of skill.

"You're right," you sighed. "I'm sorry for worrying you."

"I not worried," he replied, his tone disgruntled. His body betrayed him, though, as you saw the beginnings of a blush bloom across his pale cheeks. With the cowl on your arm instead of his face, you were able to see the effect you had on the short man you'd come to love.

"You sure about that?" you teased, making Feitan give you the nastiest side eye he could conjure up. You laughed, happy to see he cared about you just as much as you did about him. Grabbing a bag of treasure, you started loading the getaway car as well.

"You good? You're redder than a tomato," Phinks said upon entering the room. "We leave alone you with y/n for a few minutes and she's got you all flustered like that? Looks like you're the girl with a crush in this situation."

"You keep talking, you join men on floor."

[houseofripley]

HEYYA

Could you write a rhea x fem!reader story where reader eats rhea out while she’s playing video games with her friends? (Smut obv). Please and thank you (I love your writing)

Game Over

Rhea Ripley x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: SMUT, 18+, Public Sex? kinda idk, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Fingering WORD COUNT: 1,367 A/N: ANONNNNN YOU AND I ARE ON THE SAME WAVELENGTH!!! i literally started a draft for something super similar to these a couple hours before you sent this omg

“Aimlabs is free, you should try it sometime, dumbass!” Rhea’s voice thundered from her office down the hall. “Rhea! It’s just a game! Calm down!” You yelled, making your way to the office. 

Your girlfriend had confined herself in her office since eight in the morning. The past three and a half hours were full of Rhea loudly yelling at her teammates. Half the time you couldn’t even tell if she was celebrating with or ridiculing the others.

You walked up behind Rhea’s chair and placed your hands over her broad shoulders. You could hear the voices of your shared colleagues blaring through Rhea’s headset as you rested your chin on the top of her head, watching her play Call of Duty: Warzone. 

“I think you should spend some time with me instead of playing your stupid games all day.” You proclaimed, “We could go shopping, go for a walk, and have lunch…” You dreamed, rubbing Rhea’s shoulders.

“Later baby.” Rhea said quietly, making sure her mic wouldn’t pick up your conversation. You huffed and moved your hands to steal Rhea’s headset from her head causing a puzzled noise to come from her mouth. 

“Alright who’s the one that’s stealing my girlfriend from me?” You playfully asked, Rhea’s attention was still focused on the round she was playing. 

Dom and Damian were on the other end of the voice call, Damian was quick to place the blame on Dominik. “Woah woah woah! This isn’t fair, I’m innocent!” Dom complained, faking being offended.

“Dude, you literally spam texted the group chat for three minutes straight at eight in the morning.” Damian accused as he let out a deep chuckle. 

“I believe it, Dom, you are always at the scene of the crime. Now I’d like it if you all would hurry up so I can enjoy the afternoon with my girlfriend.” You played with the two guys. 

Dominik threw a mini tantrum in reaction to him dying in the game, “You guys seriously just made me die! Just for that I’m making sure Rhea’s staying online all day.” 

“We did not make you die! Maybe you’re just bad at the game!!!” You quickly said before returning the headset to Rhea, hearing Dom’s faint complaints. 

Rhea let out a scoffed laugh as she helped Damian win the round, “Too easy, let’s play ranked.” Rhea’s words caused you to groan as you moved to stand next to her. “Rheaaaa,” You pestered, squatting next to her chair.

“Just one more game I promise.” Rhea stated, her eyes looking over and down at you. “We both know how that's gonna end. One game is gonna turn into two and two games is gonna turn into six games.” You whined as Rhea ran her hand through your hair.

Rhea didn’t respond to your gripes, she instead turned her concentration back to her screens, leaving you pouting. But you needed her attention, you’d do anything to get that attention and you had the perfect idea.

From your squatting position you got on your hands and knees and crawled under Rhea’s desk. Rhea glanced down at you, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you spread her legs apart. “The hell are you doing?” Rhea aggressively asked, her hand covering her microphone while your hands slowly slid her sweatpants off.

“Play your game mami. I know you want to.” You taunted, looking up at her with puppy eyes. Rhea cocked her eyebrow as her eyes returned to her game.

You ran your finger over Rhea’s panties while peppering kisses over her tattoo covered thighs, causing her breath to hitch while she spoke about the match with the boys. 

Your hands carefully pulled your girlfriend's panties off as you looked up at her, her eyes fighting to focus on her screen. 

Your mouth hovered inches from Rhea’s warmth as you blew a soft gush of air against her wetness, a sharp gasp came from the woman who was trying to save her team from a loss.

“Jesus,” Rhea quietly cursed out under her breath once your tongue finally made contact with her sensitive skin. “Everything alright Rhea?” You could hear Damian's question leak from the headset. “Yeah, all good. Just uh-” Rhea cleared her throat, searching for an excuse as your tongue began roaming between her folds. “Just frustrated with the match…”

Your hands faintly ran up and down Rhea’s spread legs, your mouth beginning to focus on her entrance. Your nose pressed against her clit as you took in her sweetness, causing Rhea to narrow her eyes in pleasure.

You watched as the woman struggled to keep her attention on her screen, your tongue swirling around her entrance, occasionally slipping inside her. Rhea’s mind began slipping away from her, resulting in her character dying. 

“Shit sorry- you guys f-finish this round,” Rhea sighed through shaky breaths before muting her mic. She looked down to you as she leaned back in her chair. “God damn you’re such a brat.” She moaned, taking a fistfull of your hair. She held your head in place as she began grinding herself onto your face. The intensity of her eye contact had created a pool between your legs. Quiet groans left her throat as she helped herself to your mouth.

Rhea’s deep moans were soon interrupted by both the boys yelling her name. She reluctantly let go of your hair before looking back up and unmuting herself. “Yeah, I’m here sorry.” she mumbled as your fingers inched up between her legs.

“Last round…don’t fuck around this time.” You could hear Damian warn before Dominik added on, “Dude, you lost like…all your skills last round, what is going on with you?”

“Yeah yeah. Don’t worry I’m all in t-this match.” Rhea struggled, holding back a moan as your pointer and middle finger snuck into her tightness.

You couldn't help but chuckle at how seriously the three of them took the game. “Yeah mami, don’t lose this round.” You quietly teased the woman causing her eyes to dart down to you as if to say ‘watch your mouth’. 

Once the match had officially begun you connected your lips to Rhea’s swollen clit meanwhile your fingers began exploring her insides. 

Rhea let out multiple profanities as the match progressed, attempting to replace the sound of pleasure with the sound of frustration towards the game. The guys were already suspicious of her behavior, the last thing she needed was to moan in the middle of a match. 

You continued letting your mouth and fingers play with Rhea causing her legs to tighten around your head. “Fuck-” She quietly grumbled in reaction to your fingers picking up their pace. 

“God damnit! I’m out.” Dominik yelled in frustration. 

You hummed against Rhea’s cunt, her face plastered with the look of pleasure as her legs began shaking. 

“They got me too. There's only one dude left on the opposite team, just be careful around corners.” Damian complained out.

“Just you left Rhea come on!” Dom egged on. 

Rhea’s muscles began tensing up, her breathing intensified as she began the hunt for her final opponent. 

She had found her target. Her eyes locked in on their hitbox as your fingers began curling while you thrusted in and out of her.

“Oh-Fuck! Shit!” Rhea yelled out, her orgasm hitting her as she took her final shots, winning the game. You heard cheers come from her headphones as she looked down at you with heavy breaths. 

You helped Rhea ride out her orgasm, slowing down the pace of your fingers and removing your mouth from her clit. 

She shook her head at you as you removed your fingers from her warmth and began sucking them clean.

“Guys, something came up. I gotta go.” Rhea urged out. She wouldn’t let the boys even get one word in before leaving the call. Rhea slowly stood up from her seat and began pulling you out from under the table.

“Soooo, shopping?” You sweetly asked, batting your eyelashes as you stood up. “You think you’re shopping after that stunt?” Rhea scoffed, cocking her eyebrow. She picked you up and threw you over her shoulder before taunting, “Darling, You're gonna be in that bedroom all day.”

[earthtooz]

x : POCKY GAME ! :*+ﾟ

in which: you play the pocky game w/ various bllk boys!

warnings: gn!reader, ooc for some, fluff, lots of kissing, suggestive but not nsfw, 300-600 words depending on which blurb :p, the writing is better in some parts than others forgive me i was fighting for my life trying to get everything right >.<

a/n: if you enjoy pls like or reblog!!! okay sorry back to ur regularly scheduled content, but pls consider reblogging!!!!! have a lovely day !!!!

CONFIDENT AND COCKY. he’s the one who taunts you into it, placing the confectionary sweet between his teeth and staring at you mockingly, daring you to take the other end.

“c’mon, sweets. what’s the worst that could happen?” he jeers, sitting back in his seat. you scoff at his egotistical show. you can’t stand him, really, you can’t.

you curse that he knows this trait of yours: that you could never say no to a good challenge. you know that he’s got you cornered, unable to contain his smirk when you roll your eyes and latch on to the opposite end of the pocky. at least he was considerate enough to take the breadstick end for himself.

both of you ignore the way you step in between his legs, placing your hands on his broad shoulders for stability before the game begins, but not without a wink sent your way first.

you hate his guts. he knows it, but he wants you so desperately it hurts. 

he tries to contain his eagerness yet he can't stop his hands from snaking up to loosely hold your hips, fearing that this was just another daydream of his imagination. you, on the other hand, remain unrushed, taking your time and not falling for his bait.

you love watching him suffer, don’t you? pushing then pulling back when he gets too close, leaving him in a lovesick haze. 

he loves that you know exactly what to do every time to send him spiralling. 

after what feels like an eternity yet no time at all, his heart stutters at the gentle hover of your lips over his before going into overdrive when you press against him, leaving no biscuit or space untouched. with little control, he gives himself fully into the kiss, conveying every pent up feeling of desire that you leave brewing within him. he has longed for this moment for ages. 

and somehow, you feel it. despite his playboy appearance, you can tell with this one kiss that he’s fully devoted himself to you. as ridiculous as the notion may sound, it's evident through the bruising embrace of his, the way he’s trying to commit your lips to memory, and the way that he's tilting his head to access more of you.

it’s enough to make your heart flutter. 

but. you knew you couldn’t give in to his wants. not yet.

abruptly parting from him, he quietly whines at the loss of contact, frowning when you push his hands away with that pretty smirk of yours. so unabashed in rejecting him, aren’t you?

“you’ve gotta work harder next time, pretty boy,” you whisper against his lips before lowering your head to press a quick kiss against his neck. “i’m not that easy to impress, especially not with a stick of pocky.”

he watches longingly as you walk away, a new fire of determination burning in his veins. 

oliver, KARASU, KAISER, SHIDOU, kunigami (after… yk) 

DOUBTFUL BUT REALLY WANTS THIS. the party is in full swing, the bass of the music is buzzing through the speakers, groups of people are getting drunk, and you? well, you're playing a game for prepubescent teenagers.

“truth or dare?” one of the party goers asks the soccer player whom you’ve harbored feelings for for a while. your stomach flips in anticipation at which option he’ll choose. 

his face twists into a split second of contemplation before the answer slips out of his mouth. “dare,” he answers confidently, returning the asker’s smug expression with one of his own.

“i dare you to play the pocky game with the person who you think is the most attractive in this room.”

everyone lets out a collective ‘ooo’ at the dare and you try to ignore the way your heart drops to your stomach, your nerves crawling all over you. the soccer player laughs before accepting it, catching the strawberry pocky box that is thrown in his direction.

who just casually has pocky as a party snack? 

you don’t get to spend long dwelling on your query because your eyes suddenly lock with his and he stands up, never breaking eye contact as he walks over to where you sit.

the group erupts into cheers of encouragement when he bends down to be eye-level with you, holding the box of pocky in his hands with a small, shy smile. he was so cute- hold on. he thought you were the most attractive person in the room? oh my goodness, where you about the kiss the man you’ve been pining after for months?

“wanna play?” he asks, sounding a little uncertain.

the only response you can muster is a stupid nod, blissful expectancy settling heavy in the air as he rips open the packet and fishes out a stick. 

“let me know if you’re uncomfortable with this.” his voice is low, murmuring something that he only wanted you to hear.

“it’s fine,” you reassure before latching your mouth to the opposite end, trying not to show the flurry of emotions whirlpooling within you in this very moment. 

was this real? are you dreaming? 

when your noses lightly bump into each other, you wake up to reality because this was real. you weren’t dreaming and his face was now mere millimetres away from yours. his eyes glance up from your lips to meet your eyes and you feel a spark occur, one that wasn’t unwelcome.

there’s just one little bit left, you can practically feel his lips against yours, the gap tormenting the two of you as one of you waits for the other to make the first move. he shakily exhales. you're going to go insane from anticipation.

fuck it. you’ve come this far.

he jolts a little in surprise at your boldness before melting into you, smiling into the kiss as all tension seeps out of his shoulders. distantly, you hear cheers and whoops from everyone, too caught up in the feeling of finally having him against you, blissfully relishing at the way your arms wind around his neck, embracing him like you've been meaning to for a while.

he smiles against you when noticing how eager you are, relieved and delighted at the same time.

"you're perfect," he whispers when he reluctantly breaks away, eyes droopy yet filled with desire.

you’re caught off guard when he tells the person next to you to move aside before sitting down, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as everyone else watches. 

thank goodness for truth or dare.

isagi, yukimiya, REO, SAE (ik he’s like a ‘cool’ guy or whatever but i think he’s a total dork so let me have my moment),

DOES IT BECAUSE HE LOVES YOU. he could not care less about some stupid game and he sure doesn’t need a fucking game to kiss the love of his life. he could do that whenever he pleases; a luxury that he will never take for granted.

but when you looked so happy and excited to try it out, how could he say no? 

“this is ridiculous,” he mutters, making his opinion known for the umpteenth time before connecting his lips to the end of the pocky stick. after a small countdown, the game begins and he starts without hesitation, biting down on the breadstick with an unmatched pace, quickly crossing into your territory.

before he could reach you though, you pull away, unsatisfied with his impatience. he groans at the sudden lack of contact, especially when he was so close to getting what he wanted.

“could you at least try a little harder?” you ask, unimpressed as he finishes the snack.

“i’m trying very hard, isn’t the point of this game to kiss one another?” he counters.

“well, yeah-”

“-if anything, you’re losing right now, love, so why don’t you try a little harder?” he asks in a low tone, nearing his face towards yours as his voice turns a little more sultry at the end. 

you push his face away, grinning to hide the effect he still has on you. “oh shut up, creep. what if i proposed a challenge?” 

“i’m listening.”

“let’s play it so that we try not to kiss, how about that, pretty boy? loser does whatever the winner wants.”

he straightens up a little at the nickname usage and the prospect of a prize. quirking a brow out of fascination, he relents. “fine. ass deal, but whatever you want.”

you keen at his willingness before grabbing another stick to set up the game once again. when you glance back up at him, a shiver runs down your spine at the darkened, lidded look he was giving you.

he prompts you to do the same when he takes a bite from the snack. 

this time, he’s slow and methodical with his actions, taking small bites to meet you in the middle where you enter a stalemate. here you can feel his breath against your lips, fanning against you ever so gently. 

this is going to be a lot harder than you anticipated because he’s really good at resisting temptation and urging you at the same time. it’s almost unfair how he keeps nearing your lips, threatening to close the gap before leaning away, leaving you to chase after him, all whilst holding a delicate piece of breadstick between his teeth. you can’t exactly make out if he’s smirking or not, but the mirth is evident in his eyes. 

he’s luring you in and it’s working.

next thing you know, you’re surging up to meet his lips in a clash of teeth, passion, and desire, all in one. it’s messy, but he wouldn’t want it any other way, especially when he’s the one who got what he wanted.

oh well, this wasn’t too bad for you either.

“see,” he says, pulling away, breathless and panting, his swollen lips forming into a smile. “this is way better than some stupid game.”

“shut up and make out with me.”

he keeps it to himself how you bought his least favourite flavour because it tastes better with you.

RIN, niko, chigiri (hear me out on this one: i’m right)

HOW DID YOU GET HERE? you were enjoying your packet of pocky, really, you weren’t expecting anything exhilarating. however, that changed when he snuck up beside you, peering over your shoulder to see what you were eating.

you don’t miss the way his eyes light up upon seeing the branded snack in your hands and immediately asks if he can have one. when you glance inside the packet to see how many you have remaining, you tell him that there’s only one left which you tauntingly put in your mouth to gloat in his face.

what you were not expecting at all was for him to take a bite of the opposite end and you're immediately stunned into silence.

if that wasn’t enough, there was no shame when he began nibbling on it, closing the gap between your faces as he concentrates intensely on eating the confectionary sweet. 

you’re quite literally frozen, not having it in you to merely blink, too scared to move or retract away from him lest your poor heart give out from how it thunders in your chest, reverberating with the might of a thousand suns. 

if that wasn’t bad enough, the way he gently grabs your face with both hands to keep you cemented where you are only worsens your current predicament. warm palms holding either side as he stares determinedly at your lips, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

was he always this pretty?

then, when you don’t think he can get any closer, he snaps the stick, pulling back with a satisfied grin, hands lingering where they’ve sought purchase before returning to his side.

“thanks for sharing, y/n. best pocky i’ve ever had in my life,” he says before turning around, walking away to leave you on the verge of a meltdown. 

NAGI, bachira (but with more excitement), otoya,