#this bad boy has been with me through it all though | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

buckbuckbarnesstuff · 2 days ago

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Here I am, my beloved, and I am ready to absolutely SMOOTHER and DROWN you with my love!! Because this was truly AMAZING!! 💜💜

I feel like you paint your words with moonlight and I'm not even exaggerating!! Wow!! It hurts and heals at the same time.

I just have to dive a little deeper into my feels:

“Are you okay?” he eventually asked.

“Me?” Your eyebrows knitted in a mixture of confusion and surprise. “Uh, I'm fine? Well, as fine as one can be after becoming a fugitive of the law, but otherwise—”

“That’s not what I meant.”

His scrutiny roved over your figure from the distance, as though his stare could penetrate through the deepest layer of skin, lighting up a flame that licked through every inch of your bloodstream. Blue irises jerked towards the side of your abdomen, a fleeting tic, but it was enough to force the realization to dawn on you.

Omg??!! He has so much to worry about, so many struggles on his own right now, but he asks her if she's okay, and he's so genuine with it 🥺

The nickname maimed you more than one could expect. Had Bucky said it with enough cynicism, maybe you would have chalked it up to bitterness and moved on. But he hadn't said it like that—he had said it with a devastating frailness, a frayed piece of another life bleeding through the cracks. It came from a version of him that had smiled at strangers and walked dates home in the rain, a boy from Brooklyn who probably said it with a charming grin and a flirtatious warmth.

Gosh, even I paused when I saw the nickname because AHHHHH YES CALL YOU CAN CALL ME THAT ALL THE TIME!! And also the way he says it, it’s so heartfelt but nostalgic and sad. You pictured it so wonderfully. I love how you mentioned his younger self this way 💜

He lunged from somewhere behind the smoke, arms wrapping around your frame before shoving you forward and down. The force of the blast rocked the ground as a small aircraft detonated a few yards away, radiating a heat so raging it licked at your back. Debris rained down all around you as Bucky’s body remained curled over yours, shielding you from the worst of it, lying like a fortress between you and the explosion's aftermath.

OH HELL YESSS!! Bucky coming to our rescue. I needed this omg. And the way he shields her with his own body 🤭 I'm such a sucker for it, it’s crazy.

Gentle fingers encircled your wrist. You gasped at the sudden warmth surrounding you, opening your eyes to find that Bucky had tugged you closer to stand between his parted knees. Your palms automatically landed on the column of his neck, chest pounding at the unbearable softness shining out of Bucky’s eyes.

I love how he's not afraid to initiate physical touch and that he just does it without a thought. It warms me so much. And also, it makes him so hot 💜 You have ms swooning so bad!!

He stilled for a second. “I can't,” Bucky said breathlessly. “I'd do it again in a heartbeat, sweetheart. I’ll always choose to save you.”

The way he says it so openly 😫 Gooosh I am down bad for this man.

Bucky didn't say anything in return. Instead, he made quick work shedding the jacket off his back, revealing the outline of muscles under the gorgeous cover of dusty blue henley. Your throat went dry, every nerve ending lighting up in fireworks when Bucky stepped forward, draping the leather garment around your shoulders.

A real gentleman, I love to see it 🤭 and again he does it wirhout a word. I've been head over heels for him since the beginning but god my heart still jumped and I still got tiny butterflies swirling around in my stomach!! And the way he came to pick her up has me in shambles, ugh!!!

His hair was unkempt, sticking to different directions as if his fingers had run through them too many times to count. Even from the distance, you could still see how bloodshot his eyes were, how hollow and agonized they were under the harsh lighting of the room. He looked like a man who had outrun hell only to realize that it had made a home right inside his chest.

You make me picture him like this so well. The last sentence is also so beautiful wow! And though I feel so bad for him, is makes me so warm to see he cares that much about her 🥺

The singular touch was all it took for Bucky Barnes—the Winter Soldier, the man with the power of a collapsing star, who had faced death and catastrophe greater than anybody else on earth could ever imagine—to entirely crumble under your palms.

A sound escaped him—something torn and guttural and not meant for human ears to hear. He fell to his knees beside the bed, clutching your hand like it was the only echo of mercy in a world that had offered him none. His head bowed against your stomach, shoulders shaking violently with the aggressive sobs he could no longer contain in his chest.

Gosh, this broke me what the hell. Girl you are ruining me 😭 This landed straight in my heart. But it’s written so insanely beautiful.

You felt Bucky's lips on your skin, grazing along your shoulder, moving up the curve of your neck, your jaw, and your cheek. Worshipping you with prayers shaped as a thousand reverent kisses, moving like he was searching for the evidence that you were real, like he was memorizing a miracle while time was still ticking.

Omg and just like that, the butterflies are back AHHHH 🙈💜 Pleaseee, why is he so perfect wow. I would let him kiss every inch of my skin. As long as he wants to.

Babes, this was truly awesome!! I love how there was such a perfect balance of fierce and protective Bucky, and him being vulnerable. You managed that so well and I could feel the depth and the love he is holding for her. There’s such grace in your writing and it feels so effortless. I'm wo stunned every time. Thank you so much for granting us this masterpiece!!

Sending you all my love!! 💜

After I Was Too Late

This fic can be read as a stand-alone or as a sequel to Before I Could Say It.

The above image does not indicate the reader's physical appearance.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Synopsis: The three times Bucky saved your life, and the one time you save each other.

Word Count: 10.1k (I got carried away)

Warning(s): gn!reader (pls advise me if there's any gender-specific detail in the fic), canon typical violence, angst, fluff, near death experience(s), hurt/comfort, alcohol consumption, physical injuries, it's a kinder ending this time I promise 🥺❤️ (lmk if I missed anything!!)

Author's Note: PT 2 IS FINALLY HERE Y'ALL!! I'm so sorryy for the delay, my work has been out of control lately (I legit had to go home at 9.30 PM last week 😭🙏🏼). But I've finally finished this piece, and I hope you guys like it!! I'm tagging everyone who left a comment/reblog-comment on the first part but if you prefer to keep the ending to the fic as it was, then you can just skip reading this. And if any of you want to be removed from the taglist, please just let me know!! As always, don't forget to comment, like, and reblog 💖

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

If someone were to ask you about the beginning, your mind would immediately go straight to that day.

Six years ago, your thread of fate wove into his, placing the two of you on polar ends in the middle of a highway shoot-out that revealed the face beneath the infamous Winter Soldier's mask. You recognized him from the sketches littered across Steve Roger's desk: Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes—Bucky, as Steve had called him. A shadow of the past, long presumed gone to the clutches of war and time.

Yet, there he was.

Alive and breathing.

And he was trying to kill you.

After the events in D.C., you helped the Captain search for the man who had risen from the dead. You saw Bucky's apartment in Bucharest—a depressing little hole in the wall that was barely suitable for a human being to live in. It nicked at your chest, wrestled with a docile side of your heart that you hadn't entertained since they had dubbed you one of earth's mightiest heroes. And when you finally stood in front of the man—not the Soldat, not the merciless assassin who had sliced a dagger to your side two years prior—your chest tapered at the quiet war waging behind his eyes.

“I wasn't in Vienna,” Bucky told Steve. His eyes flickered briefly towards you as he said it, willing, perhaps, for at least one person in that room to put their trust in him; the man standing vulnerably in that apartment, not the weapon he was forced to become.

“I don't do that anymore,” he added.

You believed him.

Steve did, too.

The next few hours were a whirlwind of chasing and being chased. After Zemo broke the Winter Soldier out of the facility in Berlin, you took Steve and Sam to an abandoned site you once neutralized where the three of you could keep Bucky safe from the authorities. You watched from the sideline as Steve interrogated Bucky for answers, listening intently while the Captain and the Falcon began rummaging their heads for a viable plan of action.

Once Sam left to reach out to his contacts, Steve also excused himself from the room, muttering something about needing to make a phone call and leaving you alone with the burly man who was trying miserably to hide behind his curtain of hair.

Wordlessly, you walked towards the paper bag you kept on a rusty oil barrel, grabbing one of its contents before cautiously approaching the brooding man in the center of the room. Bucky looked up the moment you shoved the packaged croissant in his face, confusion shining with blue under the taut crease of dark eyebrows.

“Take it,” you said simply.

Bucky's frown deepened as he stared at your hand.

You masked the sinking feeling in your stomach with a sigh, putting the package next to the makeshift chair Bucky was sitting on.

“You haven't eaten since yesterday.” Your hands were buried in the pocket of your jeans as you spoke, hiding the tremble in them so the man in front of you wouldn't see just how much your heart was breaking for him. “We have a long journey ahead of us. And if Steve is anything to go by when it comes to a super soldier's calorie intake, you must be running on extreme deficit by now.”

Bucky stayed silent.

You scraped the ground with the toe of your shoes, trying to fill in the quietness as you rambled, “I would've loved to prepare you a nice three-course meal, but considering half of the world is on our asses, I didn't think you'd mind a small downgrade. Believe me, I'd kill for a real croissant right now. There's a bakery near the Avengers’ old tower whose owner makes the best chocolate and butter croissants. They're fantastic. This one tastes like a foam board compared to them.”

Bucky continued to stay silent, only perusing you under his intense gaze. You rubbed the back of your neck and managed an awkward chuckle. “You know what? You don't have to eat that. It tastes terrible anyway. I'll just throw it out. Let me see if the pigeons would like some.”

You reached out to grab the plastic packaging, but Bucky stopped you in tracks, grabbing the croissant with a hesitant drag of his hand.

“Thank you,” he muttered curtly.

The sight in front of your eyes would have made you chortle under any other circumstances—the ludicrousness of seeing a Herculean with a metal arm grappling with the flimsy packaging of a factory-made pastry. The croissant was ridiculously small in Bucky’s hand, and you felt foolish for thinking it could offer anything close to sufficient sustenance for a man his size. He could probably devour the whole thing in a single bite and still be starving.

And yet, before he even savored a taste, Bucky tilted the croissant towards you in a silent proposition. An offer to share. To tear the pastry in two as if he didn't barely have enough for himself in the first place. The gesture lurched at something in your chest, winding down your ribs like overgrown vines.

You feigned a smile, feeling it crack around the sorrow you were desperately trying to quell. “That’s for you, Bucky,” you told him softly. “I have mine.”

The man nodded, hesitantly, as if the thought of having something to himself was stranger than fiction. He took a tentative bite, his forehead creasing as he chewed on the sad excuse of a pastry.

“Bad, huh?” You cringed sheepishly. “Told you. It's borderline inedible. You don't have to finish it if you don't want to.”

“I've had worse.”

You clenched your teeth.

There was no room for doubt in your mind that he probably did have worse than an additive-laden confectionery.

“Yeah?” You didn't know why you were asking. “Like what?”

The metal fingers on Bucky's thigh whirred, like he was flexing, removing the stiffness in his joints if there had been flesh instead of vibranium. You waited with bated breath as he stared at a suspicious puddle on the ground.

“I was stuck in an underground cave system once,” Bucky began, pausing to take a tiny bite of the croissant. He looked defenseless that way. Almost like a child. “Spent a few days there. The only thing around me were bats.”

Your nose wrinkled. “You ate bats?”

Bucky didn't attempt to correct your assumption, just kept on munching on the artificial croissant as if he were a kid snacking on candy.

“Were they… good?”

Stupid.

What an incredibly, unbelievably stupid question.

“They were good enough to keep me alive.”

You didn't know what to say to that.

“Well,” you cleared your throat, “just tell me if you change your mind on that croissant. I can get you something else. Remember those pigeons I mentioned? They're not bats, but they've got, you know… protein.”

Then, upon some kind of miracle, it happened.

Bucky smiled.

It was brief, an ephemeral thing that evaporated by the next time you blinked, but it was there. As clear as day, as real as the foul smell of rotten carcasses that surrounded you in that dismal place.

You willed for the excitement in your belly to die down—the last thing Bucky needed was for you to go deranged over a mere smile, probably one of the firsts he allowed himself to have after decades of drought—giving Bucky a short nod before turning around to reward him some privacy, but you didn't go far before a rough voice halted your footsteps.

When your gaze landed on him again, Bucky was tense. His shoulders curled inward as if struggling desperately to keep himself small, his fingers twitched where they were curled around the half-eaten pastry.

“Are you okay?” he eventually asked.

“Me?” Your eyebrows knitted in a mixture of confusion and surprise. “Uh, I'm fine? Well, as fine as one can be after becoming a fugitive of the law, but otherwise—”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Bucky was talking about your wound.

The laceration wound that he—no, that the Soldat—had administered during your altercation in D.C.

Instinctively, your hand lifted, brushing against the jagged scar that you knew was seething under the cover of your shirt. The simple movement didn't escape Bucky's notice, and you chastised yourself for your lack of consideration when you saw his body fold lower towards his knees.

“Bucky—”

“I'm sorry,” he said heavily, shakily. A striking fragility from a man who was supposed to be carved out of steel.

You shook your head in urgency, crossing the distance between you and him before stopping a good six feet away from the defeated man. He didn’t even look up at your proximity, keeping his head angled to the ground, shrinking more and more with every passing second as if he wanted to disintegrate into oblivion.

With careful strides, you removed the remaining space separating you and Bucky, sinking to your knee right in front of him. You called his name softly, begging him to glance up, coaxing him out of the shell of condemnation that he had crawled himself into.

When he finally peered at you, the blue of his eyes had dimmed into a stormy gray. You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to lean forward and gather this broken man into your arms.

“Bucky,” you called his name again, resolutely this time. Firm and steady, offering no room for even an ounce of doubt or a breath of protest. “It wasn't your fault.”

Bucky fleered.

“I mean it.” You searched his gaze, commanding him to stay there, to not run away from your eyes because you needed him to hear this. You needed him to believe. “I'm not gonna hold you accountable for what happened on that highway, or for anything else you might have done in the past few decades. None of that is your fault. They used you. You couldn't even remember your own name, let alone understand what HYDRA was forcing you to do. You're also a victim here, Bucky.”

He shook his head.

Your heart shattered into tiny little pieces all over the ground.

You shifted on the ball of your knee, sighing as you felt exhaustion pulling at your limbs.

“Steve would agree,” you said quietly.

Those three words managed to snatch Bucky's attention.

“Actually, Steve does agree.” You glimpsed towards the entrance where the Captain had disappeared through earlier, swallowing the lump that had lodged itself in your throat. “It's the reason why he's here. The reason why we all are. He is the literal embodiment of everything good in this world, Bucky. And if Steve Rogers—Captain America himself—looks at you and sees someone worth saving, someone who deserves a second chance despite all that happened, then that says everything I need to know about the kind of man you truly are.”

You waited for something to shift, for the contempt in his eyes to dissipate, for the strain in his shoulders to melt, but nothing happened. He continued to drown, making no moves to get himself out of the murky waters that were pulling him under.

“Everything that happened while you were under HYDRA’s control—the missions, the casualties—none of it is on you, Buck,” you pressed on. “The wound on my side? That wasn't your fault either. Hell, I was shooting at you, too! I didn't know who you were back then. You didn’t know me. You didn’t even know yourself. They made sure of that.”

You took a shuddering breath, physically readying yourself to voice the next conviction out loud.

“If someone has to carry the blame, it should be HYDRA,” you determined. “Not you, Bucky. Never you.”

The silence that followed was strangulating. You watched Bucky with heart in your throat, waiting for him to react, to do something or say something. Perhaps if he had cried, it would've been better. Because then, you might have been able to help, to offer him the solace of your arms, to teach him how he could peel back the guilt that was clinging to him like a second skin.

Yet, Bucky just sat, still as a tombstone and quiet as a graveyard.

The eerie calm before a catastrophic storm.

When he finally looked up, Bucky's eyes were a tempest—dark and turbulent, thundering with the repercussions of a hundred lifetimes he never asked to live.

“Maybe—” Bucky's voice quivered. He ran his flesh hand across his face and started over, “Maybe you're right.

Your chest staggered.

Before you could respond, Bucky's gaze dropped, teetering towards your side, as though he could see the ridges of skin underneath the cotton fabric of your shirt. The place where flesh had once split under a blade he hadn't even known he was holding.

On his knee, Bucky's fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach out, to inspect the remnant of the wound with his own flesh and skin but didn't know how to trust himself enough to do so.

His jaw tightened.

“But it was still me, wasn't it?” Bucky's breathing stammered. The words came out choked, as though the truth tasted like rust on his tongue. “I was still the one holding the knife, Sugar.”

Your heart broke for him all over again.

You ransacked your brain for something to say, to convince Bucky that he was wrong, but the sound of incoming footsteps stripped you of the chance, forcing you to quickly rise to your feet just in time for Sam and Steve to enter the room. Your conversation with Bucky was shoved to the backburner as the other two apprised you of your next step, both unaware of the tension stretching taut in the air, suspended between you and Bucky like a ghost no one else could see.

The next thing you knew, your life was unraveling like a house of cards in the span of one night. It felt like you blinked, and suddenly you were standing in the middle of a tarmac, staring down faces you used to sit with during breakfast and mission briefings, others who carried the weight of loyalty you could no longer afford.

The spider-like kid who loved to crawl on things was the first one you faced. He was nimble, all limbs and chatter, a fleck of innocence to testify to his lack of experience. You tuned out his nervous jokes and wide-eyed commentary as you focused on blocking each of his strikes, breathing through the ache in your ribs, willing your body to stay sharp.

But then, your instincts faltered.

The agonized sound wasn't loud, especially compared to the surrounding chaos that had befallen the airport. Your eyes flitted towards the man anyway, as if having a mind of their own, making you lose your footing for a fraction of second as your gaze landed on him from the distance.

Bucky.

The sight of him staggering back—blood blooming across his skin like a crimson tear—rustled an unknown weight within your chest. Natasha stood just a few paces away, her favorite knife in hand, the blade gleaming in the same shade of red running in rivulets down Bucky's cheek.

The moment of distraction was fleeting. Short. But it was the only opening your opponent needed to yank you off balance and send your back straight to the ground.

“Sorry,” the Spidey kid huffed, straddling your legs, his grip surprisingly strong for someone built like a string bean in spandex. “Big fan, though. Seriously. Hey, crazy idea. Maybe after all of this, you can sign my—”

He never got the chance to finish his sentence.

With a drive of your elbow to his side, coupled with a shove of your knee to his chest, Spidey was now the one pinned to the ground—winded limbs and spayed webbing as he stared up at the clouds. You rose to your feet with a heaving chest, the ground trembling beneath your boots as you stole a moment to breathe.

You didn't even notice the light shifting in the sky.

Your reflexes awakened a second too late, stirring only when a dark shadow swept over your head. There was no time to run. Whatever protective measure you could whip up, whatever direction your feet could carry you in a matter of seconds, the end result was clear—you wouldn't be able to make it out of there unscathed.

Or at least, you should not have been able to make it out of there unscathed—but you did.

Because Bucky Barnes—the Winter Soldier, the man whose name was whispered between cautions of death and terror—had saved you.

For a moment, all you could hear was your own ragged breathing. Your ears were still ringing when Bucky finally stood up, pulling you by your elbow to your slightly unsteady feet. He examined you from head to toe, his grounding touch remaining steadfast around your forearm, eliciting goosebumps.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, still in shock. Still breathless.

“Bucky.” Your fingers convulsed, moving up to clutch his jacket and stopping once you thought better of it. “You saved me.”

He didn't answer at first, and when he did, his eyes evaded yours, jaw clenching as his gaze meandered somewhere distant. “It's the least I could do.”

Then, that same gaze moved, lowering until it settled on your side. You didn’t need him to spell it out to know exactly what he was thinking. The wound had been his doing once, delivered by a man with the same face but none of the same mercy. The shadow of a life that felt like his own but one he gravely wished to relinquish.

You felt the phantom sting of it then, not from the wound, but from the way Bucky was assessing it—like he was measuring his worth by the depth of that scar. Like saving you had been a down payment for a debt he could never repay.

Your mouth parted, already halfway to saying something, anything, that might severe the penance he had inflicted upon himself.

But before you could say a word, the world raged again, sending ripples of a faraway explosion that rattled the earth.

You swallowed hard, grounding yourself as you imparted, “We need to get to the jet.”

Bucky nodded once, his stature straightening as if his resolve had always been intact. The two of you broke into a sprint immediately, side by side, boots striking the tarmac in tandem as the smoke closed in all around you.

That was the first time Bucky Barnes saved your life.

And you knew, as you dashed across the airport grounds, that it wouldn't be the last.

After two years in Wakanda—two years since the disastrous battle on that infamous airport—you were finally bringing Bucky back home to New York.

Tony was not happy when he greeted the two of you at the compound, and you were even less thrilled to see him after everything that went down following his support for the Sokovia Accords—which, to your delight, had officially been nullified. Tony had promised he would play nice, and that included absolving Bucky—or at least, trying to—for all of the crimes that HYDRA forced him to do. It wasn't ideal, but it was a start; a show of good faith as Tony pledged to assist Bucky's recovery in every (financial) way possible.

Still, that didn't stop you from making sure that you walked in front of Bucky while the two of you were approaching the front gate, offering yourself as a human barrier should the philanthropist do anything untoward.

The first few weeks at the compound were dedicated towards ensuring a seamless transition for Bucky. From creating his daily schedule, vouching for a potential therapist, to showing him the nooks and crannies of his new home—you tackled every single task with purpose; convincing yourself that it was about structure, routine, and reintegration, but deep down, you knew better.

It was about keeping him close. Keeping him safe.

And maybe, that was exactly why you found yourself lashing out at Steve when he told you, a few weeks later, that Bucky would be sent on his first mission as an Avenger.

“This is bullshit,” you seethed, your fingers curling around the edge of the conference table in a death grip. “It's barely been two months and already they wanna send him back out there? After everything he's been through?”

The Captain sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don't like this anymore than you do—”

“Then stop it.”

“I tried!” Steve's eyebrows creased, his mouth pressed into a thin line. It was a rare sight to see Captain America this upset. “The higher-ups were asking questions, and his therapist already told them that Buck is ready. I tried talking to him about it, but he's adamant to go. There's nothing else I can do.”

“There's always something,” you retorted. “Maybe you just haven't tried hard enough.”

Despite how much your words stung, Steve forced himself to move past it. He knew they hadn't come from a place of malice. Instead, it had come from a place of affection—perhaps even love—a protectiveness he also shared towards a certain super soldier with a metal arm.

“Look,” Steve began, shifting in his seat, “have you ever thought that maybe this is what Bucky needs?”

Your head snapped up.

Steve took your silence as a cue to continue, “We know he hasn't forgiven himself yet. Not fully. And that's understandable, isn't it? Maybe what he needs, right now, is the chance to make it right. Maybe going on a mission—one he actually chooses to partake in, where he knows something good will come out of it—could be Bucky's way of making his amends.”

The Captain trailed off, letting his words linger above the tense atmosphere of the conference room.

You hated how much it made sense.

With a drop of your shoulders, you pinned your stare on the faraway wall, biting the inside of your cheek before mumbling, “Fine.”

Steve smiled, ready to wrap up the conversation once and for all when your voice interrupted him, “But I'm going.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” You got up from your own chair and sauntered towards the door, flicking a firm glance towards Steve that left no room for objection. “I'm not gonna stop you from assigning Bucky to that mission. But if he's coming, then I'm coming, too. And there's nothing you can do to stop me.”

In the end, Steve had relented, and what was once supposed to be a three-person crew's mission became four as you, Bucky, Sam, and Maria Hill took off towards Panama City.

Interference hailed the four of you upon arrival, running you into more hostiles than the initial intel had suggested. Despite your time away in Wakanda, your instincts didn’t waver. The rhythm came back effortlessly, muscle memory filling in the gaps left by your mind without a sliver of hesitation.

However, between every swift kick and precise strike, your focus frayed. Not from fear, but from a certain super soldier who was never out of your sight for long. Your gaze strayed to his silhouette again and again, making you stumble more times than you cared to admit, trying desperately to stand your ground in your own fight while keeping an eye on him all at once.

It was reckless.

And it was precisely why, as you realized too late, you ended up failing to notice the grenade.

“Watch out!”

Two strong arms—one flesh and one vibranium—shoved you out of the explosion's radius, a flying shrapnel missing your head by inches as your shoulder crashed against the ground. Bucky got thrown immediately on impact, sent over the edge of the skyscraper as the ground started to crack, fragment, and disintegrate into nothing.

“No!”

Horror erupted in your stomach at the building's cession to gravity. You scampered forward, dropping to your hands and knees to lean over the skirt where floor was supposed to be. Your relief escaped in a stammered breath when you spotted Bucky a couple of stories down, still alive, dangling by his flesh arm around the corner of a deteriorating girder.

A window pane launched into the air.

Bucky's agonized scream ripped through the chaos the moment it rammed against his left shoulder.

Something in your guts twisted at the sight of artificial axons peeking out of the ripped seams of his tactical jacket. Blood soaked through the torn fabric, staining the silver beneath in unforgiving red.

“Bucky!” Your pulse hammered. “Don't move, I'm coming to get you!”

“Don't.” Bucky's voice was stern. Final. “You gotta get outta here before the whole thing collapse.”

“I'm not leaving here without you!”

Inside your earpiece, noises began to crackle.

“Guys?” Maria's voice emerged. The sound of punches and clatter reverberated from her end of the line. “I think I need some help over here.”

“Go help Maria,” Bucky commanded.

“But you—”

“Sugar.”

The nickname halted you in place. Bucky was smiling as he looked up at you, although you knew that it was nothing more than a facade. Any other person would have been fooled by his performance, but you could easily pinpoint the shadow of a grimace he was trying to conceal, the exhaustion crippling his body as he struggled to hold himself up at an angle that wouldn't put additional strain to the already splintering steel beam.

Blue eyes softened. “I'm gonna be fine. You should go.”

Your throat constricted.

You crouched frozen on the ledge, the roar of distant gunfire echoing through the shattered high-rise. Fifty stories below, parts of the building's skeleton scattered on the ground. Your hand twitched towards Bucky, wanting to reach out, desperate to haul him back into your arms, but the chasm between you felt impossibly wide.

Meanwhile, Maria's grunts and struggle continued to echo in your ears as she seemed to wrestle a few assailants at once. You knew you should go to her aid. You knew this wasn’t the time for hesitation.

And yet… Bucky.

His lips were still curled into that easy smile—the same one he shared with you during clandestine moments around the compound, because this side of Bucky Barnes was one he reserved specifically for you. His knuckles had gone white from supporting his entire weight, the beam creaking under the slightest sway of his body, jerking slightly.

“I don’t—” Your voice cracked. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I do,” he said gently, as if he weren't hanging by one arm over nothing but air. “You save her.”

You could barely breathe.

The seconds were ticking—Maria was calling for help, and Bucky was slipping.

You weren’t enough to save both of them.

“Sam,” you gasped, pressing your hand to the comms. Static was the only response, and you prayed to the heavens above that wherever he was, whatever he was doing, he could listen to your plea. “You’ve gotta get to Bucky. Now. He’s gonna—I can’t—just… please.”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that stretched longer than a lifetime.

Just when you began to think he wasn't going to answer, Sam's voice fizzled in, “On my way.”

The comms fell silent again.

A violent wind tore through the air, hitting like a freight train.

The steel girder—the one remaining lifeline fastening Bucky to this world—buckled with a piercing screech.

In the blink of an eye, the girder snapped.

“BUCKY!”

A blur of silver and red swooped below him in the same breath, and before you could lunge forward to follow Bucky as he fell, Sam was there—arms locked securely around Bucky’s torso, wings flaring wide to steady the sudden addition of weight. Bucky’s head dropped against Sam’s shoulder, dazed but alive. Your whole limbs teetered towards the verge of liquefying as your lungs finally released the air you didn’t know you were holding.

“You okay, man?” Sam’s voice chirped through your earpiece. “Christ, what did they feed you in Wakanda?”

A sound escaped your chest—something between a strangled sob and a wry laugh.

Gathering yourself, you pressed another hand to the comms, rising to your feet and sprinting towards the server room as you announced, “Hang on tight, Maria. I'm on my way.”

By the time you and Maria went back to the safehouse over an hour later, Sam and Bucky were already there. Bucky was lying on the couch the moment you strode in, his metal arm detached and thrown almost haphazardly on the coffee table while Sam tinkered with Redwing on the kitchen counter.

From the bandage wrapped around Bucky's shoulder, you knew that the on-site medical android had taken a look at him already, but the anxiety in your mind still wasn't pacified. It dribbled all over the floor as you marched towards him, your body shaking partly from the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, but also from the anger and dread boiling in your blood.

“Why the hell did you do that?!”

Venom leaked from your voice the moment you approached the couch. Behind you, Sam and Maria fell silent, readying themselves for the imminent confrontation ahead. Bucky's face remained impassive as he rose to a seating position, a faint tug at the corner of his lips.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“Don't fucking sweetheart me.”

Your chest rose and fell in a dizzying rythm, daggers flying from your eyes towards the man in front of you. The same one who had nearly, stupidly welcomed death into his arms due to some kind of foolish heroism embedded in his principles. The one who was currently looking at you with cerulean eyes so tender it almost made you forget that he was close to slipping from your fingers a mere hour earlier.

Bucky let out a sigh. “I'm okay.”

“Quit talking to me like I'm stupid, Bucky. We all can see your ripped metal arm on the table. Your bandaged shoulder.”

“It's nothing.”

“It's not nothing!”

“It's nothing compared to what I've suffered before.”

An incredulous laugh tore from your larynx, sharp and sardonic. It was the only thing keeping the lump inside from choking you whole. “Just because you've survived worse doesn't mean you're fucking invincible, Buck! You could've died. You almost died. If Sam hadn't got there in time, you would've—”

The words wedged in your throat.

Your eyes fell shut as you expelled the images of Bucky dangling between life and death out of your mind.

This was new territory—Bucky had always treated closeness like something fleeting, something borrowed. His touches, his embraces, were often hesitant, as though affection was a luxury he couldn’t afford. But now, he held you like he had done it a thousand times before, like your body against his was the very thing chaining him to reality. His hand curled firmly around your waist, anchoring himself, grounding his entire existence to the certainty of your presence.

“Hey,” Bucky said, squeezing your side lightly. “I'm right here, Sugar. I'm alright.”

Your chest burned. “We almost lost you.”

“But you didn't.”

“But what if we had?!”

“Then you should take solace in the knowledge that I haven't gone in vain.”

Your fingers clenched around the edge of Bucky's shoulders, nails branding crescent moons into the skin. He didn't even flinch.

“You don't need to sacrifice your life for me, Bucky. I don't need that kind of thing on my conscience,” you spat.

“I wouldn't call it a sacrifice, sweetheart,” Bucky said firmly, resolutely. “If that's what it takes to keep you safe, then I'd gladly take the fall.”

Bucky's declaration propelled the tears you had been desperately trying to contain to the forefront. A strangled whimper shredded from your lips. You quickly tried to mask it with a scowl.

“That's the very definition of a ‘sacrifice’, you idiot.”

“Not in my book.” Bucky smiled. “Not when it's you.”

Before he could say another word, you removed the distance between you and threw yourself in his arms. The dam within you finally caved in, freeing the ragged sobs you had been trying to keep at bay. Your tears stained the collar of his undershirt, your arms locking around him tightly as though sheer willpower might fetter him to you, to life itself.

He staggered slightly under your weight, grunting from the pull on his wounded shoulder, but his hand—his only hand—immediately rose to your back, fingers splayed as they began tracing slow, calming patterns across your spine.

“Don’t ever do that again,” you whispered hoarsely. “Don’t throw yourself in front of danger for me. I don't ever want to watch you fall like that again. I can’t—”

“I know,” Bucky murmured, pressing his cheek to your temple. “I know, Sugar.”

“Promise me,” you croaked out.

He stilled for a second. “I can't,” Bucky said breathlessly. “I'd do it again in a heartbeat, sweetheart. I’ll always choose to save you.”

A fresh wave of tears surged behind your eyes. Your fingers curled tighter into the fabric of his undershirt. You hated him for that.

And you loved him even more because of it.

From behind you, someone cleared their throat.

“I hate to interrupt the Notting Hill shit we’ve got going on here,” Sam said, “but is anyone else starving or is it only the guy who just saved Barnes’ ass?”

The evening wind bit your cheeks the moment you stepped out of the bar. In a chorus of jovial shrieks and mischievous laughter, your friends from the Academy all bid each other goodbye—some heading straight home, some scuttering after the next round of drinks and fun, but all equally giddy and tipsy—stumbling on the curb and crashing against unassuming lamp posts.

“Sure you're not coming?” one of your friends asked.

“No, told you I've got an early morning tomorrow,” you slurred slightly, shaking your head twice when the face in front of you began to blur around the edges.

“Okay. Text me when you get home!”

You waved them off with a lopsided smile, turning on your heel and starting the slow trek back to the station. The pavement felt oddly slanted under your feet, and you blamed the tequila for the fifth time that night. The wind swept down the empty street, nipping at your exposed skin, sending discarded wrappers tumbling aimlessly along the sidewalk.

“Hey, Gorgeous! You need a ride?” a voice called out.

You didn’t bother looking. The city was full of idiots, and you weren’t in the mood for petty confrontations when your balance already wavered like a tightrope walker with a death wish.

You were in the midst of stifling a yawn when your foot unexpectedly hit a shallow crack in the pavement, pitching your body forward, arms flailing wildly before you caught yourself mid-fall.

The voice spoke again, this time laced with a grin that lit a match in the back of your mind, “Careful, sweetheart. Steve's gonna be pissed if you break an ankle before the mission tomorrow.”

Your eyes snapped up.

Leaning against a dark motorcycle across the street, like some kind of B-list actor playing a bad boy in a trashy movie franchise, was none other than Bucky Barnes. He looked way too good for someone who just watched you nearly eat concrete—leather jacket unzipped, gloved hand resting on the handlebar, and an easy smile tugging at his lips.

Your face broke into an instantaneous grin.

“Bucky, what are you doing here?”

You skipped across the street without looking. The squeal of tires resonated in the air, blaring horns and flashing headlights as you registered too late the oncoming car speeding your way. You stumbled in your haste to escape the street, to save yourself before your crushed skull and its content became the next headline for tomorrow's 6 A.M. news.

But before gravity could make a fool out of yourself, Bucky’s arms were already around you. He caught your body with ease, keeping your face from planting onto the curb, his broad frame shielding you from the splash of puddle as the honking car zipped past.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he muttered, his metal fingers squeezing your hip, “you lookin’ to give an old man a heart attack?”

“Sorry,” you offered sheepishly, willing the percussion in your chest to assuage. “Thanks for saving me.”

“I'd save you anytime and anywhere, Sugar.” Bucky smiled, his gaze soft and genuine despite the flirtatious nature of his words. “But it'd be nice if I didn't have to do it all the time.”

You feigned a gasp. “And here I thought you were my personal hero on call, Buck.”

The man in front of you laughed—a carefree thing with his head thrown back, ocean blue glinting under the paltry luminance of streetlights. You stepped out of his embrace with great reluctance, shivering slightly in the absence of Bucky's warmth.

The motion didn't escape Bucky's notice. “Did you not bring a jacket?”

“I did.” You wrapped yourself with your own arms, stroking the goosebumps away with your palms. “I lent it to my friend and I guess… well, I forgot to ask for it back.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

“Because everyone knows how kind, selfless, and generous I am?” You grinned.

“There you go. That would have to do for now,” he muttered.

His fingertips brushed your neck as he tugged the leather collar closer around you. The scent of coffee, mint, and something indistinguishably Bucky attacked your senses, stealing your breath and leaving the taste of longing on your tongue. He looked at you in that same infuriating tenderness that made your insides spume, reduced to tiny bubbles filled with hope and yearning.

“Thanks,” you breathed out once he withdrew. “By the way, how come you're here? I thought you had that mission with Nat today.”

“I did,” Bucky replied, burying his hands in his jeans’ pockets.

Your forehead creased. “No way. Did you bail?”

“Are you crazy? Steve would have my ass.”

“Then…”

“Came straight from the jet,” he said casually, the impish quirk of his lips giving him away before his words even landed.

“You what?” You gawked. “Are you serious? Did you even debrief with Steve before you went here? Did you even go to the medbay? At all?”

“It was just recon.” He shrugged, far too nonchalant for your liking. “Nat can handle the debrief. She did all the sneaking around anyway, I barely lifted a finger.”

“That’s not the point.” You groaned, massaging the headache that had started gnawing at your temple. “Who cares if it was just recon, Bucky? The procedure says you're to go to the medbay after every mission. The rule is there for a reason. What if you were injured but you didn't even notice? What if you were exposed to a dangerous substance while you were on the field? It's incredibly reckless, stupid, and—”

Your words dissolved the moment his hands cupped your cheeks.

Bucky studied your countenance in silence, his eyes delicate, his thumbs gentle as they skimmed along your jaw. He smiled at you as if your soul was scribbled in a script only he could decipher. An intimate secret shared between the meager spaces the two of you occupied in this infinite universe.

Your breath hitched.

Everything around you tilted on its axis, the world dulling into a distant hum to make room for the cosmic threads tethering you both to each other. His eyes were tired as they locked onto yours, but behind the muted blue, something else shone through—something steadfast and searing, like an eternal flame trapped in the most secluded heights of the Himalayan range.

“I’m okay,” he said at last, voice low but certain. “I’m right here, and I’m okay.”

You didn't blink—you couldn't.

Your chest deflated in the aftermath of worry, the relief sweeping through you like a tide pulling back after a storm. Bucky withdrew, his hands leaving your face in a parting goodbye, and you had to fight the urge to yank him back in, to stay in the fragile moment that had cracked open between the two of you.

“‘Sides,” he drawled, a teasing glint replacing the ferocity in his eyes, “if I didn't pick you up, you'd probably end up passed out in a dumpster somewhere. Can't have you jeopardizing the mission like that, can I?”

You groaned and shoved his shoulder. “Ass.”

Bucky chuckled, rounding the bike before handing you a helmet. “C'mon, lightweight.”

You rolled your eyes, although the blooming smile on your face betrayed the faux irritation as you climbed onto the motorcycle. Bucky was warm in front of you, your arms finding purchase around his waist the second the engine roared to life, buildings and trees alike blurring past as the two of you sped through the streets of New York.

This time, you held Bucky a little tighter than usual, just in case he forgot how much it mattered that he made it home safely.

The pain was the first thing your brain registered.

Lights spilled through the all-encompassing darkness, rousing you awake, filling the gaps in your mind with an awareness of life. The ache traveled through your body in an unimaginable speed, a ravenous beast as it ate away your soul, and you could barely contain the pained whimper before it tumbled free out of your lips.

Something engulfed your hand.

Warmth.

“Sugar?”

You whimpered louder.

“Shit." There was a rustling by your side before the same voice sprouted again, “Hang on, sweetheart. I'll get the doctor.”

Time stumbled in and out of your grasp. You thought you could hear several voices conversing in the room not long after. One of them, unrecognizable in your ears but settled deeply within your chest, rose above all of them. It sounded desperate, broken, as if the person had attempted to barter with God using merely a mangled heart and a splintered spine.

“...please,” you caught him say, the end of a sentence blown by the breeze before you could curl your fingers around it.

“I understand, Barnes,” another voice spoke. “We'll take care of it. Just wait outside, will you?”

A pair of hands proceeded to roam over your body. You felt the pull of consciousness behind your eyelids, heaving you out of the void, an aimless ghost slipping violently back into flesh.

You gasped.

The world returned in a fragmented mosaic—white ceiling, antiseptic air, and a beeping monitor that echoed stubbornly beside your ear. Inside your body, a burning agony erupted. It sank into the deepest corners of your being, clutching around your lungs, turning you into nothing more than a wailing heap of muscles and bones.

“Hey, hey, easy now,” came a calm voice.

The words arrived in the company of gentle hands, too cold for your liking, but they were a reprieve nonetheless. The face in front of you zoomed in and out of focus like moonlight dancing across shattered glass, the contours merging and sundering as they finally morphed into the features of a familiar friend.

Dr. Helen Cho.

She pressed the back of her hand to your forehead before shining a penlight into your eyes. “Pupils reactive. That’s good. Welcome back.”

You blinked away the harsh light from your vision, wincing when the effort sent a jolt of pain through your neck and shoulder. Your lips parted in an attempt to speak, but your throat felt like it had been shoved with hot coals, shredding your voice into nothing more than a torn, fragile snivel.

“W-what… what happened?” you croaked out.

“You were shot,” Helen answered. “Do you remember?”

Just like that, the memory barreled into you like a sucker punch to the face.

Images of drab walls and ceilings, the sight of mold and moss co-existing with dead rodents’ remains filled your mind. The abandoned building once posed as the warehouse of an illegal bio-weaponry enterprise that had long ceased to operate. The Avengers’ presence on site was supposed to be a straightforward recon—gather the intel on the culpable syndicate, perhaps scour for names complicit in supplying the deadly goods in the first place—and it was implied as such on the case files given to the entire team.

No one could have predicted that the simple job would turn into an ambush.

Your mind began flipping through the pages of memory, recalling how it took you no time at all to neutralize the four agents sent your way. Under different circumstances, you might have felt offended by the measly number of hostiles assigned to you—had your thoughts, of course, not already been preoccupied with a certain super soldier. Still, any insolent disparagement your opponent once hurled at your combat abilities was indefinitely put on ice as you dashed across the site's west wing.

By the time you arrived, Bucky was already cornered.

Instinct, and something else akin to protectiveness, fueled your movements as you thundered into the room. Most of the assailants were already lying in stacks on the floor, the rest following suit with every deliberate strike you threw their way. Your chest rose and fell in erratic bursts, each breath scraping your throat as the last body hit the ground.

Across the room, Bucky rose from behind the makeshift fortress, aiming his gun before stopping dead in tracks. The corner of your mouth lifted when your gazes found each other.

“Hi, handsome. Miss me?”

Bucky let out a rough breath, his grip around the gun loosening. “Was wondering when you'd show up, sweetheart.”

He stood up and approached you in merely four strides, smiling so sweetly as though your presence in front of him had been God's own gift to mankind. You fought off a shudder and attempted nonchalance as your palm brushed the dust off his shoulder.

“Sorry, Sarge. You know I like to keep people on their toes.”

The grin on Bucky's face expanded. He bumped his shoulder to yours, the two of you heading for the exit as Bucky started requesting for extraction through his comms.

A split second was all it took for everything to go sideways.

You didn't know what compelled you to turn around for one last glance. Had you heard something? Felt something? Had the hairs on the back of your neck sensed the imminent danger before your brain could even begin processing it?

It was impossible to say, but something dragged your gaze over your shoulder, an invisible hook yanking you back just in time to catch the glint of metal under the scanty light. One of the bodies on the ground, presumed dead, had begun to stir. His arm trembled as he lifted his gun from the blood-slick floor, the barrel rising with all of the inevitability of a verdict carved in stone.

Your breathing caught.

Everything in your body told you to run. To take shelter behind the wooden crate in the corner of the room, call out a warning, anything. But you knew exactly where that gun was aimed, where that bullet would go if you dared to move even an inch.

Straight into Bucky.

The whole world narrowed. What happened next wasn't a choice—it was a decision your body made under direct instructions of your heart, born not from years of training but from the gentle fondness you harbored for the man beside you. It commanded you to hold your ground, freezing your limbs, your chest pounding as though wishing to somehow intercept the bullet before it could write the ending you weren’t ready to read.

Then, the shot rang out.

Everything else had transpired in a blur. You remembered certain bits and pieces through the fog in your mind—the pain on your neck, the retaliation shot Bucky had fired from his gun, the look of pure terror you saw on his face as he held your crumbling body before it could shatter against the concrete ground.

The confession.

“Bucky.” His name fled your lips before you could even think about it.

Helen's gaze softened. “He's outside. He's been here the whole time. Never left your side since the surgery.”

You swallowed, throat thick with the weight of half-formed questions. “H-How long…?”

“Thirty-eight hours,” she replied. “The bullet missed your artery by millimeters. We almost lost you a couple of times. You were extremely lucky this time, Agent.”

Your eyes closed momentarily. When they opened again, your gaze found Helen with an unshakable purpose. “Could you please send him in?”

The doctor gave you a single nod, landing a reassuring pat on your knee before leaving the room silently.

Not long after, the door opened with a quiet hiss.

The sight of Bucky standing in the doorway smashed your heart into a million little pieces.

“Bucky,” you called out, slowly, gently.

His shoulders tensed at the sound of your voice.

Bucky's movement was tedious, as though it was painful for him to move, as though lifting his head required more strength than Atlas needed to carry the world on his shoulders. The moment his eyes met yours, something inside him cracked and splintered.

“You're awake,” he said hoarsely.

“I am,” you replied, offering a soft, shaky smile. “I'm okay.”

Bucky didn't move.

He looked like he didn't even breathe.

It was as if an intangible weight had shackled itself around his ankles, stopping him in place. Bucky didn't try to fight it, to break himself out of the phantom hold he had been cast under. He just kept standing there, motionless, like he was afraid that if he came any closer, the fragile image of you in front of him—alive, breathing, and speaking—would vanish.

Your throat tightened.

“Buck,” you tried again, a tremor in your voice now, too. “Come here.”

His fingers twitched.

“Please.”

It was that single word that finally did it—the plea that fell onto him like a torrent on scorched earth.

He took one step, then another, erasing the distance between him and the bed with a slowness that might convince someone he was walking barefoot on shards of glass. You watched every inch of him draw nearer, his pain thick in the atmosphere of the room, heavier than the oxygen nesting in your lungs.

The hesitation returned when he reached your bedside, keeping him a good six inches away from you. He hovered in the space around the bed, uncertain, both of his hands clenching and unclenching like they wanted to hold you but were afraid you would completely dissipate like vapor under his touch.

You lifted your hand and reached out, tentatively, with the precision of someone trying to pet an easily-spooked cat. Eternity must have passed at least once or twice when your fingers finally brushed the inside of his wrist.

That was all it took.

Your own tears spilled out of you in a tide stronger than the Pacific current, staining your cheeks as you brought your other hand to cradle the back of Bucky's head, threading your fingers through the short tendrils.

“I’m okay. I'm okay, Bucky, I'm fine,” you whispered, over and over, each word a balm against the searing agony inside his bloodstream. “I’m right here, darling. I'm okay now.”

“But you weren’t,” he choked, the sound of his anguish slicing your nerves deeper than the sharpest dagger ever could. “You weren’t, a-and God, I thought I lost you, sweetheart. I was holding you, tried to stop the blood—there was so much blood—and you just… you just went still. Was so cold and still and I couldn't—I didn't know what to do.”

“Bucky.” Your voice quivered. “I'm here, baby. You didn’t lose me.”

“I almost did.”

His head rose, and your breath halted in your throat at the sight or red in Bucky’s eyes. He was not someone who cried often—perhaps it was the archaic 40s’ notion of masculinity that was still embedded in his system—and the only time you had seen him cry was back in Wakanda, when you and Ayo stood by him in the vulnerable moment that confirmed the severance of HYDRA's control over his soul.

Somehow, this Bucky—the one kneeling in front of you—looked even more shattered than the one in your memory.

“Your heart stopped, Sugar,” Bucky continued, the weight of his words pressing and twisting your ribs until you were nothing but a mire. “You weren’t breathing. So cold and stiff, and I… Shit—I didn't know if you'd make it. Had to do CPR the whole flight. Everyone told me to stop. They said y-you were gone. But I couldn't, Sugar. I just—I couldn't.”

“Bucky,” you whimpered. “Darling.”

“I thought I was too late,” he rasped, voice fracturing under the weight of a requiem still resonating in his chest. “I kept thinking if I'd been faster—if I’d stood closer—if I had just noticed sooner, then you… you would've…”

You cupped his face, forcing him to stop his self-torment and look up at you. To remind him that whatever horror still clawing at his being was no longer real, because you were fine, you were alive, and you were here with him. His cheeks were wet, flushed with the remnants of grief and an exhaustion that had been postponed for far too long. The pain in his eyes had dimmed the blue in his irises to gray.

“I'm fine now, Bucky,” you murmured, misty eyes and traces of salt on the tip of your tongue. “You did it. You saved me.”

“I shouldn't have had to,” he said, shaking his head as if trying to reject the truth. “You shouldn't have been in that situation in the first place. You should've been safe. I was supposed to protect you.”

“You did, Bucky. You did protect me.”

“Not enough.”

“Baby, look at me.” Your voice is firm, a lighthouse cutting through a war-born fog. Bucky's forehead furrowed as his eyes locked with yours, as if he still struggled to believe that the you in front of him weren't simply a mirage. “You brought me back, Buck. You didn’t lose me. I'm here because of you.”

His breath hitched.

His lips quivered.

You leaned down, pressing your forehead gently to his, ignoring the strain it caused to your wound because this—the man you held inside your palms, this tender moment you shared after everything the universe had put you through—was far more important than any pain you could ever feel.

“You didn't lose me,” you repeated.

There was silence in the next breath, a sacred one commonly heard in the space between lightning and thunder. You could feel his every exhale, shallow and staggered, like a beast coaxed out of fight but still bristling with a proliferate instinct.

After a stuttered heartbeat, his metal arm slithered around your waist, his flesh one wrapping around your hand again, tighter this time.

“Say it again,” he begged, barely audible. “Please.”

“You didn't lose me,” you uttered. “I'm here, I’m alive, and I’m not going anywhere.”

He crushed you against him then—still careful, still gentle—but underneath the heedfulness, his desperation bled through. Gripping you like you were the only thing that mattered in this vast universe, like he wanted to fold you into himself and keep you some place where danger and death could never lurk over you again.

And when his mouth finally found yours, the press of his lips wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t greedy.

It was trembling.

He kissed you as if you were the divine being who granted him life, respiring your moans and gasps as if they were the instruments needed to mend his ruptured soul. Bucky tasted like every future you were always too scared to envision for yourself—the promise of companionship, affection, and happiness that had once been too surreal for your heart to believe in. But now, in this moment with him, they all suddenly became inevitable.

You kissed him back, slowly, cradling his face between your hands to hold together all of the fractured pieces that forged his being. Time slipped away in the hush where sorrow once lived, getting you lost in everything Bucky, until eventually, your lungs had to force you to part and come up for air.

“I love you,” Bucky confessed, holding onto your wrists to keep you tethered to him. To this moment. And to life itself.

Your thumb brushed the apple of his cheek, catching a silent tear, leaning in to steal another kiss from the corner of his mouth.

“I love you, too,” you whispered.

A sound between a sob and relief escaped him, and Bucky buried his face in the unwounded crook of your neck, breathing you in like he had been suffocating for days and had finally resurfaced for air. His arms stayed enveloped around you as he murmured praises against your skin—thanking the Gods for listening to his prayers, thanking the universe, thanking you. Paying reverence for the mercy that fate had bestowed over a mangled man such as himself.

You stayed like that for a long time. His weight against your side, his heartbeats slowly steadying beneath your touch. The monitors beeped gently beside you, grounding the two of you to reality, an anchor in the otherwise stagnant room. But in that moment, the only sound that mattered—the only one you cared about—was the soft inhale and exhale of your breaths, a proof of life, shared within the modest spaces that felt more freeing than a hummingbird flying over an open field.

Gradually, the room began to fade into silence.

And in the safety of Bucky's embrace, you had never appreciated the quiet more.

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cherry-leclerc · 2 days ago

Text

lust ☆ fc43

genre: smut, angst, unreliable narrator(s), pathological liars, forbidden “love”, douchebag!franco, journalist!reader, mentions of sexuality

word count: 16.6k

lust (noun) — intense, often uncontrolled, sexual desire or craving, but can also refer to a strong desire for something else, like power or material possessions.

nsfw warning under the cut!

18+...unprotected sex, f!receiving, oral sex, missionary sex

inspired by red sex (re-strung) [rakhi singh]

cherry here!... don’t ask me who’s lying because boy i don’t even know lol this is messyyyy

“Logan Sargeant is out, Franco Colapinto is in!”

Face mask dried up. Towel tied up. The Sound of Music plays. You let out a muffled scream, eyes growing wide with shock.

“Are you serious?”

Lissie nods, jumping onto the open space beside you on the bed, grabbing a chocolate covered pretzel and popping it into her mouth. “As serious as a heart attack.”

“Woah,” you say, letting out a sigh, sympathy washing over at the thought of someone’s dream coming to an end. “That…woah.” A beat. “Wait. How do you know?”

The brunette wiggles her brows theatrically. “I don’t—it’s a rumor.”

You roll your eyes, shoulders drooping as you go back to relaxing. “You’re so silly, Elisabella.”

By now, you’ve reached for the control and switched off the television, opting into the idea of a book. The one you’ve been dragging all over the world for the past few months, but you haven’t managed to actually flip through a single page. And it looks like today isn’t the day, either.

Lissie scoffs, ripping the novel straight out of your hands. “I’m providing you with the juiciest piece of information, and you’re taking it with a grain of salt?” Bewildered, she skims through the pages, using it as a fan, then tosses it into the unknown, making you frown. “I’m telling the truth!”

“Are you, though?” you challenge. “I mean, you said it yourself—it’s a rumor.”

“Yeah, and rumors are the truth,” she retorts quickly.

“Not always,” you push back, wagging a finger as she pushes it down, making you want to crack a smile. “It could also be nothing but a hoax.”

“Since when?” As soon as you open your mouth, she’s quick to slap a hand over your lips, causing the mask to break. Lissie! you squeal against her hand as she lets out a snort and a poor apology. “You’re just choosing to ignore it because you were rooting for the American.”

Finally, pushing her away, you stick your tongue out. “The American has a name. Plus, the sport has treated him like dirt, how could I not cheer him on?”

She pops another pretzel, crumbs falling onto her lap. “Look, I know you’re being an empath and all, but that’s life for ya.”

And you know she’s right, but over the course of time, given the very few chances you’ve gotten to interview Logan, you’ve come to realize how much of a softie he is and you like that, because in a way, you see yourself in him. “When is the news coming out?”

Buzz! Buzz!

Darting her eyes down to her phone, she lets out a sad smile, and you know she feels just as bad as you.

“Looks like it just did.”

The paddock has been swirling with anticipation ever since the news and it’s safe to say that every journalist has their eyes set on the smiley Argentinian who enters it without a single care in the world. Camera’s flash, people stare, and he seems to like it. Why wouldn’t he?

“I heard he likes to be interviewed mainly in Spanish,” Lissie hums besides you, spectating just the same as everyone else. Sipping on her iced tea, she squints, watching as the brunette disappears against the crowd. “Diva.”

You laugh. “How so?”

“He thinks his fans interact more with him in his native language, but that just can't be true—can it?” Another sip. “Probably not. Nobody speaks Spanish in this sport.”

“Carlos? Fernando?” you question with a soft smile, one that she ignores.

“Excluding drivers,” she clarifies. “He’s just looking for attention because he knows he can.”

Spinning to face your friend, your brows pinch together with curiosity. “Can what?”

Lissie snickers, biting down on her straw. You’ve always been this way—naive. She sees things you don’t, and sure, that adds to your charm, but sometimes, she genuinely worries. “Get it.” When you fail to understand, she lets out a dramatic sigh, patting your head like a dog, causing you to blink with wonder. “Attention. I’m referring to attention.”

Heat surfaces towards your face as you look away, brushing the embarrassment off. “Duh. Of course, that's what I was thinking….”

Minus the constant cheers for him, there's silence where you two stand, taking part in people watching as if your lives depended on it. And somewhere in between the line—the thin, thin line— he turns to face in your direction.

Instantly connecting his gaze—with you.

As if it's a daily occurrence, your breath hitches, making you flinch with surprise. He seems to notice—the effect he's made on you—and this gets a smile out of him, loopy and mischievous, all at once. You don't like the way he's looking at you, like he knows you. Like he can tell you things about yourself that you haven't figured out yet. Overall, you hate it.

Especially with how fast your heart is beating.

“Damn it.” The Brit groans. “Even I miss the American. This lad just seems to be full of himself already, don’t you think?”

Except, you don't, because your mind is no longer in control and you're no longer sane. It appears all of that has gone out the window the moment he's walked into the paddock, chased by girls. And you despise the way you can feel yourself becoming one of them.

Oh yeah, you murmur, still not looking away, but he has, already signing a bunch of merch. You blush, shaking your head in complete daze. “Way too, uh…full of himself, indeed.”

Franco Colapinto is one of a kind.

He never takes anything seriously, never lets his mistakes bother him for too long. He thinks lingering in moments like those is stupid and unnecessary, and he'd rather just have fun. Very few get it, but that’s not something he cares about, to be quite honest.

He had gotten the call last minute. He was in Brazil with…friends.

And without a doubt in mind, he accepted to drive for Williams. Things apparently haven't been working out for Logan, and while he felt pity for his distant friend, he couldn't help but feel ecstatic to get the chance to drive a Formula One car. This was his dream.

And it all went down the way he had pictured. All eyes were on him, not a singular second passed without someone turning to look. He can tell some were confused, he can tell some were shocked, but he enjoyed every last bit of it.

He loved the way girls stared, admiring him in ways he’s gotten quite used to. He loved sending sly smiles and seeing them burn up in return. He loved knowing he’s figured out things that other guys haven't had the time of day to figure out themselves.

He just loved the attention.

“I’ve had a blast, uh, driving with those I’ve looked up to ever since I was a little boy,” he says with a sheepish smile, eyes crinkling as Will nods, taking notes and raising the microphone. Franco chuckles. “I can’t wait to continue.”

He gets along with everyone and they all want to be his friend. This is normal and he likes that he’s fitting in with ease. Though, for some odd reason—

“I don’t think they like me much,” he admits once the interview is over, making Will quirk a thick brow, turning his attention to where you and Lissie stand, waiting impatiently for him.

The journalist snickers. “You’re joking, right?”

Only, he’s not. He knows when people tolerate him and you two aren’t one of them. He doesn’t know why he suddenly cares given he doesn’t really know either of you, but he just knows that he does. Very much, actually. Scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, the brunette looks away, ignoring the laser being aimed at him, particularly from the British girl.

He doesn’t say anything after that, just makes his way closer, watching as you whisper something to your grumpy friend before flashing him a warm smile.

“Oh God, he’s coming.”

“Relax,” Lissie quips, standing straight. “We can’t inflate his ego, remember?”

“What ego?” you hiss, palms sweating as he inches closer. You gulp. “I have to be nice, I’m always nice!”

“Yeah, well not this time, you aren’t,” she declares adamantly, causing you to shake your head.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do this, look at him, he’s smiling at us!” Flashing a dopey grin, you hear her sigh, obviously disappointed in the fact that you’re blindly giving into his games. Then, he’s in front of you two, extending his hand out as a formal introduction.

“Hi, I’m Franco—”

“We know,” Lissie cuts him off, a slight edge in her voice. He blinks, completely frazzled by her tone. Shrugging, she mocks a smile of her own, downright confusing the fuck out of him. “Welcome, mate.”

“Thanks?” he mumbles, shaking her hand deliberately slowly as her eyes remain as sharp as knives. He’s intrigued by now, as to why she’s treating him this way. Then, to his right, there you are. Fragile. Shy. Round eyed. Not a single thought behind them. Feeling his personality come right back as if nothing, the Williams driver sends a wink. “Hola.”

“H-hola,” you return, copying him, but your accent is mediocre, at best. It’d be lame if you weren’t so beautiful. You cough, clearing your throat as you lend your hand into his, and immediately, you feel a pull. Not physically, no, but rather—energetically. It’s a scary thing, but something tells you not to question it and that this is all a part of his charisma. “I’m—”

“Not interested.” At once, both you and Franco turn to face Lissie who stands with her hands on her hips, tapping her foot strictly. “She’s not interested.”

“I wasn’t—” he tries to speak, but she’s fast to shut him down.

“Yes. You were.” Rolling her eyes, she tugs you back from your wrist, making you let out a yelp by the sudden clutch. “Look, how about you mind your business and we’ll mind ours, yeah?”

“Lissie…” you warn with a slight crack, ignoring the rush of blood. Biting down on your lip nervously, your eyes flicker back and forth, feeling the cool weather suddenly suffocate you with shame. “He hasn’t done anything.”

“He was about to, though.” A scoff. “I’ve heard all about you and your games—Franco.”

She says his name in a way that makes you aware that she isn’t fond of the idea of him in any shape or form. And he seems to pick up on that too, eyebrows raising with amusement. “Have you now?” Cocking his head to the side, a smile starts to spread. “And what exactly have you heard about me?”

“That you're nothing but a deceiving flirt,” she responds without missing a beat—zero pressure, zero problem, zero intimidation. Flustered, you fiercely start to shake your head, but it's too late, Lissie is on a roll. “I know your intentions aren't genuine, so how about we save ourselves the trouble and keep this professional. It's not like you'll be seeing much of us, anyways.”

“Yeah?” he questions, accent deep and raw, making you squirm, and of course he picks up on that too.

The brunette girl sighs, feigning indifference, or maybe it was real, who knows. “As you may have noticed, Will interviewed you, right?” Still, he says nothing, standing there with a blank expression. She lets out a sour chuckle, one that even catches you by surprise. “It's going to stay that way.”

“I still need an interviewer for my Spanish debriefs, who's to say it's not going to be you?” he challenges, focusing on her now and enjoying the twist in her face.

“I don't speak Spanish, so no—it won't be me, thank God.”

“You don't?” he asks, clearly shocked.. “I thought you were Latina—”

“Oh, so you're quick to jump to conclusions, too?” Rolling her jaw, you can tell your best friend is close to the breaking point. And while you've seen it before, you haven't seen it much, but you were pretty certain it wasn't going to make her look any better. Plus, people were starting to stare, and that alone was making your skin itch and shift uncomfortably, wishing to vanish into thin air. “You really are a know-it-all.”

Franco ignores the dig. He ignores the murmurs.

But he doesn't ignore you.

“What about you?”

“Me?” you squeak, looking around as if there might have been someone else. Like a blushing mess, you open your dry lips, feeling a catch in your throat. “I, uh…I, um.” You don't. Oh, definitely not. But the way he's looking at you makes your head spin, and the need to answer correctly makes you believe this just might be it. What exactly? That you don't know yet, but it.

A firm nod. I do.

“You do?” Lissie and Franco say in chorus, and while she's bewildered, he's over the moon.

Another nod, this time more secure. “I've been practicing.”

“Since when?” the Brit interrogates, not choosing to believe what you're saying.

You gulp, lips wobbling into a slippery smile. “Ever since the rumors started.” Her face darkens, clenching her jaw. “Since I heard he might be entering the grid—I wanted to be r-r-ready, just in case…”

Lissie snarls. “So you do believe in rumors.”

A wince. “Lissie, I—”

“Would you be interested in conducting my Spanish interviews?” Franco asks, vibrant eyes dedicated to you as your heartbeat spikes. He smiles charmingly, eyes squinting in a way that makes your body feel the need to jolt. “I like you.” A beat. “You're sweet.”

He thinks I'm sweet, you cheer to yourself, keeping a straight face on the outside. Besides you, Lissie pokes your hip, and you know what that means—decline his proposition. There's got to be a million different reasons as to why this probably isn't a good idea, you're sure she has them ready to lay out to you with a whining noise like I told you so. But in a moment like this—where you can't even seem to comprehend—you choose to ignore them.

Snapping your berry lips into a thin line, you just slightly—ever so slightly—nod, making Lissie disinflate and Franco grin brightly.

And dear God—were there signs.

You've been avoiding him for the past few days and the problem is he doesn’t know why.

At first, he thinks you're intimidated by the idea of being caught with his presence—maybe it was too much to handle for you. He liked thinking that to be true. Then, he thought maybe you were backing out. Perhaps Lissie had said something that made you come to a realization, and sure, he can easily find someone else, but it needed to be you.

Why?

Well, because he liked knowing he could get a pretty girl to choose him over her best friend.

It was all about power for him. Power, fun, and games.

So, when he crosses with you in the hotel he didn’t think journalists like you could ever afford, he takes a chance to cage you in and get some answers. And that just so happens to be in an elevator.

Crap, you think to yourself as he enters, ever the giddy guy he is. He presses a button—fifty. And he doesn’t say anything at first, but when you fail to acknowledge him with a greeting, he looks over with those brown eyes that make you wish you were blind. “I didn't know you were staying here,” he chokes out, gently inhaling your soft perfume. It makes his eyes flutter, just for a minute.

Forcing a light hearted laugh, you shake your head. “I'm not. I'm just…visiting a friend, that's all.”

And just like that, his stomach drops. Were you here for some rendezvous? Was it with someone he knew? And yes—yes—it must be because the entire grid was staying on the fiftieth floor.

“Cool,” he murmured, gritting his teeth, passing time by counting every floor. “Cool, cool, cool—can I ask who?”

Taken aback, you giggle awkwardly, resting against the metal wall. Brown orbs are aimlessly looking for an answer as you struggle to give it up. You lick your lips, shrugging as if no big deal. “Carlos.”

“What?” he screeches, eyes practically flying out of their sockets, making you flinch. Running a hand quickly over his rosy face, Franco tries his best to calm down. “I'm sorry, but…” he trails off, cringing. “Isn't he old enough to be your dad?”

“Huh?” you mutter with genuine confusion. Then, it dawns on you what he was thinking. The tip of your ears burn bright red as you laugh nervously, waving a finger strictly. “I-It's not like that.” He nods robotically, attention still unsteady and not at all convinced. “He's just giving me private lessons.”

Franco's jaw drops, not making sense of what you're saying. Because while he doesn't know you to the full extent quite yet, he hadn't had that impression over you. Here you seemed kind and innocent, not…

Again, you realize your choice of words aren't so great, so you play it off with a poor grin. “How's your first week been?”

You're obviously changing the conversation, and he's sort of grateful for that, but he still remains curious about the situation with you and the Spaniard. “Just fine.” Silence. “What kind of lessons?”

He’s overstepping—he's well aware. And he should stop asking questions—he's well aware. And he's trying, he really is, but he just—can't.

Embarrassed, you chew on your bottom lip with a subtle smile, making his jaw tick and his fists clench. Why is he acting this way? Why is he bothered so much? And why does he want to curse out Carlos fucking Sainz?

“Spanish lessons.”

It's said just high enough to be a whisper, and just low enough to let him know that you're somewhat embarrassed by your confession. And still, he lets out a breath, feeling his shoulders relax and the tenseness roll away. A laugh. “Wait—I thought you already spoke Spanish.”

Plump lips open feverishly before you swipe your pink tongue along it. His stomach flips cruelly at the sight that leaves him wondering about your mouth in other places. Places not even the dirtiest would think of. Because seeing as you stand there, like an angel, he pictures what it’s feel like to fuck someone like you.

“I don't…” Your brows knit together with apology. “I'm sorry about lying to you, I really am—”

“I can teach you.”

It's an offer that catches you off guard. Off guard because why would he take time from his busy schedule—for you? But for him, it was a simple one, one that made sense.

One that meant you wouldn't need Carlos—because honestly—fuck that.

Blinking feverishly, you shake your head, as stiff as an animatronic. Embarrassment practically flows out of you as you look away, orbs flying up to where the number fifty flashes, indicating the floor you’ve finally reached. Pressing down on the open door button, Franco smiles at you without missing a beat, making you think this was serious.

He was being completely serious.

“There's n-no need,” you fight back numbly, because the way he's begging with those brown eyes makes you think you might accept just about anything he'd say to you in this weak moment of yours. “I shouldn't have lied, and you deserve someone who actually spe—” You trail off, heat rising to your cheekbones. “I'll find you someone, don't worry.”

“There's no need,” he mimics, but with more confidence in his tone than yours. “I’ll teach you.”

“But—”

The Argentenian rolls his eyes light heartedly, going in for your hand and finally leading you out the tight spaced box, and thank goodness for that, because you're quite sure you would have fainted if you stayed in there for a second longer. He wiggles his brows, making you crack a soft smile. “I’ve taught a bunch of other girls. Teaching you shouldn't be too hard if I've done it a million times before.”

Wincing, you take a small step back, and he doesn't know what for. He doesn't know why you've reacted this way, he doesn't know why you haven't accepted yet, and he doesn't know why he feels the tiniest bit satisfied by it all.

“I think I’ll stick with Carlos for now,” you whisper, still not looking at him. Bewildered, he frowns, not able to hide his shock. “Thanks for the offer, though.”

That said, you leave him there, standing alone, eyes roaming your body and left wondering what you didn’t fucking say yes.

So, he isn’t doing Spanish interviews until later notice.

He sticks to English, he struggles in English, and he lives and breathes English. It's exhausting, it's starting to bore him and you still haven't spoken to him since that day.

He can tell Lissie is over the moon by your sudden detachment from the Williams drivers and that doesn't do him any better. He should have you by now, and the British girl should be warning you, too, but it seems like nothing is happening the way he's used to.

From the other side of the paddock, where you sip on your green juice, trying not to gag from how nasty it was, your friend side eyes you suspiciously before separating her own lips from her straw. “So, uh…”

Blinking, you look up.. “Uh what?”

And she's left it alone for long enough now and the curiosity has finally reached its brim. “What happened between you and what's his name?”

Chuckling, you cross your legs, resting your arms against the table. “You know his name, Lis, there's no need to be dismissive.”

“If I admit that I do know, will you finally tell me what happened?” You think about it, pouting subtly. And you're messing with her—teasing—you both know it. The brunette groans, gently kicking your leg under the table, making you squeak. “Oh, come on, don't be like that.”

“Be like what?” you ask, playing coy for a second longer before sighing. “He didn't do anything wrong, actually. He just…spoke like a boy.”

Thick brows draw in together with confusion. “A boy?”

You nod. “Yeah—egotistical, in a sense.”

Right away, the British girl claps, pointing at you boldly. “I told you so, didn't I?” she cheers, clearly enjoying the fact that she was right and thriving that you've finally realized it.

Twisting your mouth from side to side, you shrug lamely. “You know I hate it when you say that.” A beat. “But yeah, you did.” A certain silence lingers for a split second before you rub your temples harshly. “I just…just—why did he have to be this way?”

She knows what you mean by that—immature. Why did Franco Colapinto have to be immature?

Out of the many years Lissie has known you, from worst to best, she's come to figure out that you hate men like that, but despise boys even worse. They just weren't at your standard, and for a million different reasons. For starters, they think they're Gods. Second of all, they think they could get away with their shitty behavior. And third of all, they probably are some version of God and they probably could get away with just about anything.

And that's why you hate them—because they're easy to fall for, guys like him.

“Who knows,” Lissie responds with a smug expression, one you wish to wipe off. “But think of it as a sign—you dodged a bullet with that one.”

But no you didnt—no, you fucking didn’t.

You wish you had walked a little faster, you wish you had acted a bit soon, and you wish the word no was a part of your vocabulary.

At a nearby cafe, close to the paddock, you went out for coffee. You specifically chose this one because quite frankly, there were less people. It made things easier for you, but apparently for Franco, too.

Ignoring him, you push past, acting as if you had no idea he was standing there, but as soon as he calls your name out in that accent that rolls off his tongue like honey, you freeze, turning to face the truth. The curly haired boy waves. “What are you doing here?”

“Just…grabbing coffee.”

He nods. In hand, he has his own cup, raising it up like a toast before taking a sip. “Ignoring me or something?” Shame fills you up as he's come to notice what you had been totally doing. Waving you off as if nothing, the Williams driver scrunches his nose for a second. “Ah, it's alright, don't worry about it. Can’t say I'm surprised.”

You freeze, narrowing your neat brows with blame.“Wha-what do you mean by that?”

“See ya,” he hums, already heading towards the exit all high and mighty.

In a state of disorientation, you stare at his back before snapping out of the trace he had you in and chasing after like a madwoman. “What do you mean by that?” you yell, panting with the struggle to keep up. Stopping dead in his tracks, Franco grins to himself before turning around with a phony frown like a wallscreen.

“You're being told what to do, what to think,” he speaks up given the distance you have from one another, so you take a couple steps forward before leaving it as it is.

“That's not true,” you mumble weakly.

The Argentinian scoffs, causing you to pinch yourself to make sure this wasn't some nightmare he's snuck into. But no. It's not. “Tell me one thing—and I want you to be completely honest with me.” Doll Like, you blink, nodding to his instructions. He quirks a sharp brow. “Has Lissie talked bad about me to you?”

No fucking doubt, you want to snicker, but something in his mannerism shows that he knows she has, and that he’s just waiting for you to say it. “What does that have to do with anything?”

But he's not letting go, not yet, at least. Closing the final gap between you two, you find yourself, nose to nose basically, with someone as intimidating as Franco Colapinto, which is a weird sight, because usually he's out having fun, and not doing…this. He opens his mouth and it's stupid how you find yourself doing the same before coming to the realization and clamping your lips shut. The corner of his lips quirk with amusement.

Disconnecting from you again, he inches away, leaving you there feeling like a hopeless romantic with her heart caught in her throat. You want to rub your eyes, but you have a feeling that if you do, he might laugh from how much this has already affected you.

Instead, he speaks up first. “You said you’d be honest. Go on now—be honest.”

Pursing your lips, you wince pathetically. “She has.”

You've said the right thing in his eyes, you've given him the answer he was looking for because this makes his point much more valid. And you're starting to realize, yeah. Maybe it is.

“There you go.” Another sip. “She's playing you like a puppet.”

She is Lissie, and Lissie is your best friend. Lissie can't be manipulating you—can she?

“You're right,” you find yourself accepting in a quiet whisper like you can barely even believe it. As if you're having some sort of epiphany. Bringing a delicate hand up to your lips, you shake your head, a trace of sadness lost in your eyes, one he caused for bringing you down to reality. If you're seeing this now, how long has this been going on for? “I don’t have my own opinions because…of her.”

He notices then that he could potentially be ruining a perfectly good friendship, but he also notices that he doesn't seem to care. He never liked Lissie and Lissie never liked him and now…

Now there was a winner amongst them.

Still with a pinched and sour expression, you nod repeatedly. “I’m in—I want to work for you.”

For me, he finds himself replaying your words as a similar glow pours across his features. One that you don't pick up on because you think this was your doing, not his. But none of this actually was, because as it came, you’re as clueless as a toddler.

He plays the role of modesty first, and he plays it well. Forcing a small frown, Franco clicks his tongue softly. “You don’t have to. I get it. Lissie has made you think that—”

“Fuck what Lissie said,” you cut him off, suddenly enraged by what your so-called friend had been doing all along. “I’m doing it because I want to.”

No, you’re doing it because I made you think so, he thinks to himself and bites his cheeks in order to hide his creeping smile. That was the thing—he always knew he had you, before you even knew it yourself.

That day at the paddock, when he first laid eyes on you, your reaction told him. The way you stiffened, the way your cheeks became blotchy. It was a dead giveaway, your infatuation, and that’s something he became interested in. But then, as unexpected as the unexpected can get, you had someone to look out for you.

And that someone was sweet ‘ol Elisabella.

She was right, right off the bat. He was a flirt. He was a no-good. But he hid it well and she knew that—but you didn’t.

Then, for some reason, he lost the plot and you were no longer googly eyed for him. It fucking ticked him off. He kept watchful eyes on you for the time being, watched you come and go as if he was no one to you.

But he knew that wasn’t true. That you probably didn’t believe that lie yourself.

He saw the way Lissie held onto your arm like a protective older sister. As if you were someone pretty little lamb who knew no better than to stay away from someone like him. The way she smiles as if saying—“I won”—is what made his blood boil because that wasn’t the way things were supposed to go.

He was supposed to have you by now.

And sure, there was a bump on the road, and for a minute he thought it might have not worked out—but look at you now.

“I’m tired of being controlled,” you admit as if it all finally caught up to you. “Lissie told me to stay away from you and that’s exactly what I did because that’s what she does best—control me.” Fuming, you throw away one of the coffee cups, one he notices has the Brit’s name written on it in neat cursive. “Well, not anymore, I’m done.”

And I’m all in.

“What did you say to her?”

Once the Argentenian glances up from his phone, he finds himself with an angry looking Lissie who seems just about ready to bite his head off. He kind of wishes she would just cause.

“To who?”

The Brit girl's eye twitches. “You know who I’m talking about.” Letting out a raw groan, she pushes her hair back, suddenly irritated with anything in her way. “Why would you tell her a whole bunch of lies about me?”

“I don’t know, why would you?” he challenges without missing a beat.

This practically gets a snarl out of the journalist, rolling her jaw before speaking. “What are you watching?”

“Nothing,” he answered, but too fast and too defensively.

A chuckle. “No, no, I want to know—what the fuck are you watching, Franco?”

“I already told you, nothi—”

In one swift movement, one that even is too fast for someone like him, she snatches the phone from his grasp before he even has a chance to turn it off. And there, in all its glory, is a naked woman moaning erotically as she self pleasures herself. Lissie scoffs, tossing it back, rolling her eyes.

“You see! You’re too lustful. All you think about it sex, sex, sex.” A beat. “What’s your problem, huh?”

“I don’t have a problem,” he shoots back, digging his phone back into his pocket, grateful that no one is around to witness any of this. “And no. I’m not. I’m just looking out for my friend.”

“Your friend?” Lissie repeats dryly. “Oh, darling, don’t get things mixed up—she is not a friend of yours.”

“Yeah?” he questions smugly, finally standing up and towering above. “And who did she just drop?” And that seems to do it, because in a single second, her eyes slowly begin to water. He grins, eyes crinkling with humor. “Because it sure as hell wasn’t me.”

No one says anything for a minute, no one says anything for two, but as soon as a droplet slides down her rosy cheeks, she’s quick to wipe it away, sniffling like some poor bunny. “You’re a fucking dick and she’s going to realize that sooner or later, you’ll see—”

“She’s going to realize when I want her to realize,” he says, filled with content. “Besides, you shouldn't worry too much.” Leaning down, he grabs her arms, holding her in place and whispers in her ear as she stands there numbly.

I promise I’ll make her feel so good, she won’t even remember calling you her friend.

Your lessons start right away.

There’s no room for mistakes, and yet, you find yourselves making them. You can tell that he’s losing his patience at times, but he always tries his best to hide it. It sort of works, it sort of doesn't, but nevertheless, you feel stupid.

“Say it back to me again,” Franco commands, rubbing his jaw with a slight clench. He’s stressed out, you’ve made him stressed out, and now you want to leave his room.

Licking your lips, you nod gently. You process the sentences one more time before opening your mouth hesitantly. “Mi…”

“Color,” he says, helping you out.

Heat rushes towards your cheeks. “Right—mi color. Mi color favorito es…es…” What was it again? Panicking, you look up at him, and he’s just staring so gingerly, so supportive, and so sweet, and you can’t let him down. “Mi color favorito es el rosa.”

His eyes light up, instantly grinning. “¡Bravo! Yes! You got it!”

“Really?” you ask in disbelief, laughing loudly. “Did I?”

“¡Si, si!” he chants excitedly, and honestly, kind of relieved that you finally got it down after so long. “That was good, you did good, you did so good.”

Something about his praise makes your stomach burn and your thighs press against one another. It’s both humbling and new, all at once. Flustered, you purse your lips, looking away as you toss your hair over your shoulder, searching for any reason to just not make eye contact with him anymore. Because what if he can read your mind?

You shouldn’t be doing that.

He doesn’t typically see you in dresses—especially dresses like this one you’re wearing right now. It’s short—it is hot where you’re staying, after all. Lacey—teasing him into barely getting the chance to see your skin. Dark—a royal blue that bleeds a bit harsher than normal. He thinks you did this on purpose—you did this for him.

Coughing, he watches as you flinch gingerly at the sound, attention back on him like before. He likes that. Your eyes on him, he means. “Won’t lie, it took you a bit longer than expected.” You blush, wobbly lips forming a foolish smile that makes your features soften like a cloud. He grins back. “But you got it, and that’s all that matters.”

“Sure,” you quip. “And for what it’s worth, I really am sorry for wasting your time!”

You were. You were wasting his time. He could have easily been out with friends, meeting new people he probably wouldn’t even remember meeting. But he had to do this. Not for you, but for himself. He couldn’t stand the idea of Carlos teaching you such an intimate language, he couldn't stand the possibility of you rekindling with Lissie and marching off, leaving him to be the loser amongst them both.

Plus, the way you act around him makes him think it’s only a matter of time.

He’s going to get his way with you, he’s sure of it.

“Don’t say that, cariño,” he says, shaking his head. “I want to be here with you.”

Your heart beats fast against your ribcage and a tingle runs along your legs. “I think that’s enough for today, don’t you think? You should rest before your race tomorrow.”

Right. Makes sense. Nodding, the Argentinian stands up, watching you do the same as you fix your dress up a bit and smile gracefully. He leads you down the hallway towards the door, making easy conversation, but as soon as he finally reaches for the knob, he pauses.

“Hey—it’s actually really dark out now.”

You blink. “I suppose it is, yeah…”

Franco tilts his head flirtatiously, even you can tell. “A pretty girl like you probably shouldn’t be walking alone at a time like this.”

You blink faster, lashes fluttering. What was he trying to say? I mean, you knew what he was trying to say, but what was going on? And you’ve never been the kind to…to…God, was the room suddenly spinning?

“I can do it,” you whisper meekly. “I’ll be fine.”

She’ll. Be. Fine. She. Said, he thinks to himself sourly. Did you not catch the hint? Did you not want to take up this opportunity that many girls would die to have? Are you stupid or what?

But he doesn’t want to seem like a jerk, even if he sort of is one, so, instead, he grabs his jacket and opens the doors, signaling for you to go first. This gets a smile out of you, not a tight lipped one or a forced one—a real, genuine smile. Huh? So you’re the kind of girl who likes romantics. Maybe that’s what he needs to be.

He can pretend.

Placing his jacket over your shoulder, he finds you chewing down on your lip, suppressing your smile from growing any wider. Thanks, you mumble as you finally reach the lobby, walking past the people in fancy suits who open doors for you. What were they called? Honestly, who even cares because here you were—with Franco—and nothing could ever have been as important as this moment.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” he starts, hands dug into his pockets. “What ended up happening between you and Lissie?”

You grimace. “What didn’t happen between me and Lissie?”

“You’re not listening!” she yells as she chases after you. Marching up to your suitcase, you angrily start to pick up all your belongings and stash them in with no need to fold anything. “He’s just using you!”

“Stop saying that,” you demand, still not looking at her. “And stop feeding me lies, seriously, you’re starting to sound obnoxious.”

She doesn’t mind you degrading her, she doesn’t mind you belittling her, but she does mind the fact that you’re ready to erase her from your life and draw him in as a replacement. It’s not fair. The Brit girl rubs her eyes feverishly, hearing them squish harshly. “I don’t care, I just want you to realize that you’re making a mistake!”

You freeze, insides burning with fury as you collect your reason, but there seems to be none left. Turning slowly to face her, your lips turn into somewhat of a snarl, making her flinch in return. “You know what? Yes. I have made a mistake, a big one.” A beat. “By ever calling you a friend.”

Lissie doesn’t say anything, but you can tell that she’s deeply hurt. Of course she is. You’ve finally done it.

Chosen someone you just met—over her.

Blinking rapidly, the brunette runs a hand through her long hair, letting out a heavy breath. “Franco will never see you the way you want him to. The way you think he does.” She chuckles, making your blood boil at this point. “For God’s sake! You’ve read the thousand of tabloids surrounding him and his habits. Have you ever—ever—read a good one that has nothing to do with his driving skills?”

And that’s when it hits you. “Lissie—are you jealous?” There’s a string of silence that engulfs you two, letting it hang there for a minute too long. And you just have to, you just have to laugh. “Oh my God, you are!”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are! You have a thing for Franco!” With wide eyes, you clasp a hand over your mouth, muffling the sound that makes her skin burn with irritation at the mere thought of you thinking she would ever have a thing for a guy like him. “How could I not see it?”

“I don’t like him!” she yells, aware that the people next door are probably enjoying these five seconds of drama. “I could never like someone who treats girls like fucking shit, are you kidding me?”

“He’s not like that, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” you continue, picking up from where you left off. “If you actually took the time to get to know him, then maybe things could be different, and perhaps we wouldn’t be here, now would we?”

Lissie groans, eyes screwed tightly. “Fuck you.”

You gasp. “No— fuck you.” You march closer, eyebrows narrowed. “You think you know everything, don’t you?”

“You know what? Yeah. Maybe I do,” she spits, furrowing her brows the exact same way as yours. “And that might explain why I’m conscious about Franco’s nature and you’re not.”

“He’s a great guy!” you exclaim, pushing her back, making her gaze darken.

With the same energy, she reaches and pushes you too. “Fine, then! Get ridiculed, who fucking cares!”

That’s it. She just grabs her bag and walks towards the exit of the room you once shared. But at the very last minute, she turns to face you with soft eyes. Ones that almost—almost—make you break out of this trance he has you in because what if she’s right?

“I really hope you realize what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

You shake your head, ignoring the sting. “She and I just…didn’t see eye to eye, is all.”

Franco stares ahead, feeling the hot breeze push his hair back. The night sky is a mixture of both beautiful and daunting, the vendors are hard at work, and he’s yet to get a solid answer from you. He thought he might know it, but he was sickeningly interested to hear if it was true.

And it was.

“I don’t know how to say this without making her sound unprofessional, but, well, um—she doesn’t quite like you.”

And there it was. He knew that—since day one, he knew that deep down in his bones. He saw the way she glared at him, like a know-it-all, standing guard next to you. It was obvious.

But he can twist this in a thousand different ways if he really wanted to.

“It’s because she’s in love with you, you see that, right?”

Bewildered, you stop dead in your tracks, unbeknownst of the smile that spreads across his lips before he turns to face you with a blank expression. You swallow, but even that suddenly seemed like hard labor. “That’s not …” you whisper weakly, fighting the urge to scrunch your nose with how taken aback you were. “That can’t be…”

He takes a look around, spotting the city lights and the way they surround you like a flashlight. And like that, he can note the slight redness painted across your cheeks, the way your chest rises hard and fast now that you’ve settled with a lie he completely ripped out from the farthest depths of hell. He knew what he was doing, he knew that he was being dishonest for no particular reason—but he just couldn’t have you running back to her to hear all the things he was keeping you from.

A minute ticks by. “I’d say it’s obvious.” He can see you begin to spiral out of control, chewing hard on your thumb now, like an anxious teen. And he sort of feels bad—sort of. “I always thought she looked at you a bit…differently.” He contains a snicker, settling with a small wince. “Compared to everybody else, at least. Come on. Think about it.”

You do. Suddenly every interaction you two ever had is making you second guess. All those times she insisted on sharing a room in order to ‘save money’. The way she’d lace her arm through yours, leaning her head against your shoulder. How she pushed and pushed the idea of Franco being wrong for you. It all made so much sense now that he’s brought it up.

Shaking your head rigidly, you squeeze your eyes shut, choosing not believing any of it, but then again, you know it is—true.

“You’re right.”

His lips flicker upward in the slightest of flickers before falling down.

You rub your eyes. “Wow. I mean…wow.” A beat. “That explains so much.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being—”

Horrified, you nod, fast and hard. “Oh, yeah! Of course there’s nothing wrong with being…” You trail off, looking down to the floor, fixing his jacket that drapes over your shoulder once you feel it slipping. “I just feel so blinded, so…brainwashed, in a way.”

Franco nods gently. “I’m glad you know that. She was trying to keep you to herself.” You share a flinch. “But you don’t want that, no?”

“Want what?” you ask curiously.

He shares a smile, shrugging innocently. “To belong to anyone?”

You blink, not knowing why you feel an odd heat circle between your legs. Maybe it’s the way his voice has gone dark and raw by now. As if he’s just getting over some cold that’s been attacking his throat for the past few weeks. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, as if he’s offering something no one else could ever offer. But he hasn’t said anything, he hasn’t really said anything at all.

“I think I wouldn’t mind,” you find yourself confessing. “If it’s the right person with the right intention, then no. I wouldn’t mind belonging to someone.”

Franco knew you were naive, Franco knew you were the kind to daydream.

He just didn’t think you’d ever be this foolish.

The next time you see Lissie and find her already staring, you’re quick to walk away.

You don’t think you could ever fully explain what you’re feeling now that you know what you know, but there’s something that makes you feel a bit uncomfortable. I mean, the entire time you thought you two were friends—best friends, at that—and now you find out she’s always had a thing for you? It’s just a very hard pill to swallow.

“Welcome to your second official lesson,” Franco congratulates, making you giggle. “¿Lista?”

Dumbfounded, you stare, lips parted. “Pista? Like the car?”

She’ll be worth it, he thinks to himself, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. Once you fuck her, this will all have been worth it.

“Let’s just get started,” he says, smiling tightly, but you don’t seem to notice, already nodding excitedly. It isn’t until halfway through—after he’s bitten his tongue about a thousand times—that you finally reach your breaking point.

“I’m sorry! I can’t!” you wail, covering your face with embarrassment for struggling continuously. “I thought this was supposed to be easy?”

“It is,” he responds, grinding his teeth, then smiling gingerly when you look up at him with surprise. “It is not for everyone,” he finishes off, shrugging lamely. “Sorry. English isn’t my first language.”

“Oh. Okay,” you mutter softly. Sitting up straight, you tilt your head with sudden interest. “Hold on a minute—how did you learn English?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, popping a berry into his mouth.

“Yeah,” you insist, propping both legs against the chair you're sitting on, skirt falling just a tiny bit. He stops chewing, brown eyes glued to the exposed area. “I figure you had your challenges at first.”

“Sure,” he agrees, but he feels like he’s floating.

You haven’t noticed yet, attention drawn to the open window, glow of the sun making you swoon for a second. “What had to happen in order for you to pick it up?”

He stares one more time before looking back at your pretty face, watching as you finally look back at him too. He shakes his head, curls swaying in a way that makes you smile. “I think all the prizes helped,” he admits. “Those were cool.”

“Prizes?”

Franco nods. “An award? A reward? A—”

“I get what you mean,” you cut him off. “I just…what kind of prizes?”

“Well,” he starts, chewing the inside of his cheek before letting go. “For starters, I was lucky enough to have a private tutor.” Attentively, you listen, round eyes devoted to him and this crumb surrounding his upbringing. “Her name was Adelina.”

“Her?” you echo.

The Argentenian bops his head, aware of your interest now that you’ve mentioned a name that appears to be important to him. Now you’re engrossed to the point of no return and he likes to know that you care—that you’re desperate to know, though you’re trying your best to hide it. “She was much older than me, therefore, wiser.” He smiles at the memory of what once was. “She made learning fun.”

“That’s the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He frowns, not expecting you to react this way. “No, it’s not.”

Yawning, you stand up, bending down momentarily to slip your flats back on. “It’s getting late and you still have quali later. You should rest before then.”

He figures you’re right, but he doesn’t like that you get to decide that. You don’t so much as say bye, you don’t promise to find him later in the paddock just like the other times, and he doesn’t like that you get to have the last word.

“Don’t you want to know what the prize was?”

You snort. “A lollipop? A brand new soccer ball?”

“Better.”

Squinting your eyes suspiciously with a bit of humor, you find yourself humming. “What could be better than that?”

“I was a hormonal teen—what could have been better than that?”

You freeze.

And he just…laughs. His eyes crinkle. His nose scrunches. His stomach shakes with the sound of joy. And you just stand there like a deer in headlights.

“I will say, I did learn a lot more than just English from Adelina.”

You don’t even get the proper chance to register any of what he’s saying before he walks up to you, like a wolf teasing its prey. You swallow, taking a step back until your back reaches the door. The brunette tilts his head.

“Would you be interested in me taking the same approach?”

He’s giving you an option—a fucked up one—but still. It’s either yes or no, of course it’s either yes or no. You could either stay or go. He’s letting you decide. And quite easily, you could say you don’t need it, any of it, but like always, the word no doesn’t mean a single thing when it comes to him and his magnetic field.

“Yes.”

“Hey.”

Looking up from your laptop, you purse your lips awkwardly. “Hey.”

Lissie takes a look around, finding a seat next to you before clearing her throat. “You look pretty. Pink is so your color.” You freeze and she continues without realizing. “Anyways, I know you were probably expecting Will, but he's a bit busy with the edits right now, so it looks like you're stuck with me.”

You haven't quite processed what needs to be processed, therefore, you can't hide your reluctance. “I really don't want to see you right now.”

This obviously catches the Brit a bit as expected, but damn. She shrugs, frowning. “I get that you and I aren't on the best terms, but there's no reason as to why we can't remain professional, right?”

You shake your head stubbornly. “Have you always been this annoying?”

She flinches. “I-I-I’m not trying to be—”

But you don't bother sticking around to hear the end of her sentences, because before she knows it, you've snapped your laptop shut and gone up and left, leaving her frazzled by your rudeness.

You in an obvious rush—“The American” can tell.

“Are you in too much of a hurry to not say hi?” Logan calls out after you, making you whip your head quickly, eyes wide with shock to have him standing right in front of you in the one place you could have sworn you would have never seen him step foot in again. He grins, waving boyishly.

“Wh-wh-what are you doing here?” you stutter, an unsteady smile starting to spread as you walk up closer to him now that you know this is actually happening.

The blue eyed boy chuckles. “Can’t I come around and visit from time to time?”

You two were never close—never really buddy-buddy—but you know when to be polite and so does he. It's one of the many reasons you two got along quite well during his time in Formula One.

“How are you, Logan?” you ask, beaming practically from the fact that he actually looks…okay. One would have pictured the opposite.

A tsk. “I’m great.” Another click. “Yourself?”

“Great,” you say, swaying a bit. And you don’t know why you feel so nervous talking to him. Maybe it starts with the fact that you’re close to the guy who practically stole his seat. You gulp. “You look younger.”

“I feel younger,” he responds with humor laced in his voice, glancing around. “I seriously think I was born again after leaving…” A snicker. “After I was asked to leave.”

“Stop it,” you warn, brows drawn together with pity. “What they did to you was uncalled for.”

“You think so?” Logan asks as both of you begin to walk with no clear indication as to where. People begin to stare, dazed and confused. It appears they truly believe someone just rose from the dead, and honestly, you’re beginning to think so too. “But you must really like my replacement.”

And there it was.

Cringing, you peek over at him quickly before looking back ahead. A couple mechanics do a double take, whispering things that make your stomach churn. This will definately be tomorrow's news, if not tonights. “Franco’s cool,” you let out, tension in the air. But he doesn’t feel it—only you.

He nods, blond hair shining against the rays of sunshine. “No, no, I agree.” A loopy grin. “To a certain extent.”

You snort, bumping your hip to his as he remains with a plain expression now. And now—now you’re confused, because now you don’t feel any tension—but he does.

Numbly, your eyes burn down to where he grabs your hand, pulling you behind a wall of tires. You can’t even tell who’s motorhome you’re standing in, all you know is that his eyes are similar...

Similar to Lissie’s.

“Don’t—”

“Just listen to me,” he pleads, buzzing with worry that you might push him away. And boy does it look like it. “Franco’s not the guy you think he is.”

“Lissie sent you here, didn’t see?” you accuse, a storm forming in your cloudy eyes, shaking your head with fury.

And it’s the hesitation that gives him away. Logan shrinks back. “She’s just looking out for you…”

“Looking out for me, how?” you hiss, a sour laughter mixed with it, making him flinch, because as far as he’s concerned, you’re quiet, you’re shy, and you’re not like this. “You know what? No. You tell me—how, Logan?—how is he not what he makes himself out to be?”

He sees it in you then, it hits him all at once, that Lissie was right about the situation. You’re no longer yourself, you’re no longer that sweet, innocent girl. You’ve changed—he’s changed you.

The blond takes a steady breath. “Franco is a good guy. The best.”

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter harshly, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms, indicating your irritation towards him and Lissie.

He continues. “But only when he feels like being one.”

“What are you talking about?” you groan, feeling a migraine rolling in like a tide.

Logan shakes his head, dragging a tired hand across his normally calm features. “When I first met him, I had my first girlfriend—Adelina.”

You freeze.

He licks his lips, animated hands jumping from side to side with his storytelling. “He barely spoke English, really sucked at it. And Adelina was kind enough to start teaching him.”

So this so-called Adelina was a real person, but she also wasn’t a tutor his parents had hired.

A million questions run through your head at the thought of Franco lying to you and all Logan does is wince. “While I was out racing, they’d meet up for a couple lessons. She grew up speaking Spanish because of her parents. And…and I thought it was nice.” He chuckles, as if living the moment once again. “Truthfully, it made me fall more and more in love with her—her kindness, that is.”

“But how was I to know, huh?” he asks pathetically. “How was I to know that a sixteen-year-old would ruin my relationship?” Silence, then he nods, letting out a heavy sigh. “She changed overnight, you know? Started trusting him more than me. I don’t know what he said to her, but it…but it worked.”

“And I get it—Adelina wasn’t perfect either. She was older than him, she should have known better, but fuck.” Blue eyes darken dangerously so, making you squirm, thankful to be somewhere you can run if you really needed to, though you doubt it it’d get that far. “He just has a way with words. He’s…a manipulator.”

“You sound ridiculous,” you speak for the first time since going cold.

And you hate that all he does is chuckle. That all he does is smile. Something about it makes your skin crawl because it tells you that it almost seems like he doesn’t care if you believe him or not, as long as he knows that it’s the truth.

Which it was.

“He’s a good friend, sure—but if he wants you?” A beat. “Forget it. He’ll find a way to have you. He won’t care if that requires sheltering you from everybody else. He won’t care if that requires ending friendships. He won’t care, period.”

“You’re just saying this…”

“Listen, I don’t hold grudges. I don’t hate Franco. I don’t mind that he fucked my girlfreind, I don’t mind that he took my seat, I don’t mind any of it at all anymore.” Pause. “But I know that I once did, and I know what it feels like to go through it.”

You blink.

“What I’m trying to say is that I know what Lissie’s feeling right now.”

“Lissie,” you say with resentment. “Was keeping me from living life. From experiencing things—and you want to know why?” You laugh, shaking your head. “Because she’s in love with me. Because she wanted to keep me to herself.”

“Yeah,” he challenges, grinning smugly. “And who told you that?”

It’s a reality check, all of this. It’s not a nice one, either. Taking a wobbly step back, you watch as he hums to himself, already knowing the answer to his question. Already knowing that he was onto you and your lack of better judgement. You felt the heat rush to your cheeks after that.

Pursing your lips, you push your hair back, you stand straighter, and you look him dead in the eye.

“It was nice seeing you, Logan—but do me a favor? Tell Lissie to fuck off.”

He notices your change in demeanor the second he finds you sitting by yourself.

By now he’s heard all about Logan being in the paddock, but what he doesn’t know is what he has said to you, which is why he thinks a milkshake might help you let it all out.

“I don’t like strawberry,” you whisper, almost as if your voice is gone. “I prefer vanilla.”

Of course you do.

Without thinking twice about it, he throws the sweet drink away into the nearest trash can, claiming his spot next to you as he fixes his hat. “I should have known,” he jokes, looking for a smile, but nope—nothing. “You look pretty, by the way.”

“Why did you lie to me, Franco?”

Okay. So you definitely know something.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he finds himself responding, ignoring the way your head jerks swiftly.

“Don’t feed me with that bullshit,” you snap, reminding him that he can’t do the same as much as he wanted to. No. He needed you to believe him—not them.

“What did he say to you?” he asks carefully.

And you tell him, you tell him all of it, not leaving out a single piece of information that makes your head spin more with every passing second because how could you have fallen for it? Any of it?

“Adelina was my tutor,” he says adamantly. “Why would he say she was his girlfriend?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

The Argentenian clenches his jaw because there is no way he wasn’t going to let you trust them more than him, even if he was actually the one telling lies. “Don’t you find this suspicious?”

You say nothing.

The brunette nods, rolling his jaw as if he’s onto something you might’ve missed. “I mean, you stop talking to Lissie, and now what? She pulls out the big guns? Is she really that desperate to have you back by her side that now she’s gone as far as to make Logan lie to you just to make her look like the good guy?”

Still nothing. He’s losing you, he knows it. He sees it in the way you squint your eyes for a minute before furrowing your brows neatly. So, he does what he knows he does best—play the victim.

“Oye—what’s one thing they both share in common?” When you still fail to say anything, he clicks his fingers, startling you from the sudden sound. “Jealousy.” A beat. “They’re jealous of me.”

This time you do speak. “Why would they be jealous of you, Franco, why?”

“Have you forgotten that they think I’ve stolen something or someone from them?”

“Holy shit,” you whisper, sitting straight as you finally connect the dots. He nearly lets a rude chuckle slip before he swallows it down, frowning instead, along with a sad nod. “You stole me from Lissie. You stole the seat from Logan.”

“Exactly.”

“Oh my God…oh my God. How could I be so blind?”

He wonders the same thing. And genuinely, he begins to worry for your well being, for being so goddamn trusting. But hey—this was all working in his favor, so be it.

Those eyes—the ones that are half as pretty as your body—soften instantly. You’re grateful, you let him know, for being the only one to be honest with you. For taking the time to wake you up, to make you see things that were always right in front of you. They were never really good friends, they were never really good people, and now you know.

And that’s all thanks to Franco.

Somehow, he convinces you to sneak out to the beach with him. He’s had a shitty day in the car, he’s had an even worse meeting with both Alex and James, and according to him, this might help release some stress.

You owe it to me, eh? he teased when you first shook your head, claiming to be too tired. After that, you were quick to run back to your room and grab a thick sweater due to it being past curfew.

The moonlight isn’t beautiful tonight, which is a weird thing to say aloud, so, instead, you keep it to yourself. It’s a full moon, but it’s not white, it’s not yellow—it’s red.

“Scares you?” the Williams driver asks, raising his brows with curiosity. You blush, feeling awfully childish for actually being. Scared, that is. He chuckles, arms propped against the towel he stole from his room, the one that was too small to fit you both, but you managed to make it work. “Do I scare you?” he interrogates and you don’t know why that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Not at all. You’re—you’re.” You aim a ginger smile, one that reminds him close to sugar. “You’re sweet.”

“I was born during a red-moon,” he admits, watching as goosebumps run down your legs, the only area that wasn’t covered because stupidly enough, you thought it wouldn’t be that cold. “It scared my parents shitless.”

“Why?” you ask, interested to know more.

He shrugs. “Some believe it can cause birth defects like a cleft palate. Others think it brings in evil spirits.” He sees the way you squint at his lips, as if looking for a scar of any kind, no matter big or small. He snickers, making you feel ashamed for even searching for one. “I wasn’t born with a cleft palate, in case you’re wondering.”

I wasn’t, you wish to confess, but you know that's not true. Instead, you make a joke—an awful joke. One that doesn’t land for the first few seconds.

“Does this mean evil is within you?” You giggle. “Tell me, Franco Colapinto, were you born to be sinful?”

His jaw goes slack.

Your stomach drops. “I-I-I am so sorry—”

“It’s fine.” It’s not. “Forget about it.”

There’s a pressure in your chest now that you worry you’ve upset him. He doesn’t say anything after that, he doesn’t try to laugh it off, instead, he clears his throat, waiting for you to be washed away by the shore. Why was he wasting his time on you again?

He doesn’t know it. You don’t know it. But the reason your joke got to him is because—you’re right. He was out to get you, he was out to get Lissie, he was out to get Logan—he was out to get anyone who he felt like toying with in one way or another.

But he just doesn’t realize it. His destruction comes naturally, and that? That just might be the scariest thing of all.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat with a mumble, hair dancing against the wind. You feel awful. Maybe it came out harsher than intended, maybe not, but guilt slides down you, nonetheless. “I didn’t mean it.”

“I said it’s fine,” he restates, his features softening as he let out a toothy smile, as if he suddenly thought your joke was funny. It wasn’t, but whatever, fuck you, honestly. “Have you been practicing your Spanish?”

More guilt. “I haven’t…”

He wants to yell. Yeah, he wants to fucking scream because why are you wasting his time? Why is he wasting his?

But no—no. He nearly has you, he nearly has you, he nearly has you.

“No worries,” he reassures, sitting straight this time as he signals around. “We’re at the beach. We’re alone with no distractions.” And this guy—smirks. Devilishly. “Are you ready for your first real prize?”

Heat pools between your legs with eagerness, though you try not to overshow it.

But he notices—he notices everything when it comes to you. And there’s not a single thing you can hide.

“Well,” he teases, shrugging smugly. “That’s if I feel like you deserve it.”

You almost feel like you don’t. You don’t deserve attention of any kind from someone like Franco Colapinto. He’s not only handsome, but he’s also calculated. He’s not only easy going, but he’s also stern. And honestly, you don’t know what side of him you might get.

But you also don’t seem to care, and at this point, you’d take just about any attention.

“Lay down on the towel,” he instructs, a deep rumble mixed with his accent. Swallowing, you do just that, adjusting your skirt so it doesn’t slide up. But that’s not the plan—it never was. A single chuckle can be heard from him before he towers over you, his large hand going down to bunch up the thin fabric, pulling it up your hips. Your eyes grow wide with panic as he coos at you like a baby. “Relax—this is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Technically, yes. You had agreed a couple weeks back, but dear God, was this it? What were you doing? And he just does the best job at controlling your nerves, at making you let loose, because suddenly, your panties being fully exposed doesn’t feel that daunting anymore.

“There you go,” he whispers as he analyzes your breathing the more it becomes a lot less hard. He grins, eyes crinkling. “Mira que innocente.”

“Innocente,” you copy him, furrowing your brows as the word sounds extremely familiar. Just then, you burn up, giggling awkwardly. “You think I’m innocent?”

“And she knows how to use her brain, too,” he congratulates, making you blink with surprise for a second time due to the tone he says it in. “Well, aren’t you?”

You think of lying to him. At making up some crappy story about a first time you’ve never even had, but think—what if he can see past your lie? Oh, you’re sure you’d never leave the house ever again, no, you’d be too embarrassed to look him in the eye ever again.

So, ignoring his questions, you tilt your head against the towel, feeling the back of your head rub against sand without actually getting dirty. You bite down on your bottom lip once before letting go, watching as his breath hitches at the sight. You like that.

“I got it right, didn't I?” The ocean waves crash rapidly. “Where’s my prize?”

He’d be laughing right now if he weren’t so impressed by you. Here he was thinking you were some doll he had to take care of and look at you—you’re just as ready and desperate as him. He likes that.

Without a second to kill, the Argentinian leans down, clashing his lips against yours as your mouth opens pathetically in return, welcoming him in a way that makes his cock grow hard. He doesn’t just use his lips, he also uses his teeth. He doesn’t just stay silent, he also makes noises. He groans as if this is something he’s been craving for quite a while now, but you can’t judge him too much on that—you feel the same way.

You’re left panting the moment he pulls away, staring at you with dark eyes, irises blown out as his chest heaves in a struggle to catch his own breath. Looking up at him, your lips are plumper than ever before. Your nose is rosy and your cheekbones have a certain glow to them.

And would you look at that?

You’re in love.

You never thought a guy like him would notice you past a hundred other girls. In your mind, you never stood a chance, and now this? No one kisses like that and doesn’t fall in love. And you see it—you see it in his eyes. The way they glimmer and glisten as if saying—yes, yes I feel it too.

You smile, a sweet giggle sliding up your throat as your eyes begin to shut with tenderness.

So fucking stupid, he thinks to himself as he smiles back, so fucking easy.

Is this really all it took? If he had known, he would’ve kissed you ages ago and gotten his way and left, but alas, everything happens for a reason, right?

“Say something else,” he encourages.

You purse your berry lip, thinking long and hard because the thought of letting him down seems like too much now. That, and you were curious with what else he’d do to you. “Okay, um, so…soy periodista,” you mutter, tongue jittery. “Y trabajo contigo—Franco Colapinto.”

“Good enough,” he lets out, already sliding down as he comes to view with your white lace. You squirm, fixing yourself so you can keep an eye on him. It takes him a while, he doesn’t know why, for him to to loop his fingers around the thin string and pull down. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to taste you.”

“Wha—”

Just then, he mouth is pressed down against your core, licking up any wetness that was already there, causing more to slither down your legs as you squeal, twisting so much that he physically has to hold you down. You feel his nose brush against places that make you see white, you feel his tongue dive in until it’s practically inside of you, looking for any sign that you might like it. And of course you do—of course you do—he knows what girls like you are into.

“Sabes a dulce,” he murmurs against your thighs, already reaching up to throw them over his shoulders. The way his muscles twitch underneath your calves makes you moan louder, pulling the rest of your dress up and biting down on it to lessen the loud sounds you’re making. Franco chuckles, sending vibrations up your sweaty body. “Don’t do that…no one’s around.”

He’s right. Not a single soul is here, but you can’t quite figure out why your pornographic noise makes you feel wrong. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that you’ve never done anything like this before, and not your first time on the open beach—yeah. Maybe.

Adding a finger in as a test, you let out a yelp, not used to having anyone do that. You lurch up, locking eyes with him before he grins, slipping in another, admiring as you go limp. He’s seen this view a million different times. With blonds, with brunettes, with gingers, with all kinds of girls, but nothing excites him more than you.

And it’s not because he’s in love—God, no—but rather because all his scheming was worthwhile. All his lies, all his irritation…was worth having you like this. Usually, girls throw themselves at him, but you were, truly, truly, truly the hardest to get at, and it wasn’t even your fault.

It was Lissie’s.

He hopes you two make up. After all is said and done, he really does pray now that a rekindling can happen amongst you two. The Brit will probably still hate him, probably write a ton of articles in order to make him look back, but who would ever believe her? Everyone sees him as a bubbly personality. The kind of guy to get shy sometimes. The one who blushes even with the smallest compliments.

Of course no one would believe her.

And you?

You’d probably regret it all.

And he doesn’t even care.

But that’s all a persona—one that works wonders. I mean, shit…it worked on you.

“Oh…” you whimper, as you feel your stomach tighten, seeing all the stars despite having your eyes closed. “Fuck, fuck, Franco, I’m gonna—”

Grunting wildly, he open mouth kisses your pussy all over, collecting the warm liquid that finally spills out of you, growling beneath his breath because he just can’t get enough, because this—

This is what a virgin tastes like.

“God,” he moans as he pulls away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as you try to recollect the rest of your sanity that seems to have slipped away ever since he entered your life. “You taste sweeter than Adelina ever did.”

You flinch—hard.

You think that if you were to ask if you had a slap marked across your cheek, the answer would be yes. He’s too busy telling you how great you were, he’s too busy comforting you, rubbing small circles against your hips as he grins brightly, a small dimple forming in the corner of his lips. And then, there’s you—dumbfounded as ever.

“I used to do this with her all the time,” he continues, drawing shapes on your arms, chuckling to himself, clearly diving back to the past. And realistically, that’s fine. He’s allowed to do that. But in front of you? Your lack of words is what ultimately makes him frown with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Can you not…” You trail off, feeling a sting burn your eyes, forcing them to flutter dramatically.

Are you serious? he wants to ask dryly. Were you seriously getting butthurt over something so long ago? For fucks sake, you two weren’t even together.

Licking his lips, he nods fiercely, faking an apologetic look, but inside, he’s burning with annoyance. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.” Wincing, you gently push him off, fixing yourself and throwing on your puffer jacket. “I’m sorry—”

“I just want to go to bed,” you say weakly, looking down at the sand, spotting a tiny crab crawling away in a hurry. Almost as much hurry as you. You sniffle, scoffing at the fact that you’re crying. How would he ever take you seriously if all you do is act like a child? Wiping away a small droplet, you force a smile that doesn’t quite meet your eyes. “I hope you feel better.”

Right. He was supposedly stressed out after the day he had. Nodding robotically, and a bit lost, he jumps up, grabbing the towel and shaking it off before following after you.

There’s really no room to talk. Or maybe there is but neither of you take it.

Not until you reach your slightly cheaper hotel. Well. A lot cheaper. “Goodnight, Franco,” you say awkwardly, swaying from side to side as he remains as blank as a naked canvas.

“Lo siento,” he says, suddenly agitated. “It was never my intention to hurt your feelings.” And the thing is—he’s telling the truth. He wasn’t looking to do any of that, but the moment he did, it didn’t feel like a big deal either. Girls were just always overly dramatic. But they’re also sickeningly beautiful, so he’d make sure to fix this mess. “Forgive me?”

This is another test of his. To see if you either have some dignity or not.

Newsflash—you don’t.

How you manage to end up in his bed, you don’t know, because last thing you remember, you were at the entrance of your hotel, not his.

Because that’s not what’s important right now.

What’s important is the way he’s talking you through it, saying it isn’t going to hurt, which turns out to be an outrageous lie because honest to God, you feel as if your entire body has been set on fire. A fire he fuels with his praises, calling you things like preciosa and linda. He makes it difficult to speak, so you stick to your whimpers and mewls. You stick with letting him fuck you until you feel ready to pass out.

Back arched, you gasp as the tip of his cock reaches a place even you haven’t been able to reach, no matter how many times you’ve touched yourself. It makes your mind go haywire and his jaw go slack as he lets out a whine that catches both of you off guard.

“You.” Thrust. “Feel.” Thrust. “Perfect.” Thrust.

He’s talking about your body. He’s talking about your tiny cunt that takes him like no other. He’s talking about the fact that later on, he will able to brag on and on about the virgin he fucked in Miami to all of his cocky friends with dicks smaller than the size of their brains.

He’s not talking about you.

He’s not talking about the fact that you’re clinging onto him as if he’s your only savior in this life and the next. He’s not talking about the way you say his name, as if he’s the most special person to you. He’s not talking about the fact that you’re in love with him, and he’s not.

Because that’s not what’s important right now.

“Shit—” He tosses his head back, struggling to breathe as he pounds into you harder, trying to erase the view of you, mouth hung open, sweaty body under his. Because if he thinks about it for too long, he might just come right there and then. “Mierda, mierda, mierda—me tienes jodidamente adicto.”

You don’t know what he’s saying, you’re not that advanced to understand, but something about it makes you grin, glancing up at him as he finally looks down at you, watching you slide higher and higher up the bed from how fast he’s sinking into you.

“F–F-Franco Colapinto,” you stutter, giving it your all to not let your eyes fall shut with how good you feel.

“Yeah, baby?” he encourages, large hands going in to cradle your face against them, making you feel more than sure about what you’re about to say.

Your smile expands. “Te amo.”

Fuck, he grunts one last time, very animal like, and cums into you as you do the same, moaning at the sensitivity and new emotion.

You just never expected—never, ever, ever expected—for him to react this way.

It all happens so fast, him changing. You barely have a chance to register that he no longer has that afterglow, that he no longer wears that smile that millions of camera’s and fan’s love to see. All of it is gone—in the span of a second.

“You don’t know what you're saying.”

You blink, suddenly feeling dirty of being left bare on the bed. Quickly, you grab a nearby blacket and toss it over your body, standing and carefully walking up to him, wearing a wobbly smile, as if you’re still debating whether to fully show it or not.

“Sorry?” you question, bothered by the fact that he's invalidating your feelings. You frown, neat brows knit together. “I’m telling you I love you because I know what I’m saying.”

Franco rolls his eyes, a thing you’ve never seen before, and it’s not something you like, either. It makes him look distant, and cold, and almost…irritated by your existence. By the fact that you’re still in his room, the room he practically begged you to come back to with him.

And deep in his soul, he finally felt it—a snap in him.

Getting rid of the distance between you two, his eyes soften, just like honey. They’ve gone delicate and kind and that’s the Franco you know and love.

But that's just for show—that’s just what he wants you to see.

And now—now he’s done.

You think he’s going to kiss you, like in the movie’s. You think he’s going to confess his undying love for you, too. You think he’s about to prove everyone wrong, those being Logan and Lissie. But that’s not the case, it was never going to be.

“You should’ve listened to them,” he whispered into your ear, making your stomach drop, a strong pain going straight to your heart. A minute ticks by. “You’re a sweet girl,” he says, taking a step back. “I still think so—can’t that be enough for you to live with?”

Your lips open and close lamely. “I-I’m confused…”

“You girls always expect too much from men,” he says, sighing and saying ‘girls’ as if it’s a thing that costs him to respect. Seeing it now, you might think that’s true. “What do you want me to say? That I’m in love with you?”

Silence.

The brunette scoffs, rolling his tongue as he raises a dark brow. “See. This is exactly what I mean. It’s not your fault, though. You were born naive, you can’t help it. It’s adorable.”

This can’t be real. This can’t be real. This can’t be real.

“The rumors,” you whispher beneath your breath, eyes welling with tears. “They were right all along…”

He sighs, crossing his arms. “Cariño, a thousand rumors surround my name on a day to day basis, could you be more specific?”

An eye twitch is what makes a single tear slide down your face, but you’re not crying out of heartbreak anymore, no—you’re crying out of pure anger. You feel a hatred like never before, seeing him standing there all nonchalant.

The fame. The money. The attention. It’s all gone straight to his head.

“That you’re a flirt,” you accuse. “That you’re egotistical. That you’re too full of yourself. That you’re vain. That you’re a player.” You let out a delirious laugh, nearly letting go of the sheets that cover you whole. Mascara stains the corner of your eyes as you shake your head in disbelief. “That you’re nothing but a manipulator who thrives on deceiving those around you.” Your hand shakes with fury as you glare at the Argentinian. “Lissie and Logan…they were right about you all along.”

He can’t even deny that, so he says nothing indeed. But that just angers you even more. Grabbing him by the collar, you yank him down to look at you straight in the eyes of the girl he just broke with zero mercy.

“Lissie was never in love with me, was she?”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Adelina wasn’t your tutor, she was Logan’s girlfriend, wasn't she?”

He doesn't say anything.

Hiccupping, his face becomes far too blurry as your shoulders shake with every sob. It's filled with suffering, and agony, and he sincerely starts to worry about your wellbeing. You don't look good anymore—your eyes are puffy and lifeless, your lips are swollen from how often you keep biting them to try and suppress your tears, your makeup smears tragically, and that…pains him to see.

“You were never going to take me serious, were you?”

A lump enters his throat, cruelly making him realize that for some reason, and for the first time in his life—he cares.

He feels guilty.

But feeling at fault does not make the reality any less true.

Slowly, he grimaces, shaking head full of curls and making you let him go, chucking to yourself. “I’m not mad at you, Franco.” You scoff, rolling your eyes and using the sheets as a tissue. “I’m mad at myself.” This time, you narrow your eyes, sharp and threatening, contradicting your prior sentence. “For letting some boy get in between my best friend and I. For letting some boy feed me lies. For letting some boy drag me to hell and back. For letting some boy think he was a man.”

He flinches harshly at your words that are laced with venom. He’s had this happen to him before—grls cursing him out, girls belittling him for doing it first to them.

So then why—why does this hurt him?

“Don’t you feel funny knowing that people know you for what you are?” you ask, curling a brow. “That all the rumors are true.”

“Not always,” he answers weakly, still not meeting your eyes, too ashamed. “They could also be a hoax, at times.”

“Mmm,” you mumble, thinking back to a couple months ago where you and Lissie had a similar conversation. Christ, were you just as stubborn as him? “Since when?”

All he does is blink. All he does is stare.

All you do is change.

All you both do—is learn a very valuable lesson.

Rightfully so, Lissie kept her distance despite you texting her hundreds of times begging to meet up and talk. To make things right amongst you both.

And honestly, there would have been no chance of sitting in front of one another if Logan had not been the first one to accept your apology, forcing you two to talk about everything.

“Okay, um—” An awkward giggle. “I’m sorry, I don't know how to do this…”Twiddling her thumbs, the Brit sighs, probably just as nervous as you, and Logan snickers during the whole thing. Gulp. “I want to start off by saying that you were right. About—well. Franco.”

Stillness is your enemy because suddenly her lack of words makes your entire world begin to flip on its axis, too horrified to begin and imagine the worst. But Lissie has never been one to hold grudges—well—when it comes to you.

“I know I was.”

Okay, but maybe she’ll put up a good fight for the first few seconds.

You nod feverishly. “Yeah…and I, um, should have listened to you. To both of you.”

“You should have,” she responds dryly, still with her head held up high.

Okay, you deserve this.

“Lissie, I’m so sorry,” you say, firm and desperate, round eyes softening as she remains stoic for a second. “You were just looking out for me, and I was acting childish.” Or two. “And I would understand if you never want to see or hear from me again, but—I really wish that's not the case.”

Or three.

Pursuing her pink lips, the journalist gets up from her place on the couch, making you stomach drop at the thought of her leaving, putting a definite end to your guys’ friendship. But you wouldn't be able to say you were surprised. She had every right to do just that.

And by some miracle, she stays.

Walking up to with eagerness, she happily throws her arms around you, making you laugh and do the same, digging your face into her neck. How could you have ever pushed something as sacred as this away for someone like Franco?

“I forgive you, of course, I forgive you,” she says with enlightenment, smiling from ear to ear. “And I'm sorry you had to go through all that, I hope he rots for the rest of eternity.”

You let out a giggle, pulling back, eyes flickering over at Logan. “Come here, dude.” It's a bear hug, one that suffocates you, but you couldn't have asked for anything better. “Ah. I can't believe I let him get to my head,” you yelp, bumping your hand against your temple over and over again. “I feel so stupid.”

“Stop it,” Lissie warns, brown eyes painted with subtle threat, like an older sister. “How could you have known?”

“Because you told me countless times to stay away,” you return, deadpan.

Logan snickers. “True.”

The brunette girl swats his arms, making him let out a yelp in slight pain. You smile gingerly at the interaction, realizing how much you missed this. “Whatever, you live and you learn, right?”

“Right,” they chorus.

You three spend the next few hours cooped up in Lissie’s flat, ordering shitty pizza from the parlor down the street. It takes like cardboard, you all agree after the first few bites. You beg for an update from both of them, hit with surprise when Logan opens up about seeing someone—Riley, you think her name is—and how he might be joining IndyCar, but only time will tell.

“He’s already had a couple test rounds,” Lissie brags for him, watching as he blushes, nursing his soda. “And he’s fantastic. I really think you have a fair shot at getting an offer. Plus, your racing history is killer, it’ll help.”

“Thank, Lis,” he mumbles timidly beneath his breath. “Oh. Tell her about Marcus.”

“Marcus?” you repeat, clearly interested in knowing more. You lean forward, shimming as she rolls her eyes over at the blond. “Who’s that?”

“No one—”

“Yeah, right!” he yelps. “Only the hotshot you're dating.”

A beat. “Wait, Lis, you have a boyfriend?”

The Brit burns burgundy. “No, no, no. We’ve just gone out a couple times, that's all.”

“Oooh,” you tease. “And what? You love him?” you sing, enjoying the way she withers away with embarrassment. “Oh, come on, Lissie, tell me, tell me!”

“I don't love him,” she groans, digging her face into a pillow and sounds far too muffled. “Fuck you two.”

“I didn't say anything,” he says, chuckling with amusement before getting up to use the bathroom.

Once he's far out of view, you jump to the spot next to her, ripping the cushion out of her hands. She frowns, long hair messy. You wiggle your neat brows. “I swear I won't tell.”

“There's nothing to say.”

“Oh, so it was physical?”

“I will kick you.”

Raising your arms up in surrender, you giggle wholeheartedly, making her start to giggle too. And just like that, it feels like old times.

As if he never even happened.

“Tell me one thing,” she speaks up, gathering her breath. “Did you fall in love with him?”

A rude flinch, then: “I did.”

“But you regret it?”

This you don't have to think twice about. “Of course, I do, are you kidding me? Franco quite literally shattered my heart.”

A beat.

“I told you so.”

You glare. “Seriously?”

Lissie waves her arms theatrically. “I'm sorry, but it's true! Didn’t I?”

She did. She told you millions of times, but you never listened. But God, you really, really, really wish you had. “Wanna hear something crazy?”

“Uh, duh,” she responds, propping her arms to face you.

You laugh, already feeling silly about what you're about to say. “Franco swore you were in love with me and that's why you didn't want me near him.”

She freezes. “What?”

Picking up a slice of pizza that's gone cold by now, you nod, snorting at the thought you once believed something as outrageous as that. “Yeah, he said that you just acted differently around me.” Another bite. “Told you it was crazy.”

“It is,” she mutters, brows furrowed as she watches you chew. “The lengths he would go to just to keep you to himself, Jesus Christ.”

“I know,” you respond. “And I know you love me, but not like that. He was actually sick for making up lies like that without even flinching.” A giggle. “Anyways, now I know that the person you do love is baby face, Marcus Armstrong.”

The Brit blushes, pushes her curtain bangs away from her face. “Leave us alone.”

“Us,” you squeal, getting up once Logan comes back into the living room with a new can of soda. “Where do you keep the cherry colas?”

“In the mini-fridge,” she yells, sighing contentedly as the couch dips once again.

Logan looks behind him swiftly, then back at Lissie who scrolls through her phone.

“I feel bad for lying to her.”

Flicking her gaze back up quickly, the British girl glares hard enough to make him wince and regret saying anything in the first place. “Don’t,” she states, brown eyes darker than ever. “Say that ever again.”

“Why not?” Agitatedly, he runs a hand through his hair, glancing around before narrowing his blue eyes, matching her scowl. “This isn’t what you do when you love someone.”

“Be quiet,” Lissie hisses, inching closer to him, afraid of you walking in and catching their conversation. “I told you that in confidence.”

The blond sighs, going in and holding her small hand against his. In a way, he feels sympathy for his friend at this moment because he's sure being secretly in love with someone is a challenge of its own. She opened up to him about it, told him how she was confused at first, but now she was sure. How she said it all came to be the moment you introduced her to a couple of your hometown friends a few years ago and she realized, yeah, I want to belong to her world.

But what she hadn’t expected was for Franco—out of all people, Franco—to be able to tell how she feels. And sure. Maybe he thought of it as a lie, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that he nailed it right in the bullseye. Lissie just couldn’t—couldn’t—imagine him having you. It was impossible, it didn’t make sense.

But you and her did. You just didn’t know it yet.

“You have to tell her how you feel, she’s going to find out!” he hisses, gritting his teeth, trying to make her understand that would lead them to no good.

“No—she won’t,” she reassures him more than herself. “She wasn’t able to tell that Franco was a douchebag, do you really think she’ll be able to tell that her best friend is in love with her?” A beat. “Even I can admit that she’s a bit dumb.”

“That’s low, Lissie, so fucking low,” he says, taken over by a wave of sympathy for seeing how others view you when you’re not around. “How does that make you any better than him?”

“Please,” she grits. “Franco and I are not the same. What’s my crime? That I haven’t confessed my feelings? And what about him? That he manipulated her, told her lies, fucked her, then left her to figure it out by herself all with a broken heart?”

Who’s the real villain here, Logan, huh?

In hindsight, he is. Franco is the one who caused the most harm.

But Lissie? Lissie’s not that far behind.

“What about Adelina?” he counterstrikes pathetically. “She was never even my girlfriend!”

“Yes, she was.” The brunette tilts her head slowly. “Why are you suddenly backtracking on all of this? I thought you were onboard.”

“I was!” Pause. “I mean, I-I-I am. Fuck…I don’t know.”

But she’s seen this happen before. She’s seen it happen with you.

Lissie squints her eyes, long lashes fluttering dangerously. “Franco got to you, didn’t he?” Logan looks away and that’s a valid answer in her dictionary. Sitting straight, the Brit girl lets out a sigh. “Which side are you on?”

“Yours.” Right? “Franco’s?” Right? A loud exhale. “Shit, I don’t know!”

“She’s lying to you, Logan, can’t you see?” Franco explains, somewhere in Texas. Formula One and IndyCar cross paths here, and while the Argentinian is here to race, well, Logan was here for testing because he thinks—thinks—he might have a shot at landing a strong contract by the end of the month. “She’s good at doing that.”

The blond shakes his head. “Why would she do that?”

“Because she hates me,” he responds as if it were the most obvious answer. “Lissie…she’s never liked me. I swear, I think she might be in love with—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Logan says, cutting him off. But it’s too late—he can tell Franco is skeptical.

“Hold on a minute—am I right?”

“No,” the blue eyed boy responds with such a hurry, that not even the stupidest idiot on Earth would think he was being honest. “Are you cra—no, of course not.”

“Dios, what is going on?” the William's driver mumbled, head growing dizzy from how complicated this has all gotten. And it was all your fault, for being so goddamn alluring. Or maybe it was his. Or maybe it was Lissie’s.

Who’s fucking keeping score anymore?

Logan reaches for the tab, simply looking for a reason to get up and go, but the brunette is quick to grab it, sliding his card against the folder. “Thanks,” the blond stutter, standing up and pushing his chair in. “I can’t tell anymore.”

Franco freezes. “What do you mean?”

“Who’s telling the truth and who’s telling lies.”

“I don’t trust you,” Logan whispers, almost letting out a wince from how hard Lissie is glaring at him now. “But I don’t trust him, either.”

And it’s confusing because you two are such good people, deep down, but the way you both are able to lie, and lie, and lie—

“I couldn’t find it,” you say, barging back into the room, panting softly, mouth open. “I know you said the mini fridge, but I didn’t see anything.”

Both your friends blink blanky, looking up. The journalist is the first to break the silence, giggling to herself. “Don’t worry, I can help.”

“Great!” you cheer, disappearing back in the direction you came from.

And before she leaves, before she goes out of view as well, Lissie leans down, face to face with Logan who shifts uncomfortably.

“Why do you think Franco might be lying to you?” she asks, voice deep with tranquility.

Blue eyes connect with brown ones.

She smiles, a childlike dimple popping innocently.

“Could it be that maybe he's in love—with you?”

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manzuaves · 1 day ago

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ᴄʀᴀᴡʟɪɴɢ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ

pairing. bratty!slytherin!sophia x quidditchplayer!gryffindor!reader

warning. mentions of alcohol. curses. and a bit of kisses. i think.

a/n. pls bear with me. its my first time writing. :') part 2 is up!

You were bored out of your damn mind, and the fact that the annual Quidditch Cup was only weeks away did absolutely nothing to help.

As Gryffindor’s Quidditch captain, you were supposed to be focused, fired up, strategic. Instead, you were just bored.

You’d been in the library for nearly three hours, and at this point, you were aimlessly sketching out plays with your quill, dragging it across just to litter the parchment with Quidditch formations and crossed-out plays.

Until a familiar, grating voice cut through your thoughts.

“Oh, sweet Salazar! Look who's swapped their broom for a book. Can’t you stop thinking about Quidditch for once?”

You snapped out of your reverie, jaw tightening. That squeaky, shrill tone could only belong to one person. Sophia Laforteza. The ever-annoying, ever-bratty Slytherin who had somehow been assigned to this godforsaken group project with you.

Her voice never failed to make you want to rip your hair out.

“And can’t you lower your voice for once?” you hissed, glancing nervously toward Madam Pince’s desk. If the library’s vulture-like guardian heard Sophia screeching again, you’d both be thrown out faster than a rogue Bludger.

“For Merlin’s sake, Laforteza,” you muttered, rubbing your temple. “You’re making my ears bleed.”

“And you’re making my blood boil,” she shot back, dramatically flicking her perfectly styled hair over her shoulder. Her green-painted nails glinted in the light, long and sharp enough to make you think of snakes.

Typical.

“I’m so telling Professor Binns that you didn’t even lift your calloused, dirty fingers to help with this assignment,” she huffed, flipping through a textbook as if she’d been doing all the work.

You smirked, leaning back with that all-too-familiar cocky grin, like a boy who’d just thought of a very inappropriate joke.

“Oh, you wouldn’t imagine what these dirty hands could do?”

Her quill froze mid-sentence.

Sophia turned her head slowly, eyes narrowed, lips slightly parted in disbelief. You could practically see the scandalized gears turning in her head. And for a second, you swore she looked flustered but that was probably wishful thinking.

“You are disgusting,” she muttered, though her voice lacked its usual bite.

You only laughed, peeking over at the shared parchment covered in her perfect penmanship. Judging by how little she'd actually written, it was going to take at least two more hours to finish this godforsaken History of Magic project.

“I already told you,” you muttered, scribbling something half-useful just to fill the space, “if we just focused on Muggles, you wouldn’t be bitching right now. You’d be lounging in your mess of a common room, probably bragging about your new designer hand bag or something with your other bitchy friends, because we would’ve been done by now.”

Sophia rolled her eyes for what felt like the hundredth time. “Like I’d give a damn about Muggles. Dark magic shaped Hogwarts history! I'm just finding it a bit difficult to—”

“—To find something different? Yeah, because it’s always dark magic this, dark magic that. You Slytherins think so highly of yourselves, FYI, dark magic has shaped Hogwarts history in a bad way. If you actually wanted to be original, you'd lower that inflated ego for five minutes and listen to me.”

Her green scarf slipped slightly from her shoulder as she adjusted it with a huff, the signature Slytherin silver threading catching the light.

“Why must you Gryffindors be so damn boastful?” she snapped, nose crinkling in annoyance. “Fine. Muggles it is. But only because you wouldn’t cooperate if I pushed for dark magic.”

You leaned back in your chair with a satisfied grin, quill twirling between your fingers. “Admit it. I’m right.”

“I’d rather swallow a Fanged Flyer,” she muttered.

“You’re welcome.”

She didn’t answer, but the slight tug at the corner of her lips almost made you forget that you were supposed to hate each other.

“Catch up, Sophia! We’re going to miss the match!” Daniela squealed in excitement, her footsteps echoing as they practically skipped down the hallway.

Or rather, Daniela only did, since Sophia didn’t like breaking a sweat or wasting energy on anything that might tire her out. Even the thought of a few beads of sweat sent her into a mini fit.

“You know,” Sophia muttered, dragging her feet, “actually, you might want to go ahead. Lara’s waiting for me in the common room. We’ve got some work to do.” She quickly came up with the first excuse that popped into her head.

Daniela arched an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “I might just do that—only if you can come up with a better lie.” She leaned in with a roll of her Slytherin-colored eyes. “Shut up, Sophia. Just Apparate to the pitch, or something. Lara already told me she’d be there too, watching the game.”

Sophia let out an exasperated sigh, muttering under her breath. “Oh, for the love of the Dark Lord…”

"Plus… don’t you want to see your crush? Heard Y/N’s absolutely annihilating it against Hufflepuff today.”

“My crush?” Sophia smirked, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “More like I’d love to crush their head. And for the last time, stop with the rumors, Dani. I hate that Gryffindor .”

Dani raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the teasing. “It’s not a rumor, Soph. Just something I’ve observed—and trust me, it’s hard to miss with the way you’re always glaring at Y/N during matches.”

Sophia rolled her eyes, but before she could respond, someone down the hall waved at her. “Hey, Sophia!” they called, but she didn’t even spare a glance, strutting past them with her usual air of superiority.

How dare they greet her? They were just a pair of common wizards, nothing special. Meanwhile, she was THE Sophia Laforteza, descendant of one of the Sacred 28, a Slytherin legend. She didn’t have time for pleasantries, especially not with people who weren’t worth her attention.

Dani snickered, crossing her arms. “See? That’s how hard it is to get your attention. You wouldn’t even acknowledge someone saying hi, but with Y/N? You can’t even stop glaring.”

Sophia shot Dani a dark look, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush. “And don’t you think I glare at her because I hate her?” She asked like stating the obvious.

An amused smile tugging at Daniela's lips, “Oh, I know you glare at her. And if I’m being honest, that’s just your way of giving her all your attention.”

Even more irritated now, Sophia made up her mind. There was absolutely no way she was going to that bloody Quidditch match. Daniela could throw the biggest fit in the world for all she cared. She did not have a crush on Y/N.

Y/N savored her glory: 200 to 20. Gryffindor had completely obliterated Hufflepuff, and she stood on the second floor of the common room, overlooking the sea of red and gold as her housemates chanted her name. MVP of today’s game. With a smug smirk tugging at her lips, she thought, Yeah… I could get used to a few more parties like this.

The afterparty was in full swing. She and her friends had basically invited the entire year, and now students from all houses were packed into the Gryffindor common room—dancing, laughing, and sipping from cups laced with smuggled Firewhisky.

“Hail Y/N for beating those arses of a house called Hufflepuff!” Megan screamed from below, half-dancing, half-stumbling through the crowd. Everyone laughed and cheered, including the Hufflepuffs who are so drunk they could barely register what the orange-haired had shouted. Megan was loud on a regular day, add a few drinks, and she was practically a human megaphone. You could probably hear her from three floors up.

Thankfully, Manon, ever the genius of their chaotic little friend group, had already cast Muffliato. As bold as they were, Gryffindors through and through, none of them wanted to risk an earful from Professor McGonagall if the noise spilled beyond the portrait hole.

Manon approached her smug friend, handing her a drink that was probably twice as strong as the last. Why? Well, they were Gryffindors. They liked it strong like that.

“The tournament’s only just begun and we’re already throwing the year’s wildest party,” Manon said with a laugh, flashing her perfect pearl-white teeth. “Honestly, kind of a Slytherin move.”

Her smile could charm half the student body, and it often did. But not Y/N. She merely raised an eyebrow, unfazed as always.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Y/N scoffed, swirling the firewhisky in her cup. “We wouldn’t want to be associated with the likes of them, now, would we?”

Manon didn’t reply immediately. She just gave a knowing hum, eyes flickering past Y/N’s shoulder. “Funny you say that..”

From your view, your brown eyes caught a glint of green near the portrait pole. But not just any green. That green. Silk scarves and robes that probably cost more than yours and Manon’s whole lives combined, intimidating expressions and that aura that scream we’re better than you and we know it.

The infamous trio had finally arrived.

Lara, already looking unimpressed with the playlist. Daniela, waving to someone like she wasn’t crashing enemy territory. And right in the middle: Sophia LaForteza, arms crossed and gaze sharp, like she’d rather be hexed than be in a room full of celebrating Gryffindors.

You sipped again, slower this time.

“Well, speak of the bloody devil,” you muttered, eyes locked at the certain Slytherin who was looking down on everybody with utter disdain. But somehow, people still made space without her asking, like she was kind of royalty. Well not really kind of. She was royalty.

And yet she still looked pissed to be there. And for some reason that intrigued you.

You didn’t even realize you were already making your way through the crowd, drink still in hand. Manon’s voice trailing behind you.

“Didn’t wanna be associated, huh.” She laughed knowingly as she head her way to the other side, entertaining other students.

You stopped just in front of her, leaning against the red and gold pillar with a nonchalant smirk. Offering your firewhisky, you half-expected a grimace or a quick rejection. Instead, to your surprise, she took the glass and chugged it down in one smooth motion.

Sophia’s eyes flashed as she set the empty glass down with an ease that made you pause. The girl had no hesitation.

You couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “Well, well, LaForteza. Here I was thinking you were above all this noise. Yet, here you are, crashing the Gryffindor afterparty. Didn’t feel like being a queen tonight?”

Sophia’s gaze flickered, but there was something else in it now, something more raw than the usual indifference. She liked the burn in her chest, the firewhisky coursing through her veins. Just exactly what she needed tonight.

It wasn’t that she was bored—not entirely, but the stress was eating at her. The weight of everything back at Slytherin, her family, the pressure… sometimes, a drink was the only thing that helped drown it all out.

She was actually thankful for you, in a way. No need to go to the drink table and mingle with the rest of the students. You’d brought it right to her, and it was a damn good drink. The last thing she wanted was to be around more people approaching her who doesn't know their place.

She tilted her head, her lips curling into a faint, almost imperceptible smirk. “And here I was thinking you were above all this celebration noise. Your first time winning?”

You shrugged nonchalantly, unfazed by her jab. “First time winning? Please. I think I might need to invite you to one of my games. You must’ve missed more than I thought if you think this is a first.”

Your eyes shifted to one of the lower years you had invited to the party, someone you and your friends liked to send on errands.

“Oi, kid! Pass me two more cups! One for me, and the other for the princess here,” you called out, eyes glinting with mischief as you nodded toward Sophia. “Wouldn’t want royalty leaving the party early now, would we?”

“U-uhh… of course not, Y/N.” The younger student looked at you, wide-eyed clearly starstruck, then hesitantly offered a shy smile in Sophia’s direction. But Sophia, still disinterested, just rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed by both the kid’s awe and even more by your smug theatrics.

"You Gryffindors really do have a knack for being so loudly arrogant, no? Like if you save the day, you’d want the whole world to throw a parade in your name,” Sophia scoffed, taking the new drink from your hand.

She eyed you over the rim of her cup, her gaze razor-sharp and unblinking. You took a sharp breath, caught off guard by how intense the eye contact suddenly felt—like she was reading every motive behind your smirk.

You cleared your throat, doing your best to play it cool despite how her stare was already crawling under your skin.

“Who wouldn’t want the spotlight?” you quipped, flashing a grin. “It’s kind of like when a girl’s screaming my name in bed. Why keep it quiet when you can let the whole castle know who’s winning?" You laughed.

Sophia didn’t know why. Maybe it was your cocky tone or that maddening grin, but something about you just got under her skin. With a dramatic roll of her eyes and a sharp swig of her drink, she turned on her pointy, green heels, already set on walking away from whatever this was.

But before she could get far, your fingers wrapped gently around her wrist.

“Wait—what? You’re leaving already?” you asked, genuine confusion flickering across your face. “Was it something I said?”

Your teasing faltered for a beat, replaced by something unreadable, like you hadn’t actually expected her to walk away.

Sophia froze. Not because of your hold, but because of your stupidly irritating question. She scoffed, snatching your drink from your hand without warning and taking a sip, her eyes never leaving yours. Her glossy lips left a faint mark on the rim of your red plastic cup, and somehow, that tiny, thoughtless act shifted something inside you.

The nerve. The audacity. The way she could steal your drink, challenge you with a single stare, and still make it feel like you were the one off balance.

"You talk like that and then act surprised that someone walks away?" she said coolly, though there was an obvious tint of annoyance in her voice.

Oh, so that’s it. Was she jealous? That you just casually mentioned your bed escapades?

"Talk like what, LaForteza?" you shot back, your confusion quickly turning into a playful smirk. You leaned in just enough, watching her closely, almost daring her to admit whatever was making her so irritated.

Sophia’s eyes narrowed, and for a split second, she looked like she was trying to decide whether to hex you or kiss you, or maybe both.

But then, she paused, her jaw tightening, clearly weighing her options. There was a flicker of something—maybe annoyance, maybe something else—across her features before she quickly masked it with a cold expression.

She took another sip of your drink, which was now probably hers, her voice laced with sarcasm as she responded, “Please, don’t flatter yourself. I couldn’t care less about whatever you do behind closed doors. But keep it down. Not everyone’s interested in hearing about it.”

You took a step closer, smirking as you leaned in just slightly. “I wouldn’t want them to anyway,” you said, her voice lower now, the playful edge still there, but with something more intense beneath it. “I just want you to pay attention, LaForteza. That’s all.”

Your gaze flickered to Sophia's lips for a brief moment before meeting her eyes again, the tension thickening between you two. Everyone at the party who noticed the silent standoff between the two powerhouses of Hogwarts dared not come any closer. The air around you seemed to pulse with unspoken words, and it was as if the entire room held its breath, aware of the electricity crackling in the space between you. It was obvious to anyone paying attention, this wasn’t just another verbal sparring match.

"What, cat got your tongue?" You teased. Snatching your drink back and taking a sip exactly from where the Slytherin had left her lipstick mark.

Sophia followed your actions with her eyes, suddenly feeling hot. And she abhorred feeling hot. But why was this different? Why didn't she mind this at all?

"I'm not the one running my mouth."

"Oh, yeah? Prove it then, princess."

Sophia raised an eyebrow, but you could see the tension tightening in her jaw. You smirked, expecting her to retort, to snap back like she always did. But instead, before you could even react, her lips were suddenly on yours. It was unexpected, and for a moment, you froze, completely caught off guard by the softness and heat of her kiss.

She pulled back just as quickly, eyes narrowed, but there was no mistaking the hint of something unspoken lingering in the air between you two.

"Don't act so surprised, I can play your game, too." Her voice was hushed enough just for the both of you to hear. Yet it was laced with challenge.

You observed how her eyes were now hooded with lust, her usual composure unraveling, and how her thick, glossy lips were slightly parted from the kiss you two just shared. She looked so damn irresistible in that moment, like every challenge she'd ever thrown your way had led to this exact point. The sharp, undeniable magnetism between you two made your head spin.

Merlin's beard, kill me now… You cursed under your breath, your pulse racing as you fought the urge to close the distance even more. But you couldn’t help it—the way she was looking at you, like she was daring you to do something, ignited something deep inside.

Finally, you closed the distance between you two once again but this time you deepened it even more. Your kiss was nothing like the playful teasing before. It was strong, harsh, and passionate. The two of you wanting to dominate.

She gripped the back of your neck like she was claiming territory, nails digging just enough to make you grin into the kiss. You responded in kind, hands confidently sliding down to lift her leg, anchoring it against your waist with practiced ease. The movement made her gasp, and that alone felt like a win.

Sophia kissed like she argued: sharp, challenging, and with no intention of backing down. She bit at your lower lip, a bratty kind of defiance in the way she tilted her chin, daring you to lose control. But you kissed her like you played Quidditch: cocky, calculated, and always a step ahead. You swallowed her challenge with a smirk, deepening the kiss until her bravado cracked, just slightly.

She tried to pull away, to regain upper hand, but you were already chasing her lips again, murmuring against them, “What’s wrong, LaForteza? Thought you could keep up.”

Her answer was another tug at your collar, another press of her mouth against yours, fiercer this time like she’d rather die than let you have the last word.

“I’ll show you how to keep up. Bring me to your room.”

And just like that the game has changed.

#sophia laforteza #sophia laforteza x reader #katseye imagines #sophia x reader #sophia imagines

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nakidoriii · 2 days ago

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In the Middle- Part 3

GeGo x Reader Mini Series

Warning: smut, squirting, cumming inside, male/male blowjob, threesome. || MDNI

Parts 1 and 2!

Art: Pintrest (if you know the artist feel free to tag.)

“Y/N, you didn’t…..” Utahime sighed.

“Oh, she did…” Shoko says while exhaling cigarette smoke.

You and the girls were sitting by the fountain in the courtyard. It was the day after your spontaneous endeavor with Gojo and Geto. You had just told the news to Shoko and Utahime. You didn’t want to tell anybody but you had to tell them.

“So let me get this straight… you let the snowman hit?” Utahime clarifies.

“Well, not exactly….. just my mouth.” You mumble.

Shoko lets out a laugh while Utahime covers her ears.

“I don’t want to know the details but thanks for telling us.” Utahime admits.

“Yea, we had a feeling that Geto liked you. He’d always ask us about you but we told him you weren’t looking to date. We had no idea about Gojo though.” Shoko also admits.

“I’m honestly glad it happened the way it did. I think it was just a one time thing.” You say.

“Oh it definitely won’t be, knowing them.” Shoko says as she starts walking away.

“What do you mean by that?” You say as Utahime starts following her.

“I don't really need to explain! Keep us updated though!” She yells as she walks off with Utahime to their next class.

You start walking to the food court, thinking about whether or not you should text the boys. Would that be weird? Is that clingy? It hasn't even been 24 hours yet.

“Y/N!”

You quickly turn your head to see Gojo with his usual toothy grin. You look him up and down taking in his outfit. He had on baggy cargo jeans and loose fitted graphic tee and silver accessories. These pieces were definitely out of Geto’s closet. He had a pep in his step as he walked up to you…more than usual of course.

“Heyyy.” You sing in response.

He casually throws his arm around your shoulders and starts walking with you. Almost every girl in sight has their eyes burning through you. I’m sure they are curious to know when this happened.

“How’s my favorite girl? You sore at all?” He asks loud enough so that only you can hear.

You laugh and say, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I would, that’s why I asked.” He pouts, sighs and says, “I never got a turn yesterday.”

“Ahh, that’s why you’re shouting my name across campus. Yea, that makes sense.” You say sarcastically.

“Oh, my bad. Are we keeping this a secret? That’s no fun.” He teases.

“Your fangirls are already staring holes into me just because you’re touching me.” You say under your breath.

Gojo’s hand slides down your arm and onto your waist, pulling you closer to him as you two walk. He’s trying to get a rise out of these girls.

“I’m hoping it motivates you to come over. Is it working?” He says as he flashes you his pearly whites.

“Maybe a little.” You laugh at his sheer dedication to get into your pants. “What about Geto though?”

Gojo stops you in your tracks and lets out a, “Hmm” as he thinks. He bends down, placing his glossed lips next to your ear and says, “He wouldn’t mind if we got started early.”

Those words send sparks down to your center, causing you to clench your legs together as you stand in front of him. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious about how Gojo is in bed. All you two did was give each other head and that was mostly because you couldn’t last another round.

“Under one condition.” You state.

“Anything.” He pleads.

“Since you’re derailing my whole day, it’s gotta be worth it. I’m cumming multiple times, got it?” You demand.

Gojo bites his lip in anticipation. Now you’re speaking his language.

“Yes ma’am. Let me call Suguru so I can let him know what will be waiting when he gets home. Ugh! Just thinking about you both is making me really excited.” He says giddily as he dials his best friend's number. “Suguru, meet us at the apartment. Y/Ns gonna be there. We’re getting started without you……. Yes, I’ll be gentle…..She said she wanted to multiple times…….Hahaha, yea I’ll snap a couple photos, you know me……See you soon.”

He hangs up the phone and starts leading you to his place. Gojo couldn’t keep his hands off of you during the whole walk. He would stand directly behind you knowing you’d feel his bulge on the small of your back. He’d whisper sweet nothings directly in your ear on the train. He wanted you soaked by the time you got to his place, calling it the “foreplay before the foreplay.” The moment you get to his front door, he pins your back to it. One of his hands is already sliding past the waistband of your panties, the other unlocking the door.

“G-Gojo, let's get inside first.” Your protest grows into a moan as his finger glides past your clit.

He opens the door, causing both of you to scuffle into the apartment. He uses his free hand to close the door. Articles of clothes get flung to different areas of his shared apartment as you two make your way to his bedroom. You crawl into his bed wearing only your bra and panties. He grabs your ankles and pulls you back to the edge of the bed. You squeal as he pries your legs open.

“Your panties are soaked.” He admires his work before he pulls them down your long legs.

You run your hands through his unpigmented hair as he licks up and down your folds. His hands pressed on the back of your thighs, lifting your legs up so he could have full access to your most sensitive parts. Gojo loved getting a reaction out of you and he planned to get so much more than that out of you.

“Satoruuu!” You moaned as he sucked on your clit.

This jump started Gojo’s pulse. He had never heard you call him by his first name, it kinda just slipped out. He spits on your puffy lips and slides two fingers in you. Your lips part from the new feeling inside you.

“Ugh, I love that! Say it again, baby. Who’s making you feel this good?” He says in between your folds.

“Mmmhnn, S-Satoru!” You moan as you throw your head back.

It was getting hard for you to keep your legs open as he fingered you, moving his fingers in a ‘come here’ motion. He pried your legs open with his free hand as he continued eating you out, making that knot form in your stomach.

“Mmm.” he moaned as if he was receiving pleasure from this.

He picks up the pace knowing that you're close.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cuumm!” You say as you push his face deeper into your folds. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as waves of pleasure crash over you.

He held you down as you rode out your orgasm, moaning his name the entire time. He slides his fingers out of you and starts kissing all over your body. Before you could open your eyes, you felt two more hands on your body.

“You did so good, Satoru.” Geto says right before slipping his tongue into Gojo’s mouth.

You don’t think you could ever get used to watching them kiss like this. It turns you on more than anything. The way Geto teasingly bites Gojo’s lip or how Gojo smiles during their kisses, it’s really fucking hot to you.

“She tastes so good, my God.” Geto moans as Gojo kisses his neck.

You sit up and start unbuttoning both their pants as they make out and feel each other up. You couldn’t take your eyes off them as you pulled their boxers to their knees. You spit on both their dicks and start stroking.

“What a good girl.” Gojo moans as both their attentions shift to you.

You take Geto down your throat as you continue to stroke Gojo with your hand. You look up at Geto as you moan with him down your throat. You take Geto from your throat and replace it with Gojo’s throbbing member, going back and forth between the best friends.

“How should I fuck her, Suguru?” Gojo asks as he caresses your jawline.

“I think she should be on top. I wanna see both of your pretty faces when you cum.” Geto states.

Gojo smirks as he lays down on his bed. He grabs onto your hips as you position yourself on top of him. You line up the tip of his dick with your entrance and slowly lower yourself down on his hard member.

“Shit.” You say under your breath.

You couldn’t believe how tight you were considering Geto had fucked you out yesterday. Gojo’s lips were slightly parted as your walls adjusted around him. You start to grind your hips back and forth, feeling the tip of Gojo’s dick rubbing against your cervix. He grinds his hips back towards you making you squirm. His fingers were pressing into your hips making sure he had control of your movements. You pick up the pace and start bouncing on it.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Show Suguru how good you ride my dick.” Gojo moans.

Suguru chuckles at this statement. He undresses fully as he watches his best friend slide in and out of you. Gojo was making direct eye contact with Geto as he slapped your ass, almost like he was luring him in. Geto saunters over with his dick in hand. You watch as Geto runs his hand through Gojo’s hair, making Gojo look up at him.

“Be a good boy and show y/n how you suck me off.” Suguru's voice weighed down with lust.

Your eyes grow wide at Geto’s statement. Gojo opens his mouth with his tongue out. He looks up at his best friend with pleading eyes, begging Geto to put his dick in his mouth. Geto slides his hard member between Gojo’s lips as you ride him. You throw your head back and moan, “Fuuck, I can't get enough of you two.”

Geto shifts his attention to you while Gojo pleases him. You start running your hands up and down your breasts and body as you ride Gojo. You wanted to entice him.

“You like watching me ride your best friend's dick?” The question slides off your tongue like silk.

Geto bites his lip and says, “Yea, but I wanna watch you cum on it.”

He places his hand on the back of your neck and pulls you into a heated kiss with him. Gojo moans on Geto’s dick as he watches you two make out. You couldn’t help but to moan into Geto’s mouth as your tongues caressed each other. His hand slides down your stomach and goes to your clit. He starts rubbing tight circles on it, making you pull away from the kiss.

“Hah!- Suguru!!” You moan as he gives your clit the attention it was looking for.

Geto was dominating both you and Gojo, at the same damn time. Gojo sees this and starts bucking his hips up into you at a faster rate. He couldn’t let Suguru be responsible for the orgasm you were getting close to.

“Satoru, fuuckk!! Oh my god, I-I’m so close.” You whine. Your walls clench around Gojo’s cock which caused him to moan on Geto’s dick. All three of you were so close.

“Make us cum, Satoru. Ugh, fuck! We’re so close.” Geto says as he presses his forehead up against yours.

Geto was not letting up on your clit. The amount of pleasure both of these men were giving you was sending you over the edge. You felt an unbelieve amount of pressure in your lower abdomen.

“Suguuurrruu!! Fuck, Saattooruuu!!” You screamed as you squirt.

The moment your juices got on them, both Gojo and Geto were pushed over the edge. Gojo busted first, painting your walls with thick warm ropes of his cum. His aquamarine eyes were rolled to the back of his head as his cheeks grew pink from the amount of pleasure. Watching this caused Geto to paint Satoru’s blushing face with his thick ropes of cum. All three of you were out of breath, over stimulated, and covered in each other's cum.

Taglist: @boopjuice @thatmf-jay @whiter4bbitcorner @sukunaslilsocks @zombiiegrlx @candiceiscrazy @jinjen @arminsxseashell @tokyolhtl @vertigoswan @nazzysworld13 @zinflo @rllytiredrn @stinkmf @lnette04 @princess-bblgm @ovela @fiercedeception @arabellasolstice

This is the final chapter to ITM! Thank you all for reading! My submissions are open so feel free to put in some requests :) Comments and Reblogs are appreciated!

Masterlist

Please do not alter or steal my writings.

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lcriedlastnight · 1 day ago

Text

a stain on the kitchen floor

○ lando norris x sportstherapist!reader

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : w/c 1.7k. this was so fun to write actually. i'm shit at pacing that's why i haven't written a multi-part story yet so if it's bad don't tell me. also i’m too lazy to proofread these days.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

"i know it's totally normal in the world on formula one, but to me? i think it's crazy. i wouldn't be able to switch up my emotions and feelings like that with some of my closest friends." lando looks over at her from his chair, eyes awfully bright for what was what she considered one of their more heavier sessions.

lando didn't know how he had gotten himself into this situation... well he did, he was just so embarrassed about it! it's not like he would know that her pretty eyes and soothing voice would be just the thing he need to see and hear first thing on a monday morning - especially after a race weekend. it didn't even need to be a bad weekend for him to want to see her and talk you through the weekend from his point of view. when lando realised that, he realised that he fancied her.

forcing himself to zone back in, (he felt bad for always zoning out during sessions. she thought that his mind must've been a battle field but in reality he just couldn't concentrate with her around him, caring words flying around his head and making himself believe that she wasn't asking because it was her job but because her genuinely cared about his mental well-being.) his eyes jump back onto her figure sitting on the chair across from him.

"it's like you said, i'm used to it. we all are." lando shrugs, something he felt like he did a lot in these short ten minute sessions. it has her sighing again before jotting something down again in her little pink notebook.

"lando, i've told you before, you need to stop shugging things like this off. i can tell it bothers you so just tell me how it makes you feel." she tells the boy, a little annoyed but in a second any trace of it is gone and she's back to her usual upbeat self. lando's heart stutters at her words. simp.

"it is a little hard sometimes, but it comes with the job. you gotta be mentally strong to do this too." lando explains like to her like they haven't already had the exact same conversation a few sessions ago. all she does is nod her head, appreciating that he was trying to open up and let her in. before she could dig any deeper though, her timer went off, signalling that their ten minutes were up. lando groans. loudly.

"why're you annoyed? you hate talking about your feelings." she points out and it has the driver turning red and stuttering out some bullshit answer. if she hadn't noticed his little crush by now then lando thinks he might have to tell zak to find someone a little better.

★・・・・・・★

much to zak and oscar’s surprise lando had been attending the sessions weekly, arriving earlier than he ever had in his entire career at mclaren. this didn’t make much sense to them but who were they to judge? at least lando was finally talking about his feelings, regularly, to someone who could help him process them correctly.

oscar always went second every monday. he would watch as lando skipped out of the room, gracing him with one of those cheesy smiles that he was famous for. sometimes oscar forgot about lando’s hesitance the first day because there was no way she was this good to make him switch from being therapy’s number one hater to its biggest fan. she hadn’t even been here a month yet!

oscar was seeing the same girl and he, in the nicest way possible, did not think she was anything special. she was just a girl who tried to get to cold at steel drivers to talk about their emotions. easy enough right? oscar was starting to think that she had maybe coaxed this good attitude towards therapy out of him some way but his mind was quickly changed just before their third ever session with her. it was the most put together oscar had even seen lando on a monday morning, ever! it was like he was doing a paddock walk. that’s when oscar realised that maybe lando’s excitement towards these sessions wasn’t getting to talk about his feelings but maybe because he was talking to her. not to blow smoke up his own arse but oscar wasn’t stupid.

★・・・・・・★

the session after jeddah was particularly difficult for her. in her entire time with lando it hadn’t been too difficult to get him to speak out about how the previous race had gone but as they got further into the season, she noticed every time how it was a little bit harder each time to get him to open up to her.

“lando?” she says softly. they had been sitting in silence for half the session. this had been their worst one yet. she had no idea why this was hurting her so much, maybe she was just too empathetic and felt whatever pain lando had felt.

lando stays silent but looks up at her with so much hurt in his eyes it makes her avoid his gaze as for the first time with lando, she felt a little uncomfortable. it was literally her job to comfort people when they were struggling so why was this time so fucking difficult?

“the session is nearly finished.” is all she can say.

“right.” lando nods.

“i know this was a harder session today but i’m proud of you, you didn’t even need to show up and you did which shows so much progress from our first one.” her words were filled with a sincerity lando hadn’t heard in a long while.

“can i ask you for something?” lando asks. the most he’s spoken this session, she jumps at the opportunity to help him feel even the slightest bit better.

“of course, that’s what i’m here for.”

lando hesitates for. few beats before he’s standing up from his chair and walking towards hers.

“can i have a hug?”

she’s taken aback but she doesn’t let it show as she opens her arms without hesitation. this may be a little unprofessional but that was the last thing she was thinking of right now. if this what was going to make him feel better then she would hug him until her arms went numb. that’s not unprofessional though! it’s just because she wants to help all of her patients. she would do the same for oscar…

lando lets himself relax for the first time since saturday. he lets himself breathe in her perfume and what he thinks is some kind of flowery shampoo. the mix of the two makes him lightheaded in the best way possible.

“i’m sorry for not saying anything.” lando breaks the silence first.

“you don’t have to apologise. i’m here for you no matter what you want to do. i’ve already told you that we don’t even have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” she comforts, hand now running up and down his back in a soft trail of warmth.

“i do want to. it’s just.. hard to break habit i guess. and now we don’t have any time to.” lando confesses, her heart simultaneously bursting with pride and hurt.

“i’m sure oscar wouldn’t mind if we push his session back for this week.” she offers.

lando moves his head from on top of hers in surprise.

“really? you would do that for me?”

she doesn’t answer, instead heading to the door to ask the aussie sitting outside waiting for her. this is professional, all she wants is for lando to get his feelings out.

once lando rants and gets out every single thought and feeling he had over the weekend and she offers her best advice, she tells him something that she hopes sticks with him for the rest of the season.

“we both know that you are capable of this. you are a world class driver in an amazing car that we know you can drive i just don’t want your downfall to be your mind. it’s amazing but you let it hurt you too much. don't let your mind make you feel like you aren't worthy of this. you aren't just a stain on someone's kitchen floor, okay?"

lando only nods in understanding before standing from the chair again, you rise again to stand beside him. instead if asking this time, he just pulls you into another hug, this one feels tighter than the last but you don’t complain. no, you smile into it and weirdly repress the urge to press a kiss on his shoulder. okay, that’s not at all professional.

★・・・・・・★

later on, before the workday for her ends, she finds herself reaching for her notebook. she didn't write down everything he said, she would be there all day with the way he spoke to her these days. it was just things that she felt she would want to circle back on in later sessions, she did it with every client she has, oscar's notes sat a little emptier a divider away. but there was something different about lando's notes that she didn't even realise that she had done until she was reviewing after that session.

she flicks to the divider with his name on it and gets to today's notes.

likes to unwind after race by watching an adam sandler film.

okay, that's still on the professional side. nothing too wrong with that, it's good to have fun and easy ways to decompress, especially as an f1 driver, she tells herself.

doesn't like sushi.

that's... not professional but not weird to write down? she questions herself in her head. she remembers the conversation in her head and can't help the smile that creeps up onto her face at the memory. she should not be smiling right now but that small smile turns into a full on beaming grin as what she had wrote next.

smells like that one cologne from armani.

she can't even remember writing that. her smile drops in seconds, thinking that this was getting creepy. why had she written that? she was going to have to start paying more attention to what she was writing in her sessions with lando. she seemed like a fucking stalker.

she snaps the book shut and shoves it back in it's drawer. it's like this was the push she needed to get moving and get home. she gathers her stuff from her 'temporary' office and throws on her coat, it was getting warmer woking but not warm enough to forgo a jacket of some sort. as she was walking out to the car park she passed by the trophy cabinet and about a million pictures of lando smiling.

she had to get a grip.

#lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fic #lando norris fluff #lando norris angst #lando norris x you #ln4 angst #ln4 fluff #ln4 imagine #ln4 fic #f1 fluff #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #ln4 x reader #lando x reader

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notiddygothgf · 2 days ago

Text

xiii

★ pairings: aki hayakawa x fem reader

★ ❝ This can’t be anything.❞

★ c.w.: public foreplay, vibrator, smut, confusion again (thank you aki, we all say in unison), lovemaking ( uh ohhhh ), an epiphany.

★ a/n: SHES BACCKKKKKK!!!!!! IM BACK FROM THE DEADDDDDD!!! oh my fucking god finals whooped my ass so gd bad. this chapter has been in the works for so so so so so long. i missed you all dearly. thank you -- not only for being patient, but for being so loving during my absence! You guys gave me motivation to keep posting. I have so much planned for this story and i cannot wait to take you all there. Stay tuned and, as always, keep those comments coming! Oh how I've missed your spam <3

★ w.c: 10k

pornstar ; chapter index

YOU STIRRED SLOWLY, twitching as you came to. You didn’t even remember passing out at Aki’s place, but a glance to your left brought everything back – another round, more words of praise, some kisses that definitely didn’t get to your head. And, in the middle of it all, lay Aki himself, completely shirtless and sprawled out over the bed on his stomach. His arm was draped across your body like a seatbelt, locking you in place. A little confused (but not at all upset by the view) you watched his back rise. Fall. Rise again.

Sharing a bed with him felt too intimate – too easy. It was too easy to smile when you saw his pretty, relaxed face. It was too easy to map out the shapes and slopes – the way his brows were furrowed just slightly, the way his hair, down and tousled, fell into his face and shrouded his eyes from your gaze. Suddenly, he wasn’t the invincible Captain he pretended to be.

No, right now, he was just a 21-year-old boy, completely vulnerable beneath your prying gaze. You weren’t sure what to do with the feeling – or feelings, for that matter. Any of them.

God, he’s so pretty it hurts, you thought, mindlessly tucking a tuft of his hair behind his ears so you could get a better look at him. He stirred slightly, probably having been tickled by the movement, but didn’t wake. So, feeling a little bold, you continued to play with his hair – continued to mindlessly twiddle the black strands in between your fingertips even though you knew you shouldn’t.

There was just something about it that gave you a small sense of satisfaction.

Your finger traced a path from his brow to his cheek – faintly enough to make him stir. Then his nose twitched, and a moment later, his tired eyes opened slowly, blinking like he was trying to make sense of the fact that you had stayed.

A slow smile crawled over his lips. “Morning,” He grumbled. His voice was still groggy, a little deeper than usual.

He looked ethereal in the mornings. It was seriously unfair. Here you were – messy, tousled hair and crusty eyes – and he looked like a fucking princess.

You hadn’t realized your hand was still on his face until he glanced at it. Quickly, like you had been burned, you withdrew your touch. Clearing your throat, you replied. “Good morning.”

His smile didn’t falter, didn’t shift, but his eyes lingered a second too long—like he was trying to memorize something. Like maybe your hand had felt good there.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, voice lower now, more tentative.

You hesitated, searching for the right words as your body reminded you of every ache and throb. “Sore,” you admitted with a small, breathy laugh, “but good.”

Your gaze dropped to the sheets tangled around your waist. “Last night was… really good.”

The night before flashed through your mind like a record on loop – his hands on your back, around your neck, the way his hips rolled so devilishly into yours over and over again. The way he held you after, like you were something more than just a woman to him – like it meant something.

“You were amazing,” He breathed, the words tender and not at all rushed, like he had all the time in the world.

It wasn’t just the soreness or the memory of what you’d done – it was the way your chest ached now, with something tender and blooming. Something terrifying.

His lips were a scorching hot memory on your skin, leaving burns in their wake. His gentle touch burned a little deeper, though – the scars it left were in your mind.

And those words, lingering on the back of your tongue – I’m catching feelings for you.

You gazed into his half-lidded baby blues, pursed lips melting into a smile. Slowly, your heart rate began to climb. You decided then that you would never tell him how you felt. You knew what would happen if you did – none of this would ever happen again. You would never be able to feel him so close to you, buried up to the hilt in your warmth while you dug your fingernails into his strong back. Never again would you be able to hear him laugh the way he only seemed to do with you – hear his compliments, feel his revering touch. Never again would he be yours – even only partially.

That thought alone was painful enough to make you wince. You knew that your feelings would shatter this illusion – this little thing the two of you had going on. Your feelings would make it too real. In a moment, the two of you would snap back to reality, and probably go back to being coworkers in the process. Aki would undoubtedly do what he did best – putting up those walls to keep you at bay because he didn’t know how to do anything else – and you… well, you weren’t sure what you would do without him now that you’d gotten a taste.

So, deciding to save yourself the heartache, you snapped yourself out of it. “I should get going.”

Great, now he’s gonna think I’m ghosting him, You thought to yourself. All things considered, it probably would have been best for you to ghost him. It sure as hell would have saved you the heartache.

No, you could never. You were in far too deep to back out now.

“Not gonna stay for breakfast?” He replied, tilting his head at you. He shifted, tossing an arm behind his head to stretch, and you would have been lying if you said you didn’t ogle his biceps.

I hate you, you thought. How could you offer me everything and then nothing at the same time?

No, you corrected. It’s my fault. He doesn’t want anything more. I’m the one who was stupid enough to agree.

“I shouldn’t,” You sighed. It would be bad – really, really bad. If you got up now and got ready with him, then you would have to go to the kitchen with him. Then, if you went to the kitchen with him, you would admire him while he made breakfast. Then, to top it all off, you would love his cooking – whatever he decided to make you, because of course you would – and realize that maybe, just maybe, the cooking wasn’t the only thing you loved about him.

I mean, what?

You continued, “I really have to grab some groceries today.”

Only a partial lie. Today was your designated grocery day. Before he could clock your lie, you were already shifting towards the edge of his mattress, swinging your feet over the side until they touched the ground. You looked back at him, only to find him laying on his side with his head perched on his hand, shamelessly watching you…. wearing his shirt.

Just his shirt.

It was all too intimate. It was just enough to drive you wild, but not enough to warrant a conversation so early in the morning, so you looked away for a moment and rose to your feet. “Can I borrow some pants?” You asked, already dreading the prospect of wearing your dress from the night before home.

You glanced over to the bed once more. Aki stretched – a big stretch – and the covers slipped a little lower. His sweatpants did, too, revealing just enough skin to give you a glimpse of his navel, his abs. Then, without a word, he slipped out of bed and walked over to the dresser, where he pulled a pair of sweatpants out and tossed them onto the bed.

“Thanks,” You muttered, grabbing them and slipping your feet into them. You were thicker than Aki was, for lack of a better word, so the waistband wasn’t an issue. The length, however… well, that was an issue. The pants were so long, in fact, that they bunched up ridiculously around your feet.

You looked up, and he was still watching you. It was strange, though. He wasn’t just staring at you. No, he was looking at you like he had never bothered letting someone stay until the morning, like he had never seen a woman get changed the morning after a night spent tangled in his sheets. Like you were a rare sight.

Like you were beautiful.

“Are you staring?” You asked him, even though you already knew the answer.

“Am I… not allowed to?” He replied. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

With a roll of your eyes that lacked any real resentment, you bent over and reached for your dress at the foot of the bed, balling it up and chucking it at him.

“You’re driving me home, asshole,” You snapped at him. “I’m not gonna limp to the bus stop.”

When you looked back, he had his car keys pinched between his fingers, jingling them around. “Was already planning on it. What kind of man do you think I am?”

The kind who breaks girls’ hearts,you thought, but decided not to voice that opinion.

There was nothing casual about this. You knew it was a bad idea. You were already getting attached, but this?

This was bad.

No, it’s not, you told yourself. He’s just being a decent guy.

Aki tugged his shirt on with one hand, the motion slow and thoughtless, like he had all the time in the world. The hem fell crooked across his hips, but he didn’t fix it. Didn’t need to. He looked good like that—half-dressed, hair only a little disheveled, eyes still heavy with sleep. The kind of good that made your chest hurt.

You kept your back to him as you crouched by the edge of the bed, fingers curling around the soft fabric of your dress. It was wrinkled and still warm from where you’d tossed it last night. Your phone was buried in the blankets, screen dim, battery nearly dead. You grabbed it, too, along with your heels—one tucked near the corner of the bed frame, the other abandoned halfway to the door.

Your body ached in ways that weren’t entirely physical.

You grabbed your heels from beside the bed, not bothering to sit down before shoving them on. Being near him like this made it worse.

You caught a glimpse of his face the moment you turned – quiet, unreadable, eyes softer than they had any right to be.

You looked away first.

You rolled the cart right on along the aisles at the grocery store. It was somewhere around halfway full. You brushed past the medicinal aisle and the snack aisle (though the latter was not exactly easy).

You rolled the cart along the aisles, letting the wheels bump gently over the smooth linoleum, one of them squeaking just enough to be annoying. It was somewhere around halfway full—staples mostly. Milk. Rice. A few boxed dinners for the nights when you didn’t feel like trying. You were running low on effort this week, and honestly, this grocery trip was more necessity than anything. A quiet kind of obligation. Something to do when you didn’t want to be alone with your thoughts for too long.

You passed the medicinal aisle, resisting the urge to stop and read labels you didn’t need. Then came the snack aisle, which was a harder temptation. You slowed, caught sight of a bag of honey butter chips—your favorite—and hovered for a second. But you shook it off. If you bought them, you’d eat the whole bag by tomorrow night. Probably in one sitting. You weren’t proud of how well you knew that.

Turning the corner into produce, you took a breath, letting the sharp scent of citrus and green leaves fill your lungs. You grabbed a bag of apples, feeling their smooth skin under your fingers, and then some bell peppers. The green ones were cheaper, but you always liked the red ones more, so you reached for those without bothering to rationalize it. A few bananas. A bundle of kale. You weren’t really thinking about the food, not really—it was more muscle memory, just something to keep your hands moving.

Then your phone buzzed in the pocket of your hoodie.

You fished it out, glanced down without thinking—and stopped in your tracks.

Aki.

Your heart did that thing again. The thing it had started doing lately, whenever you saw his name. Not a full skip, not yet, but just a pause. A flutter. A small, stupid stutter.

He didn’t call often. Usually it was texts. Quick check-ins, questions, things you could answer without having to hear his voice. So the fact that he was calling now—while you were elbow-deep in grocery shopping and quietly trying to keep your mind from wandering back to him—felt like the universe was playing games.

You answered, pressing the phone between your cheek and shoulder while reaching for a bag of spinach. “Hey, you.”

There was a breath on the other end, then: “Hey. Are you busy right now?”

“Not really,” you said, pushing the cart forward with one hand, “Just picking up some groceries. Why? What’s up?”

A quiet pause.

“Nothing much. Just wanted to see what you were up to.”

You hesitated, your hand hovering over a container of strawberries. That wasn’t like him. Aki wasn’t the type to call just to talk. He was methodical. Intentional. He didn’t check in unless there was a reason.

“Are you sure you’re not just bored?” you asked, aiming for lightness, something casual to cover how your heart had started doing acrobatics in your chest.

“A little of both, maybe.”

You smiled despite yourself, placing the strawberries gently into the cart. “Wow. Never thought that the illustrious Captain Hayakawa would ever run out of things to do.”

“Just because I’m bored doesn’t mean I’m not doing things,” he replied evenly. “I’m cleaning the kitchen right now.”

You could picture him there—hair tied back messily, sleeves pushed up, his hands scrubbing at something with more intensity than necessary. Probably frowning, like the dishes had personally insulted him.

“Lucky for you, then,” you said, grabbing a bottle of shampoo and scanning the shelves for the matching conditioner, “I’m bored at the grocery store. Guess you’re my entertainment for today.”

There was a small sound on the other end of the line. A soft breath—just barely audible. Like a half-laugh held back or maybe him shifting the phone from one ear to the other. But it lingered. Sat in your ear like something warmer than it should have been.

“I’ll try to make it worth your while,” he said, voice low and rough around the edges.

You paused.

Not because you didn’t have something to say—but because you felt something catch in your chest at the sound of his voice like that. Unhurried. Familiar. Like this wasn’t some casual call, but something he wanted to stretch out.

And maybe it was nothing. Maybe you were just reading into it because you’d been reading into everything lately when it came to Aki.

But it didn’t feel like nothing.

The pause between you wasn’t awkward. If anything, it felt intentional. Like you were both sitting with something unspoken.

“What’s up with you, though?” you asked, careful not to sound too curious. “You never call for no reason.”

“Nothing major,” he replied. “Picked up Denji and Power from Himeno’s place today.”

“Oh, god,” you said, already grinning. “I can’t imagine what that was like.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” he muttered, and you could hear the tired weight in his voice – the same tone he used after long days, after being stretched far too thin. “They’re a nightmare.”

“What happened?”

“First of all, I get there,” he started, and you could already hear the reluctant story spilling out, “and Denji’s in the middle of a shouting argument with Power about… God, I don’t even know. They’re both yelling and Himeno’s just sitting there looking exhausted.”

“Sounds like a good time,” you replied, steering your cart around a display of instant noodles. “Did you pay her?”

“Yeah, real fuckin’ peaceful,” he said dryly. “Himeno gets all curious and starts asking me why I needed the house to myself for the night. I told her I needed some space. She didn’t buy it, of course, but I bought her some beer to make up for it.”

You laughed softly, heart skipping as your hand hovered over the shelf of bath soaps. “What did you tell her?” you asked. “Not that you took the night to wine, dine, and have a good time with your superior, I hope.”

“Poetic,” he said, and you could practically hear the eye roll. “No, I told her I was cleaning. Real convincing, huh?”

“I’m sure she totally believed it,” you said, biting your lip to suppress your smile.

“Probably not,” Aki continued. “But Denji, being Denji, decides that now is a good time to ask me if I’m ‘finally making a move’ on someone. Right in front of her.”

You stopped mid-step, frozen beside a tower of canned tomatoes.

“Oh my god.”

“You don’t even know,” he said. “Himeno just looked between us, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. I thought she was gonna crack the code right there.”

Your heart thudded once—loud, sharp.

There it was again. That strange tension pulling taut between the two of you. That same thread that had been building over weeks, months. You never talked about it, never named it, but it was there. In the quiet way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. In the way he lingered around you, even when he didn’t have to.

And now he was calling you in the middle of cleaning his kitchen, just to talk. No mission. No briefing. No emergency.

Just… to talk.

Why?

Your throat felt a little dry. You reached into your cart and fidgeted with one of the items, not even really seeing it.

What did this mean?

Aki wasn’t the kind of person to waste time. He didn’t do small talk. And yet here he was, calling you while wiping down counters, recounting Denji’s idiocy and letting you laugh at him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You couldn’t stop the thought from blooming:

Was he starting to get attached to me, too?

You swallowed. “Did she figure it out?”

He hesitated. “I don’t think so. I just kept pretending I didn’t hear Denji, but you could tell she was dying to know.”

You laughed, shaking your head as your cart—long since full—creaked beneath your hand. You weren’t even trying to shop anymore. Hadn’t been for a while, if you were honest with yourself. You were halfway through what must’ve been your second lap around the store, aimlessly weaving past the same rows of cereal boxes and boxed rice you’d already passed twice.

“That sounds like a circus,” you said, letting your voice trail with a smile. “But I bet you were relieved when you got them out of there.”

“Oh, for sure,” Aki replied. “I couldn’t get out fast enough.”

You pictured him at Himeno’s, leaning in the doorway with that deadpan look on his face as Denji and Power argued across the room. Himeno, probably drinking, probably amused, watching him suffer in silence like she always did. You let out a breath that almost counted as a laugh, curling your fingers a little tighter around the phone where it pressed to your ear.

It had been like this since he called. No mission. No excuse. Just… Aki. Talking to you like it was natural. Like you were part of the rhythm of his day. And maybe you were. Maybe that was what twisted you up the most.

He should’ve hung up already. You should’ve let him. But neither of you did.

What is this?

“What about you?” he asked, his voice just a touch softer now. “You have any nightmare situations in the past twelve hours I haven’t seen you?”

You stopped walking for a moment, then slowly made your way toward the frozen section for no reason at all. Your hand hovered near a glass door before falling away again.

He’s dragging it out, you realized.

But so were you.

You hadn’t needed to keep walking. You could’ve checked out a few minutes ago. But you hadn’t. You didn’t want to. You kept finding one more aisle, one more shelf to browse, just to stay on the line with him a little longer.

That wasn’t like you. But then again, nothing about your feelings for Aki had felt normal for a while now.

“None worth mentioning,” you replied, voice light, teasing—like if you could keep it playful, it wouldn’t feel like a confession. “Nearly hit a guy on the road, though.”

Aki laughed – actually laughed. Low and real and too rare. “Of course you’d be a shitty driver.”

You scoffed, biting the inside of your cheek to hide the way your heart jumped at the sound of him laughing like that. “I’m a great driver, for the record,” you said, pacing now just to have something to do with your body. You turned past the same shampoo shelf you’d picked clean earlier. “But I’m coming up to checkout now, so… let me let you go.”

A lie. You weren’t even close to checkout. You just didn’t trust yourself to keep going.

Because if you did—if you kept this call alive any longer—you weren’t sure what you’d end up saying. Or worse, what you’d end up hoping he’d say.

“Got it,” Aki replied, after a beat. “I’ll spare you the horror stories.”

There was something reluctant in his voice too. It wasn’t just you.

“Maybe save it for later,” you said, and the words were warmer than you meant them to be. Too soft, too honest. You cleared your throat a little. “Sounds like you’ve got more in store.”

“Always,” he sighed. The sound was quiet, but not tired. If anything, it sounded a little like he was smiling.“Always some new bullshit in the Hayakawa household.”

That made your chest ache.

“Anyway, I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Later.”

You hung up before you could talk yourself out of it.

The silence that followed was immediate and jarring. You stood still in the middle of the hair care aisle, phone still clutched in your hand, surrounded by neatly stacked shelves of products you didn’t need anymore. The air conditioning hummed. Someone rolled a cart past behind you. A kid whined in the next aisle over. But none of it felt real—not yet.

You’d dragged out a phone call for a hell of a lot longer than was necessary just to hear his voice. To make him laugh. To let him talk about his day in a way that made it feel like you were his first choice to tell it to.

And he hadn’t hung up either. He hadn’t even tried.

That… meant something. Didn’t it?

You exhaled slowly, barely aware of the tightness in your chest until now. Your hand went to your cart, gripping it lightly, and finally, finally, you turned and started toward checkout. The line was short, mercifully. Your body went through the motions – items on the belt, card in the reader, bags in hand – but your mind was still back in that aisle, listening to the soft edge of Aki’s voice and the way he said “talk to you later” like he actually meant it.

He could’ve just texted, you thought, and it made something sharp twist in your stomach. But he didn’t.

He wanted to hear your voice. He wanted to stay on the line. And he didn’t make up some excuse to call. He just asked what you were doing… like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You bit your lip as you stepped out into the parking lot. The sun had started to dip low, casting long shadows across the asphalt. You loaded your groceries into the car in silence, heart still tugging toward the sound of his voice, the comfort of that call, and the questions it left you with. What did it mean?

Monday morning – after a weekend spent overthinking about what your coworker thought about you – you strolled into Public Safety HQ with all the reluctance in the world. You went through the same motions you did every workday. You said hi to the man who worked the lobby, then a few familiar faces. You took the stairs up exactly one flight and wandered into the mailroom, where you unlocked your cabinet and checked for letters and notices.

You found neither. What you did find, however, was a single, lone note. Curiously, you turned it over in your palm. It came from inside the building, yes, but that wasn’t what caught your eye.

What caught your eye was the name initialed on the lower left corner of the back side – A.

A. one letter. It wasn’t accompanied by any other distinguishing marks. In fact, if you didn’t recognize the strange swoop in the center of the initial, you would have wondered who it was from.

But you would recognize that handwriting anywhere. So, instead, you popped a finger beneath the seal and tore the envelope open, weaseling a small note out of it. It wasn’t addressed to you specifically, but you knew exactly who it was from and who it was for.

“If you see this, call me. Thinking of you.”

With a tongue-in-cheek smile that could have powered a small village, you pocketed the little note slipping into the back of your slacks. He’s not even trying to be subtle, is he?

You stepped out of the mailroom with that stupid grin still tugging at your mouth, trying to play it off like you hadn't just pocketed what was probably the equivalent of a middle school "do you like me – yes/no/maybe" note from a fully grown man who swore up and down that there were no feelings involved.

The hall was quiet. Almost too quiet. That should’ve tipped you off.

You turned the corner at the end of the corridor, eyes on your phone – already half-tempted to call him just to see how fast he’d pick up – when you walked straight into someone.

“Shit– sorry,” you mumbled, stepping back.

“Oh, look who it is,” came a familiar, teasing voice. Himeno.

You looked up just in time to see her grin spreading wide across her fucking face. She slung an arm over your shoulder like she hadn’t just almost knocked the wind out of you, good eye gleaming with that typical too-knowing sparkle.

And standing just behind her – hands in his pockets, expression neutral save for the subtle raise of one brow – was Aki.

Of course.

"Morning," he said, quiet but direct, like he hadn’t fucked a limp into you only 72 hours earlier.

"Morning," you echoed, trying not to sound breathless.

God, he looked fucking good. Too good for a Monday morning. The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up to the elbow, and there was a faint crease between his brows like he’d been deep in thought. Or maybe – just maybe – he was thinking about that note he left you. The one that was burning a rectangle-shaped memory into your back pocket.

“You look tired,” Himeno said, poking you in the side. “Wanna grab lunch with us later?”

The casualness of the offer made your heart stumble a little. Just lunch. Friendly. Coworkers.

You glanced between them, stalling for just a second too long.

“Uh – sure,” you said finally, because what were you gonna do, say no and look like you had something to hide?

“Great!” Himeno said, clearly pleased. “We were thinking of that ramen place near the station. You like that one, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

Aki still hadn’t said anything. But when Himeno turned to walk down the hall, he lagged behind for just a beat – long enough for your eyes to meet his.

His expression didn’t shift. He didn’t smile. But there was something else there.

You almost stopped breathing.

And then, just as quickly, he looked away and followed Himeno down the hall.

You stood there for a second longer, pulse high and mind full of too many questions. Was the note meant to be a joke? A game? An invitation? Did he even expect you to find it this early?

You didn’t know, but your fingers twitched towards your phone anyway.

Because even if there were no feelings involved, you were starting to think the two of you were lying to yourselves. Real bad.

You, Denji, Aki, Power, and Himeno were squeezed into the back booth of the ramen shop — a cramped semicircle of too many limbs and clashing personalities. The air was thick with the scent of pork broth, fried gyoza, and something else entirely — something you couldn’t name but felt anyway. Maybe it was the heat rolling off the open kitchen. Or maybe it was the way Aki kept looking at you like that.

You sat directly across from him, your knees nearly brushing beneath the low table, though neither of you had made contact — not yet. He was angled slightly away, his shoulder toward Himeno as she carried on with one of her animated stories, laughing through half of it, chopsticks gesturing. But you knew Aki wasn’t listening.

Not really.

Because he kept looking at you. And you kept looking back.

Not directly — not boldly — but in half-glances, fleeting flickers of your eyes to his, only to find him already watching you through the veil of his lashes, that unreadable expression sitting low on his face. His hand was on the table, idle, fingers tapping the edge of the lacquered wood with a slow, deliberate rhythm. It made you wonder if he was thinking the same thing you were. If he remembered last time. If he wanted to remind you who you belonged to — even here, even now.

You swallowed hard and tried to focus on what Himeno was saying. Something about a devil encounter last week and Denji almost blowing out the windows in the company van. Power was howling with laughter beside her, while Denji insisted he was the hero of the story. Himeno rolled her eyes and waved him off.

You nodded along, forcing a smile, pretending to be present — and then your phone buzzed.

You blinked and glanced down, subtly sliding it out beneath the table. Aki hadn’t moved, but you could feel his gaze sharpen as your thumb flipped the screen open.

AKI: Order the miso ramen.

Four words. Plain. Unassuming.

But you felt them settle into you like a hand at the base of your neck — commanding, heavy, familiar.

Your breath hitched.

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and this time, he wasn’t pretending not to look. His stare was fixed, steady, hooded with the kind of intensity that made your stomach flip. Your cheeks burned — a slow, creeping warmth that started behind your ears and spread down to your collarbone. And he knew. You could see it in his face — in the way the corners of his mouth twitched like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

Your thighs pressed together under the table, involuntary. You knew you should’ve felt annoyed. Or amused. Or... anything else.

But you liked it.

You liked being told what to do.

Especially by him.

A beat passed — his eyes never leaving yours — and then, finally, you broke the stare and cleared your throat.

“I’ll have the miso ramen,” you told the server when they approached.

He didn’t say a word, but you felt the weight of his approval settle in the space between you. Quiet. Commanding. Deep.

Himeno barely noticed, already diving back into her story once the ordering chaos passed. Something about Kobeni throwing up on a mission. You heard Denji groan, Power laughing louder than she needed to, and Himeno snort as she mimicked Kobeni’s voice.

You tried to listen.

You really did.

But you could feel Aki watching you again, in that maddening, disciplined way of his – the kind that never crossed a line in public, but made it very clear that he could.

Your skin prickled.

Your mouth was dry.

You shifted in your seat, subtly, and stole one more look across the table – only to find him already looking back.

This time, he didn’t look away.

And neither did you.

The food arrived steaming and fragrant only a few minutes later, the server barely managing to fit all the bowls on the tiny table without knocking over someone’s water. You reached for your chopsticks just as Denji leaned forward, slurping his broth obnoxiously loud before launching into his next brilliant monologue.

“Aki was a total asshole this morning,” Denji announced, already gesturing with his chopsticks like he was pointing out evidence at a crime scene. “We put, like, one tiny bug in his coffee – one! – and he looked at us like he was gonna kill someone.”

You didn’t even look up. “Because you put a bug in his coffee, Denji.”

Denji sputtered. “It was dead!”

“That’s not the defense you think it is,” you replied dryly, only realizing after the words had left your mouth that you were defending Aki without hesitation. Instinctively. Almost... possessively.

You glanced over at him, just to check — and sure enough, his gaze had lifted to you. Barely. Just a flick of his eyes from beneath his lashes, but it was there. Not gratitude exactly. More like... acknowledgment. Heat. A quiet satisfaction that made your pulse skip.

Power, meanwhile, howled with laughter. “It was a huge bug. You should’ve seen it twitching when Aki sipped it!”

“I didn’t sip it,” Aki corrected, voice sharp. “I saw it before it touched my mouth.”

“Wow. Your reflexes are insane,” Denji said sarcastically. “What are you, a ninja?”

“You’re the one who spent the next ten minutes crying when I made you clean the whole floor.”

“That’s because you made me use bleach!”

“And he screamed,” Power added, gleeful.

“I didn’t scream,” Aki muttered, brows low. “I swore. Loudly. That’s different.”

“You dropped the mug,” Denji grinned. “And you jumped, like, this high.” He held his hand up to midair.

God, you could picture it.

“You’re lucky I didn’t strangle you both,” Aki said flatly.

You were mid-laugh when you brought your hand up to your mouth to stifle the giggles. The sudden movement was just enough to knock your elbow into the edge of your bowl — and in an instant, hot broth sloshed forward and spilled over the lip.

Right onto Aki.

Your heart stopped.

“Oh, shit–!” you gasped.

You shot up, grabbing a napkin from the dispenser like a soldier going into battle. You didn’t even stop to consider how it might look – how it might feel – until it was already happening. You were leaning over Aki, dabbing insistently at the front of his shirt, his thighs, his…

Your hand froze.

His blue eyes met yours, sharp and unreadable, and you felt something under your skin seize.

You looked down. Your palm hovered right over his lap. Too low. Too personal.

Your stomach dropped like a stone.

“Oh my God,” you breathed, snapping upright. “I didn’t—I didn’t even think—”

The entire table was dead silent. Denji had his mouth full of noodles, frozen mid-chew, wide-eyed. Power was grinning like she’d just been gifted front-row seats to the most scandalous performance on Earth.

You blinked hard, heat climbing the sides of your neck.

Oh my fucking God.

I’m on a roll, aren’t I?

“We’re gonna grab some napkins from the bathroom,” Himeno announced suddenly, voice far too casual. Her eyes flicked toward you with that too-knowing sparkle. “Okay?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Yep. Right behind you.”

You followed her down the narrow hallway, the sound of clinking bowls and low conversation fading behind you. Your face was burning. Your hands felt clammy. You knew what was coming before the bathroom door even clicked shut behind the two of you.

Himeno leaned against the sink, arms crossed over her chest, one hip cocked. Her smirk was the same one she wore every time she caught someone slipping – playful, merciless, and gleaming with interest.

“I knew it,” she said simply.

Your eyes widened. “Knew what?”

She tilted her head, mock-innocent. “You like him.”

Fuck.

You let out a weak, incredulous laugh, trying – failing – to play it off. “What are you even talking about?”

“Oh, come on.” Himeno rolled her eyes. “You were practically in his lap just now, wiping down his–” she made a vague gesture and laughed, “--his everything like it was no big deal.”

“I panicked,” you muttered. “It was an accident.”

“Sure,” she said, nodding slowly. “Except, you know, most people don’t react to spilling food by reaching straight for the goods.”

I’m gonna die.

I’m gonna crawl into a ball on top of the toilet and rot.

You covered your face with both hands. “Please stop talking.”

“Why? It’s cute,” Himeno teased, stepping closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “You’ve been making googly eyes at each other for weeks. I just didn’t know it was mutual.”

What the fuck?

You peeked at her between your fingers. “It’s not mutual.”

“Oh, babe.” She grinned. “He looks at you like you hung the moon. He’s just too emotionally constipated to do anything about it.”

She’s delusional.

Your breath hitched a little at that. She was wrong. Wrong about Aki. Wrong about the way he looked at you sometimes when he thought you weren’t paying attention – with that quiet, lingering stare that felt like it saw through skin and bone.

It just… it wasn’t romantic, you know?

“I like him,” you finally admitted. “Okay? I like him.”

“And he’s the mystery guy, isn’t he?” she asked, lifting one brow. “The one you won’t name.”

She doesn’t let up, does she? For a moment, you debated telling her. Hell, she had gotten this far. But, then again, the thought of her knowing that Aki was the elusive mystery man – the one who took you on kinky escapades and pushed you past your limits…

Your stomach clenched. You forced a breath through your nose and shook your head. “No. That’s someone else.”

Not today.

She looked like she didn’t believe you, not for a second. But to your relief, she didn’t push. She only gave you a long, thoughtful look and then shrugged one shoulder, like she was granting you a little space to keep your secret intact.

Then, slowly, she reached for the paper towel dispenser, grabbing a handful.

“Alright,” she said, smirking again. “But if you ever do decide to tell him about the whole liking-him thing? I want to be there when it happens.”

You laughed softly, the sound a little shaky. “You just want front-row seats to the disaster.”

She’s onto me.

“Obviously.”

You lingered a moment longer, letting the quiet settle. Then you looked up at yourself in the mirror and straightened your shirt, patting down the places where your panic had wrinkled the fabric. Himeno waited for you, patient in her own way, watching without judgment.

And you couldn’t help but think — if only she knew the truth. If only she knew that it wasn’t just a crush. That it wasn’t just looks and longing. That behind all the glances and the jokes and the tension, there was something real. Something unspoken. Something complicated and off-limits and undeniable. Something even you weren’t sure you had the words to explain.

But for now, she didn’t have to know.

And you weren’t ready to tell her.

Not yet.

You stepped out of the bathroom behind Himeno, trying not to look as flustered as you felt. She’d just cornered you, smiling like she knew every secret you’d ever tried to keep. You hadn’t confirmed anything about Aki. Not really. But you didn’t deny it either.

Back at the booth, she’d taken your seat. Now the only spot left was beside him.

Fuck my life. Fuck my entire life.

You slid in without a word, thigh brushing his. He didn’t move. Neither did you.

Himeno launched into a story—something about a mission, a devil, some rookie mistake—but you barely registered it. Your focus was on the heat radiating off Aki’s body, the way his cologne curled around your senses, the quiet tension that always simmered between you. Worse now. Stronger.

God, he’s intoxicating.

You didn’t look at him, but you felt him. Every breath. Every shift. His arm grazed yours and your pulse jumped.

He reached across the table for a napkin – deliberately slow, brushing your fingers. Wiped his hands. Then, without a word, took the pen from the check holder and scribbled something quickly onto its white surface.

You felt it slide into your lap.

Your heart tripped over itself.

Everyone was still listening to Himeno, heads turned. You unfolded the note under the table.

I want to see you tonight.

You didn’t look up. Instead, you folded the napkin and slid it into your pocket. The front one, this time, though his letter from earlier sat like a harsh reminder in your back pocket. You glanced at him, as if to acknowledge that you’d read it, but said nothing more.

No, you didn’t have to.

You knew as much as he did that you would always make time for him.

5:15 PM

YOU: You still wanna see me tn? I just got off of work.

AKI: Of course. Can I come over?

YOU: like, to my apartment?

AKI: Where else?

YOU: asshole.

YOU: okay. sure. When do you get out?

AKI: Around 7. Sound good to you?

YOU: Bring booze?

AKI: Make that 7:30.

Sure enough, at 7:45 on the dot, there was a knock at your door. Naturally, as you had spent the past two hours or so pacing the length of your apartment and fussing over its appearance (as well as your own). Eventually, once you had sufficiently cleaned the place from top to bottom, you left yourself with very little time to figure out a suitable outfit. So little time, in fact, that the moment you tossed the doors of your closet open, you heard it.

Knock, knock.

Your heart leapt at the sound. Smoothing over your uniform – because, yes, you were still in your work clothes, God – you shuffled over to the front door of your apartment and undid the lock. Then, you turned the knob, and…

Fuck, there he was. Looking as pretty as ever, head damn near brushing the top of your door, eyes droopy. In his hand, he had two bags – assumedly filled to the brim with the booze you had asked him to bring. He was breathtaking.

And, most importantly, he looked drained.

“Hey,” He offered.

You offered a smile back, “Hey. You look tired.”

“You have no idea,” he muttered, and you watched him tilt his head to the side until his neck cracked audibly. The sound made you wince on instinct, even though you’d seen him do it dozens of times before. Still, something about the motion felt more vulnerable tonight—like his whole body was trying to shake something off.

You stepped aside and pulled the door open wider. “You can drop your stuff on the counter,” you said, voice casual. “I’m gonna shower.”

He slipped past you without another word, his shoulder brushing against yours. It felt hotter than it should have, considering how cold he usually ran. You shut the door behind him, locking it out of habit, and headed down the narrow hallway without looking back.

“Cool,” he said behind you, his voice following. “I’m coming too.”

You stopped, fingers halfway to the bathroom light. You looked over your shoulder. “Seriously?”

He just blinked at you, expression unreadable.

You gave a long-suffering sigh that wasn’t exactly sincere, but your chest felt a little tighter anyway. You didn’t argue. Of course you didn’t.

God, this is so fucking insane.

The light buzzed overhead when you flicked it on. That familiar yellow cast that made everything look warmer than it was. The vent hummed to life in the ceiling, a little too loud for the small space. You turned the faucet, adjusting the heat until the water came down in steady rivulets, fogging up the corners of the mirror.

Why am I so nervous?

It’s not like he hasn’t seen me naked before…

You peeled your shirt over your head with a quiet sigh, back still to him. Then your fingers hesitated at the waistband of your pants.

“Turn around,” you said, not looking. “Please.”

A beat passed. You heard the creak of the vinyl floor as he shifted.

Then: “Okay.”

You glanced to the side just enough to catch the angle of his shoulder. He really had turned. The sight made something flutter and catch in your ribs.

You undressed quickly, stepping out of your clothes and into the tub before your thoughts could catch up with your body. The water was hot, almost too hot, and you let it run down your back like a reset.

This is insane. This is insane and so wildly outside of the parameters we set.

You stood still under the spray, forehead tilted toward the tile, eyes shut. You could still feel him in the other room. Just a few feet away. Breathing.

Oh, God.

You were just beginning to relax when you heard it: the soft rustle of the shower curtain sliding open. Not rushed. Not hesitant. Deliberate.

Your eyes opened slowly. But you didn’t turn.

A moment later, you felt him. Felt his warmth behind you. Felt the tender kiss he pressed to the back of your neck, like he felt it belonged there.

And, just like that, any concern you previously had melted right off of your shoulders.

There was no question in the way you kissed him. No lead-up. No pause.

Just the way your hands slid up his bare chest, and the way his fingers came to rest gently at your hips as your mouths met—soft, then not so soft. Like neither of you wanted to admit how much you’d needed this. How much you missed him, even when he was right in front of you.

He pulled back first, just an inch, his forehead nearly brushing yours. You looked at each other like that for a long second, the steam making everything a little hazy. His eyes searched yours—quiet, cautious.

Then he reached behind him.

Grabbed the shampoo.

Poured a bit into his hand. “Can I?” he asked, voice low, almost shy in the echo of the bathroom. He was already stepping closer, one palm hovering just above your scalp, waiting.

You nodded. You didn’t trust your voice to hold steady.

His fingers were careful, threading through your hair slowly, gently—circling at your temples, behind your ears, cradling the back of your head like it was something fragile.

And it confused the fuck out of you.

He was never like this before. Never soft. Never slow. He was controlled. Sharp. Stoic to a fault.

So what the hell was this?

You stood still, eyes closed, trying not to shiver at the way his hands handled you like you mattered. Like this wasn’t just some quiet moment under hot water. Like it meant something.

And the worst part?

You loved it. You fucking loved it.

When he was done, he tilted your chin back gently, easing your head under the stream to rinse the soap from your hair. One hand stayed firm at your neck, steadying you, fingers curled lightly against your skin.

You kept your eyes closed, your hands wrapped loosely around his wrists. You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

Fuck, this is nice.

But the silence between you wasn’t empty.

It told you that maybe he wasn’t as in control as he let on. Maybe this was his first time being so intimate with a woman, too. Maybe he, too, couldn’t help but go down the rabbit hole with you.

When the last of the bubbles had rinsed away, you reached for the bottle in the corner and mirrored his movements. He didn’t ask. Didn’t have to. He ducked his head slightly as you pumped the shampoo into your palms and ran your hands carefully through his hair.

You worked slowly, mindful of the tension in his shoulders, the tight set of his jaw. You could feel it—the way he carried everything in his body. The weight of whatever he didn’t say.

His blue eyes drifted closed as you lathered his scalp up, your fingers soft against him, your body pressed just close enough to feel the shift in his breath. You stood on your toes without thinking, trying to reach, one hand braced against his shoulder for balance. He didn’t move. Just let you touch him. Let you take care of him.

And for once, he let it show—how much he needed that.

He was a human, too.

Still, if you would have told the you from two months ago that this would be going down in your bathroom, she would have told you that you were crazy.

You tilted his head back under the water, careful, rinsing the suds from his hair while the water coursed down his back and over his face. One hand steadied him at his jaw, the other brushed through his hair to guide the last of the shampoo away. His lashes stayed wet and dark, his brows relaxed. Like the weight he'd been carrying had finally slipped off.

You’d never seen him like this before.

So… vulnerable?

Then again, you hadn’t been this open with another person in God knows how long.

You had spun together without thinking. It was instinct, the way your bodies moved around each other—wordless, fluid—until he was standing beneath the stream of water, eyes blinking through the droplets that gathered on his lashes. You watched him for a second too long, breath caught somewhere in your throat, every nerve tuned to the warmth radiating off him and the space he took up so effortlessly.

Then he kissed you.

Slow. Measured. Like he had all the time in the world and planned to waste it here, on you.

His hand settled at the small of your back, and it lingered there – entirely too casual, like he didn’t know what it did to you. Like he didn’t know how you’d been thinking about him since the second he walked through your door. But he did. You knew he did.

The kiss deepened, and the ache in your chest returned with a vengeance (because of course it did).

When he pulled back, his face was a little too close, eyes a little too warm. You swore the steam had nothing on the heat flooding your cheeks.

“You come in here just to bang, or do you actually wanna get clean?” you muttered with a half-smile, trying to will away how breathless you sounded.

A smirk tugged at his mouth. “I wasn’t thinking that at all. Maybe you’re the one who needs to get clean.”

You turned from him, feigning indifference, fighting the grin tugging at your lips. “You’re such an ass.”

He didn’t deny it.

You barely made it two steps before his hand curled into your wet hair. Not harsh, just firm enough to stop you mid-motion. A quiet gasp caught in your throat, spine straightening on instinct. You knew that grip too well by now. He wasn’t pulling you to hurt. He was pulling you back. Back to him.

You let him.

Your breath trembled as you turned, gaze flicking up to meet his. And there it was again – want, plain and sharp in the slant of his eyes. Something possessive.

He kissed you before you could even blink.

It was wetter this time, messier from the water that streamed over both of you. His hand slid around your waist, your back meeting the wall with a soft, echoing thud. You weren’t even pretending anymore – your fingers clutched his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing the anchor of his body to keep from floating out of yourself entirely. There was an ache between your legs, a warmth that seemed to come only when he was around.

“Aki,” you breathed between kisses, giggling softly, “let go.”

But you didn’t mean it. No, of course you didn’t.

You didn’t push him away.

Because the truth was, neither of you had any idea how to stop. You were too far gone, too wrapped up in this fucking… thing that wasn’t supposed to happen, wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

You had rules. Boundaries. No strings. No feelings.

And yet – here you were.

Trapped between tile and temptation, letting him kiss you like it was the only honest thing either of you knew how to do. Letting him touch you like you belonged to him. Like this was more than a secret. More than a mistake.

You knew you were both lying to yourselves. But, fuck it.

You melted into him anyway.

It was warm in your apartment. Well, it may have been the four beers in your system. That, or it could have been the very shirtless Captain Hayakawa lounging next to you on your old sofa, donning nothing more than a pair of shorts you leant him. His head was tossed back, draining the last few droplets out of a can of beer. A bead of water slipped off of his hair and rolled down the apex of his neck. You watched it with a strange sort of hunger, eyes trailing the path of the water as it dripped down his bare, chiseled chest.

On the TV, the news was on. You hadn’t decided on a movie, yet. Nor had you paid any real attention to anything that the channel covered in the past few minutes. You watched Aki set the empty can down and reach for another. Strong arms tensed while he popped the thing open, flexed as brought the thing up to his lips, relaxed as he set it down beside him and let his head roll back over the top of the couch.

He was painfully beautiful, you thought, even now – with nothing more than the light of the television to illuminate the sharp slopes of his face, with drops of water clinging to his lashes like dew. His eyes were tired, so tired.

“Tiring day at work?” You finally asked.

He nodded. Didn’t speak. Just nodded, and let his head fall sideways, eventually settling it against your shoulder like it belonged there.

Okay, what the fuck is going on?

You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe, almost. Just stared at the TV, heart doing laps in your chest, wondering what it meant that he did this so easily—rested on you like he trusted you, like he needed to be close.

Minutes passed. His breath evened out. Your eyes burned from not blinking.

And then he stirred, slowly, and turned his face into your neck.

His fingers brushed your cheek, found a piece of hair and tucked it behind your ear. A gentle, careless kind of intimacy. Familiar. Soft.

It made your stomach twist.

You didn’t mean to say it out loud.

“What is this?”

His fingers paused in your hair.

He didn’t pull back. He didn’t speak, either.

You shifted to look at him, pulling away enough to see his face. “Because you tell me there’s no feelings. You tell me this isn’t a thing. And I’ve tried—I’ve really tried to believe that.”

He blinked, once. Jaw tight. You kept going.

“But then you do all of this nice shit,” you said, voice cracking just a little. “You call me for no reason. You come over even when you’re tired. You–” You laughed, bitterly. “You shower with me and wash my fucking hair. That’s not—”

“That’s not fair, Aki,” You shook your head. “I need to know what this is.”

“I don’t even know anymore,” he said quietly, eyes flicking away from you.

“Of course you don’t.” You leaned back, putting space between you. “Because it’s easier for you if we don’t talk about it, right? If I don’t ask what this is, if I just keep playing along like none of this is confusing as hell for me.”

His lips parted, but nothing came out.

“You get to touch me like you care about me,” you went on, hurt bleeding through your voice, “and then pretend none of it meant anything once your head clears.”

Yeah, tell his ass!

“I never said it didn’t mean anything,” he snapped suddenly, sitting up. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Then what does it mean?” You met his gaze, your voice too loud now. “What the hell am I supposed to make of this, Aki? Because I’m not just some—convenient body to crash into when you’re tired and lonely.”

He ran a hand down his face, agitated. “You’re not,” he muttered. “You know you’re not. God, you’re so much more than that.”

“Then tell me what I am!” You asked, exasperated, “Tell me what we are? I can’t be tangled in purgatory forever.”

He looked at you like he hated that you were asking. Like the answer scared him as much as it scared you.

“I can’t,” he said finally, voice low. “I don’t know what we are. I can’t… I can’t stay away from you. I don’t know what I feel, but I– I don’t know– Fuck, I don’t know, okay?”

You laughed, hollow and sharp. “Right. Because if you say it out loud, it becomes real. And real things can hurt you.”

“Don’t—” He stood abruptly, ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t turn this into some therapy session.”

“You’re the one who keeps acting like this matters and then pretending it doesn’t,” you said, standing too. “You want me close, but you won’t let me in. You kiss me like you mean it and then shut down the second I ask why.”

His eyes locked on yours. Angry. Defensive. But beneath all of it—tired.

“You think this is easy for me?” he said, tone just a notch higher. “You think I don’t feel that something’s off here?”

“Then why won’t you just say it?” you whispered.

“Because we agreed,” He replied. “This can’t be anything.”

Silence fell between you like glass shattering across the floor.

Neither of you moved.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked at you like he wanted to reach for you, but couldn’t.

“But you keep on coming around. Why? Why can’t you just leave me alone if it’s so fucking hard to make sense of it?” You blinked at him, blinked away the water pooling at the corners of your eyes. “It’s not fair to me that you keep playing this game of push-and-pull with me. You don’t get to want me and keep pretending you don’t.”

Aki took another sip of his beer. “You’re acting like you don’t agree to see me. You could wake up one day and decide you don’t need me making a mess in your life and, to be honest, I wouldn’t blame you,” He sighed. “I’m emotionally unavailable, I’m a confusing mess– I told you that we were bad for each other, and yet here we are.”

“I know,” You cried out, “You think I haven’t gone over every reason why I shouldn’t answer your texts? Why I shouldn’t keep seeing you?”

Aki set the can down on the coffee table with a soft thud. He didn’t look at you. Just stared ahead at the TV, eyes half-lidded, unreadable. He always did that – retreated inward the second things got real.

“But I do,” you went on, bitter now. “I always do. Because I’m weak when it comes to you. Because even when I’m mad, even when I want to scream at you for being so fucking cold, I still want you close.”

He finally turned his head toward you. “I get that feeling. I really do.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls you fuck, Aki,” You sighed, tired and fed up, and–

“I’ve never had this before,” Aki swallowed. “Otherwise, I think I’d know how to handle it.”

Oh.

The silence stretched on a moment longer than what was comfortable for you.

“You were right,” you murmured, barely able to look at him. “This was a stupid idea.”

The words scraped your throat on the way out, like you’d swallowed glass just to say them. And maybe you had. It hurt to admit it, even though part of you had known all along. That this wouldn’t work. That it was already unraveling at the seams. That you had handed your heart to someone who had never promised to hold it gently.

You should have walked away. You should have ended it now, before you got hurt.

And yet, even as the words left your mouth, you could feel his presence pressing into the space between you two. The way he was leaning against the couch, a steady breath in the quiet air. His eyes were tired, worn from a day that had clearly drained him, but there was something else in the way his lips tugged upward just barely as he turned to face you, something that made you ache with the softest of yearnings.

You wished you could say that he didn’t care.

But that was the problem. He did care, in his own way, but it was never the way you needed. It was fragments. Patches. Always just enough to keep you from walking away, but never enough to make you feel safe in the storm of your feelings. He’d kiss you like you meant something, press his lips into your neck like it was his silent apology, but then disappear back into himself before you could ask if this meant something more.

God, you hated this.

Because you couldn’t even despise him for it. No, you knew that he was just as confused as you were.

Aki didn’t answer right away, not for a long stretch of time. He just stared at the TV. The empty space between you felt like a weight you couldn’t shake, yet there was something about his silence that seemed… tender. Unfamiliar?

“Yeah, it was stupid,” he finally said, the words thick like he had been chewing them for far too long. His voice was low, calm, and yet it carried an edge. “But we both knew that.”

“I mean, look at us.” You let out a small, humorless laugh, folding your arms tightly across your chest. “We don’t even know what we’re doing. This – whatever this is – it’s horrible. For both of us.”

His gaze flicked toward you, then dropped back to his lap. A beat of silence passed before he nodded, quiet and slow. “Yeah.”

But neither of you moved. Not away from each other. Not toward anything either. You just sat there, paralyzed in the limbo of everything unsaid.

You were supposed to mean those words. You did mean them. You knew the danger of being this close to someone who couldn’t love you back the way you wanted. Who gave you fragments and silence, and yet somehow, it was still enough to keep you hanging on.

“So why not?” His voice broke the stillness, soft but heavy. He wasn’t looking at you. “Why not leave? I wouldn’t hate you for it. I couldn’t. In fact, I think I’d probably do the same thing. Just say the word, and we’ll go back to the way things were.”

Because I miss you when you’re gone, even when I swear I don’t.

Because I replay every touch, every look, every moment where it felt like maybe you cared a little too much.

Because you looked at me like I meant something – and I believed it, even when I shouldn’t have.

You felt your throat close up.

Because I…

“I don’t know,” you said, voice hoarse with the weight of everything unsaid. “I just... I don’t want to stop seeing you.”

He let out a short, bitter laugh. The kind that didn’t reach his eyes. “I was hoping you wouldn’t say that.”

You turned to look at him then, brows furrowing. “Why?”

His jaw flexed, like he was biting something back. He took a breath, eyes fixed on the ceiling like it would make saying this easier. “Because I don’t either,” he said. “I was hoping you’d tell me to go away. Make the decision for both of us.”

Your chest ached, a dull, familiar pressure.

God, you were tired. Tired of pretending this was casual. Tired of acting like you didn’t want more. Tired of kissing him like it was the last time, every time.

You breathed out, tried to steady your voice, because you had no intention of putting an end to whatever this was. “We’re screwed, then, aren’t we?”

Aki turned his head to look at you again. And this time, he held your gaze. Really held it.

“Probably,” he said.

And still, neither of you moved.

No, that night, you and Aki slept on the couch together – slept with your back to his chest and his arm draped around your body like a shield. Like you would disappear if he let go.

a/n: puts on therapy glasses... so... how did that make yall feel? LMFAO! omg i promise there is more coming and this is not the end of this argument, don't you worry. but ugh what did we think my heart burns for them i hate them both so much like just SHUT UP AND KISS. ugh. anyway thank you all again for being sosososo patient, now that i'm home for the summer, i'll stock up on chapters so we dont have an absence like this again. Also... new aki oneshot coming soon. keep ur pretty eyes peeled bb ;)) yk itll be juicy. x

credits: einruji__ on twitter . I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

taglist: @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505 , @acethebrave , @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505 , @mrshayakawaa, @xxpr3ttyk173rxx

wanna join the taglist? | pornstar ; chapter index

#are they lovers? worse #notiddygxthgf ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚#prnstar •#aki x reader #aki hayakawa x reader #aki hayakawa #csm x reader #hayakawa aki x reader #chainsaw man x reader #aki smut #aki fluff

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pinkkop · 1 day ago

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This week's recap is brought to you by tumblr's "Potentially Mature" content label which seems to have no concept of what might actually be mature because apparently Prod gushing to Hem about his confession fits within that category🙄

QL Recap for Week 18

The 28th of April to the 4th of May

🇹🇭 Pit babe 2

Episode 1 of 13 || Watching on: iQiYi, Friday

We are so back!! And we certainly started off with a bang (literally) and I'm so ready for this season. It's good to know that Babe still absolute loves getting railed and Charlie is up for the challenge. Surprisingly I'm most excited for Sonic and North. The awkwardness in their first interaction was immaculate and was just the perfect setup for their story. Lets make a prayer circle for someone to get pregnant at some point during this season 🕯️🕯️🕯️

🇹🇭 My Stubborn

Episode 3 of 12 || Watching on: iQiYi, Sunday

Seems like Sorn has been down bad for a long while! The plot thickens!! They're absolute idiots and this is going to become such a mess but I am absolutely loving this. Loved the conversation about top vs bottom, even though we still need a little bit more nuance, we've come a long way with this topic. Also the NC scenes are still absolute fire as I was hoping they would be.

🇹🇭 Lost in the Woods

Episode 7 of 7 || Watching on: Gagaoolala, Wednesday

Oh this show was special! I loved the slow burn and the characters. It just left me feeling fulfilled and like I'd witnessed something special. It felt fresh and gentle and warm and kind and I'll carry this show with me for a long time. It's definitely on the 180 Degree Longitude Passes Through Us spectrum of BL so if your idea of what a BL is is very narrow you might not like this show. Definitely going to try and make a final post about this show but I'm going to have to let it simmer a bit in my mind before I can find all the right words to articulate why I liked this so much.

🇹🇭 The Next Prince

Episode 1 of 14 || Watching on: iQiYi, Saturday

This was a promising start. I loved the soundtrack and Nunew and Zee are talented as always. I am finding it a little hard not to judge the show a little bit because we know how expensive it was to make, which is also obvious from the sets, clothing etc. This does, however, mean that when a scene is meant to be set at a uni party in London and all the actors have questionable accents and English abilities I don't feel as forgiving as I might normally. I just wish they'd spent a little more time and money on that. I know we're probably not going to see any of those characters again but still. I'm hoping I'll be able to kinda forget the production cost as we go along and get completely immersed in the show but I'm not there yet.

🇹🇭 The Bangkok Boy

Episode 2 of 12 || Watching on: Gagaoolala, Saturday

It's crazy that our leads haven't even really met yet and it's ep 2. It makes me intrigued for how this show is going to unfold because it's so atypical for BLs. Really like the acting of the show and the concept, though it definitely is a show that so far has needed a trigger warning for both episodes. It seems like the mafia plot is going to take the front seat so I might have to go back and watch some of the scenes again so I can get all the expositions.

🇹🇭 Boys in Love

Episode 3 of 12 || Watching on: Youtube, Sunday

They're really cute and I do like all the student characters and interactions and how the relationships are evolving but this show feels kinda like we're bumbling along with no real road map which is a pity. I also don't think the kids taking the camera felt like just teasing. Papang's character was very distraught and the kids saw that so it feels more like bullying to me.

🇹🇭 My Golden Blood

Episode 8 of 12 || Watching on: Youtube, Wednesday

Spent most of my time during this episode not being able to take the show seriously and making jokes about possible connections to Twilight, which I think describes my experience watching this show well. There are just so many other better shows airing right now and this show just doesn't have me hooked.

🇹🇭 I'm Your Moon

Episode 8 of 8 || Watching on: iQiYi, Sunday

I guess that's one way of getting out your arranged marriage: getting shipwrecked and then stranded in France where you stay until your fiance moves on to a different arranged marriage. This show was very much a pulp but I find that easier to deal with because it leaned in the lakorn direction with a lot of drama. It's not necessarily a good show but it's also not a bad show but I think the fact that I watched it until end does speak volumes.

🇹🇼 Fight for You

Episode 7 of 12 || Watching on: Gagaoolala, Friday

This show is certainly happening. Like it's not really good but also not really bad. If this suddenly doesn't show up in future weekly recaps I hope you won't miss it. Honestly, seeing that we're only on ep 7 of 12 makes me tired.

That's it for this week!!

For links and airing schedule check out World of BL (Only for BLs)

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kirietown · 2 days ago

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Star Burster | Part III

Pairing: clark kent x f!reader

Summary: a cute first date takes a bit of a bad turn.

Content: period typical sexism

18+

[chapter one] [chapter two] [chapter three]

Word count: 2.6K

a/n: we’re going to collectively pretend that cars were mass produced & available during this period…

Despite his clumsiness, Clark was a good driver. He picked you up at one o'clock sharp, and led you into his family's automobile with a bouquet of lilies in hand which you had to rush inside with and find a good vase before you headed off. The ride itself was only about a half hour, which was relatively short for the old rural town. Smallville might have been small, but it wasn't that ideal for walking, not unless you expected to get somewhere by nightfall. The ride had been quiet, though not unbearably so, as it was more of a calm quiet with Clark humming a tune here and there. You'd hardly noticed his vehicle had been parked until you heard the thunk of his door opening, and his hurried footsteps rushing over to your side and opening up your door. A classic gentleman, he was.

"I- I know that it's a little early i-in the day, but I thought you'd appreciate not having to deal with no crowds," he said sheepishly as he led you by the hand out of the lot and to the ticket booth. You hummed in response, your eyes latching onto the various booths and attractions.

"Oh!" you cried. Clark's head turned to you in surprise as he shoved the various tickets he'd bought into his pocket. "Oh Clark, we have to see the acrobats!" The sign outside the massive tent showed an imagining of what looked to be a Romani couple and a young boy soaring through the air, the bold elegant writing below titled them The Flying Graysons. It looked as though their next show wouldn't start until tomorrow however, and you felt your excitement flatten.

As if sensing your sadness, Clark spoke calmingly. "Not to worry, I- I just know there has to be other fun events going on today."

…

He'd been right as the two of you went all around the fair, looking at new trinkets, and seeing all sorts of fun tricks. There had been a man who swallowed an entire sword in one go! That one had been by far the most impressive if not for the escape artist, Mister Miracle, who could escape from anything he put his mind to.

“Oh this one looks new,” you paused. It looked like a typical strength testing game, with a scale and a hammer to match. The difference from all the rest being the giant wooden cut out of the Superman standing tall next to it. The owner of the game beamed when he noticed your concerned look, likely mistaking it for intimidation.

“How’s ’bout ya let ya man take a swing at this, huh?” He chortled, a deep laugh as though the thought of Clark winning a strength based game was hilarious. Clark stood at six feet, and about extra five inches, yet despite his height, many assumed him to be some sort of wimp due to his demeanour.

“Why’s it gotta be my man?” You asked curiously. “You don’t think I could win your little game?”

The man laughed even louder, “a little lady like you?”

“I’m hardly little,” you replied. Your brow quirked up as he continued to laugh, tears practically falling out of his aged brown eyes.

“Now, I don’t think you’re giving my fiancée a fair chance,” Clark chirped up. You angled around to face him, noting his lips were screwed up as if he were holding back from saying more.

“Alright alright,” the man finally relented. “Hand me ya tickets and I’ll let the lady have her shot, but I don’t call this the Superman for nothing, ya hear?” He turned to you, his face in a sneer. “So don’t start crying if ya don’t getcha prize in the end.”

You merely scoffed in response before lifting the hammer, doing your best not to let your nerves show. The hammer was a heavy wooden one, and you were careful not to let it give you splinters as you walked over to a better position near the trigger you needed to hit. You noted Clark was standing quite close.

”Careful now, Clark,” you said. “I don’t wanna accidentally get your foot.”

Your fiancé only offered a small smile. “I trust you,” he said. “Now let’s show him?”

Those words led you to take a deep breath, and you shut your eyes before you reopened them and drove the hammer down onto the trigger. You weren’t sure if it was the adrenaline pumping through your veins, but it almost felt like a strong gust of wind came crashing down with you as soon as the hammer hit the trigger. You watched as the little ball rose all the way up the beam and struck the bell signalling that you had won the game.

“Damn!” You said gleefully. The game owner cussed at the same time.

“Ain’t nobody’s beaten this game ever, and somehow a little lady did?” He cried in shock. “Well, ain’t that a lesson for me…”

“If no one’s won it before, surely that’s a sign to make the game a little easier for fairness sake?” Clark spoke, a half smile quirked on his face. “Unless you’re our little superwoman right here, of course.” You blushed at his words, still riding off the high of your win. Sometimes, you liked to hear Clark when he spoke to others. He never stuttered as much, it was as though that part of him was reserved for you funny enough.

“This here’s a business, not some charity,” the owner laughed, handing you a teddy bear.

“Speaking of,” you said, accepting your prize. “Did ya get permission to use his face for your game here?” You continued, pointing towards the painted wooden face of Superman.

“What’s he gonna do, sue me?” The man replied with a roll of his eyes before ushering the two of you away.

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but let out a laugh, thinking about your victory.

“Looks like all my years helping out on the farm have really made me super strong, Clark,” you said.

“You certainly showed him,” he responded with a goofy grin.

You'd had a lot of fun playing the other games the fair had to offer, as you soon learnt that Clark had good aim despite his usual lack of coordination. However, it did land you into a few disputes with the respective workers because they swore he had to have cheated somehow. Indeed, you defended Clark from the likes of them as if your life depended on it. They were just a bunch of no good scam artists! After that, the two of you, along with your many stuffed bears, decided to make your final destination the beautiful ferris wheel ride.

"You were right about the crowds, I remember coming by the fair one summer with my ma, and it felt like I had to wait hours to get on this damn ride. But we're already at the front and it's barely been a minute," you praised. Your eyes glued to Clark's arms, making sure that if he dropped any of your beloved teddy bears from today he'd earn an earful. So far he'd been good, but you still kept your eye on him, counting all eleven of your new babies.

"Well, so-sometimes, when y-you're a kid, well, time goes by slow, don't ya think?" He replied. The bears shaking as he spoke, causing a giggle from you. "That sound," he said. "I can't get enough of it."

His voice, void of the meekness, void of the stutter. For a second, for a brief moment you felt something deep inside you turn at the deepness. It felt familiar, but it was easier not to question it, especially when it was now your turn up into the ferris wheel. You bounded on, the worker letting you adjust in your seat as you watched Clark approach, before he suddenly came to a stop, as though he heard something. Clark stilled for a moment before he approached you timidly, he bent over as though to tell you a little secret.

"Gee," he said. "S-seeing it up close, I-- I don't think I- quite con-conquered my fear of heights. I- I think I-l'll put these little guys in the automobile, and wait for-for you once the ride's over." He turned quickly then, barely waiting for a response from you as he walked away still clutching onto those teddy bears like his life depended on it. You continued to watch his back as the ride whirred to life, your body floating higher and higher into the sky, but your eyes still focused on the giant man until you lost sight of him amongst the crowd.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t disappointed. After all, ferris wheels were supposed to be romantic, weren’t they? Nonetheless, you tried to enjoy the view, taking in the sight of the perimeter of the fair. It really was large, and from this height you could see that you hadn’t gotten a chance to see a small farmer’s market that had been set up along the western edge. Maybe you could ask Clark to give it a stop before your journey home. If he refused, it would sour your date considering his fear of the ferris wheel, but you doubted he would.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the ferris wheel lurching to a halt. You sighed, assuming it was just rusty, until a sound of screeching reached your ears and suddenly you felt as though you were sliding onto an angle. People’s screams echoed through your skull as the riders around you panicked, their shaking caused the hinges to loosen more.

You held your breath, gripping onto the handles of your seat. You steadied yourself, and shut your eyes. Your mom had taught you that during these moments, it was important to pray, and you’d be safe. But, the man you prayed to surely wasn’t the one she had in mind. No, certainly not, as you might as well have prayed to the devil in her eyes if she knew of your coupling.

No, you had shut your eyes, and whispered, as if knowing he’d hear, “Superman,” and for a moment there was nothing. It frightened you because you realized the screams had stopped and you didn’t know why. That was, until you felt a strong pair of arms wrap themselves delicately around you.

“You called?” He said as he lifted you into the air. The sound of the ferris wheel creaking.

“We have a lot to talk about,” you said. Your eyes were still shut, refusing to open them, knowing that currently you were suspended in the air and the only thing keeping you afloat was the man who been running through your mind since the day you met him.

“Indeed we do,” he replied, and you shivered as you felt how close his lips were to your neck. A sudden warmth flooded in your gut at the memory you shared. “I’ll visit you tonight, but I can’t show favouritism right now… I also have a bad guy to catch.”

You opened your eyes, sensing yourself being lowered slowly.

“What about the other people on the ride?” You asked, suddenly worried. He only gave you a half smile in response.

”I’ve already gotten them all down to safety, I didn’t think it would hurt to take my time with you.”

“I thought you couldn’t show favouritism,” you replied in a snarky tone. His feet were now on the ground, and he let you go as a crowd instantly formed around the two of you.

“Sometimes,” he whispered. “I suppose I can break my own rules when it comes to you.” You didn’t reply, as the crowd all gathered, displacing you amongst them. You watched for a moment, a bright smile on his face as mothers’ brought their children close to him. It looked as though he cared deeply, you knew then that he loved doing what he did despite how the people suffocated him. He said his apologies and then took off into the sky and towards a nearby tent.

He had said something about bad guys before he left you, and suddenly you came to the realization that perhaps the ferris wheel malfunctioning wasn’t no accident.

…

It took you ages to spot Clark amongst the giant crowd that had formed, especially as the sheriff and his crew had also turned up to grab the culprits that Superman had left behind for them. You weren’t sure why he didn’t stick around, though you assumed he had other people to save considering you knew that he’d been spotted all over the world. You felt he had a particular soft spot for Smallville. Perhaps it was your own bias but you believed anyone who came to Smallville had a soft spot for the town and its people.

“Are you alright?” Clark asked when he saw you. “I— I didn’t k-know what to think wh-when I saw the big crowd, and why, I- I nearly fainted when I heard something ha-had to the ferris wheel.” He breathed a deep sigh. “I- I should’ve stayed with you,—“

”It’s alright, Clark,” you said lightly. “Let’s head on home now,” you smiled. That feeling of guilt had once again returned, though not for your previous actions. But in the fact that it was Clark you had to comfort just now, it was Clark you had to reassure. You felt resentment bubble over in you, but it didn’t come with anger, instead it came with guilt.

You felt guilty because he was a good man, and a small part of you wished he was an even greater man. The date had gone well, it really did. But the thought at the back of your brain that resented Clark for leaving you alone in the first place had you a bit bothered.

It wasn’t his fault, of course it wasn’t and you knew that, and you felt like an awful person for thinking this way.

“I didn’t know you were scared of heights,” you said quietly after you had stepped into his automobile together.

“I— I suppose I didn’t either until I— I came face to face with the ride,” he replied, his eyes downcast. “I- I hope you don’t think less of me after today,” he murmured.

“I think… I think I was just disappointed, that’s all,” you replied. “But I suppose it’s for the best, after all, it wouldn’t have helped your fear had you been on it when the accident happened.”

“I suppose not… But it wasn’t right of me to leave you alone,” he replied. His tone was earnest. He turned to face you, his hand hesitantly opening to offer you assurance. Gracefully you placed yours in his, welcoming his warmth and softness. “I promise never to leave you like that again, I— I was cowardly, dear, a-and just the thought of you terrified all alone up in that ride until he came, well, I— I don’t know how I can sleep tonight…”

Your heart ached at his words, suddenly aware of how you truly had given into your negative thoughts about Clark just as he had suspected. It wasn’t fair for you to judge him for this, it hadn’t been fair that he left you all alone, but it wasn’t like he could have saved you had he been there.

“I want you to sleep comfortably, Clark,” you replied before taking his hand up and pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. “I always want you to sleep comfortably.” He offered a squeeze back in response, his eyes obscured by his curls but the red of his cheeks as visible as the sun on a hot summer’s day.

“Thank you for today,” you mumbled, and pressed your lips against his hand once again. The first kiss was reassurance, and the second was an apology for whatever would happen tonight behind the closed doors of your bedroom once he said his goodbyes. You kissed his knuckles again, and realized you needed to kiss his hands until the day you died to make up for your sins; past and future.

Was it possible to let a good man come between you and another good man? If so, well, what did that make you?

#kirietownwrites #clark kent fanfiction #clark kent x reader #dc x reader #superman fanfic #superman x reader #dc fanfic

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gorgeous777 · 2 days ago

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Letters, Fred Weasley x Fem. Reader

Written exchanges between you and your boyfriend over the summer

A/N: For purposes of the fic, no Voldemort. This takes place between Fred and the reader's sixth and seventh year

Part One of the Letters series

Enjoy!

-------------------------------------

July 27, 1994

Dear Freddie my love,

Hi.

First letter of the summer is always the hardest to write. I'm sorry it took me two weeks to write. You've been the only thing on my mind. I think a hug from you could cure me of this heartache. Needless to say, I miss you. I miss your dumb jokes and all the trick you play to get my attention. I don't like being halfway across the country from you, rather than the handful of staircases that normally stand between us. It's strange, I get so used to Hogwarts that it feels more like home than home does. But when I finally feel like home is home, it's time to go back to Hogwarts. It's a cycle, that's for sure.

Luckily though, this is the last time I have to go through it. I'm still not positive how I feel about us officially being seventh years now. I almost feel like this is all just some long drawn-out fever dream. How do I go from living at school for seven years (save the summer) straight to just being an adult? I mean yeah, I already have plans set and my career picked out, but I can't shake some of the anxiety.

Enough with all that negativity though.

How are you? How're you settling in? Have you and George made more business plans for your shop yet? Is Harry staying with you guys again? Did you find the picture I hid in your trunk? If not, then surprise! I hope you like it. I have a million other some odd questions to ask you. But for the time being, I'll let you answer all of those. Give me all the details, even if they're small or stupid. I wanna know everything.

Love yours only,

Y/N

7/28/94

To my #1 fan,

First off, two weeks was pure torture. I considered writing you first, but I restrained hard to keep my promise to let you be the first to. I was beginning to think you forgot. Really, I'm relived you didn't. You could have just sent a letter with a simple "hi" and some doodles and I would have been grinning like a madman.

I miss you too. It's bloody weird not being able to see your face everyday. I really miss that look you get when I tell one of my "lame" jokes that you try not to laugh at. (Spoiler alert: you fail every time) I did find your picture, almost instantly. You didn't hide it very well. I love it though and I put it on my nightstand. George has been teasing me endlessly about it. He swears I sigh like a lovesick victorian boy whenever I look at it. Lies. (Mostly) ((Not a lie at all))

We've been experimenting making to products to sell. Right now we're busy with one called SnogDrops. The name was my idea. Other than that it's same same. Our goal is to open the shop come next summer. And Harry is here, yeah. Mum as usual is thrilled to have him around, so is Ginny. Go figure. I'd be thrilled to have you here too. As for seventh year.. Yeah that whole train of thought is just mental. But you'll be just fine, you always are. If not, I'm here with a shoulder to cry on and "bad jokes" to cheer you up with.

Write back sooner than two weeks or I swear I'll follow your owl back to your house.

Hug waiting here when you want it, or several. Probably some snogs too.

Your favorite, Fred

P.S. Answer all your questions for me too

July 31st, 1994

Dear Favorite of Mine,

No need to follow O/N home. I'm glad things are going good with your guy's business plans, though I did doubt they would be going unlike planned. I've been doing surprisingly well. Better than usual anyway. I've slept in the t-shirt you gave me literally every night, so I'm pretty sure that's part of it. Your smell is comforting on several different levels. Other than that'd I've spent a good amount of time outside. Nothing too exciting or potentially dangerous like a hike or something. I've been hanging out in my gardens and reading mostly.

Boring, I know. I've enjoyed it though. My aunt gifted me a small stack of fiction muggle books so that's been they've been the subject of my attention. They actually aren't as bad as I thought they'd be. My mum said that muggles have no writing skills or creativity, but so far she's been incorrect. I've also gone swimming twice. I plan on going again here in a day or two with my cousins.

Have you gone swimming yet? Or do you not have anywhere close enough to. We have this huge pond not to far from the manor. It's practically a small lake. And I haven't drowned yet. Which, is surprising. Swimming isn't my strong suit by any means. But hey, a win is a win. For now.

I wish you were here having all this fun with me. I'm gonna try to talk my dad into letting you come stay the weekend with us or something. Not this one though, obviously. Speaking of, tell Harry I said happy birthday and give him all my best. I'd send him a card or something, but I feel like that'd be a bit awkward y'know?

Anyhow, if I don't get to see you soon I think I might actually drop dead at any given moment. It's gotten to the point were I seriously think I've started missing your horrible jokes. That's bad. That's really, really bad. I'm holding you to those several hugs too, so be prepared.

Love your biggest fan,

Y/N

P.S. Dad said yes, time doesn't matter

8/2/94

To the future Mrs. Weasley,

Happy to hear my shirt is being put to good use. I recon it looks a whole lot better on you than it ever did me too. Not as happy about your potential drowning. Be careful, yeah? For your own well being and mine. I feel like a total wet mop worrying about you. On that note, I haven't gone swimming yet. That can change though, say I do come spend the weekend at yours. Will your parents mind if I get there by Floo Powder? We can work that out.

I'll talk to my mum about it regardless. Doubt she'll have any problem with it so long as I tell her your address. Things over here are chaotic, as normal. George nearly burned off his eyebrow yesterday working on a prototype. Besides that, things are mostly good in making products. As for your confession..

I won't lie, I reread that bit more times than I counted. I'm taking it as full permission to come at you with at least three horrible puns the next time I see you (hopefully in a few days). You'll get your hugs then too. Something else too, but that bit's a surprise ;) I'll make sure to be decent around your parents too, but I can't promise I won't sneak into your room if they put me in a different one. Cuddling you is an opportunity I refuse to miss out on. Especially after being away from you for so bloody long. Be ready or not.

Your personal court jester, Fred.

P.S. Harry says thank you

August 9, 1994

Dear Court Jester,

I had so much fun this weekend. I wish you didn't have to go home. If I could, I'd keep you with me at all times. But, I suppose that you do have a family of your own to go spend time with too. Thank you again for the necklace, it was in fact a new surprise. I was completely expecting you saying that to be an innuendo. Still, I should know to expect the unexpected from you by now. I can also confirm my parents didn't hear you sneaking into my room at night. Or if they did, they haven't said anything.

Either way, that was the best I've slept in months. Makes me miss our naps together at school when we skip class. It'll have to be a must do on the train ride back to Hogwarts. Oh, and, that hickey you left on the back of my shoulder didn't go unnoticed by my cousin, so thanks for the single most humiliating moment of my life. They all think we got down now. You wish. (I wish too but not gonna happen until we graduate, so keep dreaming lover boy)

Also, you left your jumper of here if you were looking for it. I'm not sending it back to you, it's mine now. You're welcome. I hate how busy the next three weeks are gonna be that with getting everything read for school. Packing, shopping, y'know all the stuff. I bet that takes extra long for you because of all your siblings + Harry. I hope it isn't too overwhelming or stressful. I miss and love you more with every passing second. Please write back soon. I know I'm a fine one to talk, but still. And give your mom my best for letting you come over and stay for two nights.

Love, the future Mrs. Weasley,

Y/N

8/30/94

To my girl,

I know it's a bit late to write you back, really late actually. I know it's a little pointless to send this since we see each other tomorrow, but I felt like it anyway. I would have wrote you back much sooner if your letter didn't get misplaced. I was sleeping when the mail came (so I'm told) and mum forgot to tell me I got anything. I'm sorry, I really am. You were right though, the last two weeks were a nightmare. Though, George and I successfully packed up a good amount of our products to sell while at school. Yknow what that means; the games afoot. We plan on giving Filch a run for his money this year, it being our last in all.

I love you too, I miss you more. I can't wait to see you tomorrow. You'll get your cuddles and your nap, rest assured. We'll talk more then while I loath every minute between our reconnection.

Yours undoubtedly, Fred.

P.S. You can keep the jumper.

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x you #fred weasley #fred gideon weasley #fred weasley fic #fred weasley fanfiction #frederick weasley #harry potter #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fluff #fanfic #faniction #fluff #harry potter oneshot #orginal idea maybe #frederick gideon weasley

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dovebite · 20 hours ago

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house headcanons ♡

and if you disagree with any of these no you don't. i'm actually best friends with david shore. hope this helps! <3

sweet , funny , & fluffy

has definetely said "alright relax it wasn't that funny" when one of the ducklings laughed a li'l too hard at one of his jokes.

loves campy, cult classic movies from the 70's-80's. the rocky horror picture show? tell me he wouldn't eat that tf up.

actually eats like a racoon. especially when he's runing low on groceries. will scavenge through his pantry for days on end like a starved ww2 soldier before his gets his ass out of his apartment and goes shopping. has been caught eating all kinds of dastardly concotions as "meals" like pickle slices, stale bread, and shredded cheese. it gets so bad to the point wilson has gone shopping for him on multiple occasions.

literally just a portable heater. this man is a walking heat rock. warm all the time.

cringe warrior. i mean, this one is essentially canon. he kidnapped the star of one his favorite soaps to keep it from being derailed by his death and fangirled the whole time (s4e14). was literally in love with a book series about a boy detective everyone, including the author herself, said was "targeted towards teenage girls" and admitted to being in online fan clubs (early s7). he is actively consumed by his fixations on random media. would go to conventions for his interests if he "had just a little less self respect" in his words.

cameron found his reading glasses very endearing at some point, going as far to tell him he looked cute with them, promptly making him extremely embarrased about needing them for the next month and a half.

has copies of little women and pride & prejudice stashed somwhere away in his house

big on collecting random shit he finds. just picks up pebbles, moss, pennies, and whatever the fuck else he can find on the ground

in true middle aged white man fashion, has named most of the instruments and cars he has owned throughout his life (definetely named the 60's red corvette from s1 some vintage stripper name).

more angsty (?)

actually very jumpy when spooked. the only reason nobody's really ever seen it is because he's pretty difficult to scare.

has never been squeamish. long before he became a doctor, he was never peeved out by gross bodily stuff. people always found it weird how neutral he was towards the idea of vomiting, bleeding, etc.

pre-infarction, was actually very quick and nimble on his feet. it's one of the things he misses the most.

in the early days of the infarction, where the pain was arguably at its worst (from his perspective) due to just how not used to it he was, he would pull all nighters, doing nothing but laying in bed rotating the idea of amputating his leg over and over in his head.

elaborating on this, though he would rather die than admit it, not amputating is genuinely one of the biggest regrets he has in life.

despises being outside in cold weather for prolonged periods of time because it triggers memories of when he was forced to sleep in the grass as a kid.

more on his childhood, he was genuinely so sweet in the earlier years, nobody who knows him now would believe it was the same person. fed stray animals, said his prayers every night before bed, loved hugs, the whole thing. it didn't last very long. by the time he reached the double digits he gave it up.

anyways queens that's all! what did we think? did we like this? please let me know if there are other characters you want me to do. and if you don't agree with these don't be rude about it or i will start crying

#house md #hatecrimes md #gregory house #headcanons #kaity's stuff

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redrosydiaz · 2 years ago

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rando q! but how long have you had this blog ?

omg so ive had this blog since january of 2013 so we have Officially surpassed 10 years 😂😂 WOW.

#asks #anonymous #this bad boy has been with me through it all though #ive crossed through so many fandoms with it and have gone through a few url changes to reflect that #ive done a lot with this account and posted a lot and have made so many friends through it!!#tumblr really is my baby like its a hellsite but its MY hellsite #its like the only bearable social media site these days to me lol i am rarely on anything else #i love it here and i have no plans on going anywhere else anytime soon #10 years down and 10 + more to go

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seventh-district · 30 days ago

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hhhrrrhggrghrghhhhhhh

ok i'm continuing my tag-yapping under a cut bc the tag limit can’t even hope to contain me this morning

CW: vent post (<- bc i don't have room for it in the tags and while this isn't quite like my typical vent posts, it definitely still has a lot of. idk. negative vibes. so. idk guys just scroll on by and leave me to my insanity)

(also i suppose i should warn for Arcane and Stranger Things spoilers, and Genshin Impact leaks. how did we get here idk this post is a fucking mess)

[continuing from where the tags left off]

like i have seen just enough spoilers to know that it’s gonna be another Eddie Stranger Things situation for me again. and that fixation was terrible man like don’t get me wrong i enjoy him a very normal amount these days and it’s fine but at the beginning??? i grieved that MF like he was a real person bro it was embarrassing. it literally brought me back to one of the worst emotional states i’ve ever suffered through. being prone to hyperfixating is fun and all until you’re sobbing in bed losing ur mind over missing someone that never even existed and you can’t function in your day-to-day life. then it’s not so fun. but anyways time lessens the pain of all wounds or whatever and i eventually became normal about Eddie. but like man. man i’ve got quite the feeling that Viktor will put me in a similar state. maybe hopefully not quite so bad but like. mmm. it would be a very bad idea to finally watch the show at this point in my life, given that things have quite literally never been worse and are only getting worse-er. but I Do Not Control The Fixation and i made the mistake of falling down a reaction-video rabbit hole on YT the other day. which i always regret bc i always end up on some random new misogynistic republican man’s channel who i’ve never heard of before and i just hurt my own feelings and it makes me lose hope in humanity and. it’s just always a bad time. like i only follow a very select few reaction channels who i actually enjoy but then i click on one (1) video and the fucking recommended videos always pull me in different directions and next thing i know it’s 3 hours later and i’m on a very different part of the internet and i realize oh there’s actually a lot of hate in the world. how did i get here. anyways.

about halfway down the rabbit hole i was watching some therapist guy reacting to Arcane bc i wanted to see his reaction to the Viktor and Jayce “Am I interrupting?” scene from S1EP2 bc it’s literally the only scene i’ve watched in-full (yes i engage with media in a very non-linear way don’t ask why there’s just something wrong with me) and bro. when i fucking tell you it felt like i got hit by a truck the moment Viktor was on screen— ,,,….,.,… like i didn’t realize how long it’d been since i’d seen it. and i. you know that meme that’s like “hyperfixation so bad i can’t engage with the source material”? yeah i experience that. like a lot. and i had one of those moments then. bc like. i’ve enjoyed his character for a long time. from a… distance? bc i’ve just never been ready to let the fixation fully hit me. ….. dear god i’ve been microdosing blorbos. jesus christ that’s funny. anyways where was i.

yeah i like. i read a bit of Viktor fanfic and admire fanart and gifs from the show and i have learned some of the gist of what’s going on with him through a particular creator’s rp audios that i have played to absolute death bc they’re very good. so i’m like. already attached to the character. he’s up there in my head with all the other blorbos. but i’ve never fully engaged with the source material. and so when he came on screen in that guy’s reaction video it was like. idk how to describe it. staring at the sun? or like. taking too much of a drug… idk i can’t. find the right metaphor. but it was just. Intense and it hit me all at once and i literally had to close the video like— i couldn’t take it lmfao. but ever since that i’ve got this urge to finally watch the show in full. but i’ve gathered through out-of-context screenshots and bits of people’s reactions to S2 that he.. dies? i think?? possibly more than once??? like i don’t really know any details and have very little context to go off of but i am surmising that he loses himself in hextech and goes robo-jesus mode in his search for тhe Glorious Ovulation or whatever the fuck is going on in this show that he then. dies?? with Jayce??? or ascends to the astral realm or some shit. like i literally have no clue what’s going on in that screenshot that was all over tumblr for a while after S2 dropped but. something is happening and i think it’s gonna be sad. (lmao i'm rereading this and i gotta say the Russian T wasn't intentional, i was typing too fast and accidentally switched keyboards instead of capitalizing it. but it made me laugh so i'm leaving it)

and like. i recognize that a character’s death can serve a respectable purpose in a good story and death is an inevitable part of life and all that. i respect it. but u must also understand that i am a sensitive little baby who has to endure enough angst in my real life that i selfishly want all my fave little blorbos to live forever and ever and happily ever after off into the sunset. okay? duality of man or whatever. (well, the happily part isn’t rlly necessary. i love angst i just hate death. they don’t gotta be happy forever they just gotta be alive. there is. a Reason that one of Saoirse’s defining characteristics is their infinite revivals resulting in effective immortality. all the angst of death with none of the permanence. and there’s a Reason that a lot of my favorite characters are Gods and angels and demons and vampires and werewolves and cyborgs and automatons. long-life species. i want so much more time than i’m ever gonna get and i Will project that onto the media i create and consume. next question.) so. where was i. oh yeah. so like. while i Accept the fact that Viktor’s presumably gonna die. i just know it’s gonna be an Eddie situation with me again and i don’t think my fragile psyche can handle that rn. so i guess i’ll just suppress the desire to watch Arcane until morale improves.

which is probably wise regardless of the emotional impact it’ll have on me given that i’m in one of my migraine-prone phases again and i know myself well enough to know damn well that if i start watching it rn i’ll binge the whole thing in like 2 days, induce a god-awful migraine from the screen-staring and lose touch with reality in the process. and hate myself for wasting time on a show when i could be doing literally anything else. like that’s a major reason i hardly ever watch anything anymore bc it just makes me feel more guilty for being lazy. bc like. in my mind if i’m writing or coloring or playing a game or engaging in any hobby that requires me to interact with it in some way, i can feel less bad for wasting time on it bc i’m at least Doing something. but watching a show or a movie or even a YT video just feels that much more lazy bc i’m literally just laying in bed staring at a screen not moving or using my brain. and i realize that i wouldn’t ever criticize someone else for it but. there’s another standard when it comes to me. like i know i should be studying and learning and working and cleaning and exercising and socializing and forcing myself to attend to all the adult responsibilities that are piling up on me. so if i’m gonna keep avoiding them then the least i could do is do something at least pseudo-productive instead. (even if that’s spending 2 hours yapping on Tumblr about how i can’t decide what to do today. apparently)

OKAY it's 12pm and i'm back. i drafted this post and forced myself out of bed, gave the entire bathroom a good cleaning, straightened up the living room, cleaned all the trash out of my bedroom, put a honeysuckle cube in my wax melter, got some ice cream and now i'm back to finish yapping.

the storms seem to have let up and i Should get in the shower but now my back hurts and i'm tired bc i have enough energy for approximately 1.5 tasks per day. so i'll just stay greasy until tomorrow. and due to the way the shower drains in this dysfunctional house i'll still have to speedrun my shower even then, or manually drain the septic tank since the ground is so saturated with water rn. and god it's supposed to rain more in a few days.. this is not gonna be good for the mold and structural problems. sigh. anyways where was i. god this post got long i am just a yapping machine today aren't i? we're taking the 'public diary' tag to heart with this one, boys

okay i got dragged away to deal with some stupid shit and it's now past 1pm and the smell of the wax melt is threatening to bring my migraine back and making my throat hurt and the sugar from the ice cream is making me feel sick. so today is falling apart spectacularly as per usual and i will likely get nothing else done except the dinner i have to make. maybe i'll be able to force myself to brush my teeth before bed. i love being mentally ill it's great we have fun here. /sarc

i hate how i've only got 10 or so hours of energy in me these days even though i get plenty of sleep. i wanna go to beeeeed and the rain outside the window is lulling me. anyways. i Will finish this comically long vent post if it's the last thing i do today.

take a shot every time i say anyways.

o k a y. it is nearly 5pm. and i might, just maybe might, finally be able to sit down and finish this. i am now finally back at my desk with pain thrumming in my back and legs and knees and my tummy is grumbling. but the overwhelming honeysuckle smell in my room has dissipated and my migraine hasn't returned yet and at least i can relax in a nice quiet dark cool 63 degree room after spending hours in a loud brightly lit 78 degree environment. so that's something to be grateful for. god bless my AC unit

maybe one day i'll get the chance to live a life that's actually my own. but until then i suppose there's always escapism!

speaking of, all day i've had my new Venti fic on my mind. calling it a fic sounds too.. grandiose? but it's too big to be a oneshot. what do you call a ~20k word story split into a few chapters. 'novella' sounds way too fancy to be used for fanfic. 'short story' sounds generic and also implies that it's original content. i guess it's just a small fic. a mini-fic maybe. yet another oneshot that got way outta hand. his rerun banner goes live on the uh.. 16th i think. and if i lock in i Could get the fic ready to post by then. and i think i'd like to. but there's no telling what happens in my day-to-day life that might prevent me from doing so. and it's not like there's really any good reason that i'm trying to make the two things line up, i just like using arbitrary days and dates as a source of motivation ig. but we're getting a bit of a Mondstadt revival(!!!) in 5.6 so i could also wait until then and it would still feel kinda celebratory. but it's an angsty story so idk why i'm trying to pair it up with a happy day anyways lmao. his birthday is coming up on 6/16 so i've got 2 days and 10 months. .. god i'm more tired than i thought. okay nope lets try that again. i've got 2 months and 10 days to get either the last chapters of Heaven In Hiding or some other new little fic ready to go up if i wanna post something else for his birthday. or maybe my real life horrors will take precedence and i won't get anything finished in time. that's a very real possibility.

i've been getting the urge to write for ES and [N]MbD again too. and i finally played through the Banana Outrage quest from HSR 2.6 and am now sitting on several ideas for Boothill comfort and reverse comfort oneshots. and i feel like there was some other character i had an idea to write for but my tired brain cannot recall it, if it ever existed. i've been sitting on a finished Ghost Band Dew x Reader OCD comfort fic for aaages now but i'm. embarrassed about it bc i just bullshit.. bullshitted.. bullshat? my way through the entire premise/setup and i feel like it's silly or inaccurate bc i have. Zero idea how a ministry.. monastery?.. church? thingy?? like whatever exists in the Ghost lore actually works. like i'm not even trying to adhere to canon so i guess i have as much creative freedom as i want but i also feel like what i wrote is unrealistic even within the fanon interpretations. and Dew is probably ooc anyway.. so i've been toying with the idea of scrapping the whole thing and rewriting the fic for a third time with some other character from another media that i know better. but hhhhhhh maybe one day i'll just be brave and post it and let ppl make fun of me if it sucks. like i'm not nervous about the actual OCD-comfort aspect bc i know exactly how to handle that. but the world i set the scene in is one i am not familiar enough with. idk, it feels.. forced, to me. which is funny bc the original version of the fic was with Eddie Stranger Things instead 😭 same OCD comfort premise just. different blorbo in a different setting. but my fixation on him waned and i hadn't fully fleshed the scene out yet anyway so i just scrapped it and used the idea for a Dew Ghost fic instead. but i've sat on it for so long that that fixation has waned as well and now i'm like... do i keep recycling this stupid oneshot for different blorbos indefinitely or what? idk. it's Overthinking Hours rn i guess

my Point is that i hate how as soon as i tell myself 'No More Fics Until You Get A Damn License' i suddenly have ideas and motivation for ten different projects. and yes i know it's probably just my avoidance manifesting itself. wanting to busy myself with writing so i can feel productive while avoiding my greatest fears. but knowing that doesn't change that it's happening!! i am sitting here hyper-self-aware in a hell of my own creation!!

but i should know better by now than to think i can force myself to do something by denying myself other things. it always ends up with me just doing nothing instead. there is no force strong enough to motivate me until the consequences of inaction become genuinely unbearable. and brother i can bear a lot in the name of avoidance.

and it's not like the environment i'm in is whatsoever encouraging me. maybe i'd feel different about it if i had a safe, functional vehicle to drive instead of something that won't even pass the safety inspection. maybe i'd feel different about it if i knew it wasn't gonna run me another $100+ a month on insurance i can't afford and legally have to have. maybe i'd feel different about it if i had someone i liked and trusted that would be patient with me and encourage me every day and teach me everything i need to know instead of just. expecting me to magically obtain all of this knowledge bc i'm 'smart'. like. my father in christ the apple unfortunately doesn't fall that far from the dumbass tree. just because i know a few big words and can weave them together decently when i try real hard doesn't mean everything comes easy to me. i was never all that 'gifted' i'm just good at memorizing shit. i dropped out of school the very second shit got too hard. i have never in my life learned how to study anything. i am a spoiled little baby who never had to try hard and now if it doesn't genuinely hold my attention/pique my interest/fixate me or i can't memorize it within a very short period of time, any and all information will simply bounce right back off of my brain. so tell me how in the fuck i'm supposed to force myself to study something that i not only couldn't care less about, but actively fear. how do i do it.

'you do it scared' yeah yeah i know. i've heard. but unfortunately until the conces get closer to quencing and life forces my hand, i'm afraid i'm just gonna sit here maladaptively playing with silly little characters in my mind and miserably avoiding all my fears just like i have for the past decade.

anyways. what a day. it's 6pm so i've hit my 16-hour consciousness quota and wanna crash in bed but i should try to push it a little further so maybe i'll wake up at a more normal time tomorrow. and just as i figured it might, this unintentional day-long post has chronicled the often-occurring scenario where i stress out about how to spend my day and then the whole day just kinda slips away from me anyways and i don't get anything done that i wanted to. typical Sunday vibes i suppose.

while i won't be watching any shows or doing any writing tonight and don't even feel in the mood to do any gaming, mayhaps i'll linger on Tumblr for a little while longer and fill up my queue so i can feel like i at least did one of the things i thought about doing this morning. i do wish i were more consistently active on this blog bc believe it or not i Do love it here. i'm just often too tired to do just about anything but the bare minimum these days and sadly, blogging is not on that priority list.

but it's not often these days that i put so many of my thoughts into words like i have here and tbh i'm feeling kinda drained now so i might just work on a coloring page, eat my mashed potatoes and let my brain go quiet with some youtube video in the background. that sounds nice. /gen

goodnight, Tumblr.

#Seven's Public Diary #good morning Tumblr. it is 6am on a Sunday i have been awake for 4 hours and it’s already been a Day #woke up from another nightmare in the wee hours of the morning as is usual for me these days. realized the internet was out and tried-#-rebooting it to no success. given all the flooding in town i’m sure it was some issue near the source and not on my end anyway.#resigned myself to an internet-less day. at least the electricity was & is still on so i’m grateful for that. was too awake to go back to-#-sleep since i’d already had ~9hrs. which is what i get for going to bed at 4pm but i had a migraine so it’s not like i could do anything-#-else anyways. which is my fault for playing Genshin for like 8hrs straight and expecting that to not have Consequences for my body.#which was made worse by the fact that i finished the Saurian Ifa-lore event and the cutscene made me cry a lot (/pos) which made the-#-pain worse and then the Migraine Nausea™️ kicked in and i had to lay down and become unconscious asap to escape it.#all i do is consume media and sleep these days anyway it’s fine. (it’s Not fine and the conces are quencing but i can’t. stop.) lol anyway #after a full sleep didn’t rid me of the pain i had to get up and get water and advil anyway. then sat in bed eating a cold burger at 3am #bc nothing screams I Have My Shit Together like eating yesterday’s takeout by phone-light in bed shirtless at 3am with a headache #i am literally the Oh Boy! 3 AM! patrick spongebob meme irl. who want me #anyways then the horrors started creeping in as i realized my plans for the day (more quest grinding in Genshin and perhaps HSR)#(bc it’s Sunday and that’s my dedicated day to game and not feel bad about it) would have to change since no internet = no pc games #and boy oh boy i don’t do well with a change in my plans. so as i miserably spent an hour working through all my little daily language-#-lessons and word and memory games like the little old lady i am. i started mulling over my alternative plans and ended up in a state of-#-decision paralysis. and i hate it here. i almost always know exactly what i want to do on any given day so on the occasions i don’t i just #-feel lost. and then lo and behold the internet came back on! but now i’m thinking of all the other things i could be doing.#like Do i actually want to game. if i do something else will i then regret that i didn’t take the opportunity to game. what do i do #i should start by taking another advil bc 1 wasn’t enough. and i really should shower bc i feel gross but it’s literally been storming-#nearly nonstop for the last 4 days and i don’t fancy getting struck by lightning. it should be over tomorrow so. 1 more day won’t kill me..#sometimes it rlly does feel like the weather reflects my life bc i’ve never seen lightning and flooding and tornadoes like this.#like yeah we get those regularly but idk if it’s ever been this relentless. and given that my life has never been this bad it just feels…#fitting. idk. that’s very self-centered of me to say though. but i do have main character syndrome so. lol. anyways #hey siri play Hell or High Water by Bailey Zimmerman for me please #sigh. i wanna finish my new venti fic but i told myself i wouldn’t work on my writing anymore until i get my license. which isn’t working-#as a means of motivation bc i’m just wasting time on other stuff instead. like i wanna watch Arcane so fucking badly. but i know it’s a-#truly Terrible idea bc i just Know i’m gonna fixate on Viktor to a horrific degree. and i literally don’t have time for that right now #like i will be a Complete Fuckin Wreck over that scrawny little white guy to a frankly embarrassing degree for an indefinite length of time

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